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sumu-samu · 4 years

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Chapter 1

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Pairing: Bellamy Blake x OC

Genre: Fluff, angst, and everything in between

Warnings: curse words, death, blood, killing, gore, and some good old chaos

Summary: Xephyr Kane, Marcus’ adopted daughter, grew up on the Ark, but begged the council to lock her up in solitary after a traumatic experience involving her birth parents. Now, she’s being sent to the ground, on her own terms unlike the other 99 kids, in hopes to start new. But what happens when she gets down there, and nothing goes as planned? Throw in a hot headed “leader” that wasn’t supposed to be there and thing get... difficult.

A/N: Here’s the first chapter.... I hope it's okay. This thing has been sitting in my Google Drive for months, almost a year, now and it’s causing serious glitches so I need to get rid of it, but I don’t want to delete it. So, here you go. Also, if anything gets really confusing, just let me know and I’ll go through and revise it

It’s been 97 years since the nuclear apocalypse killed everyone on earth, leaving the planet covered in radiation. Now, I say everyone, but I don’t actually mean everyone, there were a few people who were able to survive. 12 nations had operational space stations that came together to form one, the Ark. It’s been estimated that Earth needs another hundred years before life is sustainable. But, the Ark just couldn’t wait that long.

“We’re sending them down to the earth,” Kane spoke to me. I sighed knowing that no matter how many people they sent down I couldn’t help. Kane would update me on status of the Ark, mainly because he knew I couldn’t tell anyone anything anyways, and because he was my mother’s best friend, he was the closest to a family I had

“How many?” I asked. I needed to go down, I may have chosen to be put in here but I can’t just sit by and do nothing.

“99, but there’s room for another-”

“I’ll go!” I cut him off.

“Xeph, you don’t have to.” He looked at me with worried eyes.

“ I can’t, I go down, and I live and do as much as I can to get the rest of you down, and not end up like Him or… I go down… and I die-”

“And don’t end up like him” this time Kane cut me off. “Okay, but you do know that this will only give us a month, engineering needs 6. And you refuse to be let out.”

“Well, you won’t float me.”

“You’re not even 18 yet, besides there’s no stopping it. It’s either earth or a mass culling”

“Don’t think like that, you know how it makes me feel” I gave him a disgusted look, “When do we go down?”

“Tomorrow.” He gave me another look. “You look so much like your mother.”

“Well, we all know that’s not how I’m turning out,” I said with all the sarcasm I could muster.

*next day*

Kane walked into the cell holding a silver wristband. “It’ll read your vitals, tell us whether or not the earth is livable.” He put it on my arm and it stung but I held it in. “Be careful, you’re not like them, they could hurt you.”

“I’m not worried about that.” Two guards led me out of the cell, a bunch of kids thrashed around trying to get out of the guards hold, I walked peacefully.

They lined us up and put us on the ship one by one. Lots of people were worried, some were excited, I didn’t know what I was feeling. I mean I wasn’t really feeling anything. I couldn’t feel anything.

They got us all settled in and then It was time to launch. “Welcome back.” I heard a familiar voice say from in front of me.

“Wells what the hell are you doing here?” I heard another familiar voice, but this one more feminine.

“When I found out they were sending prisoners down to the ground I got myself arrested I came for you guys.” Wells said.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” I said bitterly before we heard a loud crash and some people screamed.

“What was that?” Clarke asked.

“That was the atmosphere.” Wells said unamused. We all heard a high pitched screech and then static.

“Prisoners of the ark hear me now,” Jaha’s voice rang out. “You’ve been given a second chance. As your chancellor I hope you see this as not only a chance for you but a chance for all of us.” I rolled my eyes

“Indeed for mankind itself, We have no idea what is waiting for you down there. If the odds of survival were better we would have sent others. Frankly we’re sending you because your crimes have made you expendable.”

“Your dad's dick Wells!” A boy yelled out.

“Those crimes will be forgiven, your record wiped clean.” Jaha continued. I just stood there emotionless. I didn’t care, hell I wanted to die, but Kane wouldn’t let me without a real reason. 4 years ago when my mother was killed and father floated I put up steel walls that no one had broken down. If anyone does, it ends badly. Love is weakness, love is feelings, feelings are weakness. That’s what I’ve been told, what I’ve been telling myself for these past years, and what I will continue telling myself until I die.

“Your drop site has been chosen carefully. Before the last war, Mt Weather was a military base built inside a mountain. It was to be stocked with enough nonperishables to sustain-”

“Check it out!” People started cutting Jaha off. “Go, Finn!” “Spacewalk bandit strikes again.”

“Check it out your dad did float me after all” “Finn,” said to Wells

“You should strap in before the parachutes deploy,” I warned him.

“Hey, you two, stay put if you want to live!” Clarke said to two other boys who started to cut their seatbelts.

“Mount Weather is life.” Jaha continued. “You must locate those supplies immediately”

“You’re the traitor who's been in solitary for a year.” Finn said to Clarke.

“You’re the idiot who wasted a month of oxygen on an illegal spacewalk.” She said coldly back.

“But it was fun,” Finn commented. “I’m Finn.” Just then the parachutes deployed sending the two boys and Finn tumbling around the ship.

“Finn are you okay?” I called out.

“The retrorockets should have fired by now!” I yelled out in panic.

“Everything on this ship is 100 years old, right? Just give it a second”

“Clarke there’s something I have to tell you!” Wells turned to her. “I’m sorry I got your father arrested.”

“Don’t you talk about my Father!” She cut him off.

“Please I can’t die knowing that you hate me!”

“They didn’t arrest my father Wells, They executed him! I do hate you!” As she said that the rockets fired, better late than never right? Ish… There was a crash and then the rocket's machine humm died.

“Listen… no machine hum.” A black-haired boy said from the other side of the ship.

“That’s a first.” The boy next to him said. All of our belts clocked and everyone unstrapped themselves.

“The doors are on the lower level.” One of the kids said.

“No, we can’t just open those doors!” Clarke said. I climbed down after some of the kids with Clarke following me.

“Hey, just back it up, guys.” A tall, dark-haired boy, with freckles, in a guard uniform said.

“Stop!” Clarke called out to him before he hit the button to open the door. “The air could be toxic.” we both made our way to the front.

“Clarke, if the air’s toxic we’re all dead anyway.” I said coldly.

“Bellamy?” A girl called from behind us. He turned around with something in his eyes I couldn’t quite explain. He started to smile as the girl made her way to the front.

“My God, look how big you are.” He smiled and she gave him a hug.

“What the hell are you wearing? A guards uniform?” She asked him.

“I borrowed it. To get on the dropship. Some one’s gotta keep an eye on you.”

“Where's your wristband?” Clarke asked.

“”Do you mind? I haven't seen my brother in over a year.” The girl said. Then it hit me, he didn’t have a wrist band because he wasn't a delinquent. This was Bellamy Blake, and his sister Octavia. His sister was locked up for literally being born, his mother was floated for having a second child and he went the rest of the year with no one.

“That’s Octavia Blake, the girl they found hidden under the floor.” Octavia lunged at the crowd but Bellamy held her back.

“Octavia, Octavia, no. Let’s give them something else to remember you by.”

“Yeah like what?”

“Like being the first person on the ground in 100 years.” Bellamy opened the door. Wind pushed my hair back, sunlight shined on my face. We were really here. Octavia cautiously stepped out, then she jumped on to the ground. There was a pause then she screamed “We’re back bitches!” Everyone ran out of the dropship.

We were all excited but there was no military base anywhere to be found. There was no way we were on Mt. Weather. I went back into the dropship to see just how much damage to the ship was done.

“Shit.” I sighed.

“What?” Wells questioned picking up one of the boys who had died when the parachutes activated.

“Comms, it’s dead. We have to communicate with the Ark.” I rubbed my head.

“Hey, I’m sure you can get it back up, you’re great at these things.” He put his hand on my shoulder. I pushed it off with a little more force than I meant to.

“I can try but it all looks really beat up to me.” I sat down and started looking at everything.

“Nothing a star engineer can’t do. Now, I’m going to go and bury the dead.” he said somberly.

A minute later I heard a deep voice from behind me. “What are you doing?” It asked.

“Comms is dead, I’m trying to see if anything is salvageable.” I sighed.

“And?” The boy pushed.

“Fried, completely dead. No way in hell I can get it back up. There's a few wires that survived but everything essential… is ruined… meaning-”

“No contact with the Ark?” He asked. I finally turned around to see none other than Bellamy Blake.

“None, but not like you mind.” I said.

“What? What are you talking about?” He gave me a stern look.

“1, not scared of you, don't test me. And 2, I know everyone's story here, everyone but yours. Meaning you did something just to get onto the dropship. I was also told only 100 kids were sent down, counting you there is 101, meaning there's a stowaway, the ark wouldn’t have sent a guard let alone one so young, so.... Connecting the dots I assume you came down just to get off the Ark?”

“I came down for my sister.” He said bitterly as we walked away.

I gave up on the wires and decided to get outside. When I went out I saw Clarke with a map. “we‘ve got a problem. The communication system is dead, There's a dozen panels missing, wires are fried. I can’t fix it.” I shook my head.

“Well all that matters right now is getting to mount weather.See? Look.This is us.” She pointed to a circle on the map, “This is where we need to get to if we want to survive.” She drew a line across it to where Mount Weather was marked.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Wells came up behind us. She gave me a saddened look, I gave one back to her. “You’re father.” He nodded sadly.

“Ah cool a map.” A scrawny kid with goggles came up behind us. I recognized him from Farm station but I couldn’t remember who he was. I kinda wanted to forget everything about Farm Station. “They got a bar in this town? I’ll buy you a beer.” Wells pushed him away.

“You mind?” He said in a threatening tone.

“Hey,hey,hey! Hands off him, he's with us.” I turned my head to see the one person I really wish I hadn’t. John Murphy, the asshole of the century. The ex who decided he wanted nothing to do with me after what had happened with my parents. Recon he didn’t know what exactly happened just that they are now dead. The idiot who decided to set part of the Ark ablaze for the thrill. Can I get a break please! I gave him a look of pure hatred, and he gave me one back. He hated that Marcus had taken me in, that I could look at the guy who got his father floated as a father. Well I really couldn’t, I was pretty pissed at him, we don’t have the best father daughter relationship.

“Relax.” Wells put his hands up in surrender. “We’re just trying to figure out where we are.”

“We’re on the ground. That not good enough for you?” Bellamy sassed.

“We need to find Mount Weather.” Wells started to walk towards him, “You heard my fathers message, that needs to be our first priority.”

“Screw your father.” Octavia cut him off. “What, you think you're in charge here? You and your little princesses?”

“Don’t call me that.” I lunged for her and Bellamy almost came after me if Clarke hadn’t held me back.

“Do you think we care who’s in charge? We need to get to Mount weather, not because the Chancellor said so, but because the longer we wait, the hungrier we’ll get and the harder this will be.” She said to all of the kids around her.

“How long do you think we’ll last without those supplies?” I asked. “The human body can go one month with out food as long as you’re properly hydrated, and only 2 weeks without water before we start dying of dehydration and starvation, and in between that you start to feel as if you wish you were dead because the starvation is too much.” I explained.

“We’re looking at a 20 mile trek, okay? So if we want to get there before dark, we need to leave now.”

“I got a better idea,” Bellamy said to her, “you three go, find it for us, let the privileged do the hard work for a change.” If Clarke wasn’t still holding me back I would have ripped his face off.

Damn it! Stop! Don’t think like that! You think like that you become him, you can’t you can’t you can't.

I tried to calm myself down, the more violent I become the worse I get.

“You’re not listening!” Wells shouted. “We all need to go.” Murphy came up and shoved him.

“Look at this everybody, the Chancellor of earth.” Everyone laughed.

“Murphey!” I yelled. He ignored me.

“You think that’s funny?” Wells asked. And then in one movement murphey swept Wells off his feet sending him to the ground with a crunch.

“Murphey!” I screamed louder, he still ignored me.

“No but that was.” Murphy stated. “Alright.” They both stood in a defensive position ready to fight. The other kids started to shout fight, I was yelling at them to stop. No one was listening, but no punches were thrown as finn came and stood in front of Wells blocking him from Murphy.

“Kid’s got one leg, how about you wait till it's a fair fight.” He told Murphy. And with that John backed down.

“Hey spacewalker!” Octavia walked towards him, “Rescue me next.”

Clarke and I walked away trying to figure out how to get to Mount Weather, while helping Wells with his leg.

“So Mount Weather, when do we leave?” Finn asked.

“Right now.” Clarke said. “We’ll be back tomorrow with food.” She said to Wells

“How are the three of you going to be able to carry enough for 100?” He asked, Finn turned around and grabbed the two closest people he could.

“five of us, can we go now?” Clarke nodded her head.

“Sounds like a party, make it six.” Octavia walked up to us. It was kinda obvious she was only coming along for Finn but hey, we need as many people as we can get.

“Hey, what the hell are you doing?” Bellamy walked up to her.

“Going on a walk.” she shrugged him off her.

“Hey,” I noticed a crack in Finn's bracelet. “Were you trying to take this off?”

“Yeah so?” He shrugged.

“So this wristband transmits your vital signs to the ark, take it off and they’ll think you're dead.”

“Should i care?” Finn rolled his eyes.

“Well I don’t know, do you want the people you love to think you’re dead? Do you want them to follow you down here in two months cause they won't if they think we’re dying.”

We walked off into the woods, “So, what happened with you? Why’d you get sent down here Council Girl?” Finn asked. I gave him a cold stare for multiple reasons. 1 being that name he gave me, 2 being that he referenced the fact that Kane is my technically adopted father, and 3 because it was none of his business. I just ignored him and walked faster.

“Hey, guys would you try to keep up?” I called back, Clarke was the only one who was keeping up with me.

“Come on girls, how can you block all this out?” Finn smiled

“Well its simple, I wonder why haven't we seen any animals? Maybe it’s because there are none, maybe we’ve already been exposed to enough radiation to kill us. Sure is pretty though, come on.” Clarke continued forward

“Guys wait up!” one of the two boys called out

Who are you two?” I asked.

“Oh… I-I’m Jasper this is-”

“Wait… Jordan? Jasper… Jordan?”

“Uhhh… yeah…?” He was confused as to how I knew him.

“M-Monty?” I faced the other boy who too became confused. It took him a minute but then his face lit up with realization.

“Xephyr?” Monty smiled at me.

“Xephyr!” Jasper shouted and ran to me and gave me a hug. “You left the farm station so long ago… where… where did you go?”

“Let’s just say i’m not Xephyr Cole any more-”

“Yeah, now it’s Xephyr Kane isn’t it?” Finn said.

“Shut up you ass.” I rolled my eyes.

“Clarke motioned for us to come over to her quietly and then pointed at some animal, it was a deer. It was amazing… until it turned towards us. The thing had one and a half heads. Freaked out we kept walking.

“So, bellamy?” Finn asked me with a smirk.

“What?”

“Oh, like you didn’t see the way he was looking at you.” He chuckled.

“He’s… there’s something bad about him, he's a pain in the ass and I can already tell.”

“And how do you know what someone is like just by one conversation?” He asked me.

I stopped dead in my tracks, “Cause I dated John Murphy.” I continued walking, eventually taking the lead.

“You know what I’d like to know,” Finn started. It seemed very obvious out of the six of us he was the most vocal. “Why send us down today? After 97 years? What changed?”

“Who cares, I’m just glad they did. I woke up rotting in a cell and now… i'm spinning in a forest.” Octavia said.

“Maybe they found something on a satellite.” Monty suggested. “You know, like an old weather satellite.”

“It wasn’t a satellite. The Ark is dying.” When Clarke said that everyone paused “With the current population level there's 3 months left of life support, maybe 4 now that we’re gone.”

“So that was the big secret they kept you locked up to keep? Locked you up in solitary, floated your old man?” Finn asked her

“Her father was the engineer who discovered the flaw. He thought people had a right to know.” I said

“Council disagreed, my mother disagreed, they were afraid that it would cause panic. We were gonna go public when wells-”

“What? Turned in your dad?” Finn jumped in when she went silent for a while.

“Anyway, the guard showed up before we could. That’s why today. That’s why it was worth the risk, even if we all die, at least they bought themselves more time.”

“But it’s still not enough. Engineering needs six months and they now have only four. The council pushed it off forever and then people started getting symptoms.” I said.

“They’re gonna kill more people aren’t they?” Monty asked. No one responded.

“Good after what they did to me I say, float them all.” Octavia walked in front of all of us. She started taking her clothes off.

“Oh damn, I love earth.” Jasper chuckled. She walked to the edge.

“Octavia what the hell are you doing?” Clarke yelled. She just looked back with a smile then jumped. We all ran to the edge to see a river.

“Octavia, we can’t swim.” Monty called out.

“No but we can stand.” She stood up.

“There's not supposed to be a river here.” Clarke said with confusion.

“Well there is.” I laughed and followed Octavia. Everyone else started taking their clothes off.

“Octavia, Xephyr, get out of the water.” Jasper warned us. We looked behind us to see something moving. It grabbed Octavia, she screamed as she went under the water. The tail end had hit me right in the abdomen knocking me down underwater, my head had hit a rock, I tried to stand back up but for some reason I couldn't. I could feel my leg split open on a rock. After what felt like forever I felt someone pull me out.

“Xephyr!” Clarke called out. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?” I opened my eyes and groaned.

“Octavia?” I looked over to see Jasper holding her, the only other one who was wet was Finn, meaning he was probably the one who pulled me out.

“Xephyr. She’s fine can you hear me alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Night had fallen not too long after. I stayed awake as long as I could but I eventually gave in.

I stood there, over her dead body, my best friend, Clarke dead, gutted, and I was covered. Covered in blood, her blood, a knife in my hands. I couldn't feel anything. I didn’t care. But for a moment there I felt a small amount of joy.

I woke up in a sweat and screaming. Everyone was looking at me. “Xephyr? Was it?” Clarke asked. I just nodded.

“What was it?” Finn asked.

“No, nothing lets just, lets go” We went back to the river where finn found some vine we could use to swing ourselves over.

“You wanted to go first now stop stalling.” I rolled my eyes.

Fin was just about to go when Jasper stopped him and said he wanted to go. He waited a while before he went, as he tumbled to the ground we held our breath.

“We are appogee!” We all started cheering. “Come on clarke you’ve got this!” He shouted. Then he held up a sign that said Mount Weather.

“We did it! Mount Weather!” I screamed. We all cheered again… until… a spear was launched into Jaspers chest “J-J-Jasper! Jasper!” I screamed.”Jasper! NO!” Octavia pulled me down. “We’re not alone.” I said with fear.

#bellamy #bellamy blake #bellamy blake x oc #bellamy x oc #bellamyblake #The 100 #the100 #x oc

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in-tua-deep · 5 years

Note

AU for you - Five comes back early. Not just early for him, so he’s still a kid, but early as in Reginald is still alive. Reggie calls everyone home but Luther is the only one to show up and it’s a lot harder to stay in denial about the abuse when Reggie is manhandling his traumatized kid brother. So Luther gets Five out and gets all the sibs together to keep him safe and meanwhile the Commission decides the best way to get rid of Five is to tell Reggie that Five is the cause of the apocalypse.

OHHHH okay so Five comes back after only maybe a year (or a few years) in the apocalypse, and comes back before Luther gets the serum used on him so he’s still a regular boy trying to make his dad proud and living in this big empty house alone and his siblings have all vacated and he feels kind of betrayed by them, actually

So he’s sitting in his room making model planes and there’s a disturbance in the courtyard, and he rushes to see what it is - and he sees the vortex and his father is there with Pogo and they watch as little Number Five falls into the courtyard and he looks at them with barely disguised horror, eyes trained on Reginald

and Reginald orders Luther to go back inside very calmly because he’ll handle it. And Luther trusts his father, and he goes back inside, and he doesn’t look back when he hears Five yell out

Except over the next few weeks, he doesn’t see Five. He asks about him, once, but Reginald tells Luther that it’s none of his concern - and if he has enough freetime to be bothering him then he might as well take a mission.

Except Luther doesn’t see Five, but that doesn’t mean he can’t hear him. Hear the muffled yells coming from areas of the house he never really explored because those were the training rooms of the siblings that weren’t him. He had no reason to approach them, and so he never did.

Except a few weeks in, he can’t resist. Because he hasn’t seen Five in so many years, almost half his life now actually. He’s twenty-five and even though he trusts his dad, he’s concerned. So he goes to the rooms in the house that he doesn’t go to.

He follows the muffled yelling which, now that he’s listening more carefully sounds alarmingly like sobs. So he opens a door, and the noise chokes off as Luther lays his eyes on his brother for the first second time in over a decade.

Five is restrained. Straightjacket underneath more restraints, trying him flat against a table. There’s blood in his hairline and his eyes are just slightly glazed in a way that reminds Luther of Klaus. There are tear tracks down his cheeks and under the restraints Luther can see Five is wearing the same odd lowkey hobo clothes he arrived in.

He doesn’t even think about it before launching himself forward to free his brother, and Five is babbling about the apocalypse and four years and time travel but Luther isn’t really listening he’s too focused on unbuckling his brother. Except -

“Number One!” His father is in the door, voice sharp and demanding. Luther is stepping back automatically, a lifetime of conditioning making him defer to his father. He’s ordered away, told that Number Five is unwell and this is for his own safety.

(Reginald let Five slip through his fingers once, he’s not about to let Five go again - and Five made his intentions to leave the house clear enough from day one that Reginald wasn’t willing to take chances)

And Luther does back off. Then. He can’t disobey his father, he can’t. He’s been groomed his entire life to follow orders, and that isn’t undone in a day. He’s not a stranger to violence, but he’s been conditioned to the idea that violence is okay when used against villains. His brother is thirteen. He must have just jumped from that first family dinner, right? Five is still a kid. Violence is for criminals, not kids. But - Five was rambling and Dad did say that time travel messed with the mind. But surely this wasn’t the way?

Luther tries to contact the rest of the family for advice, very much on the down low. Because he feels guilty for doubting his father, but as the days pass and he can hear the yells (the sobs) his trust in his father is undermined. He doesn’t have Diego’s number. Klaus doesn’t even have a number as far as Luther knows. Ben is dead. Allison isn’t returning his calls. He doesn’t even think to contact Vanya even if he did have her number. He doesn’t have time to track them down. He’s on his own for now.

And he might have been groomed to follow Reginald, but he was also groomed to be a hero. Or at the very least a vigilante.

His father would have never seen a betrayal coming, not from Number One. So when Luther steals a whole bunch of cash and discreetly buys a little furnished apartment close to the offices of some psychologists he’s been looking into because if Five is as messed up as his Dad is implying then he needs help not to be locked away.

With that squared away, Luther waits until his Father is occupied with something and Luther innocently asks Pogo if he’ll help locate some old things or whatever probably in the attic or one of the storage rooms. It’s a request with the kind of sincerity that Pogo can’t refuse. Luther claims he’ll look in one of the storage rooms while Pogo searches the attic. Except Luther has no intention of searching for some old trinket. He makes a beeline for the room that he is aware contains his brother.

(They would never expect Luther to betray them, it would be like expecting your sofa to betray you - Reginald attributes just as much agency to both. It’s his biggest mistake.)

Luther goes in, and Five is weakly crying and struggling still, and Luther shushes him. “I’m going to get you out of here and get you some help.” He tells his brother very seriously, taking charge the way he’s always been taught to. Five stops moving as Luther makes quick work of snapping the buckles and helping his brother sit up so he can undo the straight jacket and gently pull Five’s too-skinny wrists out.

Five is shaking like a leaf and immediately in Luther’s arms, face buried into Luther’s neck as he gasps out apologies over and over again. Luther doesn’t bother making Five stand, just scooping him up into his arms feeling like he’s made the right choice.

Luther gets a cab to his new apartment, the cabbie looking concerned as Five plasters himself against Luther’s side in the backseat as Luther rubs his back and attempts to make soothing noises (he’s never had to comfort anyone before, all the civilians he saved were abstract to him - swept away by police and other people while the Umbrella Academy focused more on the villains, the bad guys)

so Luther gets to his apartment with his traumatized baby brother and settles him down and Five won’t let go of him long enough to do anything so he just kind of ends up,, scooping Five up in one arm and letting him koala against him and using the other hand to flip on light switches and attempt to put sheets on the beds and things like that (getting two bedrooms turned out to be non-essential because Five won’t allow Luther to leave him alone so they end up together in a kind sized bed as Luther wonders what he’s doing)

The next day Five has calmed down just enough that, while he still won’t let go of Luther, he manages actual words. He tells Luther haltingly about exactly where he jumped, to the apocalypse. The world of rubble and ruin and ash. “It’s in four years, Luther.” Five tells him, “I found - I found a newspaper. With the date. April 1st, 2019. That’s the day the world ends.”

“Okay,” Luther says, because he believes it. Reginald always said that the apocalypse would happen. “Okay, well we’re going to stop it. What do you know?”

and Five tells him, hand clutching Luther’s hard enough it might bruise if one aspect of Luther’s powers wasn’t durability alongside his strength, about finding their bodies in the rubble of the academy. A glass eye clutched in Luther’s hand, the serial number of which Five has long since memorized. Reginald frisked him when he arrived and took everything he had. The glass eye. Vanya’s book, which Five can quote from memory (which convinces Luther of his story if nothing else - the book didn’t come out that long ago and certainly not when Five was thirteen), a smattering of other random items like a swiss army knife and other items he used to stay alive in the apocalypse - Reginald took it all.

and okay so maybe they don’t have the eye but they have the serial number and Luther is much more reasonable when he trots over to Meritech with Five trailing behind him like a duckling and Luther calmly makes up something about needing to look up maybe a family member’s eye in the system and gives the number and the receptionist is just kind of like “Sorry you must have gotten the wrong number written down there, that one hasn’t been made.”

and they leave disappointed with Five insisting he remembered the number right and Luther calmly agreeing with him and it’s likely that the glass eye simply hasn’t been made yet. The apocalypse is in four years, after all. It could be made at any point between now and then.

Five is frantic, but they have four years. They can afford to take some time, and the money Luther stole will go a long way but not far enough so he needs to get a job of some kind. I still say mechanic. So maybe he gets a job as a mechanic and the owner or the garage is sympathetic when Luther explains that he’s looking after his brother now and Five is still a little shaky around strangers and tends to hide behind Luther in a way he hasn’t since they were both little kids and the owner can make some assumptions here and lets Five come with Luther to work as long as he stays quiet and out of the way (which is very good for them since Five refuses to let Luther out of his sight)

It takes a few months but they get into a rhythm between the two of them. They eat,, a lot of takeout between the two of them admittedly. But eventually Five asks Luther about their rest of their siblings, because he wants to see them. And Luther has become really very protective of his little brother since, you know, he’s the one who has been letting Five sleep in his bed and waking him up and comforting him after nightmares and gently prodding every new and terrible detail about apocalypse living from Five (Luther will never look at bugs the same way after an unfortunate incident followed by a frank conversation about what was considered edible in the non-apocalypse world). So he’s soft, and he can’t deny his brother that much even if he doesn’t really want to reach out to his siblings

Allison still isn’t returning his calls (she hasn’t since the wedding that he wasn’t invited to), but Luther figures if he can rely on anything it’s his brothers habits. Klaus in the alleys and Diego being a vigilante. So he goes to the police station and awkwardly meets with a detective named Eudora Patch who apparently knows his brother somehow? Diego-brother, not Klaus. Detective Patch seems skeptical at first, but when Luther admits that he’s trying to contact Diego because he has news about the brother of theirs that ran away when they were thirteen - well, she gives him and address and tells Luther he didn’t get it from her

So Luther takes Five with him after work and they end up at a gym? Luther asks the owner about Diego and is pointed to the boiler room. He knocks on the door insistently enough that it eventually opens, Diego clearly having just woken up despite the fact that it’s afternoon (on those nocturnal vigilante hours) and he opens the door and before anyone can react Five has already moved forward and is wrapped around Diego’s chest and chanting “You’re alive you’re alive you’re alive.”

and well,, that gets them in the door. Diego is furious that Luther has known Five is back for months and starts in on yelling about Reginald except Five cuts that the fuck off with the proclamation that Luther rescued him from Dad. Diego is clearly incredulous but when faced with the evidence,, Luther tells him about his apartment and about his job as a mechanic

and then they tell Diego about the apocalypse. Diego is incredulous and denies it, he doesn’t believe them. Except then Luther very evenly asks Five to explain where he got their one (1) dead end lead. And Five is reluctant because it’s a big raw wound but he hesitantly chokes his way through recounting finding all of their dead bodies (except Vanya, except Ben - he didn’t find Dad either, but the newspaper that spoke of Reginald’s death explained that at least, but he didn’t find out until later about Ben’s death from Vanya’s book)

and Five has dissolved into sobs by the end of telling and has let go of Diego to reach back to curl against Luther’s side as has become routine for them and,, Diego has always been soft where family is concerned when it comes down to it so basically he’s on board now even if he’s still salty at Luther about not finding him to tell him about Five sooner

(they end up staying at Diego’s place for the night, Luther and Five sleep on the floor even though Diego tries to insist that Five take the bed. Five is asleep with his hands clenched in Luther’s clothes as Luther takes the time to explain to Diego fully about the circumstances that forced Luther - Luther, the loyal lapdog - into fleeing and Diego is swearing and vowing to kill their father and Luther isn’t even scolding him for it. That more than anything convinces Diego of the seriousness of what had happened.)

“I can probably find Klaus.” Diego admits grudgingly in the morning before Luther has to leave to get to work. ”You can uh, you can leave the kid with me if you want?”

Luther turns and leans down, “Five?” He asks, and when Five shakes his head Luther stands back up with a sigh. “Maybe another time. I’ll leave you my number, call if you figure out where Klaus is. Call if you don’t.” Five nudges him. “We can do uh, dinner sometime. I’ll try Allison again.”

“And Vanya.” Five insists, completely ignoring the grimace on Diego’s face.

Luther sighs, “Yeah. I’ll call Vanya’s publisher tomorrow, see if they can put us in contact with her. I had no idea how difficult it would be to get all of us together, god.”

“You were together when you died.” Five points out absently, not looking at the brothers so he doesn’t see them wince. Five is frowning. “Maybe that’s a clue? Everyone was there except for Vanya. I didn’t think about that.”

“We aren’t going to die this time, Five. We’re going to stop it.” Luther responds patiently, almost automatically. Like this is something he’s told Five time and time again.

And that’s how it goes. Diego hunts down Klaus and all but drags him over to the address Luther ended up giving him. Five basically tackles him as well, pretty similar to his reaction to the other siblings. Klaus is pretty shocked to see little Number Five. Five learns that Klaus is living on the streets and absolutely puts his foot down about about keeping him. It’s not like Five uses the bedroom that Luther set up for him anyway, so Klaus can have that one, right? Right?

and that’s how the super extremely unlikely trio of Luther, Klaus, and Five end up living together. I mean, who would have thought, right?? Anyway, they eventually do get in contact with Vanya who insists on keeping in contact once she realizes Five is back and refuses to take no for an answer. Cue awkward family dinners where Luther is still trying to reteach Five table manners and convince him that dairy product are not The Enemy so long as they are not expired

(Vanya brings over peanut butter and marshmallows and bread and Five loops his arms around her waist and watches her make him the sandwich with barely contained excitement)

without Luther’s permission his little apartment has become the Central Hub for the siblings. Five volunteers to keep Klaus company because he’s worried about him instead of accompanying Luther to work (Luther feels anxious the whole time he’s away and he didn’t realize him and Five had gotten to be so close until Five wasn’t at his side) - and Klaus ends up realizing that he needs to help Five and can’t really do that when he’s high. The kid gave him his room, gave him a roof over his head. And Ben is nagging in his ear about looking after Five and hovering like mothering is his job and this is a long winded explanation for why I think Klaus should get clean okay

Allison eventually returns their calls but she’s still married and has Claire at this point so she probably skypes them?? Five insists that everyone be in the apartment and gather around the computer to say hi to Allison whenever they arrange a time to chat. It’s kind of awkward but Five is willing to fill up the silences with questions and ideas on how to prevent,, whatever happened.

and that’s about the time the Commission intervenes because with the family getting together (and including Vanya), the apocalypse’s chances of happening are decreasing by the day. They need a way to break the family up again, and what is the unifying factor between them right now?? Five.

So they contact Reginald, and imply that Five is the cause of the apocalypse. And Reginald is frustrated at Luther’s betrayal and Five vanishing again but he hasn’t exactly been hunting them down, either. He’d decided they were losses and moved on. Except now Reginald has all the reason in the world to find them, because he needs to take care of the apocalypse issue once and for all.

And basically what we now have is a series about Reginald trying to get at Five and being blocked by all the siblings protecting him fiercely. He’s thirteen. He’s a kid. Even if Reginald told them to their faces that Five caused the apocalypse (which couldn’t be true because the first time around Five wasn’t involved at all, he didn’t exist in that timeline) then they don’t care because even if he did they can change the timeline.

Maybe Reginald, always unwilling to get his hands dirty, hires two ‘goons’ which coincidentally may or may not be known as Hazel and Cha-Cha. Except Reginald gives them the orders to retrieve his son, not kill him, so they’re more than a little out of their element?? Because the Commission says to report back to them but obey Reginald for the time being and Reginald says not to kill any of the kids and honestly solving their problems without murder isn’t,,, really what they do

I’m actually kind of fond of this au actually,, give me the protective siblings content I crave,,,, just the whole squad banding together against Reginald gives me LIFE he deserves to be supplexed into the concrete also all the kids bonding over a common enemy?? iconic

honestly what i also like is the luther angle because my stupid idiot boy deserves BETTER and i would love to see him have an arc where he rebels against Reginald are you kidding and the best part is the two parts of him are both parts Reginald ingrained in him - the fact that he should obey his father versus the fact that he’s been groomed to be a hero. And heroes save children, and Five is a child.

It’s interesting you said both early for Five and early for timeline because I don’t think it would have gone the same way with 13-going-on-58 Five rather than raw-from-recently-seeing-his-siblings-bodies-and-also-never-rescued-13-maybe-14-year-old-Five

just this incredibly super traumatized version of Five who was traumatized by the apocalypse and then completely re-traumatized upon arrival who is just trying his best to save his siblings and also figure out somewhere along the way how to grow up?? and also having to deal with his father hunting him down and trying to highkey kidnap him and take him away from his siblings again?? wild

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maluminspace · 5 years

Text

Lone Wolf

Genre: Angst/Drama/Fluff

Pairings: Michael Clifford/reader

Word Count: 2882

Requested: by @clffrd for spooky!sos 2019

Trigger Warnings: violence/zombies/apocalypse/fainting/brief references to death

A/N: Effy, this concept ended me! I hope you enjoy this 💖

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It wasn’t much, but it was safe. That had been Michael’s view on his little storm shelter since the day he’d claimed it as his own. It’d only been a couple of months post-apocalypse when he’d stumbled across ‘his’ abandoned farmland.

The farm itself had already been destroyed when he’d stumbled across it but the little bunker was all he’d needed anyway. Throughout the year that followed the outbreak, Michael had fashioned the little storm shelter into something resembling a home. He’d filled it with essential supplies and weapons as well as few little comforting touches such as a couple of posters of games and movies he’d used to love.

Michael had always been somewhat of a ‘lone wolf’. He’d become estranged from his family long before the flesh eating disease destroyed the vast majority of humanity. He’d never been that good at making friends either, therefore his lack of human contact since the apocalypse, was nothing new to him.

Much to his dismay; a few months after Michael had claimed his bunker, a little group of survivors had set up camp just a couple of miles away. Their hulking vehicles and sprawling barricades ruined his view of the lake and he hated knowing that a bunch of strangers were so close to him and his little patch of land.

They’d rolled past the farm in their convoy of beaten up old camper vans about six months after the virus had hit. Michael had half hoped they’d all keep going but they’d deemed this particular patch of countryside too good to leave.

He couldn’t blame them really. The clear streams and the huge lake, the sweeping hills and easy access to a bunch of little towns (which were still the best places to find certain types of supplies), all less than a day’s hike away, made this a pretty good place to call home these days.

Despite all of his reservations about the campers, Michael had decided to introduce himself very early on and make sure that they understood his boundaries. To his utter amazement, the other survivors had respected his wishes without hesitation.

He’d been suspicious at the time, that the group were just biding their time - waiting for him to let his guard down so that they could dispose of him. It’d never happened, though. The worst thing they’d ever done is try to invite him into their ranks, which was just about a forgivable offence in Michael’s opinion.

Having lived alongside them for nearly a year, Michael had sort of grown used to their presence. It was almost comforting to look out over their camp sometimes. He also knew that they checked in on him occasionally, which was quite handy if ever there was bad weather or something that could potentially cause something to block the entrance to his bunker - at least he knew he wouldn’t be trapped in there for too long before someone noticed something was amiss.

The only thing that scared Michael now, was how much he was willing to rely on them. He didn’t want to be tied down to them but he was worried he was heading that way.

To prove that he could still survive when he was entirely alone, Michael decided to take a long hike to a little town further afield than the ones he usually went to when he needed supplies. He knew it was a risk; he hadn’t made this particular journey more than a couple of times. Getting lost was a huge possibility and could easily result in a whole bunch of terrifying consequences.

This was something Michael had to do, though. If he was scared of making this journey, he’d already become too dependent on others.

He managed to push back the niggling doubts that he had as he gathered up his supplies. It was important to travel light for this hike because some of the terrain was nothing short of punishing. A heavy backpack would be more of hinderance than anything else.

After packing just a few food items; his large water flask and a single blanket, Michael grabbed his trusted machete and stepped out of his bunker.

The sun was barely peaking over the horizon when Michael stepped outside and locked up his bunker. The lingering chill from the night before meant that he could see his breath in little wisps in front of him, as he went over his mental checklist.

Once he was sure that he was as prepared as he could possibly be, Michael stored his weapon in his belt and set off towards the woods.

***

You’d fought your way out of hundreds of scrapes and killed countless zombies in your bid for survival thus far. You’d never have imagined that you’d ever need rescuing by a complete stranger.

That’s exactly what’d happened though.

You’d been travelling alone for weeks - ever since the group of survivors you’d been with since the outbreak, had been scattered after a huge attack on the camp you’d built together.

Maybe it was loneliness or perhaps it could have been because of malnutrition or dehydration, but whatever the reason, you’d started making silly mistakes. It was one such error that lead to you becoming trapped in the back of one of the thousands of broken down vehicles littering the highway you were wondering down.

You’d always known you should run and not hide from the undead. Fatigue had started to set into every inch of you, though. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to outrun the corpses tonight. Crawling into the back of a rusting van had seemed like your only option. You’d barricaded the doors as best you could with the few items that had been left in the vehicle.

Of course, the heap of useless metal became surrounded within minutes. The unnatural grunting and the terrifying sound of rotting fingers clawing at the outside of the van would be the last things you heard before you were eaten alive. That was the only conceivable outcome of this situation.

You’d basically accepted your fate by the time you heard something that gave you the tiniest hope of survival. The unmistakable sounds of a living, breathing human being fighting the corpses outside the van reached your ears and you felt relieved tears beginning to sting your eyes.

After a few minutes the noises of fighting stopped and heavy footsteps made their way hesitantly towards the van. Despite your relief at being safe from the zombies now, you knew that there were a lot of people that used their new freedom from law and civilised society for evil purposes.

As the door of the van creaked open you cursed yourself again for getting yourself cornered like this. You were in no position or condition to fight, if this person wanted to hurt you, they wouldn’t have a very difficult job on their hands.

Clutching your weapons out of habit more than anything, you fixed your gaze on the dark figure that emerged through the small gap that your barricade would allow the van doors to make.

“Is someone in there?”

The voice sounded kind of rough like it hadn’t been used much in a long time.

“There’s more corpses nearby, I don’t think it’s safe for you to stay here.” The man explained, keeping his voice low to avoid detection. “If you’re hurt, I can help you but we can’t stay here for long, unless you want to be a zombie snack.”

Trusting this man seemed like your best hope for survival. You also couldn’t deny the fact that you’d missed human company more than you can say.

You inched closer to the doors, pulling aside your barricade just enough to squeeze out of the van.

In the pale moonlight, the man that had saved you looked like some sort of angel. His pale skin and fluffy sandy hair gave him an air of softness that was the total opposite to the toughness suggested by his heavy boots, bloodstained clothes, machete and the stern expression on his handsome face.

“Can you walk?” He asked, as you staggered out onto the road.

Your head was kind of spinning with a weird mix of exhaustion, relief and adrenaline. Still, it was hard not to take in the details of the scene you were faced with. The broken bodies of the zombies that would have certainly killed you a moment ago, lay motionless at the stranger’s feet.

“Just about.” You replied, unable to take your eyes off of the man in front of you. Thank you for helping I...” you faltered, dizziness overwhelming you for moment.

Before you could fully recover, the mysterious man hooked your arm around his neck as he gripped you steadily around the waist. He set of at a speed that you couldn’t quite match in your weakened state.

You weren’t sure how long you were practically carried by the stranger. The ordeal back at the van had drained the last of your energy and you were struggling to remain conscious.

Vaguely aware that the stranger was comforting you with promises of safety and water, you tried your hardest to stay awake.

You failed.

***

Michael took care of you for two whole days. Supplying you with food, water and protection until your strength started to return to you.

He’d discovered a little abandoned cabin in the woods lining the road he’d found you on. Most of the tiny building had been stripped of useful items but a ragged old sofa and some musty blankets had remained. It wasn’t ideal but it’d been enough to keep you relatively comfortable during in your recovery.

Michael had intended upon helping you find another group as soon as you were strong enough to walk again. He’d always helped people that needed it, human decency was the only thing he really had to offer alongside his skills with a machete. That was where his involvement with other people usually ended, though.

Somehow it felt different with you.

From the moment you’d stumbled out of that rusting van, Michael had seen something in you that he’d never noticed in anyone else.

Having been a loner for pretty much as long as he could remember, it was difficult for Michael to place his feelings for you. All that he knew was, the thought of leaving you hurt.

Between your frequent napping, Michael had learnt a lot about you. Besides the things you’d told him verbally, he was good at reading people. He knew by the way you always kept your weapons close that you were a smart fighter. The way you moved as your strength returned, told him that you were a confident person and the definition in your arm and leg muscles showed a degree of physicality that suggested you’d be tough to beat in a fight.

The thing that Michael found most intriguing about you, though, was the way you opened up to him and treated him with warmth as opposed to the cold, suspicion or indifference he was usually met with.

What he didn’t realise was that your reaction to him was entirely out of character. You’d always been notoriously hard to get along with and since the apocalypse, you’d become dangerously suspicious of everyone... Everyone except the pretty green eyed man that had saved your life.

As your third day together dawned, Michael found himself struggling to accept that it was time to start heading back. He knew he had to find you somewhere safe to live, but for the first time in his entire life, the thought of being alone again wasn’t so appealing.

As much as he’d hate to admit it, Michael was enjoying your company. He’d already told you things that he’d never planned on sharing out loud with anyone, let alone someone he’d known for such a short space of time. There was plenty more he wished to discuss with you, too.

“So today’s the day we start moving, huh?” You asked, a nervous tone creeping into your voice. “I bet you’re excited to get rid of me so you can head home, huh?”

Michael wanted to laugh it off but he couldn’t deny the sadness that spread through him at the very thought of not having you around anymore. It was odd to him; feeling so much for someone, especially someone who was still pretty much a stranger to him.

His many conflicting feelings prevented Michael from responding to you. Pretending not to hear you seemed preferable to whatever his answer would be.

When he remained silent, your heart sank a little as you assumed it was his way of confirming your suggestion. You scrambled to your feet and slid your knife into your belt before picking up your trusted baseball bat from the floor near the sofa. “I’m good to go on alone, if you’re that eager to be by yourself again.” You said, a note of steeliness in your tone that betrayed how hurt you felt by the fact he didn’t care for you as much as you’d hoped.

Michael’s eyes snapped up to meet yours, his expression almost frightened. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you travel alone yet.” He replied finally. “I’d rather we stayed together for a bit longer, until you’re back at full strength.”

“Thanks for taking care of me, but I don’t want to be a burden to you anymore.” You explained, that hurt tone in your voice refusing to disappear fully.

“You’re not a burden!” Michael replied, scrambling to his feet before stepping closer to you. “I promised to keep you safe and I won’t feel like I’ve fulfilled that until you’ve found a new home. You just don’t strike me as a wonderer.”

Despite the obvious effort Michael put into choosing words that suggested he was doing this out of a sense of duty, you noticed the hint of sadness in his pretty green eyes and the way his fingers twitched nervously as though he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I think I could survive on my own.” You argue lightly, the doubt that Michael didn’t care for you in some way, dwindling by the second. “Maybe you’ve inspired me... maybe I could be a lone wolf, just like you.”

You’d meant it as a joke, not expecting to deepen the sadness in Michael’s eyes to an almost heartbreaking capacity. He tried to hide it but failed miserably as tears started to threaten to fall down his cheeks.

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” He sniffed, trying to hide his emotion by tilting his face downwards, allowing his long fringe to shield his eyes from you. “I think you’d be better off within a group.”

Against your better judgement, you stepped closer to Michael, reaching up to cradle his cheek gently. There’s a moment of eye contact, so charged with different emotions, that they threatened to overwhelm you. Having an attraction towards someone was a luxury you’d thought had died along aside everything else when the world had ended. It seemed dangerous and almost unnatural to crave someone the way you were starting to crave Michael. “You can admit it if you want me to stay with you, Michael. I’m quite a catch, not bad at fighting either.” You aimed for a humorous tone, giving yourself an out if Michael hated the thought of being with you for longer than he had to be.

Some of the tension leaked out of Michael’s face as he pressed his cheek into your hold, his eyelids sliding shut gently. “You can do better than me.” He replied quietly. “I’m not good with people... I only know how to take care of myself.”

You let out a soft chuckle before placing a lingering kiss to his jaw. “You’ve taken care of me.” You argued. “I wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for you.”

Michael opened his eyes to meet your gaze and there was a split second that you thought he might kiss you but he seemed to second guess himself as his cheeks filled with colour and he took a step away from you. “I have a feeling you’d have found a way out.” He smiled awkwardly. “You seem like the type of person that the world can’t do without these days.”

The simple compliment filled your heart with joy as a smile curled your lips. “You mentioned the little group of survivors that live close to you.” You offer brightly, “do you think they’d take me in?”

Michael shrugged but there was a hopeful glint in his eyes. “I don’t see why not.”

“That’d be the perfect solution, wouldn’t it?” You asked, smirking a tiny bit. “I could come and visit you whenever you wanted...”

“I’d like that.” Michael replied with a genuine smile. “I think it’s about time I started welcoming guests to my little bunker.”

You pouted as you took his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “Not too many guests, I hope... I’d kinda like you to myself sometimes.”

He squeezed your fingers gently to show that he was happy with contact but didn’t acknowledge it in any other way. That didn’t matter, though, it felt right and Michael seemed to agree, that’s all that mattered.

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ineffably-good · 5 years

Text

Fic: Stuck In The Middle With You (1/5)

Note: This story is a challenge that a friend and I came up with to write a time loop story in honor of upcoming Groundhog Day and the film of the same name. We are both trying to finish a loop story by February 2nd! Join us and write your own!

Summary: A month after the apocalyse-that-wasn't, both Crowley and Aziraphale are beyond frustrated that they still haven't moved beyond their impasse of neither of them wanting to make the first move and declare their feelings. Fortunately, Crowley has decided to do something about it.

Go read the full story on AO3!

Chapter 1

It was three weeks after the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, and Crowley woke up aware of two very important things: one, the sun was shining directly in his face, which wasn’t supposed to happen in his dark and gloomy bedroom, and two, he was intensely frustrated with the situation between him and his angel.

He cracked an eye open and took a look around to see what had caused the sunlight problem, and noted that one of his curtain rods has somehow fallen in the night, bringing one side of the dark gray velvet curtains down and allowing the atrocity of morning sunlight to shine in on him at seven thirty in the bloody morning. This was wrong. Crowley preferred to sleep in complete darkness until at least noon. He threw back the black comforter and stomped over to peer at the empty screw holes in the wall, and then snapped it all back in place with a quick round of hellish power. Then, just for effect, he threatened the offending curtain rod with all the curses he could think of if it ever had the temerity to do so again.

That settled, he stalked out to the kitchen to magic himself up a cappuccino and think about his second problem. Namely, Aziraphale.

It had been nearly a month since the events at Tadfield Air Base, since their kidnappings and narrow escape from the respective forces of Above and Below. They were free, independent, on their own side for the first time in millennia. Problem was, Crowley had thought that On Their Own Side would mean an end to six millennia of dithering about whether they did or didn’t have feelings for each other. Because he absolutely did. And he was nearly sure the angel harbored feelings at well. But the angel – despite no longer needing to be afraid – continued to equivocate. He was absolutely, positively, dithering full speed ahead.

Nothing, essentially, had changed.

Sure, they saw each other much more, and they didn’t have to skulk around using their various hidden meeting points around town anymore. They had lunches that turned into dinners and met for breakfast and took walks and managed to spend as much time together as they could – but still, Aziraphale was keeping his distance, emotionally. He kept his hands primly folded and his gazes lowered and his feelings to himself.

It was driving Crowley stark, raving mad. And today, he’d decided, was the day it was going to change, no matter what it took. He’d been researching, watching lots and lots of romantic movies and noting what always brought the leads together in the end. He’d been collating and cross referencing and considering what he’d learned and what he knew about his angel. In the end, he decided, it all came down to one thing: a rival.

With a grim smile, the demon pulled out his phone and began to finalize his plans.

Aziraphale finished his entries in the ledger for the month and put down his fountain pen with a contented sigh. There was nothing quite as satisfying as finishing a ledger and seeing all the neat numbers, handwritten in crisp black ink, marching neatly down the page in their tidy columns. He blew on the ink to ensure it was dry, and then eased the book closed and back onto the top shelf of the desk. Then he sat back and let his mind drift for a moment, and of course, it drifted to the Crowley problem.

Aziraphale was frustrated. It had been nearly a month and the demon seemed no closer than ever to indicating if he had any romantic interest in him or not. Sure they were spending more time together, and they were much less paranoid about being seen together, but so far all of his attempts to signal interest – by feathering his nest, so to speak, making things as comfortable as he could for Crowley, lingering near and batting his eyelashes, leaning in and giving him what he thought of as his special Crowley smile – had fallen short.

He wondered, perhaps, if he had misjudged Crowley’s interest all along. The thought petrified him. The last thing he wanted to do, now that they finally had peace, was to push the demon away by nudging him for a romantic commitment that he had no real interest in. And so he held himself back, watching and waiting, hoping that things might become clear with time.

The bell over the bookshop door jingled and he knew without looking that it was the demon in question.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley called out as he came strolling into the office. “You back here?”

Aziraphale smiled as Crowley flopped down onto the couch. “You look nice today – is that a new shirt?” the angel asked, eyeing the demon closely.

“I do that from time to time,” Crowley said as he settled even further into a sprawl. “Got anything to drink around here?”

Aziraphale gave him one last perusal and headed off to the kitchen to make some tea, adding a good dollop of whiskey to Crowley’s, before heading back and settling down on the other end of the couch.

Crowley took an exploratory sip, grunted appreciatively and then downed half of the cup in a single swallow. “So angel, did you hear that the pub down the street is changing owners again?”

“The good pub or the bad pub?”

“The bad one. Switching hands.”

“Oh really?” Aziraphale said with interest. “Well one can only hope that perhaps there will be a resulting increase in the quality of their –"

He was cut off by the tinkle of the front door yet again. Aziraphale looked up in annoyance.

“Oh good lord,” he said bitterly. “Customers. Did I forget to turn the sign to closed?”

Crowley sat suddenly upright, catching a glimpse of someone through the stacks behind them. “Oh no, angel, that’s not really a customer – this one’s mine. New friend – I invited him to come see the shop.”

As Crowley got up to go greet the newcomer, Aziraphale took a moment to examine the man. Their visitor was younger than them, in his late 20s perhaps, with the moderate, wiry build of someone who worked out regularly. He wore sharply creased, high-end jeans with a button down shirt and a slim cut black blazer. His dark hair was cut short and swept back away from his chiseled face where dark brown eyes looked around, taking the shop in. He was, in a word, quite handsome.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley called as he turned back towards the office, “come meet Kevin.”

Aziraphale plastered on a smile and went over to shake hands with Crowley’s new friend. “Welcome, Kevin,” he said with warmth but a slight tinge of reserve to his voice. “How do you two know each other?”

“Oh, we met at the pub the other night,” Crowley said. “Night you were busy with the taxes, I think. Ended up having a few drinks and it turns out Kevin here has quite a love of books. I told him to drop by and have a look next time he was in Soho.”

Aziraphale made as a good host should and offered his new acquaintance a tour, showing him the highlights of his collection. To his credit, Kevin made intelligent comments and seemed to know his first editions. The angel had to admit he was quite personable.

“Have a seat, I’ll go get some tea,” Aziraphale said, heading off to the back room. He spent a few minutes thinking while he put a tea tray together. It wasn’t like Crowley to invite people around to his shop – he couldn’t think of it happening more than once or twice in the last two hundred years, and when it had, it was usually someone he thought Aziraphale needed to know, not someone he’d been off drinking with. Nonetheless, he told himself, no point in being a ninny about these things; there was no reason Crowley couldn’t make a new friend, and perhaps he was introducing him to Aziraphale so that he’d realize there was nothing to worry about.

When he came back out with the tea, however, he found Crowley and Kevin sitting just a little too close together on the sofa, with Crowley leaning in towards the young man to mumble something in a low voice that made him laugh.

He had, Aziraphale noted, a lovely laugh.

If he put down the tea tray a little too firmly, he was able to play it off as a bit of momentary clumsiness, nothing more.

Aziraphale tried to join in the general conversation and Kevin did make a point of nicely attempting to include him, but he couldn’t help but notice that, mostly, Kevin and Crowley wanted to talk to each other. They were laughing and chatting about various people at the pub and some kind of hilarious hijinks that took place there. They gamely tried to explain it to Aziraphale, but it really turned out to be one of those ‘you-had-to-be-there’ moments.

The angel tuned out a bit and instead sat back and examined them both a little more closely. Was there a bit more of a sparkle in Crowley’s eye than usual? He seemed … almost flushed. Unusually attentive to what the human was saying. From his perch across the room, Aziraphale didn’t see what was so fascinating about Kevin’s conversation. He was funny but not exactly witty. He was attractive, but in an obvious sort of way. He was smart, but not brilliant. Aziraphale sniffed a little in disdain.

And as for Kevin – it was obvious to see that he was quite smitten with the demon next to him. Everything about his body language shouted it – the slight lean, the hand that hovered near his shoulder on the back of the couch, the ready and eager way he laughed at everything Crowley said. The slightly too-long eye contact whenever possible. It was obvious and overblown and he couldn’t believe Crowley was falling for it.

What on earth was going on? Aziraphale eventually excused himself and went to his desk to shuffle papers. Neither of his companions appeared to notice.

After another twenty minutes of conversation, Kevin finally got up to excuse himself.

“I’m co-hosting a party tonight at a flat in Chelsea,” Kevin said. “The owner is an old friend of mine and he’s recently sold the place, so we’re having a farewell bash before he hands it over. You should both come! Be my guests.”

Aziraphale knew Crowley hated parties, so he immediately started formulating a polite refusal for both of them.

“Thank you but I’m not sure if we will be able to –"

“We’d love to,” Crowley said, not even seeming to hear the angel. “See you there.”

He didn’t seem to notice Aziraphale staring at him in surprise.

“Well he seems lovely,” Aziraphale said after the door had shut behind him. “New friend, then?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Crowley said as he walked around restlessly, touching various knick-knacks and removing and replacing various volumes. “He seemed nice. Thought maybe it would be a good time to broaden our circle a little bit. Try out something new.”

Since when do you like nice? Aziraphale thought. Since when do we have a circle?

He couldn’t decide if Crowley was interested in the newcomer himself or if he was trying to set Aziraphale up with him, but either way it appeared to be bad news.

Crowley headed home and pulled out his phone to text Kevin.

Good work, he wrote. I think he’s getting a little jealous. We will up the ante tonight as discussed.

A second later, there was a ding for an incoming message.

You bet boss. What do you want me to do, exactly?

Crowley thought for a moment and then wrote back.

Let’s play it by ear, but definitely include some dancing and maybe a snog or two if the moment seems right.

You got it.

Crowley sprawled down on the couch and snapped his fingers to turn on the television and tried to find a nice sitcom to relax with. A moment later his phone buzzed again.

Wear something cute.

He rolled his eyes. Actors. Always so dramatic.

Go read the rest of chapter one on AO3!

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable idiots #aziraphale x crowley #time loop #crowley is not quite as good of a problem solver as he thinks he is #reversing time #hurt/comfort #angsty fluff #fluffy angst

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writingismyhappytime · 5 years

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Apocalypse

A/N: I found a writing prompt and it had a cool idea, but I feel like this got a lot darker than intended. Please read at own description. There's violence, abuse, depressing topics... basically the prequel to an apocalypse.

You've been seeing the signs for so long now that you're immune to them.

"The apocalypse is coming!," "Repent for your sins!" "We're all going to hell!" "What this guy said," with an arrow pointing. People standing on street corners, waving the posterboards around or handing out pamphlets full of bloodshed and God's condemnation.

You think it's bogus.

The earth has been around for this long, why end now? Sure, everything is kind of bad, but that's what happens. It's bad, then it's better, it's constantly a revolving door between the two. You're not exactly having a great time, you live in a one room apartment in a rather sketchy neighborhood, where you can look outside and see the neighbor across the hall blatantly handing drugs out to his runners.

You try to avoid him at all costs, he makes you uncomfortable and you feel like he's eyeballing you every time you come in contact. You're not going to sell drugs for him, you wouldn't know the first thing about it, although you're sure the money's good. More money would be a blessing in your life right now.

At least you know if you get robbed, they're not going to get anything. Your apartment is sparse, just the bare essentials, you can't afford much else. So unless someone wants to steal the frozen fish sticks out of your freezer, they're going to be disappointed... although honestly they probably would steal your food, it's getting bad out there.

You sit down slowly at your kitchen table, sighing as you prop your chin in your hands. There's a stack of white envelopes you need to open, all telling you how much money you owe. There's the mandatory taxes the government has implemented that you pay monthly for a fee for being in the country, doesn't matter if you were born there or traveled there, everyone pays it. Your rent is due again, just like it is every two weeks, not to mention your medical bills are starting to pile up. You've been trying to pay the least amount possible on them, but the interest is starting to make you think you'll never be able to pay it off. Your ribs were broken a few years ago when you got caught in the middle of a drug deal gone wrong, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but that doesn't mean you get out of paying the bill for the fourteen hours you were in the hospital for it.

Your rent comes first, as always. You need somewhere to live, and anywhere is better than being on the streets at night when the hellish activities start. You suppose you are a little thankful for your drug dealing neighbor across the hall, no one wants to mess with him much so it keeps the worst of the criminals off the floor.

Your rent is due, and then you have to pay the tax, otherwise you end up in jail working it off, and some people never come back from that. You've starved just to pay these bills, rationed your food out, and somehow you've made it this long on your own.

You just have to keep it up.

Your eyes flick to the single window in your apartment as you hears sirens suddenly blaring, but that's nothing new. Every few minutes there's either an ambulance or a police car driving by, but that doesn't mean safety or help is coming. You can never tell if someone is good or bad these days, out to get you, hurt you in some way. You just don't trust anyone, it's the only way to survive.

You used to fantasize you could fall in with some tough crowd that would help keep you safe, you'd become so infamous that everyone would be terrified to offend you. They'd avert their eyes, avoid you if necessary, leave you alone.

It's worse being a female during these times, anyway. Men are such assholes, they think they rule the world, but it's their fault everything is falling apart. The wars, the rationing, the concentration camps for even their own citizens if they didn't pay their dues... it's not a life worth living.

You almost hope the apocalypse does come and just ends all this.

Your stomach rumbles, but you ignore it, slowly reaching for your worn purse and dragging it to you. You need to calculate your bills, figure out how you can wiggle your money around to cover everything. You might have to skimp on food again, but that's alright, you can make it.

Your eyes rise as the lights flicker, and you grimace, hoping the power doesn't go out again. The electric good isn't stable, too many people trying to draw off of it at once, which is why you have a stock of candles. You only use one, and you try to recycle it as much as possible, wax is too expensive to be wasteful.

You stand, heading over to your bedside table where you keep the candles, grabbing it and the small box of matches out. Your bed is pushed against the wall for optimal space, with the single table and lamp beside it with the burned-out bulb. You have two overhead lights, one in the kitchen and one in the closet that's called a bathroom with just a shower and toilet beside each other. The kitchen is small, a refrigerator and stove beside the other with a counter beside it, and then just your table and two chairs. You have a sofa shoved against the wall, and a bookshelf with different books you've found and collected, but that's it.

You doubt anyone, except maybe sketchy drug dealer guy, has a TV, let alone the hookup for it to actually get channels. You figure you're lucky you even have a refrigerator here, this is actually one of the better places to live. You can't imagine how difficult it would be if you had a child you had to feed, or any other family that relied on you.

You hear sirens again, this time closer, as if they're right outside your window. You hold your breath before you creep over to it, brushing the dingy, thin curtain out of the way so you can peep outside. There are at least three cars parked hazardly in the parking lot six stories below, and you wonder what's going on.

Drug bust maybe? No, more than likely someone has been murdered, that seems more likely than the police caring about drugs. People never call them unless there's a dead body involved, and sometimes not even then. It's too much of a hassle.

The cops don't usually visit this side of town anymore, not since the riots a few years ago. Most of the gray buildings outside are damaged, crumbling ruins of their former selves, pieces of them in the street blocking the road. You're not sure how this one made it out so well, considering the destruction all around it, but at least it's stable enough that you can call it home.

Hmph.

Oh well.

You let go of the curtain, returning to your table and setting your candles and matches down beside each other, just in case you need them. You sit down and reluctantly reach for the stack of bills you're going to have to look through, wondering what you're going to give up this month to pay them.

~~~~~~~~

Okay, just dash to the mailbox and back, you can do it. You hesitate in front of your door, knowing all you have to do is make it down to the end of the hallway, drop your bills off, and come back. It's just... well, sketchy drug dealer guy's door is closed, and there's not been any traffic through in a few minutes, so now might be a good opportunity. You don't want to run into anyone, it's too... it scares you.

You hold tightly to the paper in your hands, slowly reaching forward to twist the lock on your door. You usually keep a chair propped beneath it every night, just for extra safety, but you wish there was more you could do to defend yourself. Guns are outlawed, so other then a dull kitchen knife, you have no other way to defend yourself.

It's currently in your coat pocket.

Okay, one, two... three!

You open your door before you can think anymore on it, nervously peering out into the hallway before you close the door behind you and scurry down the scuffed floor. You keep your eyes on the floor, not looking at any of the doors that you pass, hoping no one is looking out. You avoid your neighbors, keep to yourself and don't bother anyone, so they leave you alone as well.

The light above you is flickering, buzzing loudly as it threatens to go out, and you hope it doesn't since it'll never get fixed. You can't imagine how terrifying this hallway would be without any light. If batteries weren't such a luxury, you could invest in a flashlight, but those are hard found now too.

Everyone has hoarded up any resource they can, and the people on the bottom just suffer for it. That's the problem with the whole, "every man for himself," mentality. If everyone stuck together, if they tried, so many issues could be resolved, there would be less suffering.

But humanity is only out for itself, look at what it did to the planet it lives on.

It started with the burning of the rainforests, losing the trees that supplied the very oxygen to half the planet. The factories kept getting more and more, the smog, the population kept growing as birth control became so tightly monitored and frowned upon. No one tried to stop the downhill spiral, or at least those who did were too small to have any effect, no matter how desperate their attempts.

Right now, it's just a waiting game to see which country goes to war next, what's left of them anyway. You figure it'll have to get better again, right? It can't get much worse than how it is now. There's been an unsteady peace too long now, for a few years there's not been any known assassinations of political leaders, no one in the church has died suspiciously that you're aware of, so maybe it's already on the incline.

You've been told you're a hopeless optimist, but what else are you supposed to do? Expecting the worst all the time is depressing, and that doesn't make you think life is worth living. You want to see a better world, somewhere, that if you did have a family, you would want them to be.

You drop your mail off in the box, giving a sigh of relief that you've made it this far with no one noticing you. Your eyes flick down the hallway again, and you make a quick rush for your apartment, keeping your head down.

Your fingers curl in your pockets, the gloves you wear fingerless and thin, but enough to keep you warm. Your jacket is a faded army green with a gray hood, but there's holes in it from wear and tear, you've had it for years. It was your fathers before you, and when he died, you sort of took it, so it's too big for you, but you can't afford a new one. Even now you know you need new boots, the sole is out in one, they're falling apart, but it's all you have, and you're making due.

Many people are worse off than what you are, so you try not to complain.

Okay, just a few more steps, you're at your door! Your nervous fingers twist the knob, but your stomach drops as the door behind you opens. You ignore it, stepping forward hastily, keeping your eyes focused on the interior of your apartment --- you're just not going to look, that's all. The ostrich effect, bury your head in the sand and the scary goes away.

"Hey."

Shit, it's not working.

Your eyes flick over your shoulder anxiously, and you twist, keeping the door between you and the drug dealer standing in the middle of the hallway. You've had to speak to him a few times in the six months you've lived here, you couldn't avoid him forever, but you've kept it brief before scurrying away.

You don't say anything as you look at him, your hand immediately going to your pocket where the small kitchen knife is, shaking fingers curving around the handle. You wonder what he wants, you obviously have nothing for him, maybe he's just being polite? Just saying hello?

No, he has ulterior motives, you can tell by his eyes. They're shifty, scanning you and trying to see what you have in the apartment behind you. You keep the door angled where he can't see anything, not wanting him to get any ideas.

"Haven't run into you in a while," the dealer comments, brushing dark hair out of his eyes. He keeps his long hair in a ponytail at this nape, with a scraggly beard he's trying to grow. You don't like him, he sets you on edge, and you know if anything happens, if he attacks you, you have two choices; let him hurt you, or hurt him, and have to make a run for it. He'll come after you if he doesn't die, and you don't want anyone's blood on your hands --- you just want to be alone!

You shrug your shoulders, keeping your eyes focused on his chest rather than his face. The less eye contact you make, maybe he'll decide to just leave you alone. What is he doing in the hall, anyway? Expecting someone?

You tug nervously on your braid where it falls over your shoulder, wishing he would stop looking at you. His eyes are so soulless, it's as if there's no conscience or kind thought behind them. Your door is inching closer to being shut, and you're probably going to move your entire table against it tonight just for good measure.

"You don't speak much, little mouse. I see you scurrying in and out of your apartment all the time, keeping to yourself. I never see anything with you." he remarks casually, and you tense as he leans against the doorway, inches away from you. "You're all alone, huh?"

You don't answer, but your eyes raise warily, narrowing. You're going to shut the door in his face, you don't want to keep conversing with him. His breath smells like death, a mix between tobacco and something else you don't want to name. You imagine him like a demon stepping out of hell, there's always smoke behind him or coming from beneath his door.

"Shy, huh? We know each other, don't we? We're neighbors," the dealer reminds, his hand suddenly clamping around your door as you go to shut it. Your fingers tighten until they hurt around the handle on your knife, your eyes growing wide as he suddenly shoves, sending your door flying open and you staggering back several feet.

You don't have a chance to react before his long fingers are wrapping around your arms, squeezing your wrists so tightly you gasp in pain, the only weapon you have dropping from your spasming fingers. You only half hear it clatter against the floor as you strain back in a panic, watching helplessly as your door slowly swings closed by itself.

"Let, let go of me!" you shrill, your heart suddenly hammering in your chest. It thumps hard against your ribs, and you suddenly feel like you can't breathe as fear rushes through your veins like ice. "You're hurting me!"

"Shh, it's alright, mouse," the dealer chuckles, and he's dragging you forward despite how hard you strain back, digging your heels into the scratched floor. "I'm not going to hurt you, I just want to talk."

Your hands are tingling, he's holding onto you so tightly it hurts your wrists. Your eyes flick to the knife lying on the floor by the door, wondering if you can get to it, defend yourself somehow. You don't trust him, something bad is going to happen if you don't get away!

"I don't --- let go!" You flail, trying to fight him, but he's a lot bigger than you realized! He stands two full heads above you, looming over you, easily fending you off with a smirk on his lips. He's not worried you're going to be able to defend yourself, he'll do whatever he wants and you know it. "Leave me alone!"

"Don't fight, there's no point. We're just going to have a chat," he says, and suddenly sits you down so forcefully in a kitchen chair the chair groans with the impact, threatening to tilt back. He lets go of your wrists only to clamp his hands on your shoulders, forcing you to stay still.

What can you do!? Your eyes search desperately around you, but the only thing on the table is a candlestick and your checkbook, nothing else. that's the only knife that you have, and you dropped it! You just, when he grabbed you, he squeezed so hard, you couldn't hold onto it!

You try to hunch, to make yourself smaller, squirm out of his grip, but it's like steel! You can't get away, and his grip turns painful the more you struggle.

"Nice place you have here," he says after a moment, glancing around the sparse interior. "You work at the factory, so I know they're not paying you shit. This entire space should be full of things for you to enjoy."

He leans down, and you go rigid as you feel his lips brush your ear, his breath moving errant strands of your hair. "We could come to an arrangement, you and I. I'll pay you a lot more than some honest job you have, you won't have a worry in the world. On a few conditions, of course."

You figured as much, nothing comes for free. You shake your head, not even willing to hear his conditions. You don't want to get involved in anything criminal, not when you know it hurts people. You'll just keep struggling, doing what you're doing, because at least you know your actions aren't causing people to die or to lose themselves to addiction, it's not hurting families. You can sleep at night with how your life is now... at least most of the time.

"Aw, come now, let's not be like that." the dealer clucks, squeezing your shoulders and making you cringe. "You're a pretty girl, doesn't hurt to see what other options life gives you. I can make sure you're comfortable."

"I --- I'm fine," you manage, your eyes focusing on the tears in the knees of your jeans. They're worn through, thin in many places, but that's okay. You're making it, you don't need anyone's help.

"Are you? Look at this place," his fingers slowly brush upwards, and you hold your breath as they curve around your throat; he can probably feel the erratic beats of your heart, know that you're terrified of him. Your palms are damp, and you press them tightly against your thighs, knowing one wrong move and this could be your last night.

You don't want to die, not today, not tomorrow, not any time soon! You haven't worked this hard surviving just to let some trashy drug dealer take you out! You're at least going to fight him, even if he does manage to hurt you.

"I could improve your life," he whispers, tightening his grip just enough to apply pressure, hearing your breathing grow ragged with satisfaction. "Let me use your apartment, hmm? I'm looking to expand, and I can assure you, you'll be protected. No one will touch you when they know you're in league with me."

No, no ---.

"We could have a little empire right out of this building," he continues, your eyes widening as his other hand draws suggestively down your arm, brushing against your waist. Your big jacket suddenly doesn't offer enough protection, you feel like you're suffocating! Your hands rise of their own accord, curling around his wrist and trying to get him to let go of you. "Well, I will, but you'll be around. You know I've been watching you for a while, little mouse. You come and go for work and come straight home. Where's the fun in that?"

"S-stop!" You flinch as his grip tightens against your throat, his dirty fingers digging into your skin until it hurts! You struggle, but he's stronger than you, dilated eyes seeming to enjoy your distress. His hand is flat against your stomach now, holding you still, and spots are starting to appear in front of your eyes.

"I'm giving you a wonderful offer. You shouldn't refuse. Tony down the hall did, and now he's moved out." his voice hardens just enough where you know if you refuse again, he's going to do something terrible to you. You feel hot tears building in your ears as his fingers curl around your thigh, but you refuse to let them fall, to let him see you cry!

It shouldn't be like this! This is your apartment, you live here! He has no right to be in here, threatening you like this, touching you at all! The world is only this terrible because people have let it get this way, but that doesn't mean you deserve to be in this position!

You can't just --- just let him do this!

You thrash wildly against his grip, suddenly digging your heels hard into the floor and throwing your weight back as best you can, hearing him curse as the back of the chair rams hard into his abdomen. He lets go of you in surprise as he staggers back, and you barely have time to inhale sharply before you're moving.

You make a mad dash for the door, barely managing to snag the knife out of the floor before he's grabbing your braid and jerking, causing you to shriek in surprise as he drags you back to him, cursing loudly.

You flail behind you desperately with the knife, feeling it connect a few times but nothing damaging. He lets go of you when you finally get his arm, shredding the material of his shirt sleeve. He hisses in pain as you whip around, your hand shaking as you hold the knife up between the two of you, breathing hard.

Every root on your head hurts! You've never had someone manhandle you like that, and you never want it to happen again! Your wrists, your throat, your hair --- it all hurts! How can one person cause so much pain to another and not even care?

Maybe this world should burn after all.

"Stay away from me," you rasp, your voice rough but firm. "Don't you ever touch me again!"

"Oh, so you do have some fire in you," your dealer snorts, inspecting the wound on his arm before ignoring it. "I like women better that way. Do you really think you'll make it out of this building? They'll stop you in the hall if I give the order."

Well, you're really gonna give it your best to get out, this man can go fuck himself.

You glare at him as you back towards your door, keeping your focus on him until you bump into it. Your hand flails behind you, finally closing on the knob, and your attention only disappears from him for a split second as you try to open it, finding the knob is twisted awkwardly.

You hear the creak of the floorboard as he lunges at you, the only preparation you have. You turn in surprise, and dodge --- mainly you just duck, your knees hitting the floor hard as you attempt to crawl away. He grabs the back of your jacket, wrenching so hard you slide back against the wood below. You kick at him desperately, slashing frantically with the knife in front of you, trying to keep him away.

"Get off of me!" You gasp, managing to cut him again, finally seeming to make him lose his temper. The man throws himself forward, expertly grabbing your arm and maneuvering the knife out of your grip as if he's done this a thousand times. He straddles your waist, and you feel like you're smothering from the weight, the scent of his smoke-clad clothing making your nose burn.

"Get off! Let go of me!" You scream at him, knowing that even if your neighbors can hear they won't come to your rescue. No one has any decency these days, they don't care if you yell for help, beg for it, you're on your own. If you don't kill him, he's going to kill you, all because he wants your apartment! It's not even anything personal against you, you haven't slighted him in any way, you've done nothing wrong!

His hands close around your throat again, this time squeezing immediately and so hard all you can do is give a soft gasp. You try to thrash your body, throw yourself side to side, scratch, claw, dig your nails into his flesh, but he doesn't let go!

He's choking you, your heart throwing itself wildly in your chest, everything starting to become hard to focus on. It's painful, your lungs are burning for air, and you're hitting his arms as hard as you can to no avail.

Is this really how you're going to die? Some disgusting drug dealer choking you to death over space? You don't want to die, not like this, not at all! You have to make him let go, he has to stop, he has, --- he has to die!

You smash your hands into his chest so forcefully the man's eyes widen, and he lets go of you as he's thrown back, landing hard on his side as he slides across your floor. You inhale sharply, coughing as you scramble to your knees, unable to keep your balance. You're weaving on your feet, falling hard into your wall and knocking the photos into the floor. You're so afraid, he's going to be right behind you, after you, you're afraid to look but you have too!

Your eyes flick behind you in fear, only --- the man isn't moving. His back is to you where he lies on the floor, arms held at awkward angles that can't be comfortable.

Your trembling hand presses against your throat, finding every breath is hard to take, you can barely stand to swallow. You stare at where he lies, wondering if he's faking it, if he's trying to draw you close so he can hurt you again. You're not going to fall for it, you're not going near him.

But... but why isn't he moving? You can't tell if he's breathing or not, but you know you couldn't have hit him that hard. Why did he let go? Why did he look so surprised?

You hesitate, but... well, he's between you and the door.

You have to get out of here.

You slowly edge forward, keeping your back flat against the wall as you get closer and closer. You tilt your head a little, your messy braid falling forward as you try to see his face.

His eyes are open, but he's staring vacantly at the wall, and his chest... is it not moving? If he's faking it, he's doing very well, he reminds you of a corpse.

You flinch as you accidentally bump his foot, but it doesn't seem to affect him, he just... lies there.

Is he --- is he dead?

Your hand closes over your mouth in horror, staring at the corpse of the man who attacked you. You don't see blood anyway, he didn't fall on the knife, how is he dead!? This makes no sense! You've never hurt anyone, you couldn't have killed him!

Oh, no! Oh, no, no, no!

What are you going to do with a dead body!? He's twice your size, you don't even know if you could drag him back to his apartment and pretend nothing happened! For all you know, his gang might come looking for his murderer, or someone worse might move next door!

You jerk as your door suddenly opens, swinging wide slowly and hitting the wall. You hold you breath as someone steps inside, your eyes widening in terror.

Could this day get any worse!?

The tall, skinny man gazes at the dead body before him, and you notice he's dressed in a black suit, looking completely out of place. His black hair is smoothed back against his skull, silver studs jutting out of his ears like horns. His face is slightly pointed, and there's black heavily circling his eyes, making him seem as if he's staring at you from the abyss.

He slowly turns his head to look at you, his hands casually slipped into his suit pockets. You've never seen a suit so black, so smooth that you don't even notice the seams. You can see a white kerchief tucked neatly in the pocket on his chest, and there's some kind of wording beneath it too small for your exhausted eyes to read.

He turns his body to face yours, and his lips draw into an absent smile. "There you are. I've been looking for you everywhere."

What?

You stare at him, not able to say a word as he reaches inside his jacket, pulling out something dark and tossing it in your direction. You catch it reflexively, realizing it's a black t shirt, the softest you've ever felt.

You hold it between your hands, realizing there's writing on the pocket of it.

Death.

"Well, we should get going. Your horse is waiting for you outside," the tall man says, brown eyes ghosting over the injuries he can visibly see. "When we arrive at the house, we'll tidy you up. Come along, Death."

Wait, you're death?

"Who --- who are you?" You manage to whisper, unable to talk any louder.

"Oh, how rude of me. I'm Apocalypse. You're Death, clearly by this corpse you touched. I can explain everything later, but --- oh, you're fainting. Lovely."

You don't even remember hitting the floor.

#apocalypse #end of the world #apocalypse story #miw #well sort of #havent really got there yet

26 notes · View notes

violints · 5 years

Text

STUDY : VANYA & POWERS .

* 01 . CAUSE .

vanya’s powers are intrinsically connected to sound. to be more specific : the types of sounds that set off her powers are generally repetitive, high - volume, and / or high - pitched. she fixates on these sounds in a very physical way : the sounds seem to pinball around inside of her, growing in intensity as they do, until it is physically painful to keep them in and she has to let her power out. her powers are specifically a conversion of sound to energy — noise goes in, goes through the filter that is vanya, and comes out as telekinetic force.

the screech of a kettle will almost always set off vanya’s powers ( as both a high - pitched and long - lasting sound & a ptsd trigger, though she doesn’t know the connection that has to her childhood ). if she’s afraid enough to hear her own heart beating in her ears, there’s a near - guarantee an explosion of power will follow. people yelling at her is likely to set her off. repetitive music. her own music practice, if she becomes too engrossed in her violin playing.

the second piece of vanya’s powers is the emotional aspect. her powers are at their most intense when she is in distress, be that fear or panic or anger or grief. they don’t activate in catastrophic ways when she’s feeling positively, though something like the joyful nerves of a first kiss, for example, may make them appear in less noticeable forms. the emotion is equally important to the sound, if not moreso : hearing a repetitive sound when she’s in a neutral or happy state isn’t likely to cause more than a few objects rattling, but panicking without a clear sound to focus on will almost without fail cause her powers to go haywire. it’s easy enough for her mind to pick up on sounds to harness while panicking — if nothing else, her own heartbeat fulfills the requirement quite easily.

* 02 . EFFECT, SELF .

i. PHYSICAL. — as i mentioned before, at a certain intensity vanya’s powers are physically painful for her to hold in. she processes sound the same way anyone else does, though her hearing is slightly stronger than the average person’s, but once a sound is inside her and the prerequisites for setting off her powers have been met, it doesn’t simply pass through and leave. it builds up and builds up until it is all she can focus on. it’s a feeling focused mainly in her chest, and feels somewhat like a heart attack if she lets it get far enough.

vanya also finds it very difficult to speak when using her powers. as a child, vanya did not start speaking until she was four years old, after her powers were taken from her, and was selectively mute for much of her childhood. this returns when her powers are intensely active, as the thought of creating any additional sound is often far too much to fathom.

ii. MENTAL. — obviously, the majority of the time vanya is using her powers, her mental state is already fragile. her powers have a tendency to cancel this out, but go a bit too far in doing so. when in full swing of her powers ( aka, when she is in extreme emotional circumstances and extreme sound and has been in powers - mode for more than a few minutes ), she nearly always dissociates. vanya’s prone to dissociation when not using her powers, but it’s almost a given when her powers get to a certain point. she’ll detach almost entirely from what she’s doing and instinct takes over.

emotionally speaking, a mix of her powers & the 25 years she spent with medicinally dulled emotional range ( which, i want to be clear, is not any kind of indictment of medication as a whole; medication is often a really important piece of treating mental health, and i take meds for my depression / anxiety! this is very specifically a case of misused medication, given to her by her father at a far higher dose than she should ever have been on for the express purpose of limiting her emotional range and suppressing her powers ) makes her very emotionally volatile & prone to high - intensity feelings. nothing happens halfway with vanya, especially emotion. so her powers, too, are very volatile and easily set - off.

iii. APPEARANCE. — the more intensely she’s using her powers, the more her appearance changes. she never becomes unrecognizable, this isn’t a full werewolf - esque transformation or anything, but she does become somewhat ethereal / otherworldly / inhuman. the color will leave her eyes first; even at low levels of power - use they’ll pale significantly to a much lighter gray - brown than her usual dark brown, and with anything higher intensity her irises go pure white. her skin will also grow gradually paler with intensity : her powers focus mostly on sound, but they draw from other sources as well, and as sounds and colors are both ( in very simplified and unscientific terms ) waves of energy, her powers will draw from both. in extremely intense situations ( see : concert scene in 1x10 ) her clothing and anything else she’s in physical contact with will also go pure white. when at her most intense, she also glows slightly, as her powers draw on the light around her as well and circle her with a halo of sorts.

essentially : she’s scary. she does not look entirely human when she’s in the full swing of her powers. though her physical attributes remain the same at their base level, it’s very difficult to relate the white violin, as vanya’s known while using her powers publicly, to vanya hargreeves — vanya when not using her powers is shy and small and a little frumpy looking, and vanya when she’s the white violin looks like a terrifying goddess raining retribution on her foes. unless a person knows her extremely well, has done significant research and comparison, or has a powerful knack for connecting this kind of dot, they probably won’t make the connection without being told.

post - unapocalypse, her eyes will flash white at least momentarily with any use of her powers, no matter how minimal. her power is much more prone to activating after it’s been fully unlocked at the concert in 1x10, and the physical impacts come much more quickly. she trains her power to minimize the outward effects ( i’ll get into that in a bit ), but her eyes goin all spooky is a pretty common thing.

* 03 . EFFECT, SURROUNDINGS .

what are the outward impacts of vanya’s power? when unfocused, vanya’s power presents as an outward wave of percussive force. to work our way up in intensity, let’s begin with a low - intensity use of vanya’s power : she’s a little bit panicked, she’s picked up on the tapping of someone’s foot or the drip of a faulty sink, and she isn’t consciously trying to use her power. objects nearby will rattle, almost as if a low - level earthquake has passed through. a lightbulb may shatter for seemingly no reason. plates and mugs may fall off their shelves.

at a higher level but still unfocused, the wave of force grows more intense. rather than simply shaking objects, it’s enough to push people as far back as the room will allow, throwing objects around like very centralized hurricane. vanya is the eye of the storm. everything breakable around her is likely to shatter, and she has a captivating element caused both by her physical appearance and her power itself — it’s difficult to look away from vanya when she’s fully engrossed in her power.

when focused, her power is much more akin to typical telepathy : a prime canon example is the scene where leonard dies. focused on one target in particular, vanya’s powers grow much more specific — knives flying towards a person, throats slit, etc. in my verses where vanya is actively using her powers to harm people ( vigilante and etc ), this is her primary mode.

* 05 . CONTROL, POST - CONCERT .

when we see vanya using her powers in canon, it’s at a very novice state : she’s just discovered she even has powers and has absolutely zero control over how they appear. after the apocalypse is narrowly avoided, vanya is afraid to even go near her powers for weeks, but inevitably that fear only makes them act out more, so the need to train them is eventually understood. the most effective way of controlling her powers is to work on her emotional state first and foremost. vanya returns to strategies she learned in therapy ( it would be smart for her to begin seeing a therapist again, but it’s a little difficult to explain you’re having trouble coping with nearly having ended the world, and the existence of superpowers is so limited in the tua world that it isn’t as if there’s therapists trained to deal with powered patients, so she tries to cope on her own instead to varying degrees of success ). she learns to remove herself from situations that are setting off her anxiety, and practices breathing exercises. the more she attempts to gain control over her own emotional state, the more control she has over her powers — eventually, even when she’s feeling a certain way, she can minimize or entirely cancel out whatever effect her powers would have had.

( of course, her progress is fairly rocky at first. she will often wake up from nightmares to find every light or mirror or picture frame in her room has been shattered. she does not pick her violin up again until she is fairly confident in the control she has over herself, about six months post - concert. she’s very, very afraid of the thought of accidentally hurting anyone she cares about. )

she is good at minimizing her powers when she doesn’t want them to cause trouble, but the reverse is also true : her skill extends to activating her powers when she needs them, consciously allowing her mind to seek out the sounds around her and consciously tapping into her emotions. it’s still in progress, of course, but activating her powers consciously is much easier than suppressing them, and she can nearly always summon them up when she needs them.

* 06 . BONUS : WEATHER MANIPULATION .

y’all know how diego can breathe underwater completely separately from his ability to curve thrown objects? or how klaus can levitate, in addition to his ghost stuff? vanya’s got a main course of sound - based telekinesis and a side order of weather manipulation. interestingly, this power is much less suppressed by her medication : whatever emotions are intense enough to get past the threshold of her meds have a direct impact on the world around her, in the form of weather. this isn’t something she can control. picture less storm of the x - men and more when she’s sad it sometimes starts raining a little bit, but not consistently enough for her to even notice that she is causing it. those who are very close to her and spend enough time with her in varying emotional states to notice these patterns might pick up on it happening.

#*　　𝄞 .　　your soul is blowing apart　　⁄　　‟　study .　„#2K WORDS OF POWERS META BABEY #lmk if theres anything i missed here or any questions yall have !!

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fyrapartnersearch · 5 years

Text

eye-catching title ;

Once again, I’m AJ! Lookin’ for a couple of different things, mostly similar to my last ad. We love a (mostly) one trick pony!

For original settings: apocalyptic (zombie, disease, extinction event, whatever), sci-fi (futuristic, space-faring, space opera), fantasy (high, low, medieval, urban), supernatural (fantasy, urban, sci-fi, literally anything). For fandom universes: Percy Jackson, Pokemon, and Fallout.

Gonna run through my basic info and then onto the particulars. 💕

⥽ About Me ; ⥼

• Name/Age ; AJ! So close to 22 I can taste it. One more month…

• Timezone ; CST! I don’t mind time differences, this is just so you know my general schedule.

• Length ; Truly varies to the point where sticking an average on it is difficult to do. 3-5 minimum I guess? I can go with that as an average if you prefer multi-paragraph style or write novella.

• Reply rate ; Varies depending on whether we’re doing multi-paragraph or novella. I can respond anywhere from every day to every other day or a few times a week to weekly depending on the writing style of the RP and my schedule.

• OOC ; I like getting to know my partners and sharing enthusiasm over our ideas and characters. Nothing hits quite like mutual investment! I’m ditch-friendly but don’t ditch myself, so you can expect communication. I’m not picky if I don’t get the same from you, though. I’ve been around the block enough to know it happens.

• Contact ; Strictly email for OOC and roleplay unless we’re using GDocs for the RP itself, no messengers even for OOC. You can find me at [email protected].

⥽ On the lookout for ; ⥼

• Doubling ; Unlike my last post, this isn’t a deal-breaker! I just prefer writing a cast of characters, so this is something that’s more of a bonus. Ideally we’ll double, but I’m down for writing just one character each.

• Will only write MxM or FxF ; MxF’s not my cup of tea (I’m extremely picky with it, fellow gays u know how it is). If we’re writing a cast of characters then I’m fine with having an MxF side couple.

• 18 + ; I’m pretty much 22! Partner’s gotta be 18 +. 20 + ideally. Same with characters, extra bonus points for characters who are 30+. Romance doesn’t die once you hit middle age!

⥽ Yes! ; ⥼

• Smut ; I enjoy writing it, but it’s not a deal-breaker if you’d rather fade to black. All characters will obviously be adults. I expect versatile characters in bed by default, that way we’ve got an even route for playing roles in bed. Admittedly this shifts a bit depending on the character I write, but a HUGE no on anyone who comes in guns blazing off the bat with how they only write bottoms.

• Face claims ; Spent a huge chunk of my roleplaying years on tumblr (it was very over-the-top and flowery and weirdly formatted and grossly difficult to read, I know I know), so having a face for characters stuck with me. If you don’t have any of your own and want good resources to find a face, I’ve got some recommended sites I can throw at ya! Had a previous partner who had a character sheet format that I use now that’s simple but looks nice! Nyx if you’re out there don’t come for me for copping your format.

• Depth & growth ; Not a fan of one-dimensional characters or characters who act the same from beginning to end! People change with experiences and the people around them, so this is to be expected. ESPECIALLY when doubling with a cast. I loooove complicated characters growing together.

• Plotting & Worldbuilding ; *For original settings/worlds! I’m not picky with this if we’re working with a canon setting, so if that’s what you’re looking for, we can skip this section. I run into loooads of folks who say they do this when they really don’t. We’re writing an entire world together, so there’s some degree of effort involved! I need specifics to use as a start-off point for the roleplay and a general outline for where the story’s going. RPs that are just random, spur of the moment with writing as we go on tend to burn out REALLY quickly for me. I know not a lot of people are into this, so I’m sorry about that.

⥽ No! ; ⥼

• Underage characters ; Total given that there will be NO sexual themes with underage characters, but in general as well! I only write adults. 20 +.

• Single paragraphs ; I’m not too picky with a lot of length a lot of the time, I just don’t mesh well with people who don’t write more than that. Go ham. I like my responses meaty!

• Limits ; Abuse, nonconsensual/sexual assault, pedophilia, incest (includes step-relations, adopted relations, and that figurative like if one character essentially raised another or they were raised as family), weird age gaps, BDSM, any kind of master/slave or dom/sub dynamics.

As for the goods, I’ve laid ‘em all out for you here! Keep in mind that while all of these are fun on their own, I’m definitely the type of writer who’s into mixing and matching. Sci-fi apocalypse? Fantasy apocalypse? Fantasy supernatural stuff? Sci-fi fantasy? Sci-fi supernatural stuff? Supernatural apocalypse? Period settings? Literally whatever you could think of, I’ll give it a whirl. The particulars down below are just to get the ball rolling and catch some interest. Hit me up with whatever you’d like!

APOCALYPSE: My bread and butter! Tense, harrowing, and especially gut-punching when it comes to how close people become to survive together in quiet moments of a world they used to know. I’m a big fan of zombies, so that’s my loose preference. I loved Black Summer on Netflix – the earlier episodes, at least, as well as The Last of Us. That’s the kind of vibe I favor with zombies/zombie-like creatures. But, ofc, an apocalypse can be anything! I love writing different takes on the genre since there’s so much to cover. Extinction event, pandemic, impact event, monsters/beasts, man-made, whatever. The more creative the apocalyptic setting, the better, so I’d love to bounce some ideas back and forth. Not too into a nuclear apocalypse setting, since that overlaps a lot with Fallout down below.

SCI-FI: Sci-fi’s a bit tricky since it encompasses so many different takes, so I’m clearing the air to say anything’s good. Futuristic, space travel, time travel, space opera, AI, apocalyptic, cyberpunk – if it works in sci-fi, it works for me.

FANTASY: High fantasy, low fantasy, medieval fantasy, urban fantasy, whatever. Love dragons, love magic, love weird fantasy flora, definitely love the classic prince/princess x knight or commoner schtick. You want prophecies? I’m game. You want elves? I’m game. You want steampunk? I’m game. You want none of that and wanna do something else? I’m game, baby. The possibilities are endless.

SUPERNATURAL/PARANORMAL: Vampires and werewolves and demons, oh my! Can’t go wrong with horror, especially can’t go wrong with comedy-horror. I’m more of the type to prefer humans and supernatural beings together in a ragtag duo type of way as opposed to two supernatural beings, but anything’s cool in my book. Medieval/fantasy setting for a dark fairytale vibe, urban/modern supernatural beings slinking in the shadows outside of the human eye, supernatural sci-fi stuff, mysteries and danger lurking around every corner? Seriously, it’s a great genre! Any and everything is fantastic. I’ve got a loose concept of demons/the Underworld I’d like to get into since I’m struggling with the worldbuilding of it, so applying all that to a roleplay to give it a whirl sounds like a great way to work out the kinks. Plus, c’mon. Paranormal romance. What’s not to love there?

PERCY JACKSON: I haven’t ever roleplaying this verse before, so this is completely new grounds for me. I’ve seen some fun takes on it, though! Scoured older ads but haven’t reached out to anyone because the posting time’s pretty old, but a couple ideas I’ve skimmed through sound fun. HP got a period take on it, so why not put that spin on PJ with a period setting rather than in modern times? Or just a regular modern setting. Y’know, keep it classy, keep it sexy, keep it fun! I’m definitely focused on life outside of camp, since all the characters will be adults. Life’s supposed to suck for demigods, so let’s get into that.

POKEMON: Leaning a little more on the Detective Pikachu take, since it was fun to see a less anime/game-esque take on the pokemon world. The almost neo-noir style was sooooo cool, so I’ve got my sights set on leaning maybe a little more into the noir sensibilities and themes as an homage to the blending of genres between Pokemon and noir. So a lot of themes of alienation, mystery, ambiguity, things along those lines. Definitely a weird mix with Pokemon but I think it can be fun.

FALLOUT: Gonna be real with you guys, I’m a total newbie to Fallout and have only played F3 because it was the only game I found in my family storage for Xbox 360 and I don’t have enough money to get a gaming PC/Laptop to play the other games. I’m watching playthroughs, though! Dipping my toes in the water, so to speak. I’m into it! It’s a fun franchise from what I’ve played and seen so far, so I’d love to write OCs in this verse.

#oc rp #multiple paragraph #long term #email #pokemon rp #smut rp #submission

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allakinwande · 6 years

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This is an excerpt from a piece I never finished,... mabey I should.

It’s stlouis, it’s August,... and it’s hot. I was between jobs and had unfortunately become familiar with the local food pantries in the war torn north side st.louis local. It was hot. August in the hustle city is always the muggiest, it’s hot. Agitated to a frenzied movement like insects fueled by the sun, the people move about. It’s hot, but the crisp air of the now defunct Martins market cooled my heels.

My dread at the though of stepping back out into the thick, smoldering, skin licking humidifier of the Midwest summer homestretch was fading quickly.

It was something, I couldn’t see it but the feeling began to grow. Slowly. It smelled, felt, familiar. I felt this faint energy, on my stroll trough the infernic heat wave towards Martins Market. It buzzed from porches, corners and back yard barbecues,....

It felt like I was in the opening scene of a bad zombie apocalypse movie. almost everyone around me was becoming infected. And I was one of the last people to realize that shit was hitting the proverbial fan! The Murmur in the small four isled corner store of ghetto fare, pickled pigs feet at the butchers counter that no one ever seemed to cop, the limited beer selection and over priced unsung essentials like mayonnaise and canned goods was buzzing.

If a person was not stabbing at their phone with a look of disbelief, then others where strolling in a daze. “Man fuck dis shit Cuu!”

cracked a voice from the back. I couldn’t see him, but it’s safe to say that Montez was pretty upset.

But what was it? My iPhone was useless with no service for the past two plus months! What was happening!? Is it a missile launch? Did ET finally make contact? Was Tupac back?!

As I write this in 2019, my reflections on the chain of events that unfolded on that hellish August day in 2014 and other unanswered questions in similar places and like circumstances are not funny at all.

The murder of mike brown illuminated the walls of a long darkened cave thought to be mythical. But the reality stretches further into our future than its insidious birth from the past if were not careful.

#mike brown #stlouis #stl #ferguson #darren seals #blacklivesmatter #blm #history #black man

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radiojamming · 6 years

Note

Bunker ending Rook is terrified of spending their days with Jospeh, and can’t stop crying about the death of their friends, but Jospeh (tries to) make them feel better?

joseph comes in with hot cocoa and the deputy bats it off the table like a pissed off cat.

- - -

Monotony was a bitch. Rook knew there were dozens of articles for subjects like psychology and sociology that dealt with people contained in places like the bunker; tiny, confined spaces with nothing to look at but the same walls, and no one to speak to except the same person. The latter point was charitable, because Rook went out of their way to resolutely not speak to Joseph Seed if they didn’t have to. That was the most powerful punishment they could think to inflict outside of outright killing the man. And that wouldn’t do, considering how much longer they expected to be confined to the bunker. No, the greater punishment was not speaking to a man who spoke too much, too often, with so much righteousness and grandeur and that insufferable sense of ‘I told you so’.

Undoubtedly, Joseph understood their tactic almost as soon as it was put into place. And so began a monotonous daily schedule: wake, listen, listen some more, try to swallow down what ever ration meal was closest at hand, listen again, try to find some quiet concrete corner to hide in or stare at the fish tank, eat again, maybe bathe, listen, listen.

And sleep didn’t help. Rook’s nightmares took on shades of burning forests, blood-stained and warped steel, and broken glass. Screams echoed in the hollows of their skull, keeping them wide-eyed in the strange dimness of the bunker, only to listen to Joseph praying, or his steady, even breaths like he didn’t have a care in the world when he slept.

(Unlikely. Rook knew he dreamt of his siblings and his followers. He called out to them enough in his sleep. But it was easier to pretend he didn’t care at all.)

Weeks and months wore on like this, separated in their own monotony by steady ticks of red marker on a calendar that meant very little. To Rook, every day only heightened the fact that they were trapped like a rodent in a cage, their only companion being the man who orchestrated an apocalypse, and outside of direct physical contact, had essentially murdered every friend they had.

Sometimes, when the concrete walls and painted steel doors warped in their delirium, they could see Hudson’s blood under his nails, and Pratt’s as a streak on his face. Shadows shifted and trembled, and Joseph’s cold eyes stared Rook down the same way he had stared down Whitehorse and Burke and everyone else that he had taken from them. He wouldn’t kill Rook, though. The whispers Rook heard from him at night confirmed that over and over.

“Not tonight, Lord,” he would say into his fists, hunched over the edge of his bed in with the illusion of a man repenting. (As if he would. As if he had anything to be sorry for.) “They’re all I have.”

That scared Rook more than anything.

- - -

Screams woke Rook up. Loud, panicked, high, desperate screams. Their eyes shot open, only to flinch away from the sight of two wide blue eyes staring back at them. All at once, the feeling of searing heat filled their throat, and all too belatedly, Rook realized that the screams were their own.

Vaguely, through the mists in their head, they knew they had been dreaming again. Flames licked the edges of their consciousness, reminding them of pickup trucks wrapped around trees, skulls broken open and spilled on dashboards and against windows, and then tattoo-stained skin flush against their own, and whispers of a promise. Together. We will go together.

Hands found the sides of Rook’s face, warm and reassuring like the perfect mimic of a fatherly gesture. Calloused thumbs ran along their cheekbones, under their eyes, wiping away hot streaks of tears. Joseph shushed them, pressing his forehead against theirs, turning his head back and forth slowly like the nuzzle of an overly-affectionate cat. Still dazed from the dream, Rook didn’t know how to react, or if they had the wherewithal to react at all.

“It was just a dream, child,” Joseph said, deceptively soft and calm.

No. No, it wasn’t just a dream. The screech of buckling metal and the sound of dozens of bones breaking at once was not a dream. Rook wanted to say so, but their lips trembled, tears welling up in their eyes as Joseph filled their space, closing them in a warm human cocoon.

“Do you ever dream about them?” Rook croaked, voice raw and wounded.

Joseph didn’t need to ask for clarification. He never did. He moved his head back just enough to nod, his eyes cast down. “Every night,” he replied. “I see all of them. My brothers, my sister, my children. People from my life before the Voice and my life after.”

Rook momentarily wondered about the before part, but Joseph pressed on, evidently satisfied with being given some kind of permission to speak. His eyes rose to look into theirs; so blue, like an echo from two dead brothers who were ash or earth by now.

“I think of what I could have done, how they could have been spared,” he said softly. “But God has always had a plan for me, even if He hasn’t always told me how it would come to pass.”

There was strain in Rook’s throat, beyond the pain of screaming. It hurt in a different way, like pressing on a bruise.

“You didn’t spare Hudson, or Pratt, or Whitehorse,” Rook said in little more than a whisper, choked with tears that had been boiling inside of them for months.

Joseph didn’t flinch, or so much as move a muscle. His hands were still on their face, cradling them like they were a weeping child. To him, they might as well have been.

“The world didn’t spare them,” he said like a correction.

Unwarranted, and unwanted, Rook couldn’t help but think of the other Seeds, each having worn marks–invisible and visible–of falling through system after system. Military, government, foster, rehabilitation, mental health. Each failed them, and led them on a complex walk to the end.

“It didn’t spare your family either,” Rook replied.

This gave Joseph pause. His hands felt like more of a weight, his body like a cage over their own.

Then, as soft as a sigh, “No, it didn’t, Deputy.”

And neither did we, Rook thought.

Joseph led them to their respective edges, and all Rook had to do was come up behind them and give him the last push. Teamwork at its worst, just like the police academy would have wanted and been proud of.

If only Whitehorse could have seen them now.

- - -

Morning might have come, or it could have simply been a shift in the air of the bunker. Whatever it was, Rook woke with eyes full of grit, their throat sore, and a heavy weight on their left side. They turned, just enough to peer through cracked, irritated eyelids to see Joseph curled around them, forehead pressed against their shoulder, eyes flickering underneath bruise-shaded lids.

Dreaming.

Of what, Rook didn’t need to guess.

Rook sighed and looked out at the dimness surrounding them, the gentle reminders of Dutch Roosevelt, the marks of time passing ticked off on scratchpads, the heaps of dirty clothing, and all the signs of a residence more permanent than they had come to accept. Then, with Joseph Seed a warm weight beside them, they fell back asleep, and dreamt of nothing at all.

#far cry 5 #joseph seed #junior deputy #prompt fill #playing with joseph's character now too #hoo boy talk about complexity

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starshipsandsuperheroes · 6 years

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Top 5 DND moments

oh shit I’m putting this under a cut cause it’s probs gonna get long

This isn’t gonna be quotes - I’m gonna tell actual stories, so if anyone’s interested in top 5 quotes, feel free to ask for those, and those will be much shorter because I will not provide context.

Ask me my top 5 anything here!

Ok so, in no particular order

1.) Two Birds, One Stoner - An almost episodic game, masterfully handled by my DM at school. It featured the introduction of a new player, who we met as a pink tiefling bard, just like our current bard. The resemblance was striking and strange, but she seemed interesting, so we let her tag along with us as we went to speak with an old mentor of our Rogue’s about what we suspected was the death of a god. His advice led us to split between two temples in Rome - Bacchus (where both bards, our paladin, our barbarian, and our cleric went) and Artemis (where I, our rogue, and our wizard went). I went to Artemis because she’s my character’s mother (that’s a whole nother story that may appear on this list later? We’ll see I’m still on this one), but our first bard went to Bacchus because his original god was Pan, who we believed was dead. A purple tiefling met him outside the temple, her gold lipstick announcing her as a prostitute. Paxxx (our bard) went with her while the rest of the party found themselves lost in the revelry that is the temple of Bacchus, until Paxxx returned to the main area and retrieved our paladin. Paxxx took drugs given to him by the purple tiefling (Violet) and on the second try, found himself face to face with Bacchus, who told him what was going on - gods were dying and disappearing, and no one had any idea what the cause might be… only that Hades was the prime suspect. He also dropped some other cryptic but important information - that Zeus loves his twins, but they had disappeared; that twins always reunite; that Paxxx should be sure to keep an eye on his “Demi-friends” (me and our paladin). Paxxx snapped back awake, realized that the other pink tiefling we had found was his twin sister (yell heah), immediately filled in our paladin and the purple tiefling on what he had seen and learned, and gathered the party to dash over to the temple of Artemis.

I was there with the rogue and wizard, poking around the temple essentially to see if anyone had had any contact with Artemis without revealing too much about my character’s connection to her (she literally just found out like two weeks or so prior to this that it was even a thing, give her a break). While we were there, I noticed a massive owl watching us from above - and a massive raven. Both came down and landed on my arms when offered, but when they both flew away in opposite directions, I could only track one, and I rolled better to track the raven. We tracked it back to a hooded figure, who was cooing at the bird until it noticed us, and disappeared when we spooked it.

Literally every single thing I’ve told you just now went on to have an incredibly majorly important role in the last game we played before school got out for the summer. It was absolutely buck wild.

2.) Kost - In my other party, DM’ed by my amazing wife, this asshole sat on a plot twist for literal years, and we only found out like, last month. We’re just chilling, minding our own business and trying to escape from prison (as you do) when our gunslinger suddenly realized something based on breadcrumbs of plot that had been dropped, turned to our swashbuckler, and asked for his last name. Our swashbuckler immediately tried to play it cool, but it absolutely did not work, and it turned out that he was the son of a governor that may or may not have had something to do with why we had been thrown in jail in the first place - Govenor Kost. I did start getting the flu as this was happening, so the details are a bit fuzzy, but I had skyped into the session and I almost hucked my laptop across the room it surprised me so much.

3.) “There’s no purple tiefling that works here” - This happened in the same school game (not session) that “Two Birds, One Stoner” did, so DM is here. Remember that purple tiefling that gave our bard drugs and listened in as he recounted all of the incredibly important information he had gotten from Bacchus? Yeah, so, uh, turns out we may be fucked because of that.

To make another very long story short, a series of very chaotic events led to our last game of the year. The library of Alexandria has fallen, and it snowed in Giza as the temples to the Egyptian gods literally shattered around the city (this bit, by the way, gets honorable mention for my favorite moments, because it was narrated beautifully by my DM, as she told it from my character and our paladin’s perspective - two characters that had been raised in Egypt, where snow was a sign of the apocalypse). Gods were falling left and right. But when guards rushed into the Caesar’s palace to inform him that the Temple of Bacchus had fallen, we rushed over there - only to find a literal dracolitch standing atop the rubble, as the hooded figure I had seen with the raven at the Temple of Artemis yelled to it in infernal.

To make a long story short, she was yelling for it to stop, but since my character doesn’t know infernal, I assumed she was evil and tackled her. After a bit of fighting, the Dracolitch literally took five characters down in a single blow, and then disappeared through a portal. Our cleric and bards got everyone back to standing, and we started to help those that worked at the temple out of the rubble. As we were helping them, though, someone made a comment about how we should try and find the purple tiefling Paxxx had met with when we were last here and make sure she was ok. This sounded like a great plan… until the man we were helping up looked at us with a strange expression and said “There’s no purple tiefling that works here.”

4.) The Rats - My wife puts up with so much from us. To be fair to us - none of us had played D&D before. We weren’t exactly sure how things worked… so we summoned some rats to check around dungeon corners for us before we went into rooms and halls and the like. I never pretended to be exceptionally intelligent, I’m just doing my best every damn day.

5.) Delphina - I’ve said before that my character in my school game (This DM) is the daughter of Artemis, but she only found out about it like two or so weeks prior to where we are currently in the game. Maybe three, idk. My point is, she hasn’t had a whole lot of time to adjust, especially since she found out like this:

We had travelled to Giza (the hometown of our dragonborn paladin) in search of our party’s old rogue, Effie, who was played by our DM before she took over for our previous DM. When we got there, we found that someone had been killing non-dragonborns - as Egypt is a largely dragonborn society in this world, this made the pattern very obvious. Our trail to both Effie and the killer had grown cold and we had found a man from my character’s home village that requested our help dealing with a threat, so we left the city for a few days to help them. While we were there, our party picked up a new member - our barbarian, Mara.

When we returned, however, our paladin’s friend was waiting for us with some devastating news - Effie had been found dead, shot through the heart by an arrow. (Crit role fans: the bow that was being used to make these kills was Fenthras, so there were trees growing out of the corpses, which is how they were really linking the kills). Our cleric cast speak with dead on her, and we found out a few things: she had been killed by a cultist who bore the symbol of Artemis, and Effie had been sent to Giza by her patron (Hermes) to protect his niece, the daughter of Artemis - which was, apparently, my character, to the genuine surprise of both her and I. All this cultist knew was that the daughter wasn’t a dragonborn and was from Egypt, hence the pattern. We set up a trap to catch this woman, using me as bait and our new barbarian as a “bounty hunter” figure who would act as if she was turning me in for a reward.

What followed was the most genuinely invested and scared I’ve ever felt during a scene in D&D. Our plan got put into action, and our DM’s interpretation of this cultist (whose name was Delphina) was a rather regal woman with a terrifyingly calm voice. She stared me down for a moment before asking in all-too-gentle of a voice, “Do you know who you mother is, child?” and I legit almost lost my damn mind. It was terrifying and insanely fun and cool. I’d be happy to finish the story if anyone wants to hear it, but it’s already insanely long for this post, so come ask if you’d like to hear the rest.

#oh my god I'm so sorry this got long #they're all great moments though #d&d #anon ask #ask #ask game

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northeasternwind · 6 years

Text

more SI xcom garbage, #2

Wow, this is a lot of fun to write but super boring to read. As compensation I have included a Bonus Bradford chapter that was originally only going to be posted at the end where the other characters react to the ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I may have the order of some events mixed up look at how low-effort this is

There are injuries on your first op, but no deaths, so the mood is bright when the Skyranger returns with the converter in tow. Central smiles and claps you on the back on his way to debrief the troops, and you get the feeling that perfect missions are quite the breath of fresh air around here. Poor Bradford.

You learn that you can still see numerical health and probability values, which is a fucking godsend, and combat still appears to be your-turn-their-turn, although that’s not what the troops remember when you take a peek at their after-action reports later. You’re certain this is one of the easier difficulties, because their aim is much better than it should be (ha ha. ha.), but that also means that when they inevitably miss they’re going to be in much more danger than they would have been otherwise. Overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer…

Anyway, you decide that on the guerilla side of things, living life as a rebel leader isn’t going to be much harder than just playing XCOM. Which is good, because otherwise you’d get everyone fucking killed. But you assume there’s more to this than just the combat, so you head down to the hangar to start getting a feel for What Normal People Are Like Here.

Shen’s enthusiasm is indeed endearing in person, and you instantly decide that you love her as she rushes past. A real person, especially an Asian woman, would not take kindly to being cooed over the way you intend to do to the Senior Command team, but as they are not real you decide you don’t really care as long as they don’t find out. War is hell; may as well find entertainment where you can.

“We’ll be able to get the ship off the ground with this!” she tells you excitedly. You grin, unable to help mirroring her excitement, and watch her wheel the thing away with the help of some of the other staff. She… It’s not hero worship, exactly, but she’s almost as eager to help you as Central is, and you can’t really bear the thought of letting her put so much effort into this war only to find that you are the weak link. So you resolve again to try your best.

You soon discover that you can, in fact, live your life outside of missions if you so choose—you only seem to have “control” during your free time and thank god, because the minutia of commanding is lost on you—but frequently it is much easier to simply let time pass the way you’re used to while playing. Day and night pass before your eyes on the hologlobe, the crew discovers Central’s lack of flight experience, and your trance is only interrupted when Tygan informs you that his research on the weapon mods is completed.

Because you already know what the chip does, of course. Weapon mods are more important and so, for that matter, is armor, which is why you set him to hybrid materials next.

“Commander,” he says evenly, though not without some vexation you think. “I am certain our soldiers appreciate your dedication to their safety in the field. However, given your vegetative state after your rescue and Advent’s penchant for invasive implants, I would recommend that we investigate the technology we extracted from you as soon as possible.”

If this were actually happening to you, you would agree. However, it is not, and you already know that you have nothing to worry about in that regard, so you stick to your guns:

“The chip is next on the agenda. I promise, Tygan.”

Tygan looks unhappy, but he nods. “Of course, Commander. I’ll have a full report available for you as soon as we’re finished.”

You choose to return immediately to the hologlobe. You generally have no memory of traveling from the bridge to research or back again, but instead of jumping right back to what you were doing your awareness instead transitions to walking onto the bridge, as Central speaks with—

Oh. The War of the Chosen DLC is turned on.

“Actually think they might show up,” Central says to himself before turning to you. For a second his expression shifts to one of disapproving concern, and you take a second to wonder what exactly you’ve been doing while passing the time.

Then his expression clears and he gets down to business. “Commander, that was Konstantin Volikov…”

The Skirmishers are adorable and you love them. They would resent that, but you don’t care.

Your only one, of course, is currently in the hands of the Assassin (who has fucking Shadowstep), but you’re pretty confident about your chances of getting him back. Elena petitions Volk for support herself, apparently not wanting to lose the one and only Skirmisher she actually knows to be friendly.

They’re all friendly, perhaps the most so of all three factions. It makes you sad that the reasons no one trusts them essentially boil down to looks and mind control, but there’s really nothing to be done about that. As long as your troops follow your orders, it doesn’t really matter if they trust the Skirmishers or not. After some thought though, you take the intercom and inform the crew that any hazing worse than biting off raw fish heads will be harshly disciplined. You’re not sure how yet, but Bradford will probably figure that out for you.

You actually can’t send out a team to find Mox just at the moment, so you set your men and Betos to locating the Templars first (because Templars with Bladestorm are your favorite units, and if you’re going to live through an alien-zombie apocalypse you’re at least going to have fun damn it) and return to monitoring the Hologlobe.

Next order of business, it turns out, is the first retaliation.

Central’s unrestrained distress and general yelling is much more… alarming in person. You’re not used to a Call of Duty protagonist as openly idealistic as he is, and generally you associate raised voices with danger.

“Commander—!”

“I know. Get a squad ready to—”

He brushes past you and is out the door before you even finish. Poor guy.

The yelling is slightly less endearing when you’re trying to focus on giving orders—despite all the obvious advantages of your Phenomenal Cosmic Powers, it turns out XCOM is still harder when you have to actually, verbally tell your soldiers what to do. If you open your mouth it’ll probably be to say something mean, so you decide to ignore him instead.

You never really realized how much Movie Screaming is just stock audio. Even if you never recognized it, there must be some part of you that can tell that the screaming you’re hearing now isn’t like the sounds you hear in fiction. A shiver runs through your whole body, but the fact that you don’t actually get to see anyone dying is very helpful.

The Faceless are worse. In the game their skin appears more leathery than their description seems to imply, but in person you get to see them in all their slimy, oozing glory. A woman’s face melts, elongating into something from your nightmares, and your hand flies to your mouth as you dry-heave.

“We’ve heard rumors of some kind of new alien infiltration unit,” Central says. “I’m guessing this is it.”

You hastily swallow past the lump in your throat. “That’s gross. Yikes. Ignore it for now, focus on that sectoid first…”

It’s only when the Assassin comes within visual range that you remember that she, in fact, exists. You can’t control whether or not they decide to pay your squad a visit so there’s no point in making the effort to remember.

“That’s the Elders’ Assassin,” Central reminds you unnecessarily, raising his voice at the sight of her.

You purse your lips. If things continue ringing true to the game, the Assassin will be a much bigger problem in combat than her brothers, who mostly piddle around at the edges of the map and do nothing. Well, with Shadowstep you have no way to prepare for her, so you order your soldiers to remain within visual range of each other and ignore Central’s incredulity at your lack of further orders.

You manage to clean up the situation and kill the Assassin with only five civilian casualties, but the entire team is injured and Central looks ready to strangle the Speaker with his bare hands. You do have Faceless corpses for making those sweet, sweet meme beacons, but you promised Tygan you’d let him work on that chip and then you have to get the radio research going. And you’ll probably get distracted by other, shinier research after that, so you doubt you’ll end up capitalizing on this opportunity.

Still, no one is dead. ...None of your people, anyway.

Between the Resistance Ring, the infirmary and the Gorilla Tictacs School you have neither space nor power for the Proving Grounds. Tygan hasn’t recommended it yet, but you know it’s coming and set your only engineer to digging out towards the exposed power coils. She’s a little disgruntled at the less engaging work, but you don’t care.

You keep the soldiers on a rotation, train up the rookies and smash a relay that would have guaranteed ambushes on all your covert ops (no. But you have an awful track record with those, so you tend to think of any risk as being guaranteed). Nothing of note happens until your covert operatives return with a new friend, the location of Templar HQ and directions on how to contact Geist.

“We understand the value of cooperation,” Geist tells you over… well, Skype. “Your reputation preceeds you, Commander— in two months you have accomplished more than the rest of the Resistance has in two decades.”

“I have good staff and a mobile command center,” you say blandly. “Thank you, Geist. We’ll be in touch.”

You are (quietly!) delighted to find that though your Templar… representative? Liaison? is largely inexperienced, they learn very quickly and seem to have a lot of untapped potential. You have every intention of making Geist regret giving them up.

“Commander,” Shen begins next time you head down to Engineering. This whole time there hasn’t been a single combat medikit on the Avenger, and you now have enough dosh to bother rectifying that. “Don’t the Templars seem a little… weird to you?”

“They sure fucking do. But they’re a cult,” you explain. “As long as the Elders don’t give up psionics there is literally no point in deliberately sabotaging us. Only accidentally…”

“That seems a little overconfident to me. You’re really not worried about a single one of the factions?”

“Central will beat Volk to death with his bare hands if he tries something and they both know it. The Skirmishers’ motives are entirely selfish, so like the Templars there’s no point in worrying about betrayal from that corner.” You shrug. “Even if they do sabotage us, there’s little they can take that we can’t do without. Risk-reward.”

Lily shifts her weight onto her other foot. “If you say so, Commander. But promise me you’ll at least remember this conversation?”

“I will,” you tell her, with as much sincerity as you can muster.

You are absolutely not going to remember this conversation.

If it had come from Tygan alone, Bradford may have reevaluated his opinion of the scientist’s sincerity, but Lily was so utterly dedicated to XCOM and so trusting of her father’s word that he was forced to take their concerns seriously.

“Weird?” He frowns. “The Commander’s a little distant, I’ll give you that, but that’s nothing new. Is it grating on you?”

“No, but isn’t it a little strange how…” Lily purses her lips. “How well the Commander has taken all this? They’re not upset about being captured, they’re not creeped out by the Lost, and they don’t really seem all that torn up watching civilians die.”

“We… can’t save them all, Lily. We tried.”

“I am certainly glad the Commander understands the limits of their own capabilities,” Tygan says. “But in conjunction with their blasé attitude towards the aliens and their reluctance to begin research on their own implant—”

“They gave their reasoning for that and I see the logic in it,” Bradford interrupts, something burning in his chest.

“I do as well, and have no argument. We are simply saying that we would expect some measure of… urgency, or concern.”

“They have to keep their mind on the op,” Bradford says. “It was the same during the invasion. There’s nothing wrong with feeling put out about it, but I promise you it’s not because they’re a traitor.”

“That is not in question,” Tygan says. “I merely wonder at the Commander’s composure in the face of such slaughter.”

“Don’t mistake composure for serenity,” Bradford says, more forcefully than he means to. “None of us has any idea what the Commander is thinking.”

“We know,” Lily says earnestly, “but that doesn’t stop it from being creepy. Were they really always like this?”

Bradford swells with indignation, but he didn’t get to live as long as he has by being impulsive: he thinks back to the invasion, to interrogations and new species and deaths, and the first time they’d watched a sectoid commander control one of their operatives…

“Yes, they’ve always been this way,” he says. “But I think it’s just a side-effect of being in command. They’ve always gone out of their way to protect civilians and limit casualties, even at the cost of time or resources.”

Tygan nods. “Yes, that is why I hadn’t said anything. It seems unlikely that the Commander simply doesn’t care for humans and humanity, so I had wondered if perhaps this was a new development—if the aliens had done something to limit the Commander’s emotional capacity, or if I’d damaged it myself when extracting the chip.”

That brings Bradford up short. His grip on the rail in front of him tightens. They wouldn’t dare…

“I doubt it, but it’s not impossible,” he settles on. “Alright, if it’s bothering you both, I’ll keep an eye on them. But you follow orders and come to me before you even think about taking matters into your own hands, am I clear?”

“Yes sir,” they chorus, and that’s that for now.

(Later he will take a deep breath and remind himself that the Commander is not actually synonymous with the Resistance, and that not every word against them is tantamount to treason. But when he looks closer and starts noticing the strange behavior that was obvious to Shen and Tygan from the start, he still does it while worrying for the Commander’s well-being, not humanity’s)

#north writes #BRADFORD HAS A HERO CRUSH BUT I'M ARO/ACE POOR BRADFORD #i have Feelings about how i would probably treat fictional people if this happened to me #i love you guys but also: i have no emotions #SORRY

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theonyxpath · 7 years

Link

I could certainly use some pax right now. Lots of stuff going on and ugh… still feeling kind of yucky, but trying to force whatever this is to get it over with by PAX Unplugged starting this Wednesday (for us). Lots of vitamins and NyQuil! Whoooo!

But even if I’m a walking mess at the con, we’re going to have a great crew there in Booth #650, and doing demos. If you are going, here’s a map for our booth:

And it’s possibly the fever, but watching James Bell do most of the heavy lifting and pulling things together for the Changeling: The Lost 2nd Edition Kickstarter has been kind of strange. Very, very glad to both have someone to take all that over from me and to have him doing it so well and adding some cool elements I never thought of to the mix. But odd to see someone else do what I’ve done for, what?, five years now?

I’m like a ghost over here watching it come together. Whoooooo, James, whoooooo!

Very much looking forward to all your reactions tomorrow at 12 noon EST, Tuesday the 14th, when this Changeling: The Lost 2nd Kickstarter goes live! Here’s a clue: for every thing, there is a ______.

W20 Changing Ways art by Brian LeBlanc

Hey! If you are playing “Santa Paws” this year, may we suggest you pick up some copies of Pugmire for your pack of kiddies? Ask your Friendly Local Game Store to order it now so you get it by the holidays, or go direct and order from Studio2 or Indy Press Revolution (contact info below in the BLURBS! section).

It’s the perfect game to get your family and friends involved in our wacky hobby!

W20 Changing Ways art by William O’Brien

So this is the long form essay. Feel free to hit THE BLURBS! section below!

A few weeks ago, or a few months – the NyQuil, y’know – I posted about our developer focused creative teams and how we are both driven by the teams and have been evolving how those work. Developers are the project leads and for many years we followed the WW-style of having developers that were responsible for the entire game line. They would be “show runners” or “head writers” in other creative industries. Today, I’d like to go back through the dim mists of time to when I first started Onyx Path, and kind of show how our present system got to where we are.

We really have to go back in time a bit further, to the scary and shadowy CCP days. (Don’t worry, they are just memories now, and can’t hurt you).

There were only a few of us still working on tabletop RPGs, and I was more of a cheerleader and advocate than actively working on products, and our freelance pool of developers and writers had shrunk dramatically as the release schedule was reduced to a trickle compared to the three products a week pace of years gone past. Then came our work on what was supposed to be a one-off anniversary RPG book: Vampire: The Masquerade 20th Anniversary Edition.

Eddy Webb and I had convinced the bosses to let us run a “Transmedia” department for CCP based on the success of V20, and we actually had a tabletop RPG release schedule and everything, as well as some projects we were working on for the EVE teams. Because of how we were budgeted, we were actually the only part of the US office making money, as everybody else was part of the spending on the late, lamented, WoD MMO.

So naturally, the Transmedia Group became just a happy memory in the midst of mass-layoffs.

But before I jumped ship in the face of those layoffs to start-up Onyx Path, we had begun to work with a variety of freelance writer and developers again. It was these folks I needed to continue working with for the projects now being created by Onyx Path. Some were experienced from the WW days, some had only developed a couple of books. Eddy had to step back because CCP wanted his full attention on the MMO, so we scrambled to cover the projects we thought he’d develop, and Justin Achilli stepped up for our new V20 books.

In addition, because of our long relationships, I was able to bring Ethan Skemp in on W20, Phil Satyr Brucato in on M20, and Rich Dansky in on Wraith20. The classic developers on their classic lines, was my thinking.

Ethan had to duck out though as he landed a new gig in a different computer game company, and Stew Wilson stepped up. He was the first of the new developers who were actually fans of the old developers for WoD. This sort of “second generation” of developers was already a thing with Exalted 3rd, and CofD (or nWoD as it was known then) with Rose Bailey and others developing, and it seemed both natural and cool that we had this sort of legacy of creators working together.

My expectation was that the newbies would learn from the experienced devs the ins and out of our processes, which were almost identical to those used at old WW, which worked well for us to a large extent, but I was wrong. The diffused nature of our virtual office was, and is, such that institutional knowledge doesn’t get passed on at all in the way I was used to from the WW days. Once we realized this, Rose began to help out our devs, and eventually her position was solidified into that of Development Producer – a term we stole from the computer game biz for a person that helps enable creators to succeed with their projects.

With Rose in place to help, we were able to better respond when our “elder” developers began to step back or away for various reasons. New developers were brought in, but now we had the experience and the leeway to select our devs with an idea for how they might be able to fit into the way we do things and who are more in tune with our company ethos. We were also able to draw from a much wider and varied pool than the folks I knew at the beginning of Onyx Path, and that variety of input, backgrounds, and experiences makes for richer projects.

We’re not perfect, and we’ve brought on developers that we needed to stop hiring for projects for a variety of reasons. We do try and offer assistance before that decision to stop working with them is made, but there are just some situations we can’t salvage.

So you see, the entire history of project creation at Onyx Path is one of evolution.

Together with ideas from our developers and writers, we expanded and redefined our developer and writer payment rates and schedules early this year, and are experimenting with “floating” experienced developers who can assist the other devs in a hands-on way. Generally, we’re finding that the lone developer in the ivory tower with their cadre of writers may not be the best set-up for creating tabletop RPGs these days.

For some projects, a vision developer and a production developer may be a valid method of dividing the essential duties, for others perhaps a triad of a spearheading logistics developer and two devs freed up to focus on the writers, or maybe a systems dev and a setting dev, and sometimes having one developer is just the right set-up. We’re now at the point of being able to look at a project and try and provide a creative solution to creating it, rather than being stuck with looking for the one solution from a decade, or more, ago that will work for every problem now.

Ultimately, we’ve been extraordinarily lucky to work with some absolutely amazing folks and we want our internal processes and project set-ups to enable them to shine, so we keep evolving them in ways we hope will make that happen. We’re not at the destination, we’re still on the journey. Still on the path.

Many Worlds. One Path.

BLURBS!

KICKSTARTER:

Right now, Tuesday the 14th at noon EST is looking good! If things get weird, we’ll fall back to Thursday the 16th. See you there!

Next, our Trinity Continuum Kickstarter will start in early January – since it makes no sense to start a KS mid-December!

ON SALE NOW:

As we try and find ways to enable our community to more easily play our games, the Onyx Dice Rolling App is now live! Here are the links for the Apple and Android versions:

http://ift.tt/2zjnD0c

http://ift.tt/2hhT5Fk

This morning there were already multiple tweaks applied in the Update that were brought about by feedback from our community! Thanks, folks!

ON AMAZON AND BARNES & NOBLE:

We’re delighted to announce the opening of our ebook stores on Amazon and Barnes & Noble! You can now read our fiction from the comfort and convenience of your Kindle (from Amazon) and Nook (from Barnes & Noble). Our initial selection includes these fiction anthologies:

Vampire: The Masquerade: The Endless Ages Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: Rites of Renown: When Will You Rage II (Kindle, Nook)

Mage: The Ascension: Truth Beyond Paradox (Kindle, Nook)

Chronicles of Darkness: The God-Machine Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Mummy: The Curse: Curse of the Blue Nile (Kindle, Nook)

Beast: The Primordial: The Primordial Feast Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

And here are six more fiction books:

Vampire: The Masquerade: Of Predators and Prey: The Hunters Hunted II Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: The Poison Tree (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: Songs of the Sun and Moon: Tales of the Changing Breeds (Kindle, Nook)

Vampire: The Requiem: The Strix Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Forsaken: The Idigam Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Mage: The Awakening: The Fallen World Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Andand six more more:

Vampire: The Masquerade: The Beast Within Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Werewolf: The Apocalypse: W20 Cookbook (Kindle, Nook)

Exalted: Tales from the Age of Sorrows (Kindle, Nook)

Chronicles of Darkness: Tales of the Dark Eras (Kindle, Nook)

Promethean: The Created: The Firestorm Chronicle Anthology (Kindle, Nook)

Demon: The Descent: Demon: Interface (Kindle, Nook)

And even more books are now on Amazon and the Nook store!:

Scarred Lands: Death in the Walled Warren (Kindle, Nook)

V20 Dark Ages: Cainite Conspiracies (Kindle, Nook)

Chronicles of Darkness: Strangeness in the Proportion (Kindle, Nook)

Vampire: The Requiem: Silent Knife (Kindle, Nook)

Mummy: The Curse: Dawn of Heresies (Kindle, Nook)

OUR SALES PARTNERS:

We’re working with Studio2 to get Pugmire out into stores, as well as to individuals through their online store. You can pick up the traditionally printed main book, the Screen, and the official Pugmire dice through our friends there!

http://ift.tt/2w0aaEW

Looking for our Deluxe or Prestige Edition books? Here’s the link to the press release we put out about how Onyx Path is now selling through Indie Press Revolution: http://ift.tt/1ZlTT6z

You can now order wave 2 of our Deluxe and Prestige print overrun books, including Deluxe Mage 20th Anniversary, and Deluxe V20 Dark Ages! And Screens…so many Screens!

And you can now order Pugmire: the book, the screen, and the dice! http://ift.tt/1pOsnTb

DRIVETHRURPG.COM:

Appearing on Wednesday on DriveThruRPG is the Advance PDF for Arms of the Chosen for Exalted 3rd Edition!

Take up the panoply of legendary heroes and lost ages, and awaken the world-shaking might of their Evocations. Before the dawn of time, the Exalted wielded god-metal blades to cast down the makers of the universe. In an ancient epoch of forgotten glories, Creation’s greatest artificers forged unimaginable wonders and miracle-machines.

Now, in the Age of Sorrows, kingdoms go to war over potent artifacts, scavenger princes risk everything to uncover relics of the past, and the Exalted forge great arms and armor on the anvil of legend. These treasures are yours to master.

Discover the mystical power of the five magical materials and the secrets of creating your own Evocations. Wield weapons of fabled might and don the armor of mythic heroes, making their puissance your own. Claim Creation’s wonders: the miraculous tools of the Chosen, living automatons, flying machines, hearthstones, and more. And unleash the mighty warstriders, titanic god-engines of conquest and devastation, to once more shake Creation with their footfalls.

NOW on DriveThruCards, the Pugmire Card Set One (Trick, Condition, and Initiative Cards) are helpful visual aids for your Pugmire gaming fun! http://ift.tt/2zC3kuY

Enhance your Pugmire game with this set of player aid cards! These helpful visual aids make your Pugmire gaming easier! Lay them out next to your sheet for ease of reference during play, and to keep track of what you can do, what affects your character, and when they get to act.

Set one contains one card each of every trick in the game, as well as every condition. It also has a set of initiative cards to track player and non-player character actions during combat. Sets two and three (covering artisan and shepherd spells) coming soon!

What dark secrets do the eldest vampires hold? Find out in Thousand Years of Night for Vampire: The Requiem! PDF and physical book PoD versions available on DriveThruRPG.com. http://ift.tt/2sV8lZR

You may think that with a multitude of people coming, going, dying and running away, we’d be tired, done, or ready to give up. Instead, I find myself restless, looking for the next thing. There’s always a next thing, and I for one am not yet ready to die.

– Elder Kincaid, Daeva Crone

This book includes:

• Detailed instructions on creating elder vampires, including how to base chronicles around them

• A look into the lives of elders, how they spend their nights, who they work with, and why including their roles in both their clans and covenants

• New Devotions, Merits, and Rituals for elder vampires

• The kinds of creatures that pose a threat to elder vampires, including Inamorata, Lamia, Sons of Phobos, a new elder conspiracy, and more!

Is a life of running and hiding a life worth living? We say yes. There’s always something between the running and the hiding, and those moments of grace make it all worthwhile.

The Huntsmen Chronicle Anthology is a perfect companion piece to Changeling: The Lost, 2nd Edition. These stories spin tales of the Lost, of those abducted and enslaved by fairies. Those who escaped, but whose captors will stop at nothing to find them. These fairies summon forth the Huntsmen, primordial hunters who understand nothing but pursuit and capture. The Huntsmen are unstoppable monsters, and the Lost can only look to each other for respite, rare comfort, and rarer trust.

The Hedge has parted and you can get the Advance PDF of The Huntsmen Chronicle Fiction Anthology for Changeling: The Lost 2nd Edition at DTRPG.com! http://ift.tt/2z4uZnU

For over 20 years, the artists of Mage: The Ascension have conjured spirits and constructed hypertech that can transform reality on a whim.

Within this retrospective, those artists and images depict the ever-changing face of magick. From the debut edition to the twenty-first century, this book explores the people behind the pictures, the process of putting such books together, the story behind Mage’s Tarot iconography, and more.

Featuring the artwork of Echo Chernik, Joshua Gabriel Timbrook, Michael Gaydos, Mark Jackson, Leif Jones, Michael Kaluta, Steve Prescott, Alex Sheikman, Christopher Shy…and many, many more.

The Art of Mage: 20 Years and More has manifested on DTRPG in PDF and physical book PoD versions! Here: http://ift.tt/2iwP1Rr

A Land Where Legends Walk

Drawing enthusiastically on Greek mythology, the revised and re-imagined Scarred Lands nonetheless retains its place as a modern fantasy RPG setting. This is a world shaped by gods and monsters, and only the greatest of heroes can expect to be counted among them. The most populous continent of Scarn, Ghelspad, plays host to vast unexplored regions, hides unsolved riddles from ancient cultures, and taunts adventures with the promise of undiscovered riches hidden among the ruins of older civilizations.

Yet the myths of the Scarred Lands are relatively recent events. The effects of the Titanswar still ripple through the world, and the heroines and villains of many of these stories are part of living memory, if not still living.

The Award-Winning Fantasy Setting Returns

Scarred Lands has been a favorite fantasy setting since the release of the Creature Collection for the d20 System in 2000. In subsequent years, over 40 titles were published for Scarred Lands, making it one of the most fully supported fantasy RPG settings ever and the premiere product line of Sword & Sorcery Studios.

Available in both 5th Edition and Pathfinder compatible versions! PDF and PoD formats available NOW!

http://ift.tt/2fEO9YJ

http://ift.tt/2fELqyx

Heroes, Villains, and Others in Between!

This tome is a revision of the original book by the same title, originally published for use with 3rd edition rules for the world’s most popular roleplaying game. In this revised edition of The Wise & the Wicked, all the same characters have returned (and we’ve added some new ones, too!), for use with the Scarred Lands Player’s Guide.

Champions of Gods and Titans

The Wise & the Wicked introduces a rogue’s gallery of the Scarred Lands’ movers and shakers, characters who carry out the will of the gods or the fallen titans. These non-player characters can be friends, enemies, or simply convenient resources for the player characters in your game.

Inside, find villains such as King Virduk of Calastia, the Black Dragon, along with his wife, the beautiful (and black-hearted) Queen Geleeda; the Grand Vizier to King Virduk, the wicked warrior-mage Anteas; and the sinister general of Virduk’s northern armies, Archduke Traviak the Steel-Fisted. At the other end of the spectrum, meet the gracious Lady Ariniel, the Swan Knight, champion of Madriel; Kimer the Shatterer, bearer of the Earth Sword of Scarn and tenacious foe of the titanspawn of the north; and King Thain the Just, the Aleking, ruler of Burok Torn. And many others beside!

Here you’ll find a fascinating compendium of characters from the Scarred Lands, but easily transported into campaigns set elsewhere. In addition, find multiple appendices full of new magic items and artifacts, class archetypes and prestige classes, new feats, new creatures and races, and more.

Available in Pathfinder and 5th Edition versions! PDF and PoD formats available NOW!

http://ift.tt/2zdVHXS

http://ift.tt/2zeEpd8

From out of the Dreaming, the C20 Jumpstart: Yours To Keep PDF and PoD are now live on DTRPG.com: http://ift.tt/2fmlF3s

There is magic hiding everywhere. You just need to know where to look.

You are a changeling, a faerie soul hiding in a mortal body, fighting the chill of Nightmares and the oppressive weight of Banality with the pure creative power of Glamour. You have lived many lives, but the story of this one? It outshines them all.

In this hidden world, knights in steel and leather clash sword to sword outside the homecoming dance, dragons fly between skyscrapers, and fantastic castles rise from suburban lawns. A world of magic, intrigue, and adventure, and now that your fae side has awakened, it’s your world too.

“Yours to Keep” includes a rules and setting overview, as well as pre-generated characters and a complete introductory scenario for Changeling: The Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition. It’s perfect for jumpstarting a new Changeling chronicle!

CONVENTIONS!

This month, the Onyx Path crew including Rich, Matt, Lisa, Neall, Dixie, and Meghan will be at Booth #650 at the first ever PAX Unplugged in Philadelphia, November 17-19. http://ift.tt/2kBzmfv

In December, Matthew Dawkins, Dave Brookshaw, and Eddy Webb are going to be at Dragonmeet in London. https://www.dragonmeet.co.uk/ Expect plenty of playful class warfare as these three mix it up, represent Onyx Path, and generally redefine the term “hooligans”.

Planning ahead for 2018, we’re heading back to Midwinter Game Convention in Milwaukee, January 11-14, where we’re going to be bringing a big crew of many of your favorite Onyx Path designers and we’ll be running demos and making some special announcements at the show! http://midwintergamingconvention.com

And now, the new project status updates!

DEVELOPMENT STATUS FROM ROLLICKING ROSE (projects in bold have changed status since last week):

First Draft (The first phase of a project that is about the work being done by writers, not dev prep)

M20 Gods and Monsters (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

M20 Book of the Fallen (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

C20 Novel (Jackie Cassada) (Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition)

Deviant: The Renegades (Deviant: The Renegades)

Redlines

Hunter: the Vigil 2e core (Hunter: the Vigil 2nd Edition)

They Came From Beneath the Sea! Rulebook (TCFBtS!)

Second Draft

WoD Ghost Hunters (World of Darkness)

Tales of Good Dogs – Pugmire Fiction Anthology (Pugmire)

Exalted 3rd Novel by Matt Forbeck (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Night Horrors: The Tormented (Promethean: The Created 2nd Edition)

Monarchies of Mau (Monarchies of Mau)

Development

Signs of Sorcery (Mage: the Awakening Second Edition)

SL Ring of Spiragos (Pathfinder – Scarred Lands 2nd Edition)

Ring of Spiragos (5e – Scarred Lands 2nd Edition)

Scion: Origin (Scion 2nd Edition)

Scion: Hero (Scion 2nd Edition)

Trinity Continuum Core Rulebook (The Trinity Continuum)

Trinity Continuum: Aeon Rulebook (The Trinity Continuum)

GtS Geist 2e core (Geist: the Sin-Eaters Second Edition)

WW Manuscript Approval:

Editing:

Ex Novel 2 (Aaron Rosenberg) (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Pugmire Pan’s Guide for New Pioneers (Pugmire)

Dragon-Blooded (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Kithbook Boggans (Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition)

The Realm (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Post-Editing Development:

Changeling: the Lost 2nd Edition, featuring the Huntsmen Chronicle (Changeling: the Lost 2nd Edition)

Indexing:

ART DIRECTION FROM MIRTHFUL MIKE:

In Art Direction

Cavaliers of Mars – Art meeting this Tuesday for sure!

Ex3 Monthly Stuff

Scion Origins

Ring of Spiragos

Changeling: the Lost 2 – Graphics done- KS ready.

Trinity Continuum – Splats for core book with Mr Jones, sending multi-cover single piece of artwork to illustrator.

Pugmire – Vinsen’s Tomb

Ex3 Dragon Blooded

Marketing Stuff

In Layout

Beast PG

Pugmire/Scarred Lands Community Content

Pugmire Artisan Cards

Book of Freeholds

DtD Enemy Action – Going to Josh

Proofing

Wraith 20 – Second layout proof being worked on by designer.

Pentex Indoctrination Manual – Second proof.

VtR Half Damned – Second proof.

W20 Changing Ways – First proof.

At Press

Beckett Screen – Shipped to shipper.

Scarred Land PGs & Wise and the Wicked PF & 5e – With US customs. PDF and PoD physical book versions on sale at DTRPG.

Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition (Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition) – Deluxe Edition cover and Screen in the works. Waiting for Deluxe cover proofs.

V20DA Jumpstart – PoD proofs ordered.

Prince’s Gambit – Print and Play version updated. Getting specs from printer.

M20 Cookbook – Layout waiting for errata.

CtL Huntsmen Chronicle Anthology – Layout waiting for errata.

V20 Beckett’s Jyhad Diary– Finishing Backer PDF errata gathering.

C20 Ready Made Characters – Out to backers.

Ex 3 Arms of the Chosen – Advance PDF on sale Weds on DTRPG.

TODAY’S REASON TO CELEBRATE: Over the weekend in the US we had the Veterans’ Day holiday. Thank you all for your service.

#Onyx Path Publishing

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acealistair · 7 years

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My D&D Characters

Here are relatively short summaries of all my characters from the campaigns I’m in! It’s worth noting that all these take place in different worlds with different lore.

This got long, of course, so it’s under the cut! :’D If anyone wants to come to my inbox and ask me questions about any of these guys, I’d be totally thrilled!!

Nimue (half-elf thief rogue) Nim, for short. She has a last name but she (and the other members of the party) doesn’t know it yet. She’s quiet and contemplative, as well as a bit fragile (it’s a joke that Nim has to almost die every single battle now, like. PLS), but she can do terrifying amounts of damage with her enchanted shortswords.

In the world of this campaign, humanity consists of nomadic tribes wandering the plains/tundra, and they are almost completely isolated from all other races. Being a half-elf... Nim is an anomaly.

Her human mother left her clan for about a year, returning with the infant that was Nim. She was only able to raise her daughter until she was about five years old before she died of illness, leaving Nim to a clan that wanted nothing to do with her. While no one actively tried to harm her, no one offered to help take care of the child either. After years of living off the scraps of the other clan members, Nim ran away and turned to a life of thievery, traveling from tribe to tribe and stealing what she needed to survive. She became an adventurer on accident after a chance encounter with a human ranger named Baxter. The rest of the adventuring party consists of Reave, a warforged fighter; Vasanti, a naga barbarian; Borin, a dwarf drunken master; Feebris, a star elf bard; and Pastor Dave, a human cleric of Kord. (This is essentially our murder hobo campaign lmao)

Cosette DuPont (human archfey warlock) The sixth and youngest child of the fabulously wealthy DuPont family. Although Cosette is considered the most beautiful of all her siblings, her interests are not centered around finding a suitable spouse; she has a passion for scholarly pursuits and adventure. Having the finest tutors and the support of her older brother Remy, Cosette was able to study anything she liked to her heart’s content. She is the personification of “bubbly” -- she’s extremely cheerful, for the most part, and while she’s highly intelligent when it comes to book-smarts, she’s quite naive and a bit too trusting for her own good.

When she was about 16, Cosette received an ancient book as a present from her parents. Upon studying it, she discovered the instructions for a fey ritual within it that granted her verbal (not visual) contact with a mysterious faery. After talking to the faery for a few months, it offered her great power and, more importantly, knowledge, upon signing a contract. Cosette, believing she was friends with the faery and that it chose her because it liked her, excitedly agreed. She gained the powers of a warlock with the Pact of the Tome, though she does not know that “warlock” is the term.

Remy was the first one she told about her powers. He advised her to not tell their parents, concerned they would not approve, but also helped to convince their parents to send Cosette on an adventure to travel the land with a special (magical) tutor. With this tutor, she learned to use her powers more effectively. Towards the end of their journey, Cosette was separated from her tutor in a foreign town and some con men took advantage of her sweet nature, framing her for a crime she didn’t commit. She was thrown in jail, and breaking out started her true adventuring. Her party consists of Artemis, a tiefling (possibly succubus) bard; Delphine, a human paladin of Trithereon; Osmin, a gnome wizard; Orilo, a goliath barbarian (and companion to Osmin); and Solari, a druid that we don’t actually know the race of yet. Solari pretended to be Remy’s cat for 5 years. Cosette is still dealing with that. Another member who recently dipped out was Quinn, a human gunslinger.

Lirena (Lyrie) Aldavir (half-elf swashbuckler rogue) In this particular world, there are five female goddesses that compose the main pantheon. Two of these goddesses are Fiela and Lirena, who are twins, and are two sides of a coin: Fiela is the goddess of justice and righteousness, while Lirena is the goddess of evil and the underworld. Because of this, twins in this land are seen as omens, the nature of which depends on the appearances of the children. Lyrie (pronounced “leary”) and her sister Fie were unfortunate to not only be born as twins, but with Lyrie having dark, nearly black hair and Fie having light, nearly white hair. Their mother, Lady Dylena Aldavir, was horrified, and was determined to not let such a scandal escape the walls of her estate. Blaming her husband for the existence of the darker-haired twin, he was cast out completely. Lyrie was practically tossed into the stables -- not to die, though, as she could be useful once she was grown. The stablemaster, a man named Patrick who was loyal to the former lord, vowed to take care of the baby. The other twin was accepted by Dylena because of her resemblance to Fiela. Obviously, the twins were named after which goddess they resembled.

Patrick’s wife, Ofell, became Fie’s handmaiden. It quickly became apparent that Dylena was... not the best mother (she’s essentially Mother Gothel from Tangled, not allowing Fie to leave the mansion except on escorted trips and just as manipulative). While Ofell couldn’t do anything directly, she coordinated with Patrick so that Fie and Lyrie were able to see each other regularly and knew they were sisters. Fie was trained to become a cleric of Fiela, the goddess.

Once she was old enough, Lyrie began sneaking out into town, around the docks specifically. Although it was within her power to run away for good, she didn’t, because she wouldn’t leave Fie behind. In town she met a semi-famous pirate named Giselle, who took a liking to Lyrie and began teaching her how to use a rapier and utilize her natural charm to its full potential. Lyrie’s goal is to take Fie away from their abusive mother and live out their lives in peace somewhere far, far away.

Lyrie is usually seen as level-headed and practical, but she is actually highly motivated by her emotions beneath the cool exterior. She’s a bit cynical about the world and most people, and usually sticks to a policy of minding her own business. Once she makes friends, though, she trusts them implicitly.

Around when the twins turned 21, Fie received a vision from her goddess, telling her to venture out on a quest and to take Lyrie with her. Dylena allowed this because Fie’s contact with a goddess gave house Aldavir a good reputation. Lyrie found it unsettling that a goddess would single her out, but she agreed to go because 1) Fie is very sheltered and would certainly need protecting out in the real world and 2) it was a chance to enact her plan to escape.

Soon it became clear that Lyrie wasn’t going to be able to get away with running away: the apocalypse is on the horizon, and if that’s not taken care of first, Lyrie won’t be alive to live out her dream. The other members of the party are Cassian, an eldritch knight who is also the queen’s right-hand guard; Odahviig, a dragonborn monk (who really loves cheese); and Finnan, a halfling bard who also happens to have been recently turned into a revenant.

Cyril (high elf life cleric)

Cyril has a last name, but he’s purposefully keeping it a secret. He’s extremely compassionate and his mission is to help anyone and everyone who isn’t evil, mainly by way of his healing powers. He has a bit of a murky past -- he comes from a background of wealth, but that’s all people can really gather about him; he has made a point of abandoning whatever that life was in favor of traveling the world and spreading kindness, promoting peace, and providing aid. Cyril is atoning for something, but outside of his homeland, only he knows exactly what for. (I gotta keep it a secret from the other party members, some of who are here on Tumblr, so I can’t elaborate too much!)

We haven’t done too many sessions for this campaign, but so far we’ve been trapped in a super duper creepy labyrinth and are trying to find our way out. The other members of Cyril’s party are Borgak, a half-orc barbarian mercenary; Priscilla, a doll-like warforged bard; and Stannis, a human artificer (who helped create Priscilla and therefore claims she’s his daughter and is extremely protective of her).

#I FINALLY FINISHED THIS AHHH SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG #cosette dupont #lyrie aldavir #/#//#cyril #nimue

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