#yeah but anyone can admit its really disheartening to put a part of yourself out into the world only to be met with '2 notes'

[poisonouspastels]

you know its really fun when i post things elsewhere abt my OCs/FCs and people start asking if my post is a meme. makes me feel really good.

[danddymaro]

Death Stranding | Open Heart

Pairing : Higgs monaghan X Reader // Sam Bridges x Reader

First Part: Stay // pt.1

Previous: Sweet  Façade 

Thoughts are italics in quotations = ‘Example’

Flashbacks are in italics = Example

Wordcount:  3704

He’s going by an alias, obviously and I thought I'd do a play of his alias as well.

Little Fact: The name (alias) "Peter Englert" is a combination of the names of theoretical physicists Peter Higgs and François Englert, who together won the 2013 Nobel Prize in Physics for the discovery of the Higgs mechanism.

So Higgs Peters? Just for the sake of keeping his first name.

 Open Heart

She placed a small mug before him, the sweet scent of warm tea gently wafting into his nose as it sat on the surface of the small table. With a small, placid smile he accepted the generous offer, tentatively placing his hand onto the warm cup, watching her sit before him, an identical mug in her hand as she took her place.

" So..." He sounded out, "You're here by yourself, correct?" he asked her, already knowing the answer, but just making conversation with her.

He just loved the sound of her voice, and he wanted to hear it sound forever, furthermore, he absolutely lived for their little moment together, willing to stretch out the vicious storm for weeks if it was necessary, all to have the fortune of seeing her every day.

'If I could spend everyday with you like this...just you and me...I wouldn't miss a beat. 

I wouldn't hesitate to take the chance, '

"Oh yeah," (f/n) replied nodding before taking a small sip, an almost unnoticeable smile overtaking her as she got a taste of her beverage.

“It Get’s lonely, huh?” he said while offering her kind blue eyes, truly feeling sorry for her, because he just knew what it felt like to be disconnected, all in all, he knew what lonely silence was like.

She chuckled wearily before giving him another nod, " Yeah,” She breathed. “It does...but...” She then said, raising her eyes to him, looking certain, “ I've gotten used to it,” She mused, “Well, at least that's what I keep telling myself,” She added with a halfhearted, little chuckle.

“ The thing is though, It's been raining so much…” she sighed, notably disheartened, “ I don't know what's going on, but it seems like there is this dark cloud looming over me,” she admitted, having seen such little sunshine she felt as though she was an unfortunate, little bloom, slowly wilting while left in the darkness.

“If anything this awful weather is what's making things unbearable,” She added with falling shoulders.

Occasionally she’d step out and enjoy the sunlight, but within the last few weeks, it hadn’t been something she had the fortune of enjoying, instead being stuck within the underground home, held hostage within the place she should feel her safest.

"I have noticed that things around here have gotten pretty hectic," he commented,  "Have you been getting supplies?" he asked her, receiving a declining nod,

"No, and truth be told, I'm starting to grow really anxious about it." She responded back, " But as I said, it's been hell around here.” She said with understanding, knowing just why no one else had bothered to come through,

She took a small moment to clear her throat before she seemed to lift in spirits, but only by  a tad bit as she continued , “As I mentioned before, You're actually  the first person to actually make it up here in a long...long time," She admitted, offering him a sweet smile, a little shine to her eyes that made him melt and want to reach out for her.

She seemed to glow, her appreciation seeping through, overruling both her great concern and her lonesome sadness altogether,  “And you have no idea how much I appreciate it,” She added.

" -  I don't really blame anyone for not even bothering to make the trip, " she began to explain, " I mean, this rain won't let up. And I’d hate for anyone to …” stopping herself she shook her head, a tight bit to her lip while her hands that lay over the table balled up, fisted until they became uncomfortably tense, lightly shaking with the force, 

“I’d hate to cause anyone harm, which is why I just couldn't let you go back out there,” She admitted, slightly hanging her head as she confessed to him her reasoning.

All in all, she couldn’t bear to bring another person harm.

‘Oh sweetheart,’ He thought to himself, daring to reach his gloved hand up to hers, covering the shaking fist with his palm. 

At the light touch, she suddenly jumped, looking at him with wide eyes, the young woman having grown startled at being  startled, prolonging her state of surprise.

Retracting his hand, he grimaced, “shit, I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I didn’t mean to,” he said while holding both his hands up, “Please forgive me, I didn’t mean any harm by it, I swear,” he insisted, looking wholeheartedly upset.

Suddenly standing, she shook her head, “ No, no, no,” She repeated, “I’m the one who’s sorry,” She went on while being  embarrassed, her face glowing while she released a small, cute giggle.

“- I know you didn’t mean any harm by it,” She said while still being notably flustered,

‘It’s just its been a really long time since anyone has reached out for me,’ She mused, feeling silly for fidgeting over the harmless contact,

‘You must think I'm such a fool, ‘ She thought to herself, not knowing just how much her sweet, demure nature was affecting him.

“- Anyways, Come on,” She encouraged him, nudging her head to the side, signaling it towards the hall, “ Let me show you where you can stay, I’m sure after a whole day of traveling you want a nice, warm shower, “ She suggested, knowing that if she were in his shoes she’d itch for a warm wash.

“Or maybe some sleep?” She inquired, assuming he must have been tired after traveling up the trail, “In the meantime, while you relax I can make something to eat. '' She told him with a happy, little clap, the offer making him smile gently, taking in how exited she seemed.

‘ Baby girl… with you taking care of me like this… I might just fall more in love,’ he thought to himself, following her as she walked along the small passage, soon reaching a decently sized quarter,

“This is a pretty nice room,” he told her as he walked through the doorway, “ - A little too nice to be lending  it out to just anyone,” he observed, his eyes slowly trailing over the room, finding himself directly gazing at a Synchronization incubator,

. "...Almost As though it already belongs to someone already," he added, feeling somewhat spiteful as he glared at the personalized space.

His mind wandered, knowing she lived alone, and that the only other person who visited was the other Porter.

And he could easily put two and two together,

‘ You're doing too much for him sweetheart.

You’re making me so, so jealous,

Oh you sweet angel…If only you knew how much this hurts me,’ He went on, swallowing down the words, knowing that it wasn’t really her fault.

Because all in all, she wasn’t aware, so how could she know she was hurting him?

“Oh,” she replied back, her pretty smile becoming lukewarm, “ you think so?” she asked, scratching the back of her neck with a rather nervous chuckle, almost like she’d been caught in a white lie.

“ Yeah,” he replied back, eyeing her, watching her every move, every little tick she had, memorizing it all.

“I just have the feeling ;  so does it?” he pressed on, still seeming playful and sweet while he secretly interrogated her, “I don’t want to pry, but I also wouldn’t want to impose,” he went on, justifying himself, playing the part of the perfect, considerate guest.

"-Well, to be perfectly honest, yeah,” she answered him with a little pouty smile, barely recognizable as an actual show of happiness, “... but, I'm pretty sure he's not coming back in a good while, so I don't think he'd mind at all, ” (f/n) said while fluffing the little pillow on the mattress so he could be comfortable.

“Just for the time being...” she murmured.

“- Who’s not coming back?” He asked her with a mellow, little mutter of his own, noticing how she stopped altogether, a vacant look in her eye before she shook her head to come back to, letting a little smile overrule the small bit of seldom that attempted to take claim over her features,

“He…” She started, not knowing how to put things, taking a little nibble of her lip as she tried to properly gather her thoughts,

“You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.” Higgs told her, not wanting to force her into saying anything. 

Granted he wanted to know, but not at the expense of her sweet, little grin.

‘ I want to make you smile.

I want to make you happy sweetheart,’ he silently told her.

“ I'm not trying to pry or anything. I’m just trying to make conversation, and also avoid any inconvenience. “ He explained to her, “But it seems like it’s a sensitive topic,” he observed out loud, “And I don’t want to force you to tell me anything, or make you uncomfortable,” he told her.

“So there's no need for you to share,” He told her, making it clear that he was giving her options and he wasn't demanding anything from her.

She could literally feel her heart unwind, for a reason unknown to her feeling light, a great part of her wanting to share with him.

“ You’re welcome to ask,” she voiced out with a small voice, “ it's just... I haven't had anyone to really talk to, so it’s hard for me to put the words together without it feeling strange" she admitted.

"Or without feeling stupid," she added with a little grin, one that made him crack a small smile of his own.

" So ...umm … well,” she then said while contemplating look crossed over her, “There is this one Porter who comes around very often... or at least he used to," she began to explain, "I'm so used to seeing him, but lately… well...it's been about a little over a month now since he’d visited, " she added with notable melancholy, clearly missing the man she spoke of,

" But… But I know he's alright!" She suddenly chirped, the idea of him doing well immediately perking her up, because she wished nothing but the best for the man, regardless of where they stood in their relationship, 

- or in this case, lack of.

" Going strong!" She said with a triumphant grin as she looked at the porter before her. “And I’m just so proud of him…” She added with a little murmur, her little grin twitching.

' That was expected...I suppose,' he thought to himself as he watched her stretched out smile, seeing the rollercoaster ride that was her emotions.

He just wanted to reach out to her, coddle her like the precious little thing she was, tell her that everything was alright, because her expressions were making it hard for him to just stand there and watch her,

" The last time he was here, I offered him this room.” She confessed, and it had been as he assumed, and though he’d had a hunch, it still scathed him,

“Yeah?” he breathed.

“Yeah, I actually had it set up just for him." She admitted, her face touched by a soft, innocent color, one Monaghan stared at with austounment because it was something he desperately yearned to have the ability to cause.

" I wanted him to be safe, You know? I wanted him to  have a place to rest; I wanted him to have somewhere where he can relax because I know how hard his life is.” She started, the first part of her tale sounding so full of hope  and love, it touched him.

“ I care about him more than I should.” She admitted, sounding somewhat ashamed, yet certain about her declaration.

'I love him, ' She silently admitted it, not needing to say so, because the other man could already assume.

" The first time I met him was a couple of months back, he'd made a delivery for me; A very simple one, it being just a couple of little trinkets I had ordered." She started, looking whimsical as she thought of the fateful day, " he got them back to me in one piece, not a single scratch." she said recalling the event, sounding just as astounded as she’d been that very day,

" And you can imagine: I was so amazed, absolutely astonished when he got them all here.

Hell, not even the container itself had any damage!" she added with stun.

“ The first time I met him I was so impressed and I guess I was also taken by him too,” She went on, sounding so cute to the brunette male, “ In the past, I've had a couple of Porter's come by now and then.” she told him, “ they often make small deliveries for me but with Sam?

With Sam,  It all felt so different. 

I wanted him to stay with me.

I wanted to hear more of him.

I desperately yearned to travel at his side, though I know very well it's not idealistic, I wanted to accompany him every step of the way.

It's silly...

But a girl in love… she can only dream ," She mused with a whimsical, little sigh.

"Sam... Sam’s... not like anyone else." She said breathlessly, a glazed look falling over her, one that was painfully lovesick.

"Sam… " Higgs mumbled, repeating it back to her.

" That wouldn't happen to be THE Sam Bridges everyone is raving about, would it?" He asked her, interested, making it seem a though it’d been a far stretched inquiry.

At his question, she became notably stiff.

He could see her hands hold onto each other, wringing each other uncomfortably as she licked her lips,

'I know dear, but just tell me more,' he mused, watching her with his heart running so fast it could catch fire. 

‘ Tell me everything, open yourself to me.

- Just Trust me’

Chuckling she showed off a cute touch of pink to her cheeks, finally mustering up the will to answer,

“You’d be right to assume,” she affirmed.

“ Sam…what can I say about him?” She asked herself, not knowing just where to begin, having so much to say about the man, too much to just go over in just one sitting,“ Sam is quiet, a sad quiet that just makes me want to hold him. He is thoughtful and caring in a way that doesn't beg for anything in return.” she said with the same touch of rose,

“ Sam is handsome in a way only a lonely man can be…” she described the bridges porter while her hand went up to her chest, grazing the spot above her heart.

“He is sweet and it's noticeable...

When he talks to his BB; when he says sweet little words to her...That's when  his softness shines through the most. And at those very moments one could easily capture every bit of him that's gentle.” she surmised.

“ And he cuddles her so sweetly, just like someone would their own child... 

You know, it’s to a point,  I’m actually starting to think he  loves it in the same way one would their own child,” she mused, not seeming bothered by the fact , “ But maybe I’m overthinking it,” she added afterward. 

 “ I could be imagining it, but even then, if that weren’t the case,  there is no doubt in my mind that she is precious to him. The fact remains," she said while looking at Higgs Straightforth.

“ Higgs, can I tell you something?” she asked, looking timid to reveal to him the next part, taking his slow nod of approval as a confidence boost to speak,

“ When I see him with her, it just makes my heart beat so fast.” she breathed, “ It makes me wish we...I...” For just a fraction of a second, her hand began to trail down, falling over her stomach, the sight causing Higgs to swallow down hard.

“I wish I could have the opportunity to give him that,” she confessed.

 On one hand, 

‘You’d look absolutely beautiful,' he thought to himself. 'You'd look just perfect,' he went on, just imagining her in such a state, the thought of her pregnant making his heart warm,

On the other hand, 

'Of all people...

Of all things…

 Honey... you're breaking my heart.

Your making me so jealous I might snap, ‘

 Devoid of any emotion that would give himself away, Higgs continued to simply look at her, outwardly unresponsive to her confession. At his silence and moreso, his expressionless, stoic face she coughed into her hand, somewhat regretting opening up that bit to him,

“As...As I was saying, Sam...Sam has a beautiful heart,” she beamed to him,

“ He has so much compassion in him, despite the way he might seem, there is so much beauty within his chest.

And That's what I love most about him... that tenderness, the one that's not so visible through his words. 

Through it all, I love that sweet kindness that's there, but hidden away because he's afraid of something.” (f/n) told the man before her, “ I'm not sure what it is, but I know he's afraid and it makes me hurt. 

Sam makes me love but also hurt at the same time," she confessed to Higgs.

“ But you know what? I wouldn't trade this feeling for anyone else, or for anything else in the world." She told him, the admittance shaking his very being because he’d planned to go against it. He didn’t want to take it to heart, wanting to sway her to him instead.

“He...” She mumbled, chewing over the next bit of her tale, “He...”she repeated as she then closed her eyes, hanging her head with defeat as she swallowed up a long, exasperated breath.

" You can tell me everything…" he piped up, the encouragement causing her to slightly melt, a little, shaky breath escaping her, because he let her know that she wasn't troubling him, and that there was no shame in showing him her heart,

“He didn't even look me in the eyes,” (f/n) told him, the information drawing him in, “He spoke so quietly… sounding just as broken as I am now,” she admitted, her eyes slowly growing wetter,

“ Up to date hasn't answered an email of mine. He hasn't even opened the one I sent him…

The one where I told him how much I loved him." she said while taking a seat on the bed, staring down at her hands with a halfhearted glare,

“I….I’d like to think he’d busy,” she said with a small nod, trying to sound hopeful,

“ Maybe he has too much on his mind.

Maybe he’s just too far away right now.

Maybe…

Maybe he hasn’t forgotten about me.

Maybe he’ll come back... He’ll come back and... and until then...I...I can, - “

She rambled, her words jumbling before she released a small, throaty hiccup,

“ I can wait…” she breathed, tears spilling from her (e/c) colored eyes, the streams slowly cascading down her face, 

 “ I can wait for Sam!” she said with a cracking voice.

The more she spoke, the more her chest ached, her words  knotted in her throat as she released a strangled sound that was akin to a short sob, tears falling down her face before she had a mind to stop herself from breaking.

She hadn’t wanted to break, but it was like rolling downhill, once she was going, she couldn’t stop, plundering down the furthermore she went until she crashed down,

" Hey," Higgs said softly, also sitting with her, a hand taking hold of her cheek while the other lay flat on her back, rubbing soothing, small circles,

‘Sweetheart...please,’ he inwardly begged, his face distraught as he watched her break down, her tears not ceasing as she continued to shake, the weight of all her suffrage attacking her full force.

Because it wasn’t just about Sam being gone.

It was about the lonesome years spent isolated.

It was about the endless rain that kept her locked in, trapped.

Moreover, it was the disconnection from a population that should have long been extinct.

In some sort of way, Sam was her connection, her bridge to the world. He was the only thing she had that kept her somewhat sane, fueling her to continue. 

She’d decided to accept he wasn’t going to return, but it was much harder than just saying so,

‘Because I have nothing but him...’

Unwillingly, a lonesome tear fell down the right side of his face, falling onto her (h/c) colored hair as he brought her close, her shaking body pressed against his as he forced her still,

‘ Do you know (f/n)... that before all of this happened…

You were meant to be with me?’ He silently asked her,

' Are you aware that our flames are identical?' He thought to himself, feeling her melt, pressed against his chest.

‘ Darling... You're so lonely,

Sweetheart… you’re sadness is contagious to me, ‘

Shakenly, her hands crawled up his back, her stiff fingers trailing up its length before they stopped, holding onto him desperately.

‘Fuck… sweetie… your heartbeat… ‘ he thought while the hand on her back could feel the powerful, erratic pace,

“You alright (f/n)?” he asked her, receiving a hiccup back, her head shaking 'no', the women being unable to put up any type of front.

“ Look at me,” he muttered softly, his hands both falling on to her shoulders, offering her a dazzling smile, “ It’s alright you know?” he assured her, looking deep within her (e/c) colored eyes.

“Everything‘s going to be alright,” he promised her, seeming certain.

 ‘ You’ll get over him.

You won't miss him

I swear to you sweetie… I’ll make all of that go away.’

 He held her, tenderly caressing her while she broke down, the overflowed dam that was her heart shattered as she let loose of absolutely everything that she harbored, for a reason unknown to her trusting the man who was essentially a stranger.

 ' I swear to you I'll make it all go away...' he thought to himself while finally being able to take hold of her, knowing he couldn't trace back and fall into the darkness again, at least not without her in his arms, 

‘Just keep trusting me (f/n)... 

Keep melting onto me....

Keep trusting mer... 

You feel it too, don’t you?

Don’t worry, once you forget about Bridges, you can focus all on us...’ 

Next Part : Stolen Princess

[sordm5]

Fallout: New Vegas Character Sheet / OC Questionnaire, 5k+ words

This is the part where I pray for consistency with my previous character essays...

The majority of these answers are from a character building perspective. Other perspectives are kept in parentheses. 

Mason Shepherd McCoy

which faction did they side with (NCR, legion, yes-man, or house)?

Unwittingly, he sided with the NCR. But he abandoned the cause shortly before the lead up to the Second Battle for Hoover Dam.

preferred armor?

He favors dusters, but beneath that, he usually dresses in raggedly layers. Cycling between two pairs of majorly distressed and ripped jeans, and collected vintage scarves he finds from abandoned buildings.

(In game, light armor. Specifically the courier fatigues from the Courier’s Cache mod, modded with the standalone Lonesome Road courier duster.  

Screenshots: front / back)

melee, guns, energy weapons, or unarmed?

Most skilled with a ranged bolt or lever action rifle.

After a compromising incident while he lived in Zion, Joshua attempts to teach him unarmed combat. But because Mase is a difficult, stubborn student, the lessons don’t continue on for long, and Joshua’s patience is tested to its limit.

highest skills? secondary skills? lowest skills?

His skill in everything aside from guns and repair are fairly mediocre, but his worst skills are definitely survival and unarmed. It’s pretty transparent that Mase’s priorities are focused on catering to his preference for gunplay.

(It’s hard to avoid having every skill high when level ups are forced on you, so I'm going to ignore in-game stats in favor of character development. Speech is the most notable skill I prefer to max out, but I don’t know if it’s exactly character-fitting for Mase considering he’s not actually a talkative person.)

SPECIAL stats?

3, 9, 6, 4, 7, 8, 3

what are their perks?

Confirmed Bachelor, babey. And Hand Loader. That one’s important.

(I'm not sure if this is asking me to list all perks my character has, but for the sake of not doing that – as it would be lengthy and tedious – I’ll leave it at these two.)

favorite companions? least favorite companions?

Mase adores Arcade more than he cares to admit. However, that adoration doesn’t overpower his own cowardice. He carries the weight of endlessly wondering what fate befell Arcade after Mase left the Mojave. He likes to...imagine he’s happy with the Followers, tending to new researches that could maybe benefit the public. The mental image distracts him from his guilt, at least.

The only other companion Mase was close with was ED-E. He doesn’t actively hate or dislike anyone, though.

any romantic partners? how do these relationships begin and end? are they healthy?

Yeah...Mase kinda...tries to pursue a relationship with Joshua, but it’s majorly onesided, and overwhelmingly unhealthy. Even Mase is aware of the unhealthy aspect, despite his feelings.

-

I’ve thought a lot about how to avoid making this sort of scenario lore-breaking. I can’t realistically picture, given what we see and know of him in-game, that Joshua would ever reciprocate any sort of romantic feelings anyone might have for him.

This might be my own interpretation, but I think by the time the courier meets Joshua, he’s resigned to live his life thinking he can find redemption through his faith. And I think he’s convinced himself to be wholly devoted to it. He even twists the biblical quotes he uses as excuses for his own internal anger. He needs to think that the things he does are justified by God.

Beyond the religious dedication, Joshua tells us that he feels indebted to his family, and the tribes of Zion, for welcoming him back like he had never done anything to shame them. After questioning him about his past, and the defeat he suffered, he ends with, "I will never be able to repay the debt I owe to them, but I must try." The way this is all presented leads me to believe there isn't much room in Joshua's life for anything else.

Also, on another note, one quote by Mr. Sawyer, who wrote the entirety of Joshua Graham’s character, stuck with me:

It's not as simple as being "set on fire". After suffering a terrible failure, he was humiliated by his superior and the people he commanded. He was cast out and left for dead. His entire reason for living was gone. When your entire way of life is completely destroyed, it has a profound impact on how you view yourself and your place in the world. [...]

Read the entire quote here.

There was also a quote, if I am indeed recalling correctly, by Josh Sawyer that expanded upon Joshua’s dialogue in-game that spoke about the love he received upon his return to New Canaan – about how he was in disbelief over it, how he thought he didn’t deserve it. But I can’t find that quote again, so don’t take my word for it.

I know that the developer’s input isn’t the “word of God”, and that Sawyer has said that he strongly dislikes when authors discourage fan interpretations and have an almost authoritarian hold over their stories. However, I still find it useful to reference dev commentary when expanding upon my own ideas.

Returning to the original point, as much as I’d really just like to say ‘they both lived happily ever after’ about my courier and Joshua, it’s not something I can picture happening. Joshua isn’t an ordinary man, and domesticity wasn’t ever an option for him.

-

There are some deeply self-indulgent scenarios I’ve written about for Mase and Joshua, and even in the more intimate pieces it always takes Joshua years to think it’s okay to even let Mase sleep next to him. So, I don’t imagine within the first year of staying in Zion anything even vaguely resembling intimacy would develop between them. Mase would have to come back to Zion after returning from the east coast and put a lot of work, time, and dedication into getting Joshua to open up on that level.

But, because I don’t feel fully confident in discussing my thoughts of how things change within the game post-canon-storyline (both base game and Honest Hearts/all DLC alike), these ideas and scenarios remain strictly self-indulgent. One detail I am comfortable saying that happens post-NV is that Mason does eventually come back to Nevada and end up settling there.

Since this is already a sort of a self-indulgent post about my oc, I will share some jumbled-context thoughts I’ve had. But keep in mind, if I were to keep this confined to my comfort on respecting the canon storyline and not exploiting it for my own purposes, this would have ended with Joshua never reciprocating, Mase leaving the west coast and returning at some indeterminate point, years later. 

With that being said...

Mase and Joshua argue about the feelings between them a lot. With Joshua it’s always “You understand my position, we’ve spoken about it countless times. You’ve said you understood, yet you continue to persist.” / “I know. And, I’m...sorry. I just can’t help but feel like I’m a nuisance to you. That the way I feel disgusts you-” / “You know that isn’t true-” / “You always push me away-” / “I’ve told you why-” etc, etc.

The closer they get, the more doubt Joshua begins to show, the more he pushes Mase away, and the more Mase wants reassurance that Joshua still finds him important, in some way. Joshua does value Mase’s companionship, but what Mase gives is unabashed love, and there’s a huge discrepancy in outward reciprocation. Mase tries his best to adapt and subdue how he feels – to try to understand and match the level at which Joshua keeps him. But it’s hard. A lot of “you don’t care about me like how I care about you” feelings.

Joshua insists the discrepancy isn’t true, and it’s only perceived that way by Mason. He loathes when he’s forced to remind Mason of his situation – of the path he’s chosen to take in his life, his dedication to it, after what happened to him at the Grand Canyon. How large the amount of atonement he owes. How, even if he wanted to break away from this path, there are still things he would never be able to do for Mason.

Of course, Mase tries to keep all of this in mind. But with the lack of communication, and the constant distance from Joshua, it’s hard to know if the boundaries are because of Joshua’s self restraint, or if Mase is truly no longer wanted. He’s just...very troubled and brokenhearted by it all, and the situation isn’t easy.

There’s also the awkward re-acquainting with each other after the years they spend apart. Which is disheartening to Mase because, before, he’d felt Zion was akin to a home due to the time spent there, and, when he comes back, it feels foreign – like there’s no place for him anymore. Everything looks and seems different. It takes a long while to get over that feeling.

Joshua looks different after all that time, as well. He never takes to fully discarding his bandages – it’s too personal for him – and his scarring doesn’t ever necessarily fade, but they do heal, lessen in severity, and subsequently cause him less pain. Because of this, he’s more comfortable exposing his forearms without bandaging, and the areas around his nose, mouth, and jaw. 

It takes Mase a moment to process this upon first seeing him again. In the past, he’d only ever seen Joshua without his bandages but one time, and it was because he’d been gravely injured and in recovery. He thinks it’s a good look for Joshua, though. And, more importantly, he’s overjoyed that he isn’t in as much pain.

Mase also continues travelling even after his return to the west. Especially between his home in northern Nevada and Zion. So it’s not as though he spends his every day with Joshua, although...he does try to persuade Joshua to visit his house and stay for awhile. Which he does eventually succeed at, after some complications on tribal responsibilities.

-

...tfw you set out to write about your own character and end up devoting the most time writing about Joshua Graham. To be fair, I have another huge character post about Mase that establishes way more about him, and I’ve been meaning to write about the dynamics with Joshua for awhile now.

yes, i’ve thought a lot about this. damn.

anyway...

doesn’t it suck when your first love after you get retrograde amnesia is a revenge obsessed warlord with misplaced dedication to a faith that he manipulates to lie to himself that his revenge obsessions are justifiable :(  real sad boi hours

gender / sexuality / ethnicity / species / etc.?

Boy/gay/???

He doesn’t know much about his ancestry, or the roots of his past in general. Doesn’t want to know. He’s pretty sure he’s human, though...maybe. But he’s also considered the possibility of being an alien misplaced on earth. Maybe...

He’s also not particularly attached to his biological sex. He is genetically male, and does predominantly identify as male, but it’s not something he feels is important or necessary to his identity as a whole. On a basic level, this applies to, say, clothing. If he found a dress appealing, he’d wear it without thinking much about what gender a dress was intended for. If that makes sense.

This sentiment is also applicable to sexuality. He doesn’t really label himself in any specific way. He just knows that the majority of people he’s found even somewhat attractive or appealing happen to be men.

where were they born/raised? when/why did they leave?

He doesn’t know.

when, why and how did they become a courier? how long did they remain a courier before benny shot them?

Again: part of a past that he doesn’t remember. Brings him anxiety over the thought of finding an answer to who he was before.

how did the bullet affect them?

Retrograde amnesia. His memories never returned. After awaking at Doc Mitchell’s, it was difficult for him to acquaint himself with who he was. He didn’t recognize his voice, his age, his appearance. Nothing felt familiar. His speaking patterns even sounded foreign to his own ears.

Other than that, recurring migraines that plagued him for weeks after his awakening.

how did they deal with benny?

He spared him. Read more here. 

what’s their reputation with the ncr / the legion?

Liked/Neutral

Mase aided the NCR whenever necessary, especially during the beginning of his travels in the Mojave. He refused to agitate the Legion. He never realized he was weaving himself into becoming a mercenary of war for the NCR, and, had he realized they were going to proposition him for such a task, he never would have helped to begin with.

In retrospect, after abandoning the Mojave, his regrets in assisting the NCR don’t add up to much. After consideration, he realized he would prefer an NCR victory as opposed to a Legion one. He’s aware there might have been a better alternative, had he stayed, had he put himself at the forefront of the decision making. But, he simply isn’t that kind of man.

what’s their reputation with goodsprings / novac / primm? (i know primm reputation was cut from the game but like let’s pretend for a minute sdkfjd)

His reputation with Primm would be the worst of all three, entirely due to his uncaring mistakes in handling finding new authority for the town. The NCR wasn’t the worst of the outcomes, but it still wasn’t favorable with the existing community, and Mase only realizes that after it’s far too late.

Goodsprings and Novac act as the friendliest respites Mase knows, and he is mostly in good standing with both towns’ residents. He assisted Goodsprings during the trouble with the Powder Gangers, and, similarly, assisted Novac’s trouble with feral ghouls.

what is their motive for taking vegas?

He doesn’t. Ideally, freedom for Vegas and Freeside would be what Mase would want, but he’s too prone to fleeing from pressure and stress. He doesn’t want the responsibility of an entire populace on his shoulders, and when presented with fight or flight in regards to the war for the Mojave, Mase chooses flight.

what do they look like? how tall are they? are they attractive? any piercings, tattoos, scars?

Just under 6′. Tanned, freckled complexion. Hair naturally dirty blond/light brown-ish, but frequently bleached lighter. Crooked, gapped teeth. He has multiple scars over his entire body, but half he can’t even remember the causes of. The most prominent ones being the bullet wound in his hairline, and the surgery scars from the Think Tank.

how old are they? do they know their birthday? if so, what’s their sign?

22 around the time of the events of Goodsprings. His birthday is November 22nd, information courtesy of his Mojave Express ID card, and not of his own memory. I suppose that makes him a sagittarius.

The only fitting quote I could find from a sagittarius horoscope was: “You are very critical of those around and of yourself and sometimes will prefer to isolate yourself.”

do they speak any languages other than english?

He doesn’t. He tries to learn the language of the Dead Horses and the Sorrows, but only retains basic phrases.

can they read, write, do math, sing? did they ever receive an education?

He is educated, but only utilizes his intelligence in areas that are practical to him. Like the kilometer calculations while adjusting his rifle scope. Other than that, he frequently writes in a journal that he received from the Mojave Express. Its primary function was to track deliveries, but he re-purposed it for personal use.

Mase is also somewhat of a collector, and, in his home, he has a guitar with rusted metal strings and a piano with many keys that don’t work (don’t ask about the complications of transporting the thing from an abandoned pre-war home to his own safehouse.) He aspires to fix them both and learn how to play them, and maybe write his own music, but he doesn’t often get time to do so.

what were their parents like? are they still on good terms with their parents?

Doesn’t know who his parents are. Doesn’t want to know.

what’s their d&d alignment? 

Starting off as neutral good, but quickly becoming chaotic neutral the longer his travels across the Mojave go.

how’s their karma?

Canonically neutral.

how do they feel about killing people? do they try to avoid it?

He doesn’t actively seek confrontation – he’s no murderer – but he doesn’t have any moral objections to killing if there’s a good purpose for it. Killing the “bad guys”, etc. He’s not a coward either, and he’s confident in his gunplay abilities.

do they take chems? if yes, when and which ones?

Other than admittedly using med-x a couple times in attempts to treat his insomnia, he tries not to dabble in drug use outside of meds for intended purposes. His preferred poison is alcohol.

do they gamble? where? is their luck good?

He doesn’t partake. The atmosphere of the casinos on The Strip gives him a deep sense of discomfort. A piece of the world, frozen in time, sheltered away from the destruction of the wastes that lay just outside the doors. Men in suits, focused on their greed, their only concern how much nicotine they can inhale.

In his tattered duster and ripped blue jeans, face smudged with dust and dirt, Mase feels horribly wrong amid all the leisure and recreation. It’s stifling.

where do they usually sleep? do they have more than one home location? do they live with any other people?

Throughout his campaign in the Mojave, Mase doesn’t ever keep a main base of operations. From his room at Novac, to the Lucky 38, to Zion, to anywhere he’s welcomed to rest his head for the night. He keeps his belongings down to what he can carry, or things he’s isn’t afraid of losing if left behind.

After his return to Nevada from his journey out east, Mase settles in an abandoned, lone ranch somewhere in the mid-north part of the state. It’s there, in his late-20s, that Mase truly finds himself able to call a location a home. He begins to collect more, and his safehouse soon turns into an unorganized, messy museum of sorts.

what are their favorite weapons? where did they get these weapons?

He’s partial to his rifles, both bolt and lever action alike. Namely, the Medicine Stick and Paciencia, courtesy of the Gun Runners. He takes to further customizing both rifles (and altering the customizations already applied).

do they flirt a lot? is it well-received?

Mase and Arcade have a platonically flirtatious relationship. Neither of them desire to take it further than that and are comfortable in their friendship. However...there are nights Mase remembers fondly: bedrolls haphazardly thrown onto the floor of whatever safe place they could find to rest in their travels, Arcade somehow ends up in Mase’s arms in the early hours of dawn, his head tucked into the crook of Mase’s neck, Mase’s fingers carding through Arcade’s hair as the haze of sleep slowly fades.

Though Mase later ends up developing feelings for Joshua while in Zion, he doesn’t dare anything close to flirting. He regards their relationship as too important for empty flirtatious comments, while also knowing it wouldn’t be received well anyway. Between them, it’s more of mutual respect and trust.  

At some point during Mase’s year stay in Zion, Joshua does clue in to the way Mase treats him, and what that alludes to. They speak about it, if very sparingly, and it can be summarized by Joshua vaguely referencing whatever is between them by saying: if Mase is waiting for something from Joshua, he’s waiting in vain.

do they goof around a lot? do other people find it funny or do they just entertain themselves?

Mase has short-lived moments of hyperactivity, but is usually more stoic in nature. He recalls his time spent with Arcade as having some of the more expressive moments in his life. So it’s to be said that he has the ability to be a more humorous or entertaining person as long as he’s comfortable around the company he’s with.

what do their companions think of them? are they close? have they done any companion quests?

He doesn’t stay with anyone long enough to become truly close to them, aside from Arcade.

ED-E is Mase’s first real travelling companion. After repairing the eyebot, Mase decides to keep it and regards it as little more than an extra weapon. The longer the road takes them, the more Mase finds himself talking into the open air about a myriad of things. Sometimes it’s a mess of world salad and scattered thoughts – the product of distant feelings of deja vu and the many migraines the bullet wound had caused.

The more this happens, the more Mase starts feelings like ED-E is listening to him. Maybe the beeps that he gives aren’t indicators that he’s listening and are just coincidence, but all the same, Mase starts to see a personality in ED-E, and starts to think of him as less of a weapon and more as a friend.

On a fittingly drunken night at the NCR Mojave Outpost, Mase crosses paths with Cass. He enjoys her attitude and her humor, and more than delights in sharing a bottle of whiskey or two- or three, or four. Beyond that first night of drinking challenges and hazy blackouts, and a few following encounters, Cass and Mase don’t stay as travelling companions. Fast friends over a bottle of brew, but nothing more.

Later, but still early in his travels, Mase finds himself with his hands full in Novac. It’s here he helps Boone uncover the truth about the person who disposed of his wife. He agrees to arrange the revenge without hesitation. There’s not even a droplet of blood on the red beret atop Mase’s head; he doesn’t flinch when Boone takes the shot.

Unfortunately, Boone’s animosity and hostility towards the Legion prevents them from travelling together. Mase understands, and it’s left at that.

As for Arcade, well...some of Mase’s largest regrets concern Arcade; how he feels he must have let him down after he’d left. He’d known of Arcade’s ideals, about his feelings towards what he’d wanted for the the people of Freeside, and Vegas as a whole. The wayward feelings of hope Arcade found in him. The rare moments of open vulnerability in the secrets Arcade shared of his past. Just how many things were shared between them, and how Mase let it go to waste for nothing – for his own cowardice.

For as much as having someone close to him by his side gave Mase strength, it also added to the weight of expectation from the pressure he already felt. Arcade wasn’t enough to change that. Nothing was.

do they draw, paint, play any instruments?

His main creative outlet is his journal. Writing and doodling little sketches. He doesn’t consider it a “real” art form, though.

how do they deal with injuries? do they use stimpaks, healing powder, med-x? does a companion help them? can they bear a lot of pain, or do they need to attend to injuries immediately? when they do have to see a doctor, do they have a preferred doctor, or do they just see anyone?

Mase has a high threshold for pain. The first time he’d been seriously injured (from memory) was during the shootout in Goodsprings. A bullet had pierced his upper left arm, thankfully missing any arteries, and became deeply lodged without breaking through the other side of the impact site. He remembered noticing he’d been struck was delayed, his arm had felt hot, wet, and uncomfortable, but almost indistinguishable through the adrenaline.

Once he noticed the red stains from the hole in his jacket, he stared wide-eyed and pale at the blood flowing from the open wound, the pain spiking like a blistering heat. He didn’t know what to do with himself; didn’t groan, didn’t cry, just stood with a lost look. He was in good company, though, and Doc Mitchell was there to care for the wounded.

Subsequent injuries have been reacted to with similar disconnect. He understands the importance of tending to wounds through the lecturing on infection from the Doc, and because of this tries to treat injuries as urgently as possible. However, if he can help it, he’d rather take a stimpak and slap a bandage over the wound and call it done. Fortunately, Arcade doesn’t let him get away with that one very often once they start travelling together.

have they ever been irradiated? how did they deal with it? did it have lasting effects?

In contrast to the high pain tolerance, Mase cannot handle radiation. In slight doses, it’s manageable, but when his Pipboy near deafens him with its Geiger clicking, like clockwork, the nausea immediately sets in. It debilitates him, and the contamination to his body never settles until he flushes it.

He recalls an instance of trying to bear with the radiation, barely dragging himself up the road from Novac, forcing himself to try to tough it out. He realized he’d made a mistake when he started profusely vomiting, and immediately checked his Pipboy for the nearest medical help.

Trudging up the slopes to Camp Forlorn Hope, Mase manages to make his way to the medical tent, limbs shaking and fatigued. Of course, Dr. Richards insists on helping him, having already been acquainted with the doctor from previously assisting with missing medical supplies. Mase had been hoping on a return of kindness when he’d chosen Forlorn Hope, while also not averse to being sweet-talked.

It seemed simple enough, let Dr. Richards hook an IV to his upper forearm, relax, and let the Radaway do its job. But...Mase had been shaking and hyperventilating from the nausea, and right as Dr. Richards offered him a reassuring “It’s going to be all right, buttercup”, Mase lurched and vomited on the doctor’s shoes.

Needless to say, one of his top most embarrassing moments.

in conversation, are they kind? gentle? sarcastic? rude? do they speak warmly and openly with people, or are they more guarded? do they talk a lot?

Generally very soft spoken, with little to say, especially in regards to strangers or people he’s just met. A monotone speaking pattern, with tendencies to a blunt manner of speaking his mind.

However this changes the closer he is to someone. He becomes more adaptive to the other person’s speaking patterns, becoming more or less talkative depending on the personality of his partner.

do they like long journeys through the mojave, or do they prefer to travel more quickly? do they prefer using roads or travelling through the deep desert?

It depends. He’ll have bouts of wanting to travel long, deserted stretches of land, leaving time to himself and his thoughts. No companions. And other times he’ll prefer to stay to more populated areas, not wanting to be alone, and dreading the idea of being left with no one but his own thoughts to keep him company.

name a random fact about your courier.

He has hang-ups about his name. For the first few months of his “new” life, he didn’t have a name, and was simply called “Courier” – which doesn’t entirely die out, even after he discovers his real name. The title “Courier” is something he more familiarly associates with his being/existence/person.

A continuous problem that his amnesia left him with was the inability to grasp or understand who he was. As time goes on and Mase becomes more self aware, this effect does diminish, but the conflicting feelings he has about his name remain. Sometimes he feels like his name is an important identity – one that he’s afraid of losing again, and sometimes he wants absolutely nothing to do with it.

When he leaves the Mojave, he throws his first name away completely, and takes to only telling people his middle name. Arcade had called him “Mase” consistently, with fondness; Joshua had only ever called him “Mason”, never the shorthand version. Somehow, that felt important. He didn’t want these memories to resurface – he didn’t want to remember what he’d left behind, or feel that pain – so he abandoned the name completely.

do they watch movie holotapes? what are their favorites? least favorites?

(Say The Man With No Name trilogy exists in the Fallout universe. That would undoubtedly be Mase’s favorite.

I admit I haven’t thought much about this sort of thing. The main kind of entertainment I imagine Mase consuming is mostly the radio. In-game, we have Radio New Vegas and Mojave Music as far as music/entertainment goes, but I like to think there would be other stations where the main focus is storytelling. Reruns from pre-war times, and newer stations featuring people recounting tales from the wasteland.)

what do they do with the lucky 38? do they like being there? do they leave their companions there? if they’re a yes-man courier, do they open it back up as a casino?

Much like how Mase feels towards the rest of The Strip, the Lucky 38 is a stifling, unwelcoming environment. He takes advantage of the shelter and amenities given, but he knows he’s being watched – being kept close like a useful tool, exactly how most factions and people in power treated him. He doesn’t make a habit of using the Lucky 38...but, he does like the convenience of running water.

what do they do after hoover dam?

Wanders out east towards Ronto. It’s possibly the most aimless 4 years of his life. He has no purpose, he falls onto self-destructive behavior, and loses what little sense of self he was able to garner from his time in Nevada and Utah. Ultimately, after confronting many internal fears and doubts, with not a slight bit of soul-searching, Mase makes the decision to go back home to Nevada.

how do they die? how is their death received, by the mojave and by their companions?

... (I haven’t gotten that far. I’ve only just barely decided Mase settles in Nevada, which is dependent on an NCR Hoover Dam victory. Which is extremely important to how things change in west coast territories. And thinking of Mase’s future involves thinking of the future of Nevada and the west as a whole. I don’t know if I’m capable of handling the weight of the aftermath of the NV storyline with my meager ideas.

I do imagine Mase would die from a shot to the head, though. Seems fitting.)

what are their vices? are they an alcoholic, a thief, a hoarder?

Mase has always had a proclivity for alcohol – these habits severely abate during his time in Zion, and then rise to a destructive level of full alcoholism during his time out east.

Hoarding has a negative connotation to it, right? Generally collecting garbage, and other trash? Mase collects items he finds to be interesting in his home in Nevada, but it’s not rubbish. It’s more of a collection similar to the likes of a museum.

can they cook, and if so, what do they cook? what are their favorite & least favorite foods?

Despite having less-than-useful survival skills, Mase is very interested in cooking recipes. The easiest and most satisfying one to follow is the desert salad, with more difficult recipes being mushroom cloud and wasteland omelette. He’s only had the opportunity to cook the latter two once each (thanks Quarry Junction and Bloodborne cave), and he savored every moment of both meals.

Another favorite would be iguana bits – a food he’s tried to replicate, but can’t quite pin the recipe for down. Besides that, he admittedly has a palette for pre-war sweets. Fancy Lads have a specifically...gone off...flavor about them, but he enjoys them all the same.

did they kill caesar? vulpes inculta? what about prominent ncr figures, like kimball and colonel hsu?

He doesn’t kill any prominent figures. Perhaps if he had been a different person, he would have been openly hostile toward the Legion – he disagrees with their values, and despises their leader – but this was not the life he felt he could lead. He already had enough paranoia about the prospect of having enemies coming back to kill him from the life he couldn’t remember, let alone adding to that by agitating any specific faction or group.

/

I deleted some questions I felt were already answered well enough in previous posts about Mason. Namely: this one.

I also just deleted things I didn’t feel like answering because it was too much effort.

The companions question is unfinished because I felt like that bit was getting really unorganized and chunky to read. So, some companions are omitted. May go back to this and edit it / add more to it.

[thefudge]

lima syndrome || a klonnie fic

klonnie week: day ii. | TROPES

lima syndrome  - def.  the phenomenon in which abductors develop sympathy for their captives, named after the abduction of the Japanese Ambassador's Residence in Lima, Peru in 1996 by members of a terrorist group

(you can also read it on ffnet)

“my grandmother is going to kill you.”

this is what she tells him as he fastens the polyethylene rope around her ankles. 

his fingers linger on her calves, pulling the leg to see if she can get out of the trap. he notes in passing that the flesh is firm and the muscles are strong, stronger than one would expect of a pampered witch princess. 

“let’s not get ahead of ourselves, love.” 

bonnie looks down at him. he might’ve been handsome if his jaw didn’t stick out so much. it’s as if he has a grudge on the world. 

“i don’t know what you think you’re accomplishing, but this valerian root won’t hold long. i’ll get my powers back...”

“and i’ll keep injecting you,” he supplies with a crooked grin. “pity it doesn’t shut you up as well.”

she struggles a little in his grasp, trying to kick him in vain. “you won’t get away with this.”

“that’s what they all say,” he remarks moodily.

she’s surprised to see that he’s taken her to what looks like an airbase. 

“you can’t possibly hope to get me on a plane as your captive.”

klaus - she’s heard his henchmen call him that and she found it oddly upper-crust for a kidnapper - tilts her head up with a brush of his fingers. “only private jets for her highness.”

and indeed, the landing strip is bare except for a gleaming silver beast, the kind high-stakes ambassadors usually fly in. whoever has ordered her capture has ample means. 

“i hope they’re paying you well,” she mutters as he guides her towards the tarpaulin. 

he must admit that she’s acting very level-headed for one so young. she is calm and thoughtful, her panic having receded to a private place in her mind. from time to time she will clench her fingers, as if calling out to her fettered magic, but she’s doing her best not to make a scene. she’s realized there’s no audience except him and his men. and his men are worse than him. 

“you’re a werewolf,” she says, as they fly over the panama channel. 

she’s half-asleep (it’s been two very long days) and her eyes have turned a darker shade of green, like deep pools at the bottom of the ocean. 

“i can sense it, even with my magic low,” she mumbles, cradling her chin in her hand. 

he leans back in his chair and smiles in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes. “and what do you sense exactly, witch? my impure blood?” 

“yes...” she mutters, eyelids closing against her will. “it smells like oranges...in the sun.”

he’s a little shaken despite his better judgement. he turns towards the window and avoids looking at her again. all these witches are the same - mystical fools with no damn sense in their heads.

an hour later he puts a small pillow under her head. he doesn’t want her breaking her neck, does he?

they land at 3 am in no man’s land and she’s not entirely awake for the business of disembarking and walking over the pebbly ground to the nearby shack where a few men are waiting for them.

so, he has to carry her in his arms. he feels rather foolish at first. he hoists her up firmly over his shoulder, the smell of freesias and sweat invading his senses. but she keeps sliding off his body like a woodland nymph, so he hooks his hand around her shoulders and another under her legs, and carries her like a bride. she doesn’t nestle into his chest. her head falls away from him. he stares at the length of her neck and listens to the throb of her pulse. 

they spend half a day at the dilapidated motel outside the village. to anyone else’s eyes, the building is abandoned. but inside, a small army of men are preparing for a ritual. 

bonnie gradually understands the purpose of her abduction. she can feel the nervous energy in the air pouring down from the amazonian rainforest. they’re only miles away from one of the temples. 

she starts to cry laconically, tears running down her cheeks while her face remains a funeral mask. 

the werewolf crouches down at her level. “you needn’t cry. it will all be over soon.”

“what do you care?” she snaps, and it’s the first time she sounds bitter. 

“i don’t. but tears irk me.”

she spits on his shoes. “you irk me.”

she’s not likening him to oranges in the sun anymore, that’s for sure. he smiles coolly. “it would be rather strange if i didn’t.”

bonnie looks away, disheartened. “you don’t have to do this.”

“ah, another thing they always say.”

it’s hot and sticky in the truck as they drive through the half-submerged jungle. there used to be a city here, many hundreds of years ago. now it’s just vines and sticky leaves and bugs the size of your head. there’s probably bones too, buried under the foliage. 

he hates the jungle. he hates the humidity, the smell, the pressure of it all. his head feels about to explode. 

his men sit on the dumpster bed behind, holding machine guns over their shoulder. it’s mostly for show, in case any unlucky humans crop up in a ten-mile radius. they don’t really need them. their claws would sink into your heart before you had time to blink. 

bonnie sits by his side, forehead leaning against the grimy window. 

klaus hates the stifling silence so he turns on the radio, but the signal is warped in these parts of the forest and all he gets is truncated fragments of a popular ballad. 

bonnie heaves a weary sigh. “it’s my birthday today.”

his hands stiffen on the wheel. “i know.”

she laughs bitterly. “right, it’s gotta be my birthday for the ritual.” 

“well. happy birthday anyway.”

he doesn’t know why he says it.  it’s very daft, given the circumstances. he rubs the back of his neck. he can’t stand the silence, so he presses on. “i don’t know my actual birth day. no one can tell me, as no one can recall with certainty.”

the witch raises her legs to her chest. she’s not tied up anymore seeing as there’s nowhere to run. she scratches the red welt on her arm where he injected her with the next to last dose of valerian. he’s saving the biggest shot for the ritual. 

“your parents probably wanted to forget the day you were born,” she tells him callously. 

“...i suppose i deserve that one.” 

she nods wearily. “you do. you’re a disgrace.”

“a disgrace?” he echoes, trying to keep his eyes on the road. “that’s a bit much.” 

“we’re both servants of the moon and instead of helping me, you’re sending me to my death.” 

he scoffs. “both servants of the moon? no, little witch. you don’t have to chain yourself when the moon calls for you.”

bonnie shrugs. “maybe i do.” 

they don’t speak again for the duration of the ride.

they spend a rainy night in a moldy tent on the side of a precipice where the ground is still relatively warm and dry. 

she protests weakly at first that she should be given her own tent, that she’s not about to make her escape and die in the jungle, but he won’t hear it. he knows her kind is “crafty”.

“crafty?” she explodes with a laugh. “if i was such a wily creature, i’d have found a way to kill you by now.” 

klaus lets her words wash over him like the rain beating down on their tent. 

there is hardly room for two people inside; her proximity is inevitable, but it’s comforting too. he doesn’t know if she feels the same, but it drives away the demons of the jungle. 

he rolls down two sleeping bags.

bonnie watches him with a guarded look. “are you going to sleep too?”

he laughs. “of course not. i’d give you a prime opportunity to kill me, like you said.”

“i doubt i could,” she complains, looking around despondently. “i don’t have my magic. i don’t see any sharp objects around. and i don’t think i’m strong enough to strangle you.”

“oh, don’t give up hope yet,” he teases amiably, which makes her shiver uncomfortably. he removes his jacket. his t-shirt is stuck to his skin, exposing every line of his body. bonnie wonders if he can see her body through her thin dress and even thinner shawl. she folds her arms over her chest. 

“you should rest for tomorrow,” he tells her gently, but it’s rather cruel. 

“yeah, i should get my beauty sleep. i don’t want to look bad on the pyre,” she retorts, holding back a fresh wave of tears. he looks disturbed by her comment but can’t bring himself to offer her any comfort.

they lie down, side by side, on the sleeping bags. bonnie stares up at the dirty canvas. 

“i was going to...open a school for witches,” she says softly, staring at the shadow of an insect on the side of the tent. 

klaus turns slightly towards her. his bare arm accidentally brushes against hers.

“you wanted to teach?”

she nods, wiping her wet eyes quickly. “i wanted to help young girls like myself find their footing.” 

his thumb traces a few freckles on her elbow. she means to move away from his touch. she means to scold him. but she doesn’t, because this is her last night alive and she won’t deny herself this small human gesture. 

“you’d be good at it.”

bonnie scoffs. “you don’t know me. you have no idea what i’d be good at.”

“maybe. but i’m a wolf. i can sense these things.” 

“that’s superstition.”

“really. a witch telling me about superstition.” there’s humor in his voice. she hates that she will probably think of that when the flames engulf her. 

“well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?” she bites back, wishing she could hold something to her chest and squeeze it tight.

and somehow, he reads her mind because he pulls her towards him. it’s strange and unexpected - even to him - the way his fingers clench around her waist.

“what are you doing?” she asks quietly as her hands touch his chest tentatively. 

he doesn’t answer at first. he stares into her heart-shaped face, almost as if he’s trying to memorize her features. his hand runs up and down her spine, leaving pleasant tremors in its wake. his eyes, she notes, have globs of amber in them. the sun made liquid. 

“i want you to know, no one’s paying me,” he says at length. 

“what?”

“it’s my mother. she is the one who wants you dead. she wants to absorb your power.”

bonnie’s eyes widen. she clenches her fingers around his t-shirt. “your mother is esther? you’re esther’s son?” 

he nods gruffly, as if ashamed of the legacy. 

bonnie is speechless for a moment. “but she - how -?”

“even the original witch makes mistakes,” he replies bitterly. “my biological father is one.”

she’s overwhelmed by his confession. she doesn’t know how to respond. 

they stare at each other for several long minutes, pondering on each other’s strange fate.

“what do you get out of this, then?” she asks quietly. 

“she’s my mother, bonnie.”

her name on his tongue has a strange effect on both of them. he closes the gap between them and kisses her on the lips, without permission or apology. he cradles her cheek and kisses her like she was always his for the kissing. but it doesn’t feel proprietary. it feels like he’s been waiting to do it for a long time. it’s funny to think a few days ago she didn’t know his name. 

she sighs into his mouth as he removes the shawl from her shoulders. 

they kiss for a small eternity, glued to each other by sweat and exhaustion. he doesn’t disrobe her any further, he only touches her body furtively, skimming small islands of bare skin before coming back to her face. he loves touching her face. if you follow her features closely, they’re rudely asymmetrical, but still beautiful, all the same. he’d like to draw them. 

she strokes the back of his neck as he bends down to kiss her lips again and again. 

his fingers brush against her knees, parting them slowly. his knuckles caress the inside of her thigh making her heart jump in her throat. but she whispers into his neck. “no. not like this.” 

and he understands. he removes himself from her.

they fall back, side by side, staring at the canvas, their shoulders touching. 

“i’d like to...” she says nervously. “someday. after you’ve taken me away from this place and bought me dinner. maybe.” 

klaus laughs and it sounds innocent and boyish for once. “you’re wasting your breath, witch. i’m not taking you away. i can’t.”

“i know,” she mumbles, closing her eyes. “but a girl can dream.” 

a girl dreams. and in this dreams she burns like a bundle of hay, like a handful of branches. the werewolf kneels by her pyre and weeps. everything tastes like ashes.

but bad dreams eventually melt with the coming of the sun.

he injects his mother with an almost lethal dose of valerian as she comes towards him to embrace him. her smile is greedy. her eyes glint with a murderous need. he doesn’t feel too bad about sticking the needle in her. he knows she won’t outright die. her powers will be weakened beyond conscious state and she’ll fall into a deep coma. she’ll wake up in the middle of the jungle. and maybe she’ll survive. 

his men listen to him as he’s their alpha. some of them defect because they don’t like the sudden change of plan. they’re old creatures, wary of novelty and all things young. klaus lets them go without killing them. all he wants right now is to get out of the jungle. 

bonnie drives the truck haphazardly across the wet trails, glancing from time to time at the werewolf. he doesn’t seem capable to do much else anymore. but that’s fine. he did his part. now, she’s the one taking them away. 

sheila bennett doesn’t understand why her granddaughter smells like oranges every night she comes home. 

[niigoki]

STEVEN UNIVERSE Title: Aurora - Chapter 1 Rated: M Read on Ao3 or FanFiction

There is a wolf in the woods

The villagers used to say

“The ones who go there at night

Are forever bound to stay.”

 There is a wolf in the woods

Its fur is blue and thick

Its jaws so big and strong

It can easily munch a brick

 “There is a wolf in the woods!”

The people used to cry

“Then I shall go to the woods.”

Said the girl who wants to die.

 ---

 Plates clinking, beer cups being filled, the loud voiced of men boasting through the wooden walls; the usual night at the tavern. The place was old, you see, but it was always full of people – maybe its age and the fact that it had been the first tavern in the village was what captivated everyone to this day. Now, it wasn’t a fancy place, not at all. It had a terrible smell (a combination of generations of vomit and piss), the wood on the floor, the ceiling, the walls and the balcony was barely hanging anymore – bugs had munched all the way to its core and the place was sure to fall apart at any second – and even the type of crowd it attracted was the worst.

The manliest of men in all the land always made a pitstop at Fryman’s Tavern.

“Ain’t no beast gonna lay a hand on me!” One big, buffy lad put his dirty boot on the table and yelled proudly. “Give me an axe and I’ll slay it right fuckin’ now!”

“Couldn’t even slay your girl last night, buddy!” Another tall guy responded, earning a round of laughs across the room.

“Whatcha say?! Come here and say it to my fists!” The first man tried to get down from the table without spilling his fourth beer, but as it was expected, he fell down as soon as his foot connected to the ground. The situation just made the tavern explode with more laughter, followed by a round of whistles and booing.

“He fell right down, just like he’s gonna fall in the wolf’s mouth I tell ya!”

“This one ain’t even worth as an appetizer! The beast will just walk past him.”

“Hell, he’ll probably walk past the beast and not even notice!”

More thunderous snickers and jabs followed deep into the night. It was pretty late, so at that point barely anyone knew what was happening anymore.

Well, one person, maybe.

“You shouldn’t be making fun of the beast,” A teenager, chubby and blonde, said out loud, making everyone turn their attention to him.

“Who let a kid in here?” Someone asked.

“That’s Ronaldo, you dumbass, the son of the owner of this place.” Another one replied.

“I’m serious!” Ronaldo put his hands on the table, frowning. “The wolf could easily tear all of us apart. None of you would be able to beat it in a fight. You shouldn’t be making fun of such a creature!”

“Ha! Let the monster try,” A bearded man snickered, getting up. “The moment it sets foot on this village again, it is dead meat.”

A chanting of ‘yeah!’ followed his statement, but Ronaldo wasn’t convinced.

“Oh yeah? The wolf’s been terrorizing this village for years and no one’s done a thing to stop it. It has kidnapped women and children! Your families could be next, and yet here you are, drinking yourself to a stupor!”

This made some of the sober ones stop and reconsider, but it didn’t last more than a fleeting moment. Soon, the tall man from before walked towards Ronaldo and towered menacingly over him. “I’d watch my mouth if I were you, Fryman.”

“Yeah, what do you know?” Another joined in. “You think we haven’t taken measures to stop the wolf from entering the village? You’re just a stupid kid, don’t act like you know what’s best!”

“Ever since chief Kofi sat on the throne, the kidnappings have lessened considerably!”

“Then why haven’t they stopped entirely?” Ronaldo was visibly shaking, but his pursue of the truth was bigger than the fear of being punched in the face by every man in the room. “Why haven’t we been able to kill the beast yet?”

And that was a really, really good question. Because everyone at the tavern knew the answer, and yet, they were too drunk and ashamed to admit it. After all, with more than 100 warriors constantly scouting the village’s boarders, it should not be possible for people to keep disappearing like that. They knew that whenever a woman or child vanished, it was the wolf that had taken them away, because its characteristic navy blue fur would show up on their beds at night. But the windows were locked, and the husbands were awake on guard duty. So how?

The truth was, no one had ever seen the wolf.

They didn’t even know if it was really a wolf.

It was actually a fairytale, passed down by generations. Mothers would tell their children to behave, or else the wolf would come and take them away, and husbands would tell their women to behave, or else they’d be killed by the same beast. And even though women and kids behaved, they still vanished without a trace. The only proof that it was a creature that had taken them, was that damned fur on their beds.

It was a curse that had been placed on that village ages ago, one that no one knew how to break.

“Shut up, fatso.” Was all the tall man replied, and everyone agreed that it was time to finish the conversation. Ronaldo just sighed as the men resumed their drinking and lively banter, as if nothing was wrong whatsoever.

He wanted to get to the bottom of things, but no one seemed to care enough to do anything. It had been that way for generations, even before his grandfather was born, and yet no one had the guts or brains to do some research. So, Ronaldo had taken this personal quest, and promised to find out the truth about what was truly happening in his village.

He just needed some support, but it was impossible to find anyone with more brains and less muscle in that place.

Powerless to keep arguing, Ronaldo got up and made his way upstairs, where his room was located.

Before reaching the steps, however, he bumped into someone.

“Sorry!” Looking down, he saw that it was his father’s helper, a tiny orphan boy who’d been taken in by the Frymans. “Oh, didn’t see you there, P.”

“It’s fine.” P. answered, his eyes downcast. “Excuse me.” He made his way through the crowd and grabbed empty bottles of beer where he could reach. He was too tiny, however, and men kept elbowing him in the face without even noticing. They didn’t apologize, of course – not that P. was expecting them to – so he did his task as fast as he could.

Ronaldo watched the scene disheartened. That boy was around his age, and yet he’d been through a lot more than any teenager should have. Despite Ronaldo’s efforts to try and talk to him about his discoveries, P. barely ate or spoke with anyone, his skinny body apparent through the thick coat he wore. He had deep bags under his eyes and red and purple marks all around his pale body. He worked around the place like a puppet.

P. was really a lifeless person.

With a sigh, Ronaldo finally turned around and walked upstairs to work on his theories about the wolf. He hoped P. got to rest soon.

---

Peridot grew up on the streets. No mother, no father, no siblings or family she knew of. Surviving was an instinct, and she did it effortlessly. Stealing food was easy and sneaking into warm places in the endless winter was like second-nature. She sometimes got into trouble, but she had never been caught so far; the girl was just stupidly fast for someone so skinny. Being young had its perks, she thought.

It also helped with finding out gossips that she could trade for food. Information had power if you knew where to look in that village. That was what she’d been doing for a long time; an information broker, who didn’t ask for anything but meals, warm clothes, and a place to sleep once in a while. She was fairly good at the job, so her life had become a bit easier thanks to that.

And the conversations she came across were starting to get interesting.

“Have you heard about the Lazulis?”

“Aye, it was time someone killed that terrible sorceress. The Lazulis were truly the right choice for the job, being a family of Witch Hunters and all!”

“Our crops will grow considerably now, and no more curses will be placed upon harmless civilians. We should throw them a party!”

Peridot listened to everything hidden under the sewer as she chewed on a piece of stale bread, and smiled to herself. Apparently, this Lazuli family had killed a powerful sorceress; one that had been terrorizing the houses for a long time. It was brand new info, too, since the two individuals talking were part of the town’s press; they usually received their news way ahead of everyone else. That could be exchanged for some meat, at least.

When her two informants walked away, she jumped down the drain and walked casually with her hands on her pockets. What a jackpot.

She had a wonderful dinner filled with proteins that night.

And that was just how she lived on a daily basis. It was a bit lonely, knowing that her friends wanted nothing but news from her, but she didn’t mind. It kept her alive, so she kept doing it. Things were as good as they could get for a homeless street rat.

Until growing up, at least.

The sudden growth spur turned her life into a mess. Her height was hindering her movements, and hiding was now a chore instead of a casual activity; surviving like that was starting to weight on her. She still had her gossips, somehow, but they were a lot weaker than her usual loot, so the people who used to do business with her abandoned her for good.

That was the beginning of her downfall.

One day, she fell while running away from the owner of a fruit stand, and twisted her ankle. At the last minute, she managed to find a spot to hide and not get caught, but doing so only managed to worsen her condition. Two days later and her foot was nearly black.

That was when she decided to look for help; there was no way she could keep going like this. Maybe someone was willing to lend some medicine and a warm resting spot.

Yeah, right. Not in that village.

“Sorry, P. You know the drill: no good, no beds.”

“I can’t do business with a foot like this, man.” She argued. “Come on, just one night and I’ll scram.”

“If I let you in, I’ll have to let all the other beggars in. Can’t be doing that.”

And then there was a door shut to her face.

Everyone turned her away. No one wanted a stinky street-rat limping near them, she was only scaring the costumers away. At first, it was just mean comments and warnings, but with that she could deal with. Words had never stung, and they never would – that was what she thought at the time.

Until the day the fruit stand owner caught her on an empty street. He recognized her face and she knew she was doomed. Her heart jumped to her throat and she tried to run, only to be stopped by her bad ankle. The pain shot through her body unlike anything she’d ever felt before, and she screamed.

She thought she would never feel anything quite as painful.

The fruit stand owner proved her wrong.

Over and over again.

--

She had lost track of time. Was it day? Night? Had it been a week? A year? She didn’t know, and she never would.

The man had locked her in a cell with water and crumbles of bread for longer than existence itself. At some point in the day he would come down and press down her hands in a really hard wooden contraption. She barely felt her fingers anymore, but somehow it still hurt like the plague. Then he would do the same thing with her feet, while asking her to apologize from stealing. She would say the words repeatedly, accomplishing nothing. When the man was satisfied, he would smile and spit on her.

This cycle repeated for days.

“May the wolf come and get ya.” He’d say.

He’d close the door and Peridot would lay down, emotionless. She had no idea what he was talking about, but anything that would come and take her away from that place sounded like a blessing.

“I wish it would.” She’d mutter until exhaustion caught up to her. She always prayed to never wake up.

And yet, she always did.

---

One of these days, Peridot died. Or she thought she had.

There was a really bright light suddenly, and she had to squint her damaged eyes to see. A tall figure made its way to her lifeless body and crouched. It was a woman covered in a blue veil, and she looked stunning. She touched Peridot’s hands and feet, and like a miracle, they stopped hurting. The girl had never felt so relieved in her life. Her chest filled with an unknow emotion – was this what happiness was? She’d heard about the word, but never experienced it.

The figure’s touch was magical. It was like being cradled by someone’s arms and feeling… safe.

“Finally…” Peridot whispered, closing her eyes, ready to go.

“Not yet,” The woman’s voice was sultry and echoed through her mind like a spirit talking. “You still have an important mission, child.”

“What…?” The feeling of dread came back immediately. “N-no, I don’t. I’m ready to die.”

“Yes, you do.” A ghastly wind made its ways into Peridot’s lungs as the deity spoke, and the environment started to change. The pure, white light emanating from her surroundings turned deep blue, and everything seemed to stretch to infinity. “I will save your life. And in return, you will get my revenge.”

Peridot didn’t know what was happening. Revenge? She didn’t want anything to do with it. All she ever wanted was to close her eyes and stop existing, peacefully. Now even that was being denied to her. “I d-don’t want this. Please, just take me away!”

But she knew the deed was done when the woman bestowed a kiss on her forehead. All of her brain functions seemed to awaken at once and she felt a strong pain on her chest. The world broke into pieces and reconstructed itself at the same time, and then, it stopped.

When Peridot opened her eyes again, her body was completely fine. No injuries, no pain, no hunger. She was a brand-new person. Blinking twice, she tried to grasp her surroundings. She wasn’t in the cell anymore, but in some kind of room.

Looking down, she realized that her hands were tinted red, just like the bed in the middle of the place. Shifting her gaze to the person lying on top of it, she saw the fruit stand owner. His eyes were open, but he was not seeing. His mouth agape, like he was shocked, and yet there was no sound coming from him. No breathing, either.

Peridot moved her fingers and dropped the knife she was apparently holding unconsciously.

She had killed the man.

With a yell, she fell backwards and crawled all the way back until her back hit the opposite wall. She brought a hand to her heart and heaved, trying to calm down, but failing. Her eyes moved towards the knife she had dropped on the floor, and slowly Peridot moved towards it. With a careful hand, she grabbed the object and swallowed, shivering.

She had killed a person.

If the village’s guards didn’t catch her, someone would. There was no safe place for a murderer, and she knew that. She’d heard way too many gossips about what happened to killers, and all of them described things that were worse than what she’d been through in that cell.

Without seeing another choice, Peridot pointed the knife towards her own stomach, and hesitated. She counted to three and closed her eyes, thrusting the metal against herself.

A metallic noise hit her ears, but there wasn’t any pain. She looked down and saw the knife apparently unable to pierce her body. Peridot tried once again, and nothing. So, she brought the blade to her neck and sliced; and yet, it was like a papercut. No pain, not even a feeling. She did it once, twice, three times in different places of her body, but every time the blade would hit her and stop as if it had hit a metal wall.

She dropped the knife again.

“No…” Getting up, Peridot ran outside, looking for something. She found a discarded rope in an alley and quickly grabbed it, making a noose. Then she put the noose around her neck and jumped from a roof, expecting to get strangled on the way down.

Yet, nothing happened. She was hanging by her neck, but could still breathe normally like any person.

“No, no, no.” The rope broke and she fell on the ground, unharmed. Peridot ran around town for hours, looking for other ways to die, and failing every time. Jumping from the bridge only resulted in water all over her body. She tried to lay down on the snow then; maybe hypothermia could get her. The snow eventually dissolved, like her body was a heat-pack. She jumped in front of a carriage, and left the street without a scratch. Nothing was working.

Absolutely nothing was able to harm her anymore.

When the night came, she sat down on the sidewalk and buried her head on her arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

Whatever that woman in her dream did to her, she made it impossible for Peridot to die.

And that was the worst curse of all.

---

Peridot lived for a long, long time.

The years went by, and she eventually learned more and more about her condition – no, curse was a better name for what had happened.

She didn’t need to eat.

She didn’t need to drink much, either.

Her body had markings all over it from her suicide attempts, but she couldn’t feel any pain.

She had stopped growing, too; it was like she was stilled in time, unmoving and unchanging.

She remembered a few things about the gossips she’d heard and the woman from her dreams, and put a few things together. First, that blue-veiled woman was clearly a sorceress; maybe the one who had been killed by the Lazulis, who knew. She had mentioned something about revenge, but Peridot had no idea what she meant by it. How would making her immortal help her with that? It was pointless to think about it.

The worst of all was that the woman never appeared again, never gave her any explanation. That was the most frustrating thing, in a way. That bitch was responsible for her life, and she had abandoned her. Peridot never asked for this. All she wanted to do was to finally rest after a miserable life with absolutely no accomplishments whatsoever, and even that was denied her. Now she wandered all alone in a place that didn’t need or want her.

Beggars were good for nothing.

She eventually learned about a wolf that had appeared in the woods and was kidnapping women and children from the village. It was a recent event, so people didn’t know much about what was going on. They knew it was a beast with blue fur, because the fur kept showing up in people’s houses after they disappeared; the villagers decided to call it a wolf because it was easier to recognize.

With not much to do, Peridot tried to go back to her life as an informant. Sometimes things worked out, sometimes they didn’t. She didn’t care much for what happened anymore.

She was immortal, and nothing hurt.

Her sense of self disappeared at some point, and she felt like a ghost. She still got tired and had to sleep, but other than that, her body was in top condition. Her mind – it was pretty much in pieces.

She heard more and more stories about the wolf; how it all had started a few days after the sorceress death, and how the first victim had been the daughter of Mr. Lazuli – she had disappeared without a trace, and soon enough other people started to follow. Peridot had to admit she was a bit curious, but there was not much she could do to attract this beast – if it was even real.

People – she learned as time went by – were good at creating monsters.

The seasons were still there, as always. Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter. Nothing changed much, and the village didn’t change. She witnessed new technologies coming to town, kings rising and falling, new people being born, new people being kidnapped, old people dying. Marriages, parties at the town’s square, new sports, new celebrities, old celebrities. Birth, death, everything she couldn’t fathom anymore.

And the sorceress who had casted the spell on her was still as quiet as ever.

The wolf was immortal too, apparently, since the kidnappings were still happening after a hundred years. But by now, it was already part of the village’s identity.

“Hey, what did you do today?”

“Oh, the usual. Went to work, bought some supplies, didn’t get caught by the wolf. How’s your mother?”

Peridot snickered. She learned many things throughout her life, but the most important one was that the only reason people were so stupid was because they hadn’t lived enough to witness their mistakes being repeated over, and over again.

That sorceress was truly cruel to her; the crowd’s stupidity was the worst part of her immortality.

At some point, a fat man found her when she was sitting on a gutter. His name was Fryman, and he was the son of another Fryman she knew.

“Are you okay, boy?” He asked, truly concerned. She didn’t have the energy to correct him on her gender – not that it even mattered.

“Peachy.” Peridot replied, not even looking at him. The man scratched his beard and sighed.

“Say, how about a meal? I have a tavern, you see, and it’s freezing out here.”

Impressively, she was surprised. That was the first act of kindness from anyone in that village in a century. Of course she was suspicious, but decided to indulge this man; it’s not like she had anything better to do. If he tried to hurt her, she wouldn’t feel a thing anyway.

“…Okay.” Peridot replied after a while, and he smiled warmly at her. When they arrived at the tavern, she simply said ‘oh’, but didn’t elaborate. There was no way to explain to this man that she’d seen that place being built 70 years ago.

The soup was warm and delicious, despite her lack of hunger. Something set in the pit of her stomach, and for a second she was hopeful – maybe poison could kill her? But it was just a burp.

“Bless you!” Fryman laughed. Peridot honestly didn’t know how to formulate a smile, so she didn’t. The man talked to her about various things, and she vaguely replied. At some point, he asked her if she wouldn’t like to work at the tavern in exchange for a bed and regular meals. Peridot frowned, not understanding. Was he… offering her his home? That was the weirdest thing she’d ever seen.

“I had another son, you see…” Fryman explained. “He passed away from a disease a few months ago. The doctor wasn’t willing to help him, and when we finally got to another medic, it was too late. I promised I would try to make this village a better place for his sake.”

If Peridot could feel anything, she would say that his story was touching. She was about to deny his kindness, but then she looked into the man’s eyes.

They were so…

Genuine.

“…Maybe I can stay. For a bit.”

And there is where she remained.

---

The tavern was finally empty after the night of heavy drinking and Peridot finished cleaning the last of the cups. Fryman walked out of the kitchen and sat down on one of the chairs, sighing tiredly. “What a day! Or night, eh?”

He winked playfully towards Peridot, but she just shrugged. They stood in a comfortable silence after that and then she finally yawned. “I’ll go to sleep.”

“Alright, have a good night, kiddo.”

Walking upstairs, Peridot was about to open the door to her room when Ronaldo caught her arm suddenly. “P., you have to see this!”

She rolled her eyes, but went with him anyway; that kid wasn’t so bad, just a bit crazy, maybe. He had some interesting theories, and she could sympathize with wanting to know what was happening around them – her whole life was a mystery to her, and she’d been there for a goddamn century. Sometimes she wondered what kind of funny expressions Ronaldo would make if she told him the truth about being immortal. The boy would certainly freak.

“Okay, so remember that I was looking for manuscripts and old books about the legend of the wolf?” He cleared out his desk and put some other materials on top of it. “I tried to look for traces of stories from all the way back when the beast first appeared, but nothing was helpful. Until today!”

Ronaldo opened one of the books, a really old one with yellow pages and a worn out cover. “Look at this! It says that a hundred years ago, a sorceress was living in this village, plaguing the crops and causing mayhem wherever she went. That lasted for years, until a man from the Lazuli family finally stroke her down. I never heard about this family, so I asked around.”

Peridot blinked, actually interested in what he was saying. She remembered hearing a lot about the Lazulis, the sorceress, and the wolf back then, but never really tried to piece the three of them together. Maybe something about this whole scenario could explain her own curse.

“The Lazulis were a really powerful family, full of riches. They were famous for forging weapons that used rare materials to kill witches, sorceress and demons! That’s how they managed to murder the sorceress,” Ronaldo turned the page. “But that still doesn’t have any connection to the wolf.” Then he paused, dramatically. “…Or does it?”

Peridot frowned, her heart leaping a beat. “So? Does it?”

“Well, if these records are accurate, a few days after they killed the witch, the firstborn of the Lazulis disappeared. She was a teenage girl, close to our age at the time. And look at this,” He pointed to a crudely drawn picture on the page. “They found blue fur on her bed. Just like the ones we are still finding to this day! Coincidence? I don’t think so.”

Peridot sighed in frustration; she already knew all of that, she’d lived it. She wanted answers, she wanted to know why she was like this, who was that woman from her dream, what revenge she was talking about, why hadn’t she contacted Peridot ever again, why can’t she die—

But it was unfair to expect Ronaldo to have all of these answers.

“I’m going to bed,” Peridot finally spoke up, too tired to think anymore.

“N-no, wait! I haven’t even told you the part where I think I figured out how to kill the wolf!”

“Goodnight, Ronaldo.”

“But don’t you want to know how this book says that only a cursed creature can kill another cursed being?”

Peridot stopped on her tracks, frozen solid. She turned around, and slowly walked back, her eyes open wide. “…What did you say?”

“It’s right here!” He pointed to another page. “It says that ‘only a creature cursed by the same sorceress can kill another cursed being’. The wolf is clearly a cursed creature, since it’s been around for a hundred years. Also, blue fur? No average wolf has blue—”

Peridot grabbed the book from Ronaldo’s hands and scanned the contents as quickly as her untrained eyes allowed her. After reading the whole paragraph, she dropped it on the floor and stared at the wall for a moment, ignoring Ronaldo’s protests of ‘hey, careful, this book is rare!’.

The gears in her head started to turn, and ever so slowly a macabre smile made its way to her lips.

Could it be…?

Without another word, she ran out of the room, downstairs, and away from the tavern. As she ran, her lungs burned, a nice sensation for her numbed body. There were so many things going through her mind at that point, but the one thing she kept repeating in a loop was the last verse of the famous poem dedicated to the wolf.

“There is a wolf in the woods!”

The people used to cry

“Then I shall go to the woods.”

Said the girl who wants to die.

---

It was quite interesting to notice that Peridot never even tried to go past the village’s borders even after a century. The main reason was because there was absolutely nothing on the other side but miles and miles of a dense, freezing forest. The border security was also a lot more intense than a hundred years ago – the wolf was the guilty one for that – but it was not like Peridot didn’t know her way in and out of the place.

She had been hiding her whole life.

Squeezing her way past the sewers, Peridot managed to walk in darkness until she found the familiar loose rock. She just needed to push that out of the way and a tiny cavern that lead to the outside came into view. After that, she just had to walk in a straight line for a few minutes and then go out. It was a really good place to smuggle things in and out of town, and Peridot wondered for a moment if the wolf wasn’t using that cave to sneak past the guards and kidnap the people.

Nah, it couldn’t be that smart.

The outside view wasn’t amazing; first there was a huge field of nothingness, covered by snow. The full moon allowed her to see where she was going, so she was glad for that, at least. Her steps were rushed, but calculated – she knew where the guards were, so she needed to hide her footprints.

As soon as the snowy field ended, the forest began. The trees were incredibly tall, covering up the moonlight and making it very hard to see. Peridot hated the prospect of walking in there in vain, but she needed to try.

If what Ronaldo said was true, maybe that night she could finally find peace.

She took a deep breath and gave the first step. Then she second. Slowly and carefully she walked deeper into the woods, shivering from head to toe – Peridot thought that nothing else would be able to frighten her, but she was wrong. That forest had a terrible aura to it and it felt like a thousand things were watching her every move, waiting for a moment of weakness to attack. She didn’t know why she was so afraid of that, since that was the exact reason she was even there.

Minutes went by and nothing was happening. Peridot was starting to think that her plan was a failure, just like everything else she did, and sighed. She bawled her fists and grit her teeth in anger, and threw her head back.

“Hey, wolf!” Her yell echoed through the trees and her heart picked up the pace. “I’m here! Come and get me!”

Something flew away in the distance, but nothing else happened. Her ears were focused on the tiniest of sounds and she bit her lip again.

“Are you deaf?! I said,” Peridot crouched and made a snowball from the snow around her feet. “Come. And. Get me!” She threw the snowball in a crooked direction, aiming at nothing.

The silence was crushing.

She had never felt so alone in her life.

Not even a blood-thirsty beast wanted her.

No one needed her.

No one had ever needed her.

So why—

Why wasn’t she allowed to die?

“Come and get me!” She screamed again, the desperation in her voice clear. “You stupid fucking animal! Get me! I’m right here! I’m here! I’m right—” The tears rolled down her cheeks and she sobbed. “Here…” She had no strength anymore.

Her knees gave out and she sat down, crying in her own arms.

“Someone, please… find me…” She whispered.

That was when something pushed her with an inhuman strength.

Peridot fell with her back on the snow and felt something extremely heavy pressing down on her chest. Once her dizziness dwindled, Peridot opened her eyes and saw the yellow, glowing eyes of a beast staring right into her soul.

The fact that everything had started to hurt was a sign that maybe Ronaldo was right after all.

Its claws were digging into her skin and its mouth was opened slightly, salivating, and showing huge, bright teeth. Pointy years, navy blue fur, bigger than any animal she had ever seen – and perhaps it was twisted of her to think that right under its jaw –, but at that moment, all she could gather was that…

The wolf was breathtakingly beautiful.

Its breath was so close to her throat that Peridot could feel each and every beat of her heart pulsating under the warmth of the animal. Without any other reaction, Peridot closed her eyes.

And smiled.

“Finally…” The word left her mouth in a single breath.

But the wolf didn’t bite down.

Instead, the weight was lifted from her chest slowly and she felt the wolf’s paw moving and shifting to something else. Her eyes were still closed when the beast seemed to remove its body from on top of her and Peridot frowned, confused.

She finally opened her eyes to see what in the world was wrong.

And when she did, the wolf was gone.

And a girl had replaced it.

“Why?” The girl spoke, with a raspy voice.

Peridot had no idea what had happened. She took a while, but eventually sat back up and looked at her, completely lost. She tried to formulate a sentence, but what came out of her mouth was a weak, “Um… excuse me?”

“Why do you want to die?”

Well. That was a question no one had ever asked her.

“I’m… I’m sorry, where is—”

“The wolf?” The girl interrupted, her neutral expression unchanged. Peridot looked at her and just nodded pathetically. The girl didn’t say anything and looked closer, as if studying Peridot’s features. Then she got up, cleaned her pants from the snow and mud, and looked back down at her.

The first rays of sunlight illuminated her face at that moment, and Peridot could finally make out her features.

Blue hair, sharp cheekbones, glowing yellow eyes.

And in a second, everything became painfully clear.

“You’re looking at it.”

Said the wolf.