#vega itzel(oc)

[lostinalem]

Itzel (FNV OC) - Identity Reveals

the first person to discover Itzel's true identity after leaving Goodsprings is Boone. they're set up for the night in an abandoned house after a particularly dicey day fighting the Legion, and she has a terrible nightmare. waking up in full panic mode, she doesn't think to hide her face before tripping over her own feet out the door and collapsing against a nearby car. Boone finds her in no time, and that's when he sees her full face for the first time, illuminated by the moonlight. a kid. he calls her by the name he knows her by—Pilar—but that's her mom's name, an alias she took on to hide her identity. she tells Boone her real name through gasping breaths, and hearing him say it back grounds her to reality. when she calms down, she makes him promise to not tell. it would make her life a million times harder if anyone else knew.

Arcade is the second to know. it comes down to a medical necessity—he normally wouldn't just rip her goggles and bandana off, but the hit she takes to the head leaves her crumpled on the floor and Arcade knows better than to delay treatment for something like privacy. her goggles are toast, anyway, cracked beyond seeing anything through them. when he takes them off, he expects to see someone his age, but the face below him is anything but that. a young girl, certainly no more than 16 years old. that makes him pause. she's not the first kid he's seen fighting, but it doesn't make it any easier to stomach. he makes his distaste known to Boone as he treats the wound, though he knows nothing he says means anything. when she wakes up, Boone lets her borrow his sunglasses until they find a replacement for her.

[siren-darkocean]

Flufftober 2024

Prompt 9 of 31

Prompt - "Don't do that!" - "But...."

Fandom - 2012!TMNT & Bayonetta (this AU was made around the time I got introduced to Bayonetta from playing 3 so sue me)

Rating - Teen and Up

Ship - Slight OC/Leo if you squint

Extra: Hamato Series AU (Aka my 2012!TMNT fic rewrite of the show not only replacing April and her dad with an Latina OC and her fam (because they did April's character so bad I didn't know if I could fix her maybe one day I'll write a remaster with April fixing her) and adding Bayonetta), Spanish/Espanol (probably horrible because I used Google Translate since I don't speak Spanish and my mom who knows it is asleep)

Vega sighed as she lowered the spoon and rubbed her temples with her free hand while muttering some colorful Spanish words under her breath. “Mikey keeps trying to steal the Empanadas I made for myself despite I told him no, docenas de veces!” The Latina Umbran Apprentice explained as Mikey tried to make a reach for the empanadas.

Vega immediately noticed and hit his three-finger hand with the wooden spoon yelling “¡Te dije que no hicieras eso!” Vega yelled at him in Spanish. “But Vega...” Mikey gave the Latina girl his biggest puppy dog eyes he could muster.

Alright after these I got like three, four or five remaining until I'm back on schedule-ish on @flufftober prompts

LET'S GOOOO!

[lostinalem]

Pilar's Final Return (FNV OC) (1.5k)

Stars scatter across the inky black sky like tiny specks of silver, and Hallie sits curled up on the windowsill in her shared room, arms draped over her bent knees. She often finds herself here late at night, counting the stars and making up stories about the worlds they might shelter. It’s her escape, a brief reprieve from the chaos of everyday survival. In these quiet hours, the silence wraps around her like a comforting blanket, easing the weight of her thoughts and letting her feel free.

Tonight, however, her peace doesn’t last long.

An unusual movement catches her eye—a figure stumbling down the path toward their small cabin in the mountains, swaying uneasily with every step. Itzel squints, leaning closer to the glass. The pale light sharpens the silhouette, and she perks up as she recognizes the figure before her stomach drops in realization

Her mother isn’t supposed to be home for days.

Sliding off the windowsill, her bare feet land silent on the worn wooden floorboards. She glances at her brother Javier, softly snoring in the bed across the room, before carefully opening the bedroom door. 

The house is bathed in faint shadows cast by the low glow of a lantern left burning in the living room. The familiar creak of the front door echoes softly through the cabin, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots dragging heavily over the threshold.

“Pilar? Is that you?” Her father’s voice calls out softly from the living room.

Itzel edges into the hallway, pressing herself against the wall near the living room. Her heart pounds as she listens, watching her parents’ shadows appear and flicker against the opposite wall, distorted by the lantern’s glow. Her mom’s shadow is… wrong, though. Hunched and weak, as though her own bones have turned on her.

“Kurt,” her mother’s voice rasps. It’s weak, strained, and the sound of it sends a chill down Itzel’s spine. “I… I messed up.”

“Pilar? What happened?!” Her father’s shadow rushes forward, tone shifting from confusion to panic as he catches Pilar as she nearly collapses and guides her to the couch.

“The Divide…” Pilar groans. Her breaths come shallow and uneven, her words clipped and short. She clings to her husband as though every breath is too much to bear. “Missiles… codes… I didn’t– I didn’t know–” Her voice cracks, trembling with something deeper than pain.

“The Divide..? Pilar, you–”

“It wasn’t–” she interrupts, “Thought it was just a delivery, like the others. But it wasn’t… It wasn't...” She shakes her head, choking on a dry sob. “The ground shook—split open. The radiation, the storms– I barely... nobody else–”

Itzel finally peaks around the corner, and the sight of her mother hits her like a punch in the stomach. Her leather jacket is shredded, the scorched fabric hanging in tatters. Blood mats her hair and streaks her face, mingling with dirt and sweat. A jagged, raw wound slashes across her side, soaking her shirt with dark crimson. Itzel gasps involuntarily and immediately regrets it. Her mother and father both turn toward her, and Pilar’s pale, blood-streaked face pins Itzel in place.

“Itzel…” Pilar calls softly, her voice tinged with both regret and affection. Itzel steps into the room, her gaze darting between her parents before settling on her mom’s abdomen.

“Mom…” Itzel’s voice is shaky, her words barely audible. “A–Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart,” Pilar says, forcing a faint smile that wavers like a candle in the wind. It’s more grimace than reassurance. “Just… a little banged up.”

“Itzel, go back to bed,” Kurt says firmly, his jaw clenched tight. “Your mom and I need to talk.” His voice carries a protective edge, but Itzel’s feet remain rooted to the floor, her eyes fixed on the blood seeping through Pilar’s shirt.

“Itzel–” Kurt begins again, a sharper edge creeping into his tone, but Pilar lifts a trembling hand to silence him.

“Come here,” Pilar whispers, extending her hand toward her daughter. Her fingers tremble, coated with grime and blood, but Itzel doesn’t hesitate. She crosses the room in a few halting steps, reaching for her mother’s hand.

Pilar’s grip is weak, her calloused fingers barely curling around Itzel’s, but Itzel clings tightly, like letting go might somehow make things worse. She lowers herself carefully onto the couch beside her mother, careful not to bump her injured side or cause her more pain. Up close, Pilar’s condition looks even worse—her face drawn and gaunt, her eyes glassy and clouded with pain, and her skin marred with dozens of small scratches and abrasions.

“Listen to me,” Pilar says, her voice soft but commanding. She reaches up to brush a strand of Itzel’s hair behind her ear, her hand trembling as it lingers against her daughter’s cheek. “You’re strong, Itzel. You’ve always been strong, like me. But now… I need you to be even stronger. For Javier. For your dad.”

“W–what..? You’re going to be okay, right? You can rest, and– and we’ll fix this! I– I have a stimpak somewhere–” Her words tumble out in a desperate rush, her voice rising in panic as she looks down at the gash across her mother’s abdomen. The sight makes her stomach churn, but Pilar’s fingers press lightly against her cheek, guiding Itzel’s gaze back to her own.

“I wish it were that simple, pumpkin,” Pilar says softly. Her faint smile is bittersweet, filled with a sadness too heavy for words. “But I don’t think I’m walking away from this one.”

“No… No!” Itzel argues, tears pricking at her eyes. She grips both of her mother’s hands tightly, as though her sheer determination could change the outcome. “That’s not fair! You– you can’t just give up!”

“I know–” Pilar’s voice cracks as she tries to keep it steady, and her own tears well up, glistening in her pain-filled eyes. “I know it’s not fair, pumpkin. But this is the hand we’ve been dealt.”

Itzel shakes her head violently, tears finally falling down her cheeks. The room feels like it’s closing in around her, her world unraveling piece by piece. Her mother—her guiding light, her whole world, the strongest person she knows—is slipping away right before her eyes, and she can’t do anything to stop it.

“Tell her!” Itzel sobs, turning to her father. Her voice is raw, pleading. “Tell her she’s going to be okay! Tell her she can’t– she can’t leave us!”

Kurt’s face crumples under the weight of her words. His shoulders sag, his expression raw with helplessness. Tears streak down his weathered cheeks as he looks at his wife, his silence louder and heavier than anything he could have said.

Pilar brushes her thumb softly over Itzel’s tear-streaked cheek. The gesture is tender, a faint echo of the countless times she’d comforted her daughter over scraped knees or bad dreams. Now, it felt impossibly heavy, like she was trying to memorize every detail of Itzel’s face while she still could. Itzel searches her mother’s eyes, desperate for a glimmer of hope, but all she finds is quiet resignation.

“I’m so proud of you,” Pilar murmurs, her voice trembling but full of love. She gently pulls Itzel into a hug, her arms weak but still so achingly familiar. “So proud of the young woman you’re becoming. Don’t ever forget that, okay?”

Itzel collapses into her mother’s embrace, clutching at her as if letting go might break her entirely. Her tears soak into the frayed and bloodied remains of Pilar’s jacket. She can feel her mother’s uneven breaths, the faint tremble of her hands as they rest against Hallie’s back. Itzel’s sobs wrack her small frame, and she holds on tighter, as if her sheer will could keep her mother here. After what feels like both an eternity and a fleeting moment, Pilar pulls back. Her face is etched with pain, but her eyes are soft and filled with unwavering love. 

“Now go back to bed, pumpkin,” Pilar says softly, her voice now steady despite its quiet rasp. “Get some rest for me.”

Itzel doesn’t move at first, frozen in place. She doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to turn her back on her mother, as if walking away would make this all real. But Kurt’s gentle hand on her shoulder tugs her out of her paralysis. Reluctantly, she stands, her knees weak and trembling, and lets her dad guide her toward the hallway.

At the doorway, Itzel pauses, turning back one last time. Her heart aches as she sees her mother leaning heavily against the couch, her head resting against its back, her eyes half-closed. The dim light makes her look even paler, more fragile, and Itzel’s chest tightens.

“Goodnight, Mom,” Itzel whispers, her voice trembling but audible.

“Goodnight, pumpkin,” Pilar replies, her voice so soft it’s almost swallowed by the quiet of the room.

And as Itzel walks back to her bed, the stillness of the night feels heavier than ever.