#darya talks to herself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ironheartedfae · 7 months

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TIMING: At some point before [this] happened. PARTIES: @chasseurdeloup & @ironheartedfae LOCATION: The Common SUMMARY: Kaden meets up with Ren to return her knife from the first time they met in the woods, hoping to talk to her a little more. CONTENT WARNINGS: Emotional abuse (implied/mentions), Domestic abuse (implied/mentions), Parental death

Kaden felt a little silly sitting on the bench in the common waiting for Ren to show up. He could have simply dropped the knife off at her house or given it to someone else to hand it off. There was no reason for him to be the one to do it. Except for the part of him that wanted to see her again with his own two eyes, see if she was okay and maybe apologize. He hadn’t meant to set her off and send her spiraling. It sounded like she was missing for a while and he couldn’t help but feel like he caused it all. If he had just killed the cu-sith, none of this would have happened.

Yeah, he should leave. Emilio was right, she had other people helping her and he was just some piece of shit who didn’t need to bother. He’d only let her down the way he let down Keira. The ranger was a second from standing up and leaving when he saw the small redhead walking towards him across the way. Putain. “Uh, hey,” he said with a small wave. “Glad to see you’re alright.” At least mostly. “How are you doing?”

—

Feelings were hard. They all seemed to bubble up at once and then leave before Ren ever had a chance to sit through and understand them. For the most part, it was missing context. She could know that it was sadness, regret, confusion, or anger. Anger was the easiest to spot, even if she didn’t always know why she was upset. Well, she didn’t really know why she was anything most days. She wasn’t supposed to be. These things didn’t have as much weight before. Or maybe being around people made her more open to the things they experienced. If Ren got to have pizza and movie nights, she also had to have loneliness and self-reflection.

Kaden just got caught in the crossfire.

It wasn’t his fault. None of it was. Ren should have been polite. Courteous. That was what hunters were supposed to be to each other. Or at least that’s what Darya had always said. Be firm. Direct. And show no disrespect. Follow orders of anyone older, they’ve lived long enough to earn that. She didn’t really do that part either, huh?

“And you as well.” Ren nodded, a little awkwardly. Perhaps veering on a bit too formal. “You are not dead. This is good.” Conveniently, she didn’t answer his question. Only shot a vague statement along with her gesture. It wasn’t like she could lie about it, even if she physically could. Ren had no idea how she was doing. Still in one piece. That was the best she could say.

—

“Didn’t stop a werewolf from trying,” Kaden said, attempting to lighten the mood. With near-death experiences. Of course. Hunter humor, right? But. Anyway. Great. This was awkward. Kaden didn’t know what to do anymore so he simply nodded, drumming his fingers against his thighs. “Do you want to sit? Or, uh… I mean I can stand if that’s better.” He reached up to rub the nape of his neck. He should just throw the knife at her and leave but that stupid responsible part of him wanted to know if she was actually okay. Especially considering the last conversation they had. He wasn’t sure how many other people out there understood the sort of position she found herself in. That was if his assumptions were correct. Maybe he should have sent Andy out here to meet her instead. But then again, Andy didn’t have blood on her hands. Not like he did. Or like he suspected Ren might.

“Look, I don’t want to push my luck here, but are you maybe up for talking about what happened there in the woods?” Kaden knew he was wading into dangerous waters, but he couldn’t help himself. “If you don’t want to, I’ll just hand you the knife and you can go.” He was pretty sure that was going to be what happened so he was going to have to hit a home run right off the bat here. He took a deep breath, hoping he picked the right words for once, but he was prepared to be met with the same vitriol he got from Keira. “I know you’ve got plenty of people helping you and shit. Probably better people than me, too.” Gael certainly. Emilio was questionable, sure, but he’d earned her unwavering trust. Somehow. “But I didn’t ask you any questions I haven’t asked myself. And I struggled to answer them, too. Your anger looked pretty damn familiar.” He held his hands up in surrender. “Maybe it’s different, I don’t know your story. But you’re welcome to mine if you want. Even if it’s just to criticize me. It’s up to you.”

—

Ren didn’t say anything. Not verbally. Instead the small fae listened, observed. Saw the ways Kaden figited. Saw his anxiety reflect her own. Not a very desirable trait amongst hunters. She was far too familiar with the consequences for that lesson to leave. Ren was still. Silent. An ambush predator primed and ready, but with nothing to strike. And a growing distaste for even trying. If not for the supplies Darya sent each month, Ren might have stopped sending reports all together. Might have stopped the contact that kept her tethered.

But it was hard. Something in her still loved that woman, even if it probably shouldn’t. She was her mother after all. You had to love your mother. Even when the woman never really said that word out loud. Nor had Ren. Hunters didn’t do that. It was unspoken. Right? Darya had to love Ren, she kept her around all those years. Took her in when the fae who bore her had left her behind. Every missed meal was a lesson in self sufficiency. Every lost hour of sleep was a token of trust, the monsters wouldn’t wait until the young nymph was awake. Every bruise left by the old warden was just a reminder of how Ren could have done better. Could have been better.

Darya would hate to see how she was acting now.

The girl felt smaller than normal, sitting beside the ranger. Ren’s big green eyes were softer than they had been days before. She didn’t spit fire, or shout. She didn’t run. Didn’t insult. She was just there. Quietly waiting for him to tell his tale. Hoping it might give some context or clarity to the storm inside her head. Had he left the hunting life? Had he found a different way? Everything felt uncertain. It was easier when she didn’t think about this stuff. When she was on autopilot and nothing mattered except the mission.

—

Kaden had fully anticipated that Ren would simply turn and walk away. Instead, she sat down next to him. Huh. He hadn’t prepared for that possibility. He tapped his fingers against his thigh and took a deep breath. He’d offered his story. Okay. Right. What was that exactly? Where did he start? The beginning? The end? Somewhere else?

Alright, alright, he was overthinking it. “Not the best at this kind of shit so, uh, sorry if this doesn’t make any damn sense.” His eyes drifted across the grassy fields of the Common, broken up by the occasional tree and sidewalk. “I was raised pretty harsh. Started training young, It, uh, only got more intense when my dad passed. Werewolf got him.” He figured it would be easier if he breezed through the tough parts. She could stop him for questions if she wanted but he didn’t plan to pry deeper into his past than he needed. “Usual shit, really. All supernatural things are evil, should be eliminated, all of it. Which sounded like it made sense and all at the time. Werewolves killed people, so did vampires, zombies, fae. So did other monsters. And my family explained that the more supernatural creatures or magic or any of that in one place, the more it attracted dangerous shit that got people killed. And I thought that’s what I was born to do. Protect people. Kill shit. That the only way to protect our family and the rest of humanity was to be at the top of your game, not ask questions.” None of it was too different from what he’d heard from other hunters by now. He figured none of it would be surprising or earth shattering.

“I, uh, wasn’t great at the last part. The questions? Got a lot of shit for that.” It felt like any time he has anything other than blind obedience, the bar he was striving toward was raised even higher. Maybe his mother hoped that the more he trained and the more he worked, the less time he’d have to second guess. She wasn’t entirely wrong, he supposed. It had worked for a while. He’d fallen into the same patterns as every other hunter around him and stopped asking questions and tried to accept what he was told as the truth.

“When I got older, I started to pull away from my family. As much as they’d let me. And I wanted to keep an eye on my sister, too. But I became friends with someone. And he got turned into a werewolf. I— I never talked to him about it. Or told him what I was. Not that I could— Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could have pulled a knife out on him. My sister, uh, she… she didn’t have the same issue.” He grit his teeth for a moment, hoping to make the difficult part a little easier to say aloud. Not that anything really could. “She snuck into his apartment when I was supposed to meet him. And slit his throat when I said I wouldn’t kill him.” The rest he couldn’t go into even if he wanted to. The memories beyond the moment that he watched Damien’s life leave his eyes were all a blacked-out blur at best. “So uh, yeah. I left. Ended up here.” He gave a shrug, it was about all he had to offer after everything. “And stopped killing. After—“ His throat choked back anything that he had planned to say next. “I couldn’t.”

—

Words poured out of the hunter. Weaving a tale of duty, decisions, and woe. Ren listened in quiet reverence, intent and focused on each statement and what they meant. How they related to her own. It wasn't an exact one to one. Sure. And the nymph might not have always been the best at putting pieces together, sure. But Kaden's heart seemed to have traveled a similar enough path to the one she was on. Raised a hunter then found themselves questioning the truth. Which resulted in an anchor of grief that followed them and wrapped them up in an inky shroud.

So it wasn't…. Unique. The idea that hunting without deliberation between safe and harmful was… wrong. That not every monster was… a monster. That just maybe, the hunters sometimes fit that category more than the things they 'protected' the world from. Ren's stomach twisted. She sank further into herself as she wrestled with the feeling. She wasn't just following orders, enacting law written by her family, following generations of legacy. The nymph was hunting her own kind at the behest of someone else. It was another layer on top. One she didn't fully realize how rotten and metastasized into some wretched thing it made her heart. Each throw of her blade silenced the bells underneath her skin. Each time she drove the knife down… she was killing a part of herself as well.

"I am…not human." Another person might have responded to Kaden's story with an apology. Compassion. Ren wasn't suited well to that kind of social interaction. To her, the ranger explained his actions. What made him shy away from his 'programming', so she did the same. "They raised me to hunt anyway."

—

Kaden had tried to throw expectations out the window since he had found himself wrong at every turn so far that day. Still, she found a way to surprise him again. “Not human,” he repeated, letting the words roll over his tongue in hopes that he might be able to process it better afterward. His brows knit tightly together as he tried to parse through what that all meant. They took someone supernatural and trained them as a hunter. “Why?” It was the first thing that came to mind and he couldn’t stop it from spilling out.

Merde, probably was a little insensitive. He shook his head and pinched his eyes closed for a moment. “Sorry, it’s just…” There were no words for what it was. “Shit. It’s shit.” Alright, there was one. He was born to be a hunter, whether he liked it or not, genetics had decided that this was his fate. She had been handed something else. She wasn’t ever meant to have to live out the childhood he and so many other hunters shared. And it was shit.

His stomach dropped when something worse occurred to him. “They didn’t… They didn’t train you to hunt your own kind, did they?” He looked over to her, but he had a feeling he knew the answer as soon as the question left his lips. Of course anyone cruel enough to raise a child as a hunter who had no business being one would make them hunt their own kind. “You don’t have to be what they told you to be,” he added, turning back to look ahead of him. “Even if you don’t have any fucking clue what the alternative looks like.”

—

Ren had long since turned away. Not strong enough to stomach the idea of looking back at him. Words were hard enough already, but now it felt like her tongue was a sewer drain. Stopping all the garbage from seeping out. An acrid taste pooled in the back of her mouth where it seemed there was never quite enough spit to salve her throat. Tiny gloved hands pulled at the frayed edges of her shorts, until his question prompted an answer.

"Darya Adelskold was the matriarch of the clan." The name carried weight, in certain circles. It wasn't one she'd shared with Emilio. Not the last name. Darya had slipped, but the noble shield stood strong. As if… if there was anyone to blame it was the woman herself and not the whole legacy of wardens.

"She found me. After birth parents abandoned me. Was too small. Too weak. I am… defective in a way." Another something she hadn't shared with Emilio or Gael. Gael knew that Ren was still getting 'supplies' from the compound. But didn't know what was so important about them.

"But she took me on in the anyways." There was protest, her mother would explain. The others didn't want the risk. But she knew better. She had her little test to run.

"Who better to hunt fae than–" Ren couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't confirm what he'd been asking, not out right. Instead, she unclasped her knife. Swung open the blade, and gently pressed it into her naked forearm until it began to sizzle.

An answer in iron.

She set the blade down between them. Closer to its twin, the one Kaden still held. Green eyes bore into the ground off to the side. Watching a twitching piece of grass as it slowly revealed the inch worm making it dance.

Did it have a purpose, she wondered. Did the worm know that its duty was to die to feed the bird? Was it fair to say it ever knew freedom? Sure, It could go wherever it desired, but it would fulfill its duty one day. Just as the bird, catching it early as to sync with the old saying. All of them just leaves on the river. Bending to the whims of a higher power.

—

Adelskold. Kaden ran the name over in his mind a few times. It sounded familiar. Had to be wardens, considering. And based on the accent he was pretty sure they were Eastern European based. Not that any of that mattered, none of it made their actions any less cruel. It sounded like she wasn’t the only person in her life that was cruel. Abandoned by one family only to be abused by another.

Only… something didn’t sound right. If these were the Adelskolds he knew, they didn’t leave fae alive. They weren’t going to kindly take in a child who was abandoned as too weak. The only reason the child would be left was if–

Kaden’s stomach dropped. “Ren,” he said softly, tempted to look over at her but he resisted. This was going to be hard enough to say, it didn’t need to be any harder. “I don’t think you were abandoned. Not willingly.” He had no proof other than his own experiences, his only guesses based on what he knew about the family in question. “I could be wrong,” he added. “I’m sorry either way. And fuck who ever told you that you were defective.” He shook his head, mind driting back to his own childhood. “Hunter training is good at that. Making you think you’re defective.” It had certainly done as much for him.

His eyes darted to her hand as it began to sizzle against the iron. He instinctively went to put his own hand between hers and the knives on the bench, to protect her from harming herself again. Anger boiled up inside of him that seemingly no one did as much when she as growing up – no one looked out for her. He had to remind himself that she had a soft place to land now. She was living with Gael who clearly cared, though he had to wonder how much the werewolf really knew. Had to admit, it was tempting to find this Darya and lock her in a room with Gael on a full moon. It’d be the least of what she deserved if the picture Ren was painting of her was anything close to what he imagined.

Kaden thought it was cruel to teach children to hate, the way his family and so many others had. This was a different kind of fucked up. Not only was she taught to hate, she was taught to hate herself. Then again, wasn’t Alex taught the same in a sick and twisted way? It wasn’t fair. Kaden hated himself for what he’d done, he hated that what he was let him to do those things, but it wasn’t the same as this. Kaden had made his own choices, Ren and Alex never got any.

—

The second he said her name Ren bristled. Somewhere between the tone and the heaviness of it she sensed what was coming next. The very same judgment call she’d heard before. Both from hunters. Both said with conviction. An old familiar tightness gripped her by the throat. Bidding her to stand and grab for her knives to shove in their sheaths. Puffed up her chest and sent her pacing, too mad to respond.

But she didn’t leave.

Ren didn’t yell either. No matter how much she wanted to. The movement was enough to show her agitation, but it was also a safe way to expend the sudden buildup of energy that bustled inside her chest. So she could process. So she could think. It was a safer solution. One that took a hell of a lot of reserve and willpower she didn’t even realize she had.

A minute or so went by. At least it felt that long. Could’ve been half, could’ve been five. It was so hard to tell when she got that caught up in the ambush. The hotheaded redhead trudged back over to the bench, but made a show of sitting as far away from Kaden as possible while still staying on the structure. She didn’t look at him. Her hands squeezed into fists and released, like the beating of a heart.

“This is not the case. It cannot be.” Resolute. Almost calm. Defending the whetstone that had sharpened her. The one who had caused the confusion that drove Ren to shout at Kaden in the first place.

—

Kaden was sure this would be the moment she up and left for real so he was shocked to see her stand still. She looked almost like a panther ready to strike, only she couldn’t decide what she was fighting, where she planned to pounce. Instead, she gathered herself and sat back down on the bench. He’d given up on trying to predict the twists and turns of this conversation and even then he was surprised that she stayed. At this point, he wasn’t even sure why. Was this even helping her? It didn’t seem like it.

He sighed and shrugged. “If you say so. I mean look, I don’t know them. I just know hunters, that’s all.” He hoped he was wrong, but Kaden knew he wasn’t. He knew that the people who raised Ren were the same people who had murdered her family. There was no doubt in his mind but if she needed to hold onto her own doubt, who was he to shatter that hope? “I’m sorry I brought it up,” he said after a long stretch of silence. He considered offering some sort of help, anything he could do to make this better, but he had nothing to offer. Not really. He was nothing more than a failed hunter talking to a broken kid who was taught to hate herself even more than he’d learned to hate himself.

“I don’t know why hunting has to make everything so fucking miserable.” At this point, he wasn’t sure who he was speaking to, if he was talking to her or to himself. It really didn’t matter in the end. The sentiment remained the same. How was something that was supposed to help people able to cause so much harm? It was bullshit.

—

Back and forth. Leave and stay. An ever changing tide brushed up on the shores of Ren's mind. Crashing over rocks and breakers only to leave tidepools that chipped away at all she thought she knew. Green eyes stared out into the edge of the woodline. In the direction she assumed the compound to be. Bile rising up to meet the back of her throat. Acrid and sour. Tinging the whole of her tongue with the flavor of metal.

She didn't want to think about it.

Didn't want to entertain the possibility because it hurt too much. Was it all— would any of it be real if Kaden's hypothesis was right? "She loved me." Ren could say it, so it must be true. "She would not have done such a thing as this. She loved me. She became my mother and my mentor and she loved me. I just made it… difficult for her to show sometimes."

Trembling arms held tightly to one another, soothing what she could in the only way she knew how. The only comfort she had really ever received before coming here. Darya and the wardens had skin of iron, they couldn't embrace Ren like that. Jericho always had some far off look in his eye, like something about the situation wasn't right. She had always just assumed it was hard to be in the presence of a fae. Something that should just be put down before it caused any misery or pain.

Pain that Kaden seemed to share, in one way or another. Guilt washed up on the same shore as shock and anger. Ren had taken far too much out on the man who was only trying to help. "I do not have answer to your question. But I know there are still people who need protecting. Maybe it is… better to put self aside, for good of the many."

—-

Kaden didn’t know what to do, how to help, how to comfort. It was something she clearly needed but who the hell was he to give it? His hand hovered over her shoulder, unsure if his touch would help or harm. In the sort of state she was in, it was hard to say. He thought better of it and balled his hand into a fist instead before settling it back down at his side. This probably wasn’t the best place to have this conversation, out in the open, exposed and vulnerable, but he didn’t want to set it aside lest the words he had for her never got said again.

“Love isn’t supposed to be conditional,” he said, words soft. “It took me a long damn time to figure that one out. My mother loved me. But only if I was up to her standards. Only if I did what I was supposed to.” He began to turn to look at her, a little bit at a time, his eyes still drifting back to the landscape on occasion. He knew too much direct eye contact would spook her, send her running like a scared, stray cat.

“My sister killed my best friend. And I still–” The words choked him. He swallowed and tried again.”I still love her. I still want to see the best in her. I still care about her. Even though…” Another hard thing to say. “Even though she disowned me.”

His voice was nearly a whisper, but he was sure she heard. “That’s how love is supposed to work, kid. There aren’t supposed to be ‘buts’ and ‘ifs.’ And it fucking sucks learning that the people you love don’t— Or can’t love you back. I get it.” He wasn’t entirely sure that he’d accepted that fact of the matter when it came to his own family. It was easy to rationalize, pull up the good memories, the things they got right, and rewrite his own history now that there was distance between them. He knew better than to do that.

Maybe it is… better to put self aside, for good of the many.

Putain. How many times had he said or thought something similar? That was one thing. But hearing it from a kid? He grit his teeth, trying to grind the anger back down. “Maybe,” he said, words short and sharp despite his attempt to hold back the anger boiling up inside him. This piece of shit warden, this Adelskold had really done a fucking number on her. She deserved some of her fucking teeth knocked out. “But you can be for the good of many.” Right, that didn’t make as much sense out loud as it did in his head. “I mean, you being you, not putting yourself aside. That can be for the good of many. Even if you don’t know it.” Not that he believed that of himself, he didn’t think he did a whole lot to bring good to that many people but that was different. He knew it was true for some people, though.

—

Love isn’t supposed to be conditional.

What a simple, and yet completely foreign notion. Throughout the whole of her life, love wasn’t given, it was earned. A metric to measure her skill and growth by. Did Ren earn the right to call herself daughter, or was it just apprentice? Was Darya her mentor, or was she good enough to call her mother? Each discrepancy left a node of stress wherever they interlocked.

Ren pulled her knees up to her chest, still almost cantilever off the far edge of the bench. Her antennae twitched underneath her glamour, picking up the vibrations of his movements. But not understanding why he reached, why he retreated. She ducked her head down, leaning her chin onto her knees as he continued to speak. To explain his point of view. Express sympathies for things that Ren wasn’t fully sure someone should be sorry about.

She never had siblings. Didn’t know the weight that might carry. But she tried to imagine the way Darya might react if she saw how Ren was acting now. How broken her blade had become in such a short amount of time. A failed experiment by any stretch of the words. Surely she wouldn't hesitate to strike down someone like Cass, despite how similar in age she was to Ren, or Regan despite how level headed and morally just the banshee was. Feeling like you had brought that fate down on them… it would crush you.

The curly head of orange hair cocked to the side slightly. Just enough that her eyes caught sight of Kaden. She looked troubled, but when didn't she?

"It is sorrowful that this happened to you. You– are kind. You did not deserve this."

—

It was clear enough that the kid was trying to process all this as best she could, Kaden could see that much. How much she could manage right here and now, he didn’t know. And it was nothing he could help much with either. He just hoped she could process some of it, any of it, that something he said helped, that he hadn’t made it worse. He was pretty fucking good at making things worse. Wouldn’t surprise him.

He huffed out a laugh. “Not sure how kind I am,” he said with a shrug. It was hard to think of himself as that when he knew what he’d done in his past, how many people he’d killed and hurt. How much he’d screwed up. He couldn’t call himself kind. “But thanks.” Was he supposed to say that to fae? He wasn’t sure, couldn’t remember. “You didn’t deserve it, either, you know. Any of the hard shit you went through.” Which seemed like an understatement at the very least.

Kaden took a sharp inhale and blew the air back out just as sharply. “Well this got heavier than I expected.” The question of what now lingered in the space between. He felt like there should be a way to make this better, something small and simple but nice. “Uh, do you like coffee?” He wasn’t sure that she struck him as a coffee person. “Or ice cream or something? Tea? I don’t know. Something nicer than the shit we’ve been talking about. On me.”

—

There wasn’t a hunter alive who’s ego had ever saved them, yet it still seemed that the rest weren’t allowed to have any self-confidence at all. Doubt and grief had no place amongst the armory. Both grew like rust along the blades, slowly taking each until the weapon broke down entirely. Ren didn’t know how to fix such a thing. All she could do was offer her words, her opinions (now that she was allowed to have those) and her company. Not that any of those were worth very much. Maybe it was enough that she couldn’t lie.

“I am not as much of a coffee person as my– as Gael is. I also do not care for ice cream as it is too cold. But tea is nice.” Ren offered something of a sympathetic smile. She had chosen to gloss over the rest of what was said, as it still needed to be processed and unpacked before a proper response could be formulated. If one ever could. Each subject was a minefield and she didn’t know how best to approach them, or if avoiding all together was the play. “But you should not put the tea on you, no matter what joy you think it may bring. It will likely burn your skin. They have to boil water to make it, you know.”

—

Kaden looked at her, wondering what it was she was about to call Gael. Not that it was any of his business, he was just curious. It was good for them, both of them, to have one another. Maybe they could find some normalcy in this town together. She certainly deserved as much. “Coffee is an acquired taste so fair enough. Not like you can get anything amazing in this town either way.” He knew most people weren’t as picky as he was nor did they have the point of comparison but he couldn’t help mentioning it. “I’m not much of a tea person but I have a feeling most places will have both tea and coffee,” he said offering a small smile.

His brow furrowed. It took him a second to figure out why she was talking about putting the tea on him. Were fae tea-drinking customs that different from normal ones? Then it hit him. “Oh, uh, I don’t mean literally,” he said, rubbing his hand against the nape of his neck. “When I said ‘on me’ I meant like I’d pay.” Huh, guess it was a little strange that the phrasing was what it was. “Not sure why that’s the saying. Maybe short for ‘the bill is on me,’ I don’t know.” Probably didn’t matter. “Uh, anyway, I think we can get some from the shop a block that way,” he said, pointing toward the direction of the cafe in question.

—

The strangeness of the questioning and explanation was enough to pull Ren from the endless thoughts of what she’d done wrong, and what she could have done better. Each was a road too painful to walk, and yet she so often found herself there. Kaden was offering to pay for the drinks, and the nymph still wasn’t sure why. But she nodded to be polite. Following the hunter she had spent most of the afternoon not being able to look at.

Ren didn’t know what to make of any of this, didn't know how to properly sift the feelings that still swirled up inside her. Tea paid for by someone else probably wasn't going to fix any of it, but it was a start. It was something. And it would give the nymph time to think of some way to show her appreciation for the return of her knife, and the sharing of stories. That's all people were in the end, right? The stories they carried and the ways they responded to them. Maybe one day she'd be able to look back at her own tale and be able to see herself for whatever kind of person she had become. Rather than the one she had been crafted into.

#wickedswriting #emotional abuse tw #domestic abuse tw #parental death tw #mentioned/implied

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canis-or-cannotis-lycaon · 10 months

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TIMING: About four days after ‘Pulled from the Edge’ LOCATION: Gael’s House PARTIES: Ren [@ironheartedfae] and Gael [@lithium-argon-wo-l-f] WARNINGS: Child Abuse/neglect (past)

SUMMARY: After a week of resting up at Gael’s house, Ren has a crucial decision she needs to make

Had it been four days or five? Gael wanted to say he lost track since the altercation with the mutated turtle Ren insisted was called a ‘Vodnik’ but it was difficult for him to lose track of time unless it was ripped from him during one of his sleepwalking ventures. It had been four days. The rain, while still persisting, had lightened up but that meant that regardless of how long she wanted to stay, he had come to an agreement with the girl who took up residence in his spare room until it was gone at least. He occupied his kitchen now, having texted her when he was out and about picking up some groceries - Gael didn’t know what she meant by ‘creamy with potatoes but not chunky’ but after doing a little bit of research he figured she was talking about… cream of potato soup. Somehow he didn’t think she would object even if it wasn’t the right dish but he couldn’t say he wasn’t about to try to make it for her. “I’m home!” He called through the house, leaving his shoes in the entryway next to the wall behind the door as he carried his couple bags of groceries in. The past week had seen him being more domestic than he had been in a while between gently tending to her if she needed it (though she was very independent) and Elias coming and going with his job and other activities, but he realized that he didn’t really mind it - he still had his own job and things to do, he just came to the conclusion that he didn’t like living alone. He felt… vulnerable when he was alone. Loosely speaking of, as he set the bags down and put the cold items in the fridge, he tilted his head as he heard a rhythmic pattern coming from the spare room - he was used to Ren not greeting him even if he announced his arrival and departure but he could hear something unusual this time. Licking his lips and looking at the wall as though he could see through it for a moment, Gael left the rest of the groceries where they were and he made his way around until he stood in front of her closed door where he knocked thrice gently. “Ren?” He called through the door gently. “Are you alright?” He asked, wondering if it was something he said in their messages to each other - she had abruptly stopped responding and he hoped he hadn’t said the wrong thing.

____________ Panicky pacing back and forth did not actually seem to help with the situation brewing inside Ren’s mind. The tidal shift of a pleasant conversation to one that sent the young fae into a tizzy about being fae (again) was making more than just waves. The nymph had been too wrapped up in her own thoughts to realize that she’d been verbalizing some of them aloud. In a way that was fine to do when she lived on her own, far removed from other people who might see or hear. She kept reading and re-reading the conversations. Trying to parse through what was right, what was dismissable, and what that meant she should do now.

Did he know? Should she tell him if he didn’t? More and more queries swirled into the storm, a rising tempest of endless questions that spiraled and fractaled out into more and more uncertainty. Distrust in herself, in all the things she was taught growing up, and how little they seemed to fit into the real world. One thing was persistent, above all else. Darya had never accounted for the kindness of strangers. Never thought or maybe realized that those who were not wardens would just see Ren as a young human girl. It felt like lying. Is a lie of omission still big enough of a lie that it counted? Whether it was binding fae magic, or just the after effects of panic, Ren was feeling sick to her stomach.

A voice called out. Not just any, Gael’s. The source of both so much comfort and on the equal and opposite side, stress. Not directly anything that he did, just… Potential energy. Right now (if Ren were any type of physicist) she’d say felt like she was sitting at the apex. The highest part of the parabolic swing. A dizzying view of every possible horizon. Hazily laid out before her through a deep fog of context she just did not have. She trusted Gael. It’d only been a few days, weeks verging on months if you counted his online council as well. But there was something to it.

Are you alright?

Simple enough question. Simple enough answer. Ren didn’t know where to stand, mentally or physically. Feeling at odds with herself in any position she found herself stepping to. So she retreated to the bed. Buried her face in her hands, and her hands in her knees, only then answering with a ragged; “No.” ____________

The chemist remained silent, lowering his head as one of his ears faced the door in anticipation for the response. In the few short days Ren had spent at his house, he felt as though he had learned a few crucial things about her, even if they were from his own interpretation and experiences in life so he wasn’t surprised when she answered with an honest and simple ‘no’. It was obvious when Gael thought about it - even if she wasn’t just pacing, he could hear her muttering to herself, possibly either engaging in a hypothetical, using herself as a soundboard or a mantra she used as a coping mechanism. “Okay,” He said just as gently and he turned to look at the door this time, dancing over its features as he mind wondered which scenario this was. “May I come in?” Gael asked slowly. “Or would you rather have some space?” There were too many variables in his mind and while he didn’t know what was going on, he was also unwilling to make the wrong call based on what little information he had. He also wasn’t even sure if he should be asking but having grown up with four sisters, he certainly knew better than to open a door on an unexpected female. He could figure out where to go from there but as of right now, he still patiently waited on the other side of the door, her muffled response sticking onto his mind.

____________ Shivers sang sweet siren songs of silence beneath her skin. Beckoning the nymph to remain in comfortable distance, to ignore the stirring in her heart and not admit her sins. Because that’s what she believed it to be. Ren was born fae. Born wrong. Born evil. There was no baptism of light or healing that could stop that. She’d been raised as a shield and a sword, but now she was being grafted into a position of personhood. Being asked to think of herself as more than just her mission. It was a fine, fine line to tread. One she was not so sure she wouldn’t fall from.

Accept help, betray her mother.

Deny it, lose whatever this was.

A group of friends, marked and bound by death, fire, and an oath that Ren had escaped from sharing. A detective who’d seen past the girl’s inability to take anything on principal and gave her a job to earn food and respite. So many people online and around town who’d offered a helping hand, a bit of advice, jokes and information she’d never even hoped to learn before.

A man who, without asking or wanting anything in return. Tended wounds, made food, gave her shelter, clothes, and a bed. A real fucking proper comfy cozy bed. Said she could stay as long as she liked.

He wanted to know what was wrong, and she did not want to lie. Ren felt sick at the thought alone. Her heart heaved with the heaviness of it all. It was a marathon to lift her head to the back of the door. To the strange scratches and where she couldn’t see beyond it, Gael.

“You can… come in. There is… talk we must have. Before you… make dumb decisions without knowing full consequences.” ____________ More pause lent itself to the breath Gael hadn’t realize he was holding until she gave him a response through the wood. Granted, the ‘yes’ was followed by a vague utterance that he wasn’t sure what to make of but that wasn’t on the forefront of his mind. “Okay, I’m coming in,” He announced as he slowly, gently opened the door to see her curled into herself on the bed, her freckled face regarding him as he crossed the threshold. She was upset, that much was clear but Gael wanted to figure out why. And if she wanted to talk, regardless of whether or not it was to keep him from ‘making dumb decisions without knowing the consequences’, then he was more than willing to talk though part of his mind started racing - did she get some idea that he was keeping her with an ulterior motive? Did someone else tell her about his brain injury, about the sleepwalking? “Talk to me, little fern,” He closed the door though it didn’t latch, letting her know that while they had privacy he wasn’t creating an obstacle to make it more difficult for her to disengage. “What’s going on?” He opted to sit on the bed near her, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees as he kept his dark gaze on her young face, the face that he’d seen gripped by animal instinct, the face that expressed curiosity and confusion, the face that he’d seen smile and heard laugh.

____________ Once again her skittishness, her inability to interact with things in a normal way was only greeted with compassion. And god, didn’t that make it so much worse? Ren screwed her eyes shut. Knowing the next part was going to be too much for her to see. Was there a limit to his kindness? To the way he ‘liked to view things from other perspectives’ or however he’d phrased it? Her throat was tight. Dry. She’d barely said anything and she wanted to stop already.

The bed bent with the new weight, not by much, but enough to tilt her small frame slightly toward him. Enough that her shoulder brushed against his and added another thing she felt bad about how nice it was. To have someone nearby. Someone who cared. Probably too much.

“There are–” A start. Hoarse. Ragged. “Things you do not know about me. I am not–” Not human, not good. “I am not who you think I am, not what you think I am.” Did she even know what that might be? Ren swallowed again, but it did nothing for the lump still sitting heavy at the base of her neck. The way Emilio reacted was different. He was different, he was a hunter. He knew about the supernatural world, and Gael was still calling the vodnik a mutated turtle. Made it all the more difficult to discern where this all could land.

There was a voice in her head shouting that he should be disgusted, and another quieter one that knew it would break her if he was scared. But she couldn’t just… not. Ren knew that she couldn’t keep accepting warm rooms and freshly made food if it meant keeping something this big from him. Not if she was going to freak out every time something brought it up. It was better to rip off the bandaid. Sear the wound tight. At least she’d know where she could stand.

____________ Her skin touched his and while her body temperature was still lower than what he was expecting, it was certainly better than the first day he brought her in from the situation outside in the rain. She was so light. Gael looked at her with earnesty, managing to soften his expression as much as he possibly could as whatever was burning her mind obviously had trouble getting to her mouth. When she did though, mentioning that she was neither what nor who he thought she was, his brow furrowed ever-so-slightly. He admitted that he didn’t understand what this meant - was she going by an alias? Had she taken someone else’s name that she assumed for herself? …Was she actually a 40-year-old man with a condition that made her look like a young girl? That last one was obtuse but not… entirely outside the realm of reality, as unlikely as it was. However, as Gael asked himself these questions, rhetorical what-ifs, a new question formed inside and it wanted to stop all the other inquiries. What did it matter? It was a big enough deal to Ren to work her nerves up but honestly, it didn’t sit right for Gael to suddenly change everything he knew about her, everything he learned and adapted about himself for his temporary guest because of some information or a liar revealed. He had enough of an idea to know that she had killed before, though he couldn’t be sure if they were animals or people. HE’D killed animals… so she wasn’t the only one hiding a facet of who she was. How could he be such a hypocrite? Gael opened his mouth to say something but he was having trouble coming up with something sufficient enough, something to assuage the turmoil she might’ve been experiencing. “I can’t… pretend to understand what you’re thinking right now,” He said slowly, making sure his voice was calm and even. “But I’d like to help if I can.” He blinked and turned to look at her. “I’m not here to judge you or throw you out.” He rubbed his hands together, leaning slightly to give her a very light nudge. “I promise.”

____________ With substantial effort, Ren had almost brought her breathing to a steady tempo. There was even a moment of warmth and light as he nudged up against her. Right up until those words came out. If she were more like her kin, she could have twisted those words to make him keep her around. Force him into something he might not choose himself and that terrified her.

The nymph loosed a bark of air that almost sounded like a desperate laugh. Tears began to prickle at her eyes and her cheeks turned red. “No. No-no-no, you cannot promise this. Please. There are things about this world you do not understand.” She was sinking further into herself. Probably making a mess of how coherent and audible her words were. Which was not great considering the potentially earth shattering news she had to break.

“That creature was not a turtle because it was a thing called a fae. It is magic. I am–” There was a long, long pause before she next spoke up. “I am not human, Gael.” Confession out in the air, she dug her head down further between her knees. A stone to weather whatever would come next. Against everything, she found herself wishing his reaction would be negative. It’d be so much easier to navigate. She could leave. Escape. Never let him see her face again.

And it hurt. These last few months had been the best she’d ever lived. This last week had some of the most comfort she’d ever allowed herself to enjoy. Ren didn’t know how to give that up. But she would. In a heartbeat, she would. More than anything else in the entire world, she did not want to hurt good people. People like Gael didn’t deserve to have monsters like her in their life. Problems waiting to happen. She’d wrestled enough with it when Emilio had so firmly set his opinion down. But she still couldn’t escape the idea that the fae inherently were bad. Something to be exterminated. And that meant her too. ____________

Right as he thought he had more of this figured out, Gael found himself wishing he could go back to a few moments before, when he hadn’t said those words - ‘thank you’ and ‘promise’ were off the table. He didn’t– He didn’t understand. And evidently Gael didn’t know how true this was as he saw Ren’s emotions breaking the surface and the words that she said didn’t quite register with him at first. She had him until she mentioned magic, something called ‘fae’ (even though he heard Beau making comments about that before, as well) and that she wasn’t human. Not human, what did that mean? What was she talking about? He managed to keep the confusion off his face but he couldn’t keep his thoughts from starting to swirl around in his head. Alan had spoken about something like this, too. Beau, Alan, Emilio had mentioned things not as they seemed, Regan. Monty, Ariadne, even Ren’s lowered body temperatures… Maybe his face wasn’t as well-hidden as he thought as he thought more about everything that piled up with this supposed revelation that Ren wasn’t human. Gael blinked and swallowed a knot that had formed in his throat without him even being aware. He could rationalize this. She was… delusional. HE was delusional. But also… even if she didn’t accept his promise, he told her that he wasn’t going to judge or cast her out despite the doubts that suddenly pulsed through him about her, everyone else that he’d met that seemed abnormal… himself. And for a moment, his mind switched the two of them. Gael WAS human but he had this… condition and for that same moment, he pretended that he was telling someone else who had no idea that this was part of him what he did. That he killed animals in his sleep, that he stripped down and wandered around who knew where, that every once in a while with zero explanation or ability to change it, something ruptured from within him and made him do things. His gaze flickered to the deep gashes on the back of the door. How terrified he would be of the rejection, the experience so strong that he HADN’T told anyone about it. His was just a brain injury, a neurological rewiring that had him say and do things that he didn’t mean to. And maybe… maybe the things Ren was saying were similar. Gael exhaled and looked to Ren for a moment, softly, his brow knitted in empathy, and he reached up to wipe one of the tears from her face gently. “It’ll be okay.” He offered quietly, not sure how true that was but for the purposes of right now, with the two of them on the bed and neither of them quite sure how to traverse this sea that they found themselves in, he gave her his word. “Magic or no magic, I said I wasn’t here to judge you.” He followed up. “Human, not human… The rain will stop eventually but you can stay as long as you want.” ____________

Waves of heightened emotion crashed around her. As the only thing worse than rejection settled in, Gael did what he always had done. He was kind. A gentle thumb found her cheek, stopped the silent stream of tears and wiped them away as she flinched. God she wished she hadn’t. Gael didn’t deserve that. Didn’t need a problem like Ren in his life. He didn’t understand, not really. He was still saying it was okay. Still saying she could stay, for who knows how long. If he really meant it, if he really would be alright with it, she’d stay forever. She knew that. But it wasn’t that easy.

If this had been an easier world, this conversation wouldn’t even be happening. Ren would be able to grapple with the fact that despite the image of her mother in her head, despite the fact that she so desperately wanted to believe that Darya had been a hero, she might not have been. Or she was, and that was worse. If she had the capability of compassion and care like Gael did, but she chose not to give it to Ren anyway. Because of who she was, because of who Ren was. Wardens couldn’t care for fae.

So why did she take her in?

Would Ren really have turned out to be a monster if someone like Gael had been there from the start? Someone who could teach her the right things to say, the right way to feel. Or at least someone who had even half a chart on navigating all these foreign emotions that came on so quickly, so intensely. A blade didn’t need to feel. Didn’t need to think. Didn’t need to question anything and everything the way Ren wanted to now. The way that each new unanswered query stretched out in front of her like a million fractals, each splitting off into more and more. All of them doubling down and forcing her to interrogate every bit of information she’d been fed her whole life.

“You do not get it.” The words were unintentional. But they came out anyway. In the same way Ren’s mind refused to let Emilio in, let him just be okay with her as she was, she was doing it now too. Defensive. Anger was easier because it meant she didn’t have to sit in the chaos of the unknown. The unsorted. Her past was too messy for the future to hold anything good. She was not good. Gael had to see. Had to know.

In her mind, there was only one way to do that. Something she hadn’t done on purpose pretty much ever in her life. Slip away the glamour, the fake facade that made her appear as something other than the monstrous thing she truly was. A horrible little bug, a pest. Skin shimmered away, replaced with a smooth green carapace, dotted with red splotches that almost resembled the freckles on her ‘human’ cheeks. Horns, antennae, segmented body parts and wings. Somehow even smaller than the form she paraded around in. Especially all curled up like this.

“This. This is what I am. And it is not a good thing. This is why it is dangerous to say Thank You, to say that you promise to do something. When I say I am not human, I– I am a monster.” The last and only other person to see this shape had said so, but in a much kinder affectation than Ren used. To Nora, it meant companionship in their shared oddness. To Ren it meant she’d never be something worthy of trust.

____________ She flinched, which Gael sort of expected though he kept his hand up for a moment before lowering it. The two were silent for a long moment before she said the simple phrase. ‘You do not get it’. His expression faltered slightly and he wondered what she would do if he told her that they might’ve been more similar than she thought. And then… Ren’s visage started to shift, shimmering, altering as though she were covered in glitter again. Gael subconsciously scooted away as the human he sat next to was slowly and effortlessly replaced by… what he could only describe incredulously as an insectoid with horns, wings, antennae. No longer was he sitting next to Ren the human, he now found himself beside a small… he didn’t even know what to call her. At first, Gael thought he must’ve been losing his mind though he couldn’t possibly explain what had happened, what was going on to betray his vision and a small, primal part of him wanted to escape, leap off the bed and out of the room so fast even he wouldn’t be able to process what was going through his mind. And yet… She spoke to him somehow, in some way, through her inhuman mandibles, and without thinking he snapped his eyes shut - his vision wasn’t reliable, he needed to hear her. Hear how she sounded regardless of manipulating him or what had happened to make him lose his mind. She sounded… “It’s still Ren.” Gael breathed. And he took another breath. Eyes still closed, he lifted his head and took another breath. Leaned into where Ren was sitting. Grass, earth… smoke. The scent on the sheets, in the room. Ren’s voice. “You’re still… Ren.” With his head turned to face her, he opened his eyes again and they rested on the small, insect-like form on the bed. “I… don’t get it.” He repeated her earlier sentiment. “But I also can’t… accept that you’re a monster.” He sighed.

____________ Well what the hell was she supposed to do now? Ren had laid out all her cards, played the final ace and– There was some fear. Perhaps it was just hesitation. So brief the young fae had not properly been able to catch, so brief compared to how it should have been, how it– No. No he wasn’t like that. Ren was starting to see the patterns. While sticking to everything she knew might have been the more comfortable path internally, even her stubborn mind could see that Gael was just… just too good of a person to reject her just like that. When a world altering revelation had been dropped in his lap he just… adapted. Took a few seconds to stop and think, then continued on the gentle path he was coaxing Ren ever closer to.

The few moments where he had closed his eyes were easier, now he was just… staring. Not the intense way that Ren tended to adopt. No, it was soft. Confused maybe, but earnest. She didn’t know what to do with that. Nora had seen her, and said she was cool for being a monster. Gael was seeing her, and was confirming that she was still a person. Still Ren. The nymph’s shaking body was just about anything but still though. It was like the thoughts inside had physical weight, each pushing and prodding and wanting to be the first to break out. All of it together nearly short circuited the already overloaded mind. What was once a confident attempt to scare him off in some childish way, turned quickly to a horrid shame.

The glamour returned. Just as quick as it had gone. Zipping up tight and locking away the parts of herself that she hated. Ren’s head turned too, looking away. Staring at the frayed edges of the rug, of where they met the hardwood flooring. Where she could trace the lines in the woodgrain and not think for just a split second of reprieve.

“This is because you do not truly know.” Distant and choked up, all her teachings came bubbling to the surface and spewed out of her mouth. “Fae are terrible manipulative creatures. They kill humans for fun. They take your words and use them against you. If you say thank you to one they will bind you to servitude. If you say you promise to do something they can make you do it literally and forever. Fae are monsters.”

____________ As effortlessly as it had appeared to his unreliable eyes, she had glittered back to her small, light, human form. He didn’t take his eyes off her as she did, instead trying to scrape his brain, to figure out how she had and what she did to get that effect; she wasn’t wearing a watch that projected holograms, she smelled and sounded the same in both forms, it didn’t look… uncomfortable. Well– Gael wondered if he said something wrong again, if he was just being foolish and trying to muscle past something that was intrinsically wrong. She avoided his gaze this time, looking at the ground and if he followed the path himself he could see a different set of scratches, the ever-present reminder of something inside him that he pushed down and hid, though he didn’t need to… fool anyone into accepting it. “But…” Gael swallowed again as his brow furrowed and he thought on everything she said. Monsters, manipulative like how she tricked him into seeing a different version of her even if everything else was the same down to the withdrawn behavior, word games. “But you haven’t done that.” He remarked slowly, lowering his head and though he didn’t search for her eyes again, he did scoot towards her, returning to where he was. He leaned forward once more - it was literally impossible for him to wrap his brain around everything that he saw so he was relegating himself to clawing at the parts that he could, about Ren’s tearful insistence that she was a monster. “You told me about the pitfalls,” He continued. “You helped my neighborhood. You’ve taken great care to make sure I haven’t… that you haven’t used any of my words against me.” He placed his hands together once more as his elbows returned to his knees. “So even if you are a fae, I can’t very well judge you as a monster like the ones you describe.” He licked his lower lip with a small nod. “So… not all fae are monsters.” Gael did look at her this time. “You’re Ren. You hate being told thank you because it means they owe you something and you don’t want that to happen. You like salami and cream of potato soup. You fought a vodnik and almost died just because it was the right thing to do and your laugh that day made me forget that it was raining outside. You can look like a human or an insect and you might be a fae but that’s not who you are because you’re Ren.”

____________ Each and every person who chipped away at the massive wall surrounding Ren’s heart had their own methods. Some worked really well, others not so much. Each made an impact though. Carved at the layers and layers of self hatred, of time spent digging herself deeper into an isolation so thorough that even on a good day Ren barely recognized herself outside of what she was ‘supposed to do’.

Somehow though, he did. Gael saw the bits that surfaced. Saw her and not what she was. Ren’s brows knit together, slowly slowly turning to face him as he went on. All the things he’d noticed. All the things he kept. Parts of her she didn’t show anyone. Parts of her that her ‘mother’ never recognized. Even with years under her belt she’d never come close to this level of understanding. With a millennia of practice she might never be able to have this amount of compassion.

“And that’s okay?” Tearful, barely audible. A second confirmation of things others in town had tried to impart. Her breath shuddered and slowed the hyperventilation she’d just come down from. Big green eyes looked into his, and for maybe the first time in her life, she felt like she was home. ____________

He breathed evenly though he knew his body wanted to react to everything that had transpired in that bedroom. He breathed evenly because he knew just enough about psychology to know that someone else breathing in close proximity helped others. He didn’t know anything about fae psychology but she clearly experienced emotion like a human, ate like a human and feared like a human so how different was she really? In, out. In, out. Her eyes found Gael’s this time, sparkling with tears, emeralds on a face wide with so much emotion and a burden. A voice telling her that she was a monster. Someone had to have instilled this into her from a very young age. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, hold her and let her feel his warmth and heart but this was delicate, as was she so instead he gave her another little nudge as he sat back, the arm closest to her moving so that his torso was exposed to her. Gael blinked slowly, a smile widening on his angled features. “Of course it is, little fern.”

____________ A foreign instinct wormed its way into her brain and pushed Ren forward. She found her head buried against his chest and her arms wrapping around. No more words, no more fighting. Tears flowed freely, but not necessarily out of sadness or anger. The world had spun on its axis, and the nymph was allowing herself to be held truly and wholly for the first time in her life. Darya would never, she could never do this. And she’d just as quickly kill Ren for being this soft. For going against her directive. For being a person instead of a thing.

There was relief to it. The hug. The way she could hear the man’s heart beating, feel the vibrations echo from his chest into hers. Slowing down her heartbeat until the two of them were at least in the same range. There, Ren sobbed. For grief of time that could have been spent like this. A quiet somber moment, still filled with more happiness than she could even describe. It was hard to say how long she sat like that for. Just letting the worst of it rush out of her like a dam being released. Harder to say how long she would have stayed if she let herself.

For now, it was over. The sudden break in facade patched up and died down. Ren shuffled back, still unsure of how this was supposed to go. She’d never cried in front of someone, not like this. Not this close, not this much. Tears were a weakness she couldn’t usually afford. It wasn’t like that here. She knew that now. ____________

The older man was glad he had positioned himself in the way he did because while he wasn’t expecting it at all, one moment had flashed into the next and her arms were around him, feeling her face pressing into his chest, her body trembling with an overflow of emotions Gael wasn’t sure she’d felt in a long while. After an initial pause, he placed his hands on her in turn, feeling large compared to her small frame, one gently on her head and the other on her shoulder. Gael felt a pulse through him, a warmth that he hadn’t felt in a long time - when he held his sister’s child, comforting her as she cried from an injury. So inconsolable but he kept breathing, as he did now with a different child in his arms. Bug, human, fae, not, the limited time they spent together, his damned attachments that he formed way too quickly and without anyone’s permission including his own but he grasped these feelings, ephemeral though they felt sometimes. He wasn’t sure how long they sat there and honestly it was as long as she needed. He kept his embrace strong but loose for when she would want to disengage and as she did, he obliged. Gael’s shirt was soaked with tears but he didn’t even notice - what he did notice was her regulated breathing, her exhaust, the relief of having released everything she had, even if only for a moment. She pulled away and he offered her a gentle smile, the same one he’d given her from the beginning and the same one he had when he talked to her online as an anonymous individual online. “I needed that.” He said after a small pause, not untruthfully. “...It’ll be okay.” And it would; she had his word, an unspoken promise.

#WR Writing #Writing: Lean on Me #Writing with: Ren #child abuse tw #child neglect tw #[past tw for both]#wickedswriting

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googoobabajogwick · 1 year

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Hot Knife Chpt. 4

description: john pleads his case which leads to more arguments and then you make your decision, also you tell your daughters about a little secret you've been keeping and more about your past.

triggers: unhealthy coping mechanisms, mini spoilers (aka some of the plot of part 4 is explained) misogyny, john getting ganged up on lol

wordcount: 6.5k

mini authors note: this chapter probably sucks but idc im sick and tired of looking at it... also very dialogue heavy.

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Hot Knife Chapter Four: Follow Your Heart But It's Split In Two

“I brought the marker. I didn't want to but, you are my last hope. I can’t kill everyone myself.” John sounded desperate, “Believe me, of all people, after everything, I didn't want to drag you into this.”

“And yet, here you are.” Kat butted in.

You knew it would be impossible for him to talk with your daughters there so you excused them. The two of them were a bit reluctant but then you gave them that look. They stood up right away and began to leave the room without another word but not before Kat went behind your desk and opened the drawer. You were about to ask her what she was doing when she pulled out a bottle of vodka.

“So you don’t make her drink herself into hysterics again.” She all but spat at him.

“Christ! Tatyana, Darya, leave now.” Your tone was commanding.

They looked at you with worried eyes and left. Although they were nervous they knew you were not one to fall right back into his arms. Both women just hoped that he wasn't going to hurt you again, not physically, but mentally.

Now that it was just you and John you leaned back in your chair and took a deep breath.

“Do you drink a lot?” He asked and you looked at him with rage in your eyes.

“It’s none of your business but no, I don’t.”

“Tatyana seems to think you do.” He knew you tended to have unhealthy habits.

At this you sat up straight, feeling like a bomb about to explode.

“So let me get this straight. You break my heart, you come find me after like twenty years to what? Call me an alcoholic? Like bringing the marker here wasn’t a deep enough cut you have to rub salt in the wound?” You asked, getting louder and louder.

“No. You know I wouldn’t do that.”

“You just did!”

The thought of taking a sip of alcohol filled your brain. How you would instantly relax even from the smell. You never let it get in the way of your life or work. You didn’t drink that much in your opinion… Maybe he was right but you’d never tell him that. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it just as fast. You needed to change the subject or else you would attack him again because his face was looking quite punchable in the moment,

“Whatever. Let’s just not talk about me. Back to it, why don't you ask Sofia? I know you have her marker.” By the look on his face you could tell the answer.

“I told you, I already did, I have her, The Bowery King and others helping me. It’s still not enough.” He tried to read your facial expressions. “Please.”

He went onto explain the out Winston had given him. That he already tried to convince The Elder to let him… Go away. Which didn’t work. John just needed to get to Japan and Berlin. Lots of old names were brought up but you didn't focus on that all you could focus on was when he mentioned the Roma Ruska in Berlin.

The “family” that brought you in after your father was shot and killed. Not that you would ever refer to them as your family, that just made it appear like you and him were brother and sister… They called each other cousin, brother, sister, aunt and uncle but you never did. You chalked it up to the fact that you had a family already. These people could never be that.

You wanted to escape that place from the moment you were brought there. The only good memories from there were Jardani himself but even so, most of those memories were painful too. You spent too many years crying every night because you hated it so much. Sobbing for your father and mother in the privacy of your room. Then the whole Vladimir situation happened and deepened that hatred.

The Roma Ruska was the only part of your past you'd never told your daughters about. It was always just ‘where I grew up’ whenever you would talk about your younger years. Never would you even want to tell them about that place. John could, if he wanted to. Since your ‘family’ had seats at the table he would be able to challenge the Marquis de Gramont to hand to hand combat.

“Why should I?” You questioned back.

John could tell there was so much more to talk about but there just wasn't time, he needed your help now. He would answer every question you had if there was. There was a new resentment for you in a way, for hiding your children. He had never even considered being a dad but he did know he never wanted to be a deadbeat one.

That's how he knew your children viewed him too. He began to think about how you would've told him, watching your stomach grow, finding out they were twin girls, taking their first steps, their first words. Teaching them to drive, to read, to defend themselves, the list was endless. His chest grew tight.

“You never told me about them.” John tried to hide the emotion in his voice but you heard it. “I knew there was a reason you were throwing up…”

“You broke my heart.” Your voice was a whisper.

“I would’ve-“ He stopped as you cut him off.

“You would’ve what? Decided to be with me because you felt obligated to?”

“No- That’s not…” The man put his face in his hands.

He never really cared about you seeing his real emotions because even if he tried to hide them, he knew you could see them. This was true, and if he could go back twenty years and slap his younger self he would. In fact he'd slap the face of himself from a month ago. Then maybe he wouldn't be here, dragging you into what could possibly be the death of you.

After thinking of the math for a second he looked up at you. The betrayal in his eyes was overwhelming to look at

“You came to my house when they were what? Ten? You could’ve told me.” He was talking louder than usual.

John never got angry with you. Frustrated and upset but almost never angry. Right now though you could tell he was enraged with you by the pinch of his eyebrows and the slight snarl on his lip for a brief second but you wouldn’t be intimidated by him. Even if he had a right to be angry, you had your reasons.

“When I came to your house it was for one reason to get my favor and I had no clue you were,” You curled your fingers up and down, mockingly, “out of the business.”

“I told you—.”

“What? That you left? Sorry, I didn’t want to break the news with your wife upstairs. Hey John, remember me? Well I bore your seed ten years ago!”

He scoffed and then groaned but you continued on.

“Plus I really don’t think you’d want me to meet her, which would’ve happened if you met them. At that point we were all strangers, no point.” Your arms came up as you crossed them.

John’s grip on the arm rest tightened at what you were insinuating. Were you really that angry? To hurt an innocent woman who’d done nothing to you? That wasn’t like you at all. You ended things! He wanted to talk things through, you wanted to run away and start a whole new life.

“We could have made things work.” John insisted.

“Oh yeah like what sneaking around behind her back for visits? Hm?”

“No. Helen could have met them, you could’ve met her. I don’t know but you could have told me.”

You stood up and placed your palms on the flat wooden desk. Your body leaned towards him as you got closer. The pain meds they gave you worked well but it still stung. How dare he! How dare he walk in here and even bring up the idea of another woman helping you raise your children. Yeah you had multiple women help you raise your girls but it was different when it came to your ex and his wife.

There was jealousy and anger. In a perfect, normal world yeah maybe you, John and his wife Helen could have raised your daughters. But you guys weren’t normal. He made that very clear when you broke up.

“Let me make one thing clear Johnathan, at that time in my life I would’ve rather drown my girls than ever let you and another woman raise them together.” You sat back down and crossed your arms again, “I asked you to leave with me and we could’ve found out together. You said no and made your decision, so I made mine.”

He listened to your words. There was nothing he could say. There would be no compromise with your anger. At the time John was younger and a fool. It took him making the one single right decision— leaving for Helen— to see this fact about himself. Too caught up in his rise to fame in such a taboo career to see how all it was all one big painful reminder of all the pain you suffered. John remembered you always wanting to spend more time with him and your occasional random questions about your future and leaving.

At the time he thought they were just fun little ideas to imagine to escape the reality that he’d be leaving the next day and he could be gone for hours, days or even months. That he could die. Being away from one another all the time had caused issues in your relationship a lot in the past. The two of you fought the most while he was in the military but that was because he’d be gone for so long with long periods of no contact.

If the two of you weren’t spending all day in bed or having sex when he had time to spend it home, petty arguments would begin. He didn’t miss you that much, it was his choice to join, when he’d try and tell you how much he missed you. He’s just going to leave again, when he’d tell you he was coming home. You’d never argue with him when he had time to talk to you while deployed, that time was precious.

It was like clockwork; He’d come home, the first four days were amazing. Filled with sex, cuddling, deep conversations and going out. Then came the smaller disagreements, until you were crying and arguing all night. If he loved you, why would he leave you? If he missed you, why did he take hits when he wasn’t deployed?

Once he was out he became a hit man full time, working for Viggo. Killing. It came so naturally to him it was inevitable for him to become a preeminent assassin. Which meant the whole life was unavoidable. John was beginning to believe he’d never escape but it seemed so close and if you helped him nobody stood a chance. But then again If he survived and you didn't, could he live with himself? If one of your girls died?

Maybe John couldn't do this. Maybe he could just continue on as he has been. After that horrible first meeting about an hour ago, did he really want to do this to you? Maybe if he never fell off that roof he could do it alone but even though he’s lucky to have survived, things still hurt. He stared at your bandaged hands and now noticed the faint scars on your wrist, he almost wanted to ask but vertical cuts were self explanatory.

John couldn't look at them anymore. He’d already hurt you and it was just by showing up. Dragging you into this mess would just be causing more damage. You still had yet to say anything else but you watched him, lost in thought thinking about what to say. Finally he nodded and stood up.

“I'm sorry for coming here, I really shouldn't have.” He was willing to be the bigger person, and with that he stood up and turned to leave.

You almost wondered if this is how he felt watching you get up and leave. Probably not because the strong emotional connection wasn't there anymore. It would always be there but it was no longer that huge inferno it used to be. There were still lit embers. John was going to die if he walked out that door. Were you ready for that? It would seem after so long the answer would be an obvious yes but if you were being honest, no you weren't. You slammed your hands on the table and winced.

“John, wait.” You avoided his gaze as his hand held onto the doorknob, “A marker is a marker.”

The long haired man went to say your name but you stopped him.

“A marker is a marker, but then, we are done. Forever.” You got up. “Please wait here.”

You left the room and went to go talk to your girls and inform them on your decision. As expected they were not in agreement with you. Kat had asked if he had something against you, which he did, but not like she thought. It wasn’t really about the marker. Darya just watched while she shook her head in disappointment. Sometimes you felt like they were the mothers and you were the kid. You explained to them that sometimes, when you burn bridges, you burn the strong foundation but there is still debris.

The debris of yours and Jardani’s bridge reminded you that there were still things that needed to be talked about. Two of those things stood right in front of you. You had grown up. Yes, you were still emotional and impulsive but what you did back then was too impulsive. When you thought back all those years ago you were too blinded by anger to see that he really did want to work things out. The time had come to face your mistakes, the guilt hidden by rage. You always felt like you never got your closure, maybe now would be the time to get it. Still you would not let him off easy as it was not that simple.

Plus.. There may have been one lie you had been keeping to yourself, even away from your own daughters. The truth was, the last time you saw John was after you had gotten the news that he had fallen from The Continental roof. Yes, your reaction was genuine when he told you though, I mean, who falls off a multiple story high building and lived to tell the story besides John fucking Wick? The story had brought back feelings you thought were gone. You thought he was going to be dead. A month ago you’d say John Wick’s death would be a holiday for you to celebrate but then it almost actually happened.

Late into the night you snuck out after Algo had explained to you that he was under The Bowery King’s watch. At the time you had to see for yourself, you were always good at getting into places you weren't supposed to be, so, you snuck into his created kingdom to find your ex-lover. John was sedated at the time as you looked down on him. He looked terrible and you had to keep yourself from touching him. You saw that he was missing a finger and gasped.

“Now how the hell did you get in here?” You jumped at the King’s loud, booming voice.

He looked at you and then John.

“I'm not here to start anything, I just had to see for myself.” Your arms came to wrap around yourself as you suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

“The whole underworld thinks you to be dead. Love and grief brought him back, don’t let it bring you back.” He chuckled.

“I don’t know what you’re saying, I just had to see. He fell off a roof for Christ sake!” You didn’t like what he was implying.

“Uh-huh.” He paused for a moment, “He’s one strong motherfucker that's for sure.”

You nodded. Jardani had always surprised you, always. He always bounced back and he could always do what you thought was impossible. There was a time when you believed you were unlovable and that one could ever get past the strong brick walls you had built yourself but, he had done that as well. You smiled at the memories even though it made your heart hurt and you preferred not to think of them. John looked so peaceful and young as he slept. His chest went up and down with every breath, the only sign that he was alive.

“What is his recovery plan?” The doctor in you had to ask.

The Bowery King went on to tell you that he showed really good signs of healing and walking. He told you he had the best doctors helping out but that was a lie, because you were the best. You listened and gave some advice before giving him a small smile. When John groaned you took it as your cue to leave, not wanting to face him. With a please to the King not to tell him you were there, you left. The entire way home, making sure no one was following you. You couldn’t stop thinking about how much you wanted to reach out and touch him.

Later that night while you showered you pressed your forehead against the ceramic tiles. Your emotions were all over the place. You felt like you were going insane. How does one feel so much hatred and anger and so much love and worry at the same time. The only comfort you had was the hot water hitting your back. You knew John had your marker and if there was a time he was going to have to use it, it was now. The only thing that gave you hope was that he had no idea where you were but The Bowery King must’ve by now. You were still hidden but the thought wouldn't leave you, you just had a bad feeling.

Your daughters looked at you, their mouths agape. The anger on their face was evident. You had lied to them and that was something that was very serious between all of you.

“You do realize that's most likely how he found us!” Tatyana yelled.

“Kat is right, it was your doing that brought him to us.” Darya shook her head.

You scoffed at them.

“Enough. I am in my fifties. I don't need you two acting as if I'm the child!”

“All the nights of us listening to you cry! As kids we had to endure watching our own mother struggle, even try and kill herself all over that piece of shit man! And now, you just fell right back into his arms.” Kat was furious.

Now you frowned at them. What they said hurt and you knew their reasonings, they had to witness things kids are not supposed to. You took full credit for that and although it never spoiled your relationship, it had caused some bumps. After so many years and them reaching an age when they began to understand things healed. You'd done so many things you regretted and now seeing him and talking to him in person, it brought up a lot of feelings you had buried deep inside. You looked at your two beautiful girls who looked so much like him.

“We just want what's best for you mama.” Darya said in a soft tone.

Kat glared at her before she looked defeated and stared at the ground. With reluctance, she nodded. You were their mother, and there was no greater bond than a mother and her daughters. Their role model, their protector, their rock. If anything happened to you, they would burn down the Earth just as you used to tell them growing up. Tatyana didn't want to admit it but she was intrigued with her father, having always wondered what he sounded like or what he'd be like. Darya too.

“I love you girl’s more than anything. He was going to leave. He was going to let us be… I just can’t but, if you really don't want me to, I’ll tell him no. You two are my world, way more than he is.” You teared up.

The two of them watched you for a moment longer. Of course they wanted you to tell him no, but they couldn't, they knew how bad it would hurt you if he died and you didn't get your closure. The one minute older sister grabbed the youngers hand and began to drag her away.

“Come on Rya, we have to go pack.”

“You two aren't coming! I don't need you getting hurt.” Your eyes widened and you protested.

“You can’t stop us.” Kat said as she took her sister away.

You stood there dumbfounded. There was no changing their minds, they were stubborn just like both their parents. Your children, no matter how much you loved them, seemed to have gotten all your bad traits. Perhaps that was your doing by having children during the most stressful, horrible time in your life.

Fear gnawed at you, they were skilled but they had only ever gone after normal, weaker men who attacked their girlfriends and wives because it was easy. Never someone who’d been training their whole life and taking contracts on people who were skilled in their fighting techniques.

You stayed in that hallway for a few more minutes before going to find Algo, it would be her who would gather the women who wanted to help and those who didn’t. Though you preferred to just go at this alone with him, you knew if you could not stop your girls, you could not stop any of the women who had grown to love you and them.

It was decided that the team of female volunteers, Algo and your daughters would move to a second location somewhere out of state. There they would set up. INM was already hidden, outside the city down a long dirt path. You always said you wanted to go back to the woods and the woods helped keep it secret.

The only way people knew about it was word of mouth. You had friends in doctors offices, psychiatrists, police officers, women who just worked everyday jobs and even homeless women who just patrolled the streets of the city to watch for women in need. It was your own classified network that expanded all over the country.

You wanted to spread it out more and while there was only one physical Izanami No Mikoto the idea had unfurled farther than you ever thought it would. What helped, in your opinion, was that the network was made up of everyday women. This meant that every female affiliated with the INM had a sworn duty to help other women and children in need.

The lawyers offered free legal representation, doctors had free medical care to give, the wealthy had money to provide, it all worked out even more perfectly than you could have ever imagined. Your dream had become a reality and you would do anything in your power to protect that… No matter what and that’s why they were leaving what you felt was your home.

Any male who followed a woman there or found the place was disposed of right away. It was a female sanctuary. John would be the only one to walk away but still, he was male and knew the location and it was decided that Shizuoka would stay and run INM, while also looking for a new place to move to.

After everything was planned out you embraced Algo and Shizuoka. You thanked them for everything and being by your side through even the worst of times and most of all, you thanked them for all their help in raising your beautiful daughters. You’d be forever indebted to them. It was a tearful goodbye with Shizuoka crying out,

“This is not goodbye! We will see you soon!” She pulled you in for one more hug.

You walked with your daughters who had joined halfway through to their shared room they never grew out of. Tatyana had her own room but never slept in it, she liked to be with her sister. When they were fourteen you all redid their room together. Painted blue with two double beds on opposite sides of the room. Kat’s side was cleaner than Darya’s which came as a surprise to you.

Your quiet daughter tended to be more serious. She had a very dry sense of humor and spoke in a way that drove most who didn’t know her insane. Yet for all her more proper qualities she couldn’t put her clothes in a basket to save her life. Kat always cleaned the room, in fact she loved cleaning. You thought it was a good outlet for her as she did it a lot while she was stressed.

As you followed them into their room your eyes noticed the painted hands on the wall. It was yours, Tatyana’s, Darya’s and Algo’s. You smiled. All of you were messing around after you finished fixing up the room. Algo had the great idea to leave your mark on the wall. You would be cutting that off the wall and taking it wherever you went next. Kat laid in her bed and you sat by her feet which she placed on your lap. Darya went on and continued packing.

“So, all this? All because our father is here? I mean we usually plan things out this way but we don‘t evacuate.” Your daughter asked with a confused face as she put a couple shirts she liked in a box.

“Yeah, he’s a very wanted man. We don’t want to risk anything.” You explained.

“What does that mean for you? Like are the stories I’ve overheard true? Has he killed that many people? Have that many people died?” Kat asked. “I mean how much danger are you going to be in by helping him?”

You sighed. As they grew up you didn’t tell them much. They sure as hell didn’t know you used to kill people until they were older and found out themselves. A common game they liked to play; Why Won’t Mom Talk About Her Past? Something they played a lot much to your dismay. You told them multiple times to stop when you would catch them playing it— which wasn’t hard for you— that there were things they didn’t need to know.

Tatyana and Darya were trouble makers but always for the right reason. Getting suspended for defending someone or themselves. Finding out information on you because they were worried about you. While it was annoying— and expensive because you had to bribe the school with all your money to keep them enrolled— you knew they did it because they had good hearts.

Something you were going to inform John on when you next saw him, was that they grew up with you teaching them everything you knew about fighting under the guise of self defense. This was because you only trusted yourself to educate them the best, considering your vast knowledge on the subject. They were good but they had never seen something like this.

You gave them— for the most part considering they now help you— a normal life. They went to a private school, partook in sports, clubs, graduated early, and had a good group of friends. It was really starting to hit you just how much you fucked up showing up to see him. Your momentary lapse in judgment put your children in a world of danger they didn’t know about. You trusted Algo to keep them safe but you suddenly felt sick.

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you this all before I made my decision.” Your hand left its current resting place to lay on Tatyana’s knee, “I will tell you everything but I want you to know that I didn’t keep this from you to lie, but to give you a normal life.”

Although you were going to leave it up to your ex— lucky him, you rolled your eyes— you began to tell them the story of your past.

“My father wasn’t a good person. Taught me everything I knew and loved me. I didn’t get to go to school like you guys did. He homeschooled me, taught me to live off the grid.” You chuckled thinking about how crazy your biological father was, “He was a bit of a doomsayer but he had his reasons, surviving all he had. You have to remember he was born during the 1930’s Ukraine. I- I shouldn’t be defending him.”

“Why? What makes you suggest he is a bad person?” Darya looked intrigued. “You always talked about him when we were kids.”

“He was a good father to me.”

This was something you struggled with a lot. In fact you would lay in bed a lot when you and Jardani were together and express this to him as he was the one person you felt couldn’t judge you no matter what. Your father was your number one support system as a child. Always spending time with you, listening to your feelings and protecting you. Teaching you to be strong and frightening.

With such a cold mother it was hard not to gravitate to the parent that gave you warmth and love. Little did you know how cold he could be towards your mother as they both hid it well from you. As you grew older you understood why your mother resented you. She knew all he was doing, and put up with it out of love and fear but still he treated you with so much love.

How horrible; A mother jealous of her own daughter, a twelve year old at that. When you began to understand her a bit more, thanks to therapy, it all made sense in a very sad way. While your father could do romantic gestures— having random outbursts where he was quite passionate— he could only experience romantic love in his own way.

You believed to him it was easier to love you than your mother, but he did love her. Your mother was insecure, and affectionate. When someone like that is starved of the love they crave they’re bound to get jealous at the sight of any bit of kindness that's not directed at them. Sadly it happened to be her own child. You’re mother should’ve never been a mother and it’s as simple as that.

She died for him; teaching your twelve year old brain a sick way of thinking about love. Still, in a guilty way, you missed him and her even though they were horrible people. You had good stories because you were oblivious to his crimes for a long time before you found out.

“One day I ventured out into the woods of my backyard and I found him, killing a man. I ran to my room and freaked out, I was twelve. That was my father, I almost thought what I saw wasn’t real… but it was.”

“Holy shit.” Kat got up but leaned back on her arms.

“Before I could make up my mind, the cops stormed my house and my mother and father were shot dead right in front of me. He was a serial killer” Your voice was calm, though you had never told them, you yourself had come to terms with what you witnessed.

The twins watched you, intrigued. They were finally going to find out everything they wanted to know about you, straight from the source itself.

“A detective took me in for a bit. He was never home, always out and I practically lived on my own for a year until he brought me to meet a woman who went by the name The Director. She took me in and that’s where I met your father, he was the only one who could ever make me feel safe. Where I grew up was called the Roma Ruska. Due to my prior history, she trained me to be a skilled assassin alongside Jardani.” You rubbed your thighs out of an anxious habit.

“My eyes were opened to a completely second, secret world. When I was fifteen the worst event in my life took place, causing me to hate the Roma Ruska even more. I grew up taking hits with him and completing contracts until we broke up. I left, everyone thought I was dead apparently, except John and a couple others. Then I found out I was pregnant with you… The rest is history but now he’s here because he needs help and has my stupid marker.”

“What like exactly is a marker anyways?” Kat was listening with an intense interest.

“It’s a blood oath. When someone does a big enough favor for you, you give them your bloody finger print and if they ever need you to do anything for them, they bring the marker to you. It’s only complete when both parties' finger fingerprints are there. John and I gave them to each other because…” This time your voice started to waiver, “We were in love with each other. I didn’t think they’d be used this way but I was an idiot and had him complete his.”

“Why don’t you just say no?” Darya came to sit on her bed which was across from her sisters.

You sighed.

“There are two rules in that world. No business on hotel grounds and you must complete the marker, or you will be taken care off. No refusing or killing whoever has it. I used mine years ago for something small.” There was no reason to explain what the first rule was and they didn’t seem to care anyways.

“And he’s making you do this? What if…” Kat started.

“Someone else was to kill him?” Darya finished.

“You two are not killing your own father. At first he was but like I said he changed his mind and got up to leave. That’s basically all of it, so to answer your original question, it’s very dangerous. But I promise I’m good at what I do, and so is he.”

Both of your daughters stayed silent for a few minutes, taking in everything you had just said. They had millions of questions but based on your demeanor you didn’t seem in the mood to go into more details. The two women looked at each other before Darya got up and sat on Kat’s bed, giving you a hug. Tatyana joined in on the little group hug.

You let out one sob before wrapping your arms around them. These two women were your whole world, your reasons to continue on. Once they were born it was easier to forget about Jardani and everything you had been through. No matter what, you always had them, always. You pulled back to smile at them.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? We still love you!” Tatyana hugged you tighter.

“Yeah!”

Your response was immediate as you loved them too. More than they could ever begin to believe. With a kiss to each of their heads you thanked them and promised you’d say goodbye in the morning. Lots of hugging was happening as you embraced them longer and tighter than usual. They wished they could come with you but it was just too dangerous.

It was about an hour later when you made it back to the room you left John in. He was probably dying of boredom and you laughed. Just as expected he was half asleep in the chair, looking uncomfortable. You called his name and he jumped up, prepared for anything but it was just you. He relaxed and exhaled.

“So?” He asked.

“There are some things you need to know. One, I gave our daughters a very normal life and I just had to tell them everything. Something I never wanted to do. They can fight but they aren’t experts, I taught them myself.”

“Then maybe I should leave. I don’t want to put them in danger.”

You didn’t miss the way he only mentioned them. Of course he wouldn’t care about you being in danger but at this point even you didn’t care about yourself too much. It was too late, you told him. By showing up he had ruined everything and you all would have to start new. There would be a lot to do tomorrow morning and the day was coming to an end. You told him to follow you and brought him to your room.

“Two, you’re not allowed anywhere else in this building. In fact you’re going to be the only male to ever walk out of here alive.” Your tone was harsh and your face was serious. “You can sleep on the floor because you certainly are not getting my bed.”

With that you threw some oversized men’s sleep pants and a shirt that you liked to wear at him. You were not going to make him sleep in that suit. Not for his sake though, you told yourself, but you didn’t know if you could fall asleep with him in that insufferable thing. Too formal, too fitting and not at all stretchy enough. It would be like sleeping in wet clothes in your opinion.

You hated those suits no matter how good he looked in them. John gave you a nod of thanks and you both turned to change.

Being all snuggled into bed you knew it would take forever for you to fall asleep as you were very worried for the up and coming days. You grabbed a hidden vodka bottle that was under your night stand and took a shot. A moan left your mouth at the familiar burn in your throat. You threw back another before offering it to John which he denied. You shrugged before taking two more back to back.

The buzz was a bit strong and although you wouldn’t get a good night's rest it would help you fall asleep faster than without. The silence was almost deafening as all you could hear were the sounds of your guys breathing. The two of you hadn’t slept in the same room in decades and the awkwardness was very strong. You just couldn’t take it.

“Jardani?” You whispered into the dark.

“Yeah?”

“Why did you wear that stupid suit here?” It made no sense for him to dress his best to see you.

“It's bulletproof.” He responded.

“Oh.” You winced, it still probably hurt like hell to get hit. “That’s new.”

John gave you a hum of acknowledgement to let you know he heard you. The silence settled once again but this time it wasn’t as uncomfortable. The alcohol was taking effect and before you knew it you were falling asleep. It had been a rough day and you hoped that tomorrow would be better but you didn’t have high hopes. Things were only going to get much worse.

#john wick fanfic #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you

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wickedsrest-rp · 1 year

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Name: Renata "Ren" Daryova Species: Nymph (Entomid) Occupation: Unemployed Age: 20 Years Old Played By: Lou Face Claim: Sophia Lillis

"Fairytales were meant to be warnings."

TW: Child neglect/endangerment

The war between humanity and those beyond its scope grew ever more complex and dangerous as the centuries stretched on. Legacies of hunter families grew thin, farther and fewer between. The ones that thrived were the ones who were strong. Who knew the power of numbers and keeping a tight ship. Training up the young and keeping true to stalwart traditions.

Unless, of course, the pressures of modern society demanded a change.

Darya Adelskold was the head of the family. Her word was law as far as the rest of the clan was concerned. She kept the family strong. Kept them alive and honed as the shields and blades for humanity that they were. She was shrewd and rigid where she needed to be, but yielding and resourceful when the world required it. In most cases, they defaulted to the typical hunter M.O. Playing judge, jury, and executioner with all the supernatural creatures they fought. As they were a legacy of wardens, their particular prey were the fair folk. The ‘good’ neighbors. The fae.

The day Ren came into the story was much like any other. Dismantling and ‘taking care’ of a local infestation. An aos sí that seemed to be a bit more disgusting than the average group. Taking after bugs much more than their more fantastical counterparts. Entomae. A hive. And the Adelskold wardens came in like exterminators. Cutting down anyone and everyone. Only when they were in the clean up phase had any of them realized they had missed one.

A few of the other hunters wanted to dispose of the toddler. But Darya saw an opportunity. A chance for their tools to gain a new edge. Who better to find and hunt down fae, than one of their own? A rebirth. Renata was named and taken in. Darya taking on the sole guardianship for the young nymph as the others lacked the vision she had for the child.

Ren was told a particular version of the story that only a non-fae could spin. Told how the aos sí abandoned her because she was small and weak. Fed tales that would make the Brothers Grimm blush. Of cruelty and horrific acts committed by the ones that Ren had been ‘saved’ from. With no one else to look up to, nor anyone else to oppose these ideals, the child ate it up. Believing and diving in fully to the ideas that fae were something that needed to be destroyed before they could hurt humanity more than they already had.

Raised in the way all hunter kids were, Ren had a rough and strict childhood. Just a little more isolated than most. A small cabin on the Adelskold homestead. Miles away from the homes and training grounds of any other true warden children or adults. Darya stayed while she had to. But as soon as Ren was old enough to fend for herself, that became the norm. Long hours of solitude, then short visits for restocking necessities and evaluations. Wide eyes would stare out, wondering if the emptiness in the house was somehow her fault. Devoting herself to the training seemed to be the only way to earn any praise. The stronger she became, the better soldier she was, the more time Darya seemed to spend there.

Rarely (if she’d done something exceptionally good) she was allowed a short visit to train with the other children. But often as a tool for training them, rather than her. Her presence alone would put them on edge, and few talked to her outside of what was necessary. Once again, this doubled down on Ren’s idea that something was wrong with her. And that must be because she was fae. Because they could sense something she couldn’t. Because the tingle and static blush that filled her chest with warmth whenever another fae was around was antithetical to the sharp sensation the wardens experienced in the same presence.

Darya was never quite… motherly though. Despite Ren desperately wanting her to be. The matriarch was well into her forties when they found the child, let alone when it grew into a little person. The older woman was exceptionally harsh on the kid. Correcting anything that was perceived as being too fae. Anything not human enough. It was clear. Despite the fear it inspired in the child, they understood the message. Fae were dangerous. They were cruel, monstrous, awful beings that were the stuff of nightmares.

And Ren was to help the wardens take them all down.

Darya rewarded Ren every time she hunted. Every pixie slain, every troll taken care of. On the flipside every ‘mistake’ was punished mercilessly. This hardened the child into a weapon. A tempered blade for the wardens to use against the fae that Ren had been told abandoned her. After years of training, years of taking on the ‘lesser’ creatures, it was finally time to see the plan to fruition.

Send the newly minted soldier out.

Wicked’s Rest was a hub of supernatural activity. Any hunter worth their salt knew the name, especially with the advent of the anomaly. Darya knew that striking there would be a crippling blow to many aos sí, but would also likely bring a war onto their family that they couldn’t handle. Unless of course, they had the right info. Took down the right monsters. Understand the town before they launch their assault. Armed with a head full of propaganda and a sense of righteous devotion, Renata Daryova joined the fight.

Of course, the kid was nervous. But this was also the most exciting thing to ever happen to her. Ren would not only get to prove her worth to the family that took her in, but she’d get to actually see the world they were supposed to protect. It’d be a challenge, but she believed she was ready to be whatever they needed.

A scout, a blade, a shadow, a spy. Anything at all.

Character Facts:

Personality: Headstrong, hostile, grumpy, creative, loyal, observant, resourceful

True to their spy-like nature, Ren keeps a detailed journal with information about everyone she meets, even if they aren't fae. Including details like name, species, height, weight, weaknesses, and a potential list of ways to kill.

Ren almost always wears gloves, largely because she has two butterfly knives with iron blades that could obviously do some damage to her if she were to get sliced.

She is a really good artist, but doesn't understand why anyone would want art, because she just sees it as a way to get energy out when she can’t go for a run or is forced to sit still. Mostly she uses this skill to sketch the strangers she meets, considering it useful for her reports. Ren also has a love for music, especially classical. It was often used as a part of her training. Both playing in the background, then as a way to hone her focus. Ren was allowed to buy a viol for her 12th birthday. But it was often used as a tool of punishment, Darya would take it away until Ren “made up” for her mistake.

Ren is an entomid, specifically a mantis entomid. Though she was never really allowed to learn what that meant in a cultural aspect, Darya absolutely made sure Ren knew how best to use their camouflage abilities. Really the only abilities that Darya actually encouraged rather than punished Ren for having.

She lives in a ramshackle ‘shelter’ out in the woods. It was at one point a dumping ground for someone, but has long since been abandoned. She lined up a few pieces of trash against a particularly smooth cliff-face. There is a fire pit, a structure that technically passes for her room (it has a moss carpet, what more could you want) and a bunch of random items that she either thought were neat or useful. As well as a crap-ton of charcoal drawings over just every available surface.

#retired

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mortemoppetere · 11 months

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TIMING: recent PARTIES: @ironheartedfae & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: ren drops by axis to walk perro and drop off an apology letter for emilio to find later, but emilio comes home early and catches her. conversations are had. CONTENT WARNINGS: alcoholism, discussions of child abuse

Two days. Sitting, festering in the pool of anger that never seemed to have a bottom. Endless. It came from somewhere didn’t it? Ren never understood it, as familiar as it was. She knew what to do with anger, or rather what she was supposed to do. “Point it where it can do the most damage, котёночек.” Darya would say, in times like that she almost seemed maternal. Giving advice in the only way she knew how. When she’d offer a gentler hand and a quieter voice. Calming the inferno inside Ren’s chest. Taming the monster so it could be taught.

It was this softer image, the glimpses of light that had Ren reeling. If it was only harsh for no reason, only the abrasive file that whittled away at the fae’s nature… maybe she could understand better. Understand Emilio’s anger despite how he had never met Darya. Never seen how kind she could be, how strong she was, how well she treated the other kids, the whole family… Maybe if he just saw that he’d–

There was everything Ren knew, and what Emilio had begun to preach. Fully at odds with each other, in a way that riled her up more than just about anything else. Defensively, she ruminated on what could possibly have made Emilio’s childhood so much better than hers. On why he thought it was okay for him to be a tool and nothing else, and not for her. He was not a warden, that left only two other options. But only one that would produce as much dust as the man always seemed to be coated in. (Unless there were some exceptionally soot covered werewolves out there, who knew?)

Would Emilio’s mother have had the kindness and nobility to take in a vampire and raise it as one of her own? Would she have let it stay with the family properly, or would she have locked it away too? For its own safety as much as everyone else's. Ren didn’t know her. Didn’t know anything about her other than she probably shared the same last name as Emilio, and she somehow gave him purpose, made him a tool to be used. And made him think that was not a good thing for someone else to be.

But sitting and being angry at something was a hell of a lot harder than trying to do something about it. At first Ren just hunted. Sought out fae creatures that were harming others. Objective evil. Something she didn’t have to think about. The magical tether that weaves between every fae made it easy. Made it far too simple to get in close, to angle the knives just right. When she thought she had a handle on her thoughts she went on to larger targets. To something that could talk– But she never really got to the killing part. Emilio’s voice kept creeping in. The way he’d been so soft, so kind. The comforting hand on her shoulder, the warm spot on his couch. Ren had never slept in the same house as someone before. Never had a companion like Perro to curl up next to her on the couch.

The nevers got a little louder every hour, every day. Ren found herself missing the old apartment in a way that only confused and irritated her more. She shouldn’t have shouted. Shouldn’t have yelled at him for not understanding her upbringing. She knew that much. The bitter pit in her stomach had more to say, more she couldn’t fully parse through. He was not a cruel man. He was not useless. He wasn’t the monster. Maybe he deserved something better than leaving his last message on read. Maybe he deserved a proper amount of appreciation for all he’d done. But it wasn’t like she could just say that. The words wouldn’t fully form in her head, and even if they did they might not make it out of her mouth without her getting upset again. Without her lashing out and making things worse.

So Ren waited. Watched. When she did not want to be found, it was next to impossible to do. She kept vigil nearby, she’d already learned the man’s routines. Perro, she supposed, was the thing she missed the most. The sweet dog had to be the reason she was here. Sitting outside waiting for the slayer to leave long enough to walk the pup and leave a note. Something that summed up what she could get through. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

—

He’d never been particularly good at coping. Even before the massacre, even before he’d become the sort of man who wasn’t particularly good at anything, Emilio had struggled to find the right way to deal with the feelings that often felt too big to fit in his chest and the thoughts that often crept into his mind without his permission. He found distractions, mostly, other places to put those feelings. When Victor died, he’d taken all the grief and all the love he’d had for his brother and transferred it over to Rhett, who showed up not long after. When he realized he wanted to leave Mexico with his daughter in tow, he’d thrown himself into the plan of it and refused to dissect the feelings it stirred up. When Etla fell and everyone he loved fell with it, he became a creature focused solely on vengeance so that he didn’t have to think about all the things he wasn’t anymore.

There were strings that tied them all together, of course, similar smaller things that lurked beneath the big ones. Alcohol had always been the main one.

Drinking to cope was something he’d started at a young age, when his uncle took him to the local hunter bar after Victor’s death and pushed a glass with an amber liquid into his hand. It had tasted foul and bitter, but it numbed him in a way he couldn’t deny. He’d gone back to it often even then, but it had taken on a new life since the massacre. He was drunk more often than he was sober these days, and he preferred it that way. A drunk man’s pain always hurt less than a sober man’s, he thought.

It was no surprise, then, that his argument with Ren drove him right back into the liquor cabinet. He couldn’t explain what it was about that particular fight that hollowed out his chest — he barely understood it himself. All he knew was that there was a kid, and he liked her. There was a kid, and she reminded him of people he’d loved and people he’d lost, made him think of people who died because he’d failed to keep them safe. There was a kid, and she’d been mistreated and hurt to the point that she thought she deserved it, somehow.

There was a kid, and she was asking him to kill her one day.

That was what he was focused on. Not the rest of it. Not the way her Darya sounded so much like his own mother that it made his mouth dry, not the way the things he’d said were unforgivable when they’d happened to her had been done to him, too. There was a difference, Emilio thought, in taking a child that didn’t belong to you and raising them up like cattle because you didn’t like the way they were born and raising your own child to fulfill a purpose that had been assigned to them since long before they came into existence. One was horrid. The other was noble. He might not have wanted to raise his daughter in the way his mother had raised him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t understand why she’d done it. That didn’t mean he thought her cruel for it. He was alive because of how his mother had raised him, and Ren was asking people to kill her because of the way hers had raised her. That was the difference. And that mattered. That had to matter.

So the fight stung. Ren’s words, her outright refusal to believe that she was worth caring for, it ached in a way Emilio couldn’t wrap his head around. He’d poured alcohol into that gaping hole in his chest, and it ached still. So he’d poured more and more and more, until all the bottles in his cabinet were emptied and he was pulling his shoes on with an angry grumble. If Nora were here, he’d have sent her to the store with his wallet to buy a few more bottles, but he couldn’t justify asking her to come in to ‘work’ on days when he was doing more drinking than he was investigating. So there was nothing left to do but go himself.

He stumbled to the ground floor, leg aching more than it usually did thanks to a few hours too many in an uncomfortable drunken position in the kitchen floor and started down the street, a strange feeling crawling up the back of his neck. He didn’t make it far before coming to the realization that his wallet was still on the kitchen floor, and he kicked the concrete in frustration before turning around. Already, he was beginning to sober up more than he’d like to. A slayer’s metabolism was only good to have until it wasn’t. Most things were like that.

He made the trek back up the elevator, not even pretending to consider the stairs the way he normally might. Then down to the end of the hall, to his apartment which —

Wasn’t empty. Emilio tensed at the sensation of another presence in his space, his hand gripping a knife carefully. Had someone found him, then? Some vampire whose friends he’d killed, or another person negatively affected by one of his investigations? Maybe it was Rivera, going back on his claim that he was somehow ‘better’ than Emilio for his refusal to kill and accepting the fact that the slayer posed a danger to his farm just by living, or someone from Zane’s clan who’d caught on to Emilio’s snooping and was here to put it to an end. His heart was stuttering in his chest, afraid to die even when it was the only thing he’d been after for years now. Hearts were funny like that. They never seemed to agree with the rest of you.

But then, he caught sight of her. The shock of red hair, the slight form hunched over Perro, who stood with his lone front paw resting on her knee. Emilio relaxed, slipping the knife back into his pocket and giving his heart a moment to slow again. “Figured this would be the last place you’d want to be,” he commented, walking by her to get to the kitchen. His bad leg, somehow aching even more now that the brief shock of adrenaline had overtaken and then left him in the span of a minute, was practically dragged behind him as he moved onto the tile, looking down at his wallet in the floor. Christ. Could he even bend over to pick the damn thing up, or was he too useless to manage even that now? He pressed his tongue against his teeth and let out a frustrated puff of air. “Did you wait until I was gone to come here?”

—

She should have heard him coming, but she didn't. Should have felt the vibrations of the elevator, the uneven steps that only ever belonged to the private investigator. The very same who brushed past her and into the kitchen. Ren was frozen to the spot. Mortified at her lack of awareness. Acidic spit pooled in the back of her mouth, giving even the air a bitter flavor as she tried her best not to move. As if it would help. As if him speaking to her wasn't enough to solidify that he'd already noticed. It was the illogical kind of fear and embarrassment, the kind that seems to pull at your mind from behind. Dragging you by your ears as if the weight of the words it spun around your heart had physical mass.

The voices in her head replayed every word. Painting them in an awful shout. One she hadn't even actually heard from Emilio in person. One he may not have even used if the argument was face to face. Didn't matter much what his intention might have been, Ren believed she needed to be yelled at. The boiling rage in her chest knew she was yelling. So as far as she was concerned, it was a screaming match through the screen.

'Figured this would be the last place you’d want to be' it was. It was. Right? Why would she want to be here? Other than visiting the dog. That… that was the only part that made sense. "Just– I am here to give back stupid jacket." Torn off, thrown on the couch. Leaving her in a too-large, too-thin button down she'd found at an abandoned camp site. "Dog still has needs" No. No no no. This wasn't right. Ren squeezed her fists so tight her palms began to protest. Heat bubbled up, reddening her ears and dusting her cheeks. It wasn't a lie, not really, so why was her stomach still churning as if it was? Why did she feel so sick, and why did it just make it even harder to speak. To say what was on her mind.

Ren stood abruptly, pointedly ignoring the second question, and fully not noticing the crumpled paper falling from the pocket of the jacket she had thrown. Without a goodbye or an explanation she began to leave. Stopping only when Perro followed her to the door. Clearly expecting her to still take him for a walk. Her heart was beating so fast and so loud it was almost hard to hear the soft whine come out of the dog. Harder to hear the man in the kitchen struggle to do a basic task. Something she should have offered to help with. Instead she tried to mouth a silent 'no.' to the pup as her hands failed to grasp the door handle.

—

She was still angry. Hell, maybe he was, too. It was hard to assign a name to the feeling in his chest most days, the burning fire that wasn’t quite rage but wasn’t quite grief, either. It had lived within him for so long now that he’d stopped trying to understand it, stopped attempting to describe it to anyone but himself. No one had ever understood it, anyway. Not Rhett, not Vida, not Javi, not any of the people he tried to use to warm his bed on nights where it felt too vast and too empty to exist within even when he wasn’t planning on sleeping. It was what it was, and what it was was shit but what else did he have? What else could he do?

“Told you I don’t want the jacket. I gave it to you because I wanted to get rid of it.” It wasn’t true, but it was also the only way he knew how to get her to accept anything at all. She’d been raised to think she only ever deserved scraps, to think she was blessed to get even that. The fire in his chest burned a little hotter, his hatred for the woman who’d brought Ren up like this growing all the more despite the fact that he’d never met her. He hoped he never did. He didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from doing something Ren would certainly hate him for if he ever came face to face with the woman responsible for making her this terrified, angry, mess of a kid.

Emilio looked to Perro, who’d plopped down to stare up at Ren as she straightened. His head tilted to one side, then the other. The hunter couldn’t help but wonder if the dog could smell it, the tension in the air. Did he know, somehow? Or was it impossible to differentiate this new rage from the one that had lived in Emilio’s chest since the night he’d brought the mutt home? “Dog’s needs aren’t your problem anymore if you’re not taking what I’m giving you. That was the deal, right? You take care of him, I give you food and a jacket. You don’t want the jacket. You won’t take the food. You don’t have to walk the dog.” It ached a little, saying it, but he didn’t want her thinking she still owed him anything.

She stood and headed towards the door, and even if he saw it coming it still stung. Something fell from her pocket, and he limped over to scoop it up, wincing at the movement. “Dropped this,” he said, holding it out to her. If she wanted to leave, he wouldn’t stop her. God knew she’d had enough choices taken from her already; Emilio wouldn’t be the one to add more to that list, even if it meant she’d choose never to see him again.

—

Ren opened her mouth to spit some other vile thing she didn't really mean out at Emilio, but her voice stuttered. He was holding it, the rough draft of an apology she had written. Well, it was more like draft fifteen, because of course it was. She never did anything right on the first pass. Not when it involved words and feelings. Even good old number fifteen was not nearly good enough. All fragmented sentences and half thought out ideas. Footnotes still in Russian, waiting to be translated, handwriting barely legible. Worse, there were still drawings on it. Doodles. Scribblings. Art was a childish, foolish, terrible endeavor that should have stayed private. Ren never understood why anyone would look twice at the messes she drew. A few folks had expressed interest but it wasn't something that really clicked in her mind. Few things did, at least right away.

Nostrils flared along with the staggered rise and fall of Ren’s chest. She was still enough that Perro had decided her feet were a good bed. Curling around them and all but forbidding her to run the way she wanted to. Maybe it wouldn’t be obvious to just anyone, but Emilio was a detective and a damn good one at that. The way the girl’s eyes darted between the crumpled ball, to the man’s eyes, and back, it was clear. The letter was for him. But she wasn’t quite ready to release it. She didn’t know what to do. All resolve faltered, managing to twist up behind her ribs into an ever increasing heart rate. Sooner or later she’d start putting hummingbirds to shame.

—

She stood frozen, like someone had nailed her feet to the floor even before Perro climbed on top of them and settled down to rest. Emilio knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t kick the dog off his resting spot in order to run, but she wasn’t reaching out for the paper, either. She was staring at it, eyes darting between it and him as if…

Oh. She’d brought this here to leave it for him, hadn’t she? Some letter for him to find in her absence. Something tugged at his chest, a memory he tried not to think about. He’d toyed with it, when he was planning his departure from Mexico, packing his things and Flora’s little by little in a subtle enough manner that no one would notice they were disappearing. The idea of leaving a note behind for Juliana to find, an apology for her to pass along to his mother and his siblings, a message for her to deliver to Rhett… He’d deemed it too risky in the end, known he’d loved her too much not to let something slip and she’d known him too well not to catch it. If he’d gotten his chance, he would have left the people who’d loved him with nothing at all, not a word or a sign.

But Ren was better than he was. Kinder, despite having had no kindness shown to her to offer an example. Guilt clawed at his chest at the way she was looking at him, eyes wide and desperate. Carefully, he took a step closer to her and held the paper out, close enough that she could grab it if she wanted to. “I won’t look at this,” he said carefully, “unless you want me to.” No matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much his anger and curiosity and grief was begging him to. It was still Ren’s choice. It needed to be Ren’s choice. If she was ever going to trust him again after he’d snapped at her, if he was ever going to get to a position where he could really help her, he had to earn that.

—

No. She should have just said no. Grabbed the paper and shuffled the puppy off of her feet, fled out the door and never let herself be seen again. Ren wanted to run. Felt the whole of her torso go cold as blood rushed to her legs, to her ears where they pulsed out a beat that almost gave a soundtrack to this horrible horrible scene. She should have, she wanted to, but she did not.

Instead, the young nymph reached out a shaking hand and closed the paper back in his. Quickly retreating, but giving him an answer all the same. He could, if he wanted to. She wasn’t going to stop him. She was mortified by it, still sinking and shrinking into that bug under a microscope feeling once more. Ren wouldn’t look him in the eye. Only at Perro. Only at the couch. At the many, many, many places she’d found hidden knives and put them back. At the cracks in the walls, the peeling paint. At the empty bottles of whiskey, and cigarette butts that dotted the ground. Anywhere but at him. Because she knew he was looking at her. Because she knew he was seeing her too.

“Emilio Cortez

I am not good with this. I am not good with feelings. I am not good at much at all. But I should not have yelled. I should not have called you names and insulted you. You have been nothing but kind to me. You say you are not good man but time and time again you keep treating me like something that is worthy of saving. I know you do not care for her, but Darya would say “you are what you do.” And I think you are good.

Better than you allow yourself to believe.

I cannot agree with you about my upbringing. I cannot understand how it is different from your own, I do not know how it is bad of her to protect me as a youngling, to train me in the ways she would have trained her own. It was not as bad as it sounds, and maybe if you just understood this– She did not call me monster, not directly. But she taught me of all the horrid things the fae have done, and will continue to do. So I see myself for what I could be. I know I am nothing good. I see the problems I could cause if I let my guard down...

When people thanked me it felt good and this scares me deeply. I was terrified and I lashed out at you instead of listening. I do not want to hurt people, but I now understand… I hurt you. I should not have asked this of you.”

It wasn’t signed. It wasn’t ever meant to be. Who knows how much of it would have made it to the final draft, if ever Ren got there. If ever Ren felt it was sufficient to convey her apologies, and the depth of the sorrow it brought her to make him upset. This was all new territory. But she felt she had to do something, and speaking wasn’t going to be a real option. So she waited. She no longer waited for a strike, that wasn’t something Emilio would do. He wasn’t trying to punish her for her own good. He wasn’t trying to beat any bad behavior out of her. He was kind, and warm, and trying his very best to make a person out of her.

—

She closed his hand around the page in a way that meant she was granting him permission. In spite of his curiosity, he still hesitated for a moment. Long enough to give her a chance to change her mind, long enough for her to snatch the page back if she wanted to, long enough for her to leave if that was what she chose. He gave her time to make a decision and, when she didn’t move, he figured that was a decision in and of itself. Slowly, he pulled his arm back and uncrumpled the paper. Slowly, he lifted it up to read.

It took him a while. English wasn’t a language Emilio was entirely comfortable in, and it would surprise no one that literacy in any language wasn’t something his mother had found very important. If he wanted to really take something in, he had to read it slow. And he wanted to take this in, all of it. He read every word, heart pounding in ways he didn’t understand at Ren’s scribbled out confession that she didn’t understand how her childhood differed from his. He pretended he couldn’t read it where she’d scratched it out, pretended he didn’t know what it said. He wasn’t sure who he was trying to fool in the privacy of his own mind, wasn’t sure who he was afraid of, but the fear clung anyway.

He moved on, down to the next part, chest aching. If you told a child that what they were was wrong all their life, you had to know what it would do to them. There was no excuse, Emilio thought, no explanation. There was nothing Ren could say or write that would make him view Darya as anything less than the monster she was, but there was likely nothing he could say to make Ren accept it.

Shifting the page, he looked up at the margins, where the less organized thoughts lay. Doodles of Perro napping with questions about his eyes and the frequency of his snoozes, notes about other dogs and knives and Metzli. (He hadn’t realized Ren knew them; there was a foreign kind of comfort with that, a relief that shouldn’t have been there. His friendship with Metzli confused him, more than anything else. He was never sure if it was a sign he was getting better or another tally to add on the list of reasons why he should hate himself.) There were drawings of him, too, and that was strange to see. He’d never seen himself sketched out on paper before, hardly ever even looked at himself in the mirror. His throat felt tight. Was that really what he looked like through her eyes? It seemed too kind. Like he was a person instead of a thing, a man instead of a weapon. He thought maybe he ought to be ashamed of that, too.

He didn’t know how long he spent looking at it before he finally lowered the page, glancing up at her. She still wasn’t looking at him; he thought she probably wouldn’t for a while, if she could help it. “Can I keep this?” It was a quiet request, and perhaps one he thought he already knew the answer to. Emilio rarely got to keep anything. Not gifts he was given that couldn’t be used to hurt anyone, not the baby girl he’d cradled in his arms while her mother slept, not the woman who’d loved him until she maybe-hadn’t. Why would this be different? Why would Ren? She’d made it clear already that she was ready to die the second she started to act even a fraction more like what she was. Maybe letting her go now would save him some grief down the road.

But, of course, it wasn’t something Emilio knew how to do. He’d loved Juliana, who was a martyr in the making long before her death. He’d loved Flora, who was marked for death the moment she was born just as all hunters were. He’d loved Jaime and Rosa and Edgar and Victor and Rhett, loved Lucio and his mother, loved a whole town full of people who love had not saved. His mother had been right about him, he knew; he was too soft, too weak, too useless. If he were better at this, maybe they’d all still be here. If he were better at this, maybe he wouldn’t be. Ren’s note warmed his chest, but that didn’t make it true. He still wasn’t a good man. He knew that. The good ones had died in Mexico.

“I like the drawings,” he offered. “Really like the ones of Perro. Es bueno. You’re good at it.”

—

Ren had never experienced open heart surgery, but this had to be a close second to it. She just stood there. He just read it. Silently taking his time pouring over the words, looking at the drawings. All the while she was stuck rooted in position, feeling rather like lightning in a bottle. Standing still was agony. Moving away was unacceptable. So she crouched. Busied herself with Perro and his floppy ears, his bushy brows that fully covered his eyes whenever he was snuggled up tight like this. He didn’t seem to mind the alternative to a walk. The pup just yawned, stretched and rolled over until his back was against her ankles and his tummy was in scratching position.

What to expect? Her mind raced with possibilities, but never once settled on Emilio wanting to keep it. Of course he could keep it. He’d already seen it, it wasn’t like she was going to try and hide it after. It didn’t make sense. And maybe that showed on her face, puzzled and twisted up tight as her fingers carded through the dog’s fur. “Keep it.” She repeated, not daring to let her voice above a whisper. Lest she start screaming again. Ren didn’t want that. Didn’t want to make another problem where her first was just beginning to mend. If that’s what this was. If he wanted to keep it… That had to mean he’d keep the apology as well. On a more metaphorical level.

As concerned as she made herself with the state of Perro’s tangled locks, she had completely missed how tears that had begun to prickle at her eyes had overflown their reserves. Silently trickling down her cheeks and dropping to the floor with a gentle ptth. Ren didn’t feel like crying. She certainly didn’t want to. But the tears came all the same. “Pictures… come into my head sometimes. Have to get them out.” Bueno. Good. For that. For drawing. Of all things. Why did this admittance make her want to sob?

Why did it make her want to be held?

A pit began to form in her stomach, lending more than a little evidence to what Emilio had said. About how maybe the way Darya had raised her had done more damage than good. But that was only because Ren wasn’t a normal child. She was never going to be. Ren had been raised at arm’s length because of what she was, because Darya couldn’t afford to offer her anything else. She had been kind, and she had been cruel. She had been noble, and evil. The ends might have justified the means in her mind, but the inbetweens had a way of crushing down on the nymph at every turn. Making her second guess everything that wasn’t a direct, clear, and unshakable fact.

—

She said he could keep it, and Emilio was shocked even if he didn’t show it. He folded the page carefully, pulled out the wallet he’d retrieved from the kitchen floor and tucked the paper in between the folds. There wasn’t much else in there to accompany it, really. A few worn photographs of people long gone, pictures of moments he’d stolen that no one had known he’d kept. Rhett with something tangled in his hair, looking wild-eyed at the camera in a way that said he knew the man holding it was responsible. Juliana on their wedding day, her simple white dress standing stark against her skin as she rolled her eyes at the lens. Flora holding out a worm towards the camera with Jaime draped over her shoulders flashing a gap-toothed grin. And now, Ren’s handwritten note and drawings. It felt like it belonged there, with the ghosts. Somehow, that thought ached more than the rest of it. How long until she was among them?

(Was it selfish to hope that, just this once, he’d get to go first?)

He couldn’t relate to it, her need to draw. The things in Emilio’s head were rarely worth putting to paper, and doing so wouldn’t do much to get rid of them. Sketching Flora’s corpse where he’d found it in the living room floor wouldn’t evict the image from its permanent spot behind his eyes. Drawing his mother’s face from memory wouldn’t dispel the memory of how it had looked every time she’d caught sight of him, of how disappointment became a tangible thing when it was reflected in her eyes, of all the ways she’d tried to fix what was wrong with him and all the ways those repairs had failed. There were some things you couldn’t fix. Emilio was one of them. Emilio had always been one of them.

But Ren wasn’t. Ren was a kid, still. Lost and alone, but not by necessity. Maybe Darya didn’t want her to know that there was a world beyond the one she’d forcibly shoved her into, but Darya wasn’t here. Emilio was. And maybe — Maybe he could do something decent. Maybe he could do something to make up for the other people who weren’t here. For those pictures in his wallet that would never exist off the page again.

“I like them,” he said again, because it was all he knew how to do. He wasn’t good at encouragement. How could he be? He’d never been shown much of an example. “If you ever wanted to show me more, you know, I’d like to see them. Maybe keep a couple more, if you’d let me.” He looked down at Perro, still curled on top of the kid’s feet. “Between you and me, he’s cuter in your drawings than he is in pictures. Can never get him to sit still enough. Always a little blurry. Shit camera’s probably got something to do with it.” He didn’t know if talking helped. It helped him, sometimes. When his head went to places he’d rather it stay away from, when his mind did things he didn’t understand, it helped to hear someone else’s voice. Like an anchor. He wasn’t sure he was much of a lifeline, but maybe he still beat out silence.

Slowly tucking his wallet back into his pocket, he turned back towards the door. “I was about to run to the store. You can walk the dog, if you want. You can stay after, if you want. Or you can go, if you want. But it’s up to you, okay? You wanna stick around, I’ll make some food. You wanna go, you can go. But take the jacket with you if you do. I don’t like it on my couch. It, ah…” He waved a hand, unsure what phrase he was looking for or how to find it. “It doesn’t go with the room.”

—

The girl huddled in the closed doorway (only allowing herself to stay focused on the dog and nothing else) was quiet for some time. Processing, as it were. Ren had never been particularly great at digesting new information that didn’t seem to jive with what was already jammed into her brain. She didn’t know what to do with the compliments, didn’t know how to hold on to them. Instinct bid her to deflect again, to deny that the art was anything more than the effects of a troubled mind. To push back against the tidal force of kind that Emilio kept sending her way. It meant something, she knew it, that he could see something different in her. She just wasn’t sure what it was. If she believed he had a good mind and was a good detective, then she had to believe his judgment call when it came to her too. Right?

She could keep that idea in her mind, turn it this way and that, but it never seemed to fit. Not quite right. Not with everything else still swirling around in there. Crowding out the space with ideas that had not originally been her own, but had metastasized into something physical. A wall blocking Ren from seeing real good in anything that belonged to the fae. Which she always would. Through no fault of Emilio’s at all, he’d never really be able to break that one down. But he could sit there and talk with her. He could offer kind words, home cooked food, a dog to walk, a jacket to wear. Offer her a choice.

If you want.

Over and over he said it. Three simple words. If. You. Want. Most days Ren didn’t feel like a person, at best an insect, at worst an animated tool meant only to destroy anything that was similar to itself. Personhood was heavy. It might as well have been an Atlas carrying the world level task for the young nymph. It wasn’t something she could really exist with, not yet, but she could try.

Emilio moved closer, and Ren slowly stood. Still quite a bit shorter, barely coming up over his shoulder even on her tippy toes. Her eyes never seemed to leave the dog, even now. Still, her hand tentatively found its way to his. Giving a tight squeeze of appreciation, affirmation. A slow nod alongside to confirm. Words failed to come out, or maybe she just kept them in this time. Making sure she didn’t mess any of this up. Again.

#ironheartedfae #ren: time to apawlogize #wickedswriting #alcoholism tw #child abuse tw #s1 writing #season 1

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insomniac-jay · 2 years

Text

Winter's Kiss

Full Name: Ruslana Edita Darya Kozlova

Age: 28

Gender: Female (Cis, She/Her)

Nationality: Russia, America

Ethnicity: Russian-American

Occupation: Pro Hero, Pro Figure skater

Affiliation(s): Winter Castle, Russian Olympic skating team (Formerly), American Olympic skating team

Description:

Design notes:

Parts of her body such as her lips, fingertips, toes are blue as a result of her Quirk.

She is constantly cold no matter what season also because of her Quirk.

Is right-handed.

Personality: Ruslana is a serious woman who has no time to waste on childish and/or empty people. She expects that her time be used wisely and not wasted by other's antics. This stems from the strict way she was raised and the beliefs her parents instilled in her.

She is determined to prove herself as both a hero and an athlete. She often calls herself the golden standard due to how powerful her Quirk is and her extensive villain capture and arrest record.

Ruslana often goes beyond her limits during training and ends up either slightly injuring herself or almost doing so. This is another teaching instilled in her by her parents, who were her managers during her early figure skating career.

Quirk: Winter's Wrath

An Emitter/Mutation Quirk that allows Ruslana to convert the water either in her body's water reserves or the air around her to generate snowstorms, ice storms, and blizzards strong enough to freeze over the entire area she's in. As a result, her core temperature is so low that doctors would say she was a walking and talking corpse. Another is that her body requires and can hold a lot more water than the average human's.

Unlike standard cryokinesis, Winter's Wrath is actually controlled by Ruslana mentally.

Family:

Alexei Kozlov (Father)

Khioniya Kozlova (nee Chernova) | Queen Cold (Mother)

Mikhail Kozlov | Tundra (Older brother)

Paired with: Nia King | Queen X (@calciumcryptid) (Formerly), Tobiko Akiyama | Aether

@floof-ghostie @s0ursop @opalofoctober @elflynns-horde-of-stuff @pizzolisnacks @peachyblkdemonslayer

#jay's bnha ocs #characters: american pro heroes #oc: ruslana🌨

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jeyramarie · 3 years

Text

The recruit- Yelena Belova x Reader (part 5)

summary: nothing ever goes as plan... ever

wc: 3,217

warnings: cursing, blood, guns, fighting, angst

a/n: flashbacks are in italics. i’m super proud of this part... enough said, happy reading 🦋

part 1~ part 2~ part 3~ part 4~

They both stared at the woman for quite some time, feeling shocked about the whole situation. Valentina had been playing for the wrong team the whole time. Nothing made sense. She had asked them to kill Neculai while she was working with him. Why would she do that?

“You fucking TRAITOR!” Y/n shouted as she pulled on her restraints harshly, feeling the rope burn her wrist.

“I can’t believe we fucking trusted you. You fucking bitch, I fucking hate you!” The y/h/c shouted pulling on the rope harder. Yelena stayed quiet but began to walk towards Valentina with a fiery look. All she wanted to do was beat the shit out of that woman and ask her why she would do that. Her intentions were brought to a halt when a large man pulled her back. She reacted quickly and elbowed him in the gut. He grunt and bent slightly forward as Yelena turned to give him a headlock. His body rolled over and down the stairs leaving the blonde standing on the top of the stairs.

“You want to go next?” Yelena asked out of breath as she looked at Valentina with a huge urge to throw her overboard.

“Can someone please get me out of this shit so i can punch her in the fucking face?” Y/n muttered, still pulling on her ropes as Neculai signaled one of his men to let her go. Once her hands were free she swung her hand and punched the man in the nose to distract him and get his gun. She unlocked it and placed her finger on the trigger as she immediately pointed it at Valentina.

“Do you know how to use that?” Neculai asked, scratching his brow as he chuckled.

“You want me to shoot you and find out?” Y/n asked with an angry face, looking at him and turning her head back to the black haired woman.

“You’re not gonna shoot that. I know you won’t.” Valentina laughed as she pointed at the weapon, intertwining her fingers in front of her.

“How are you so sure?”

“ ‘Cause I know you, Y/n. I know the kind of person you are… I know your heart, the way you think, the way your anxiety works.” She said, walking towards the y/h/c as she made hand gestures. Valentina finally made it and stood in front of the gun. She moved her hand and moved the weapon away, taking it from her.

“You’re not going to shoot.” She whispered and Y/n let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, turning to run her hand through her hair.

“So are you going to tell us how this came to be?” Yelena asked, feeling angry as she walked past Valentina to get closer to Y/n.

“We have been working together for many years.” Neculai drank from his whiskey and raised the glass towards the women in the form of a toast.

“I help him export his package without getting caught and he pays me in return.” The black haired woman said as she walked to stand next to the romanian man.

“And how do we fit into this?” Y/n asked angrily as she pointed at Yelena and herself.

“You were going to help us with Darya and her little family.”

“Darya? but Neculai was the target.” The blonde felt confused, nothing was adding up and she knew that the y/h/c was about to explode if they didn’t get to the point quick enough.

“Yes but he leads to Darya. Try to keep up.” Valentina joked, snapping her fingers rapidly. Y/n furrowed her brows and bolted herself towards the black haired woman, quickly being held back by Yelena.

“Don’t talk to her like that! Shut your FUCKING FACE!” Y/n shouted as she was pulled back while trying to get away from the strong grip the russian had on her.

“You need to calm down.” Yelena muttered holding her in front of her.

“Calm down? you’re just gonna let her talk to you like that?”

“What other choice is there?”

“Huh, well I don’t know. What can we possibly do? Oh, I know. What if we just kill them?” Y/n sarcastically said as she rubbed her chin, pretending to think.

“You know we’re standing right here right?” Valentina smiled devilishly making Yelena look at her over her shoulder in hate. The blonde looked back at the y/h/c and gave her a look. The look has been practiced and discussed before. It all happened back to the first night they worked together.

Y/n threw the last pizza crust on her plate and leaned back on her chair. Yelena was drinking from her beer, looking between her and the sidewalk.

“You know we should create a secret message or something.” The y/h/c said looking at her hands.

“A secret message?”

“Yeah, like if things go bad we can just look at each other or I don’t know, dance some weird way so we both know what we have to do.” She explained doing a weird robot move when she mentioned dancing.

“I don’t dance.” Yelena muttered with her thick accent and leaned back on her chair.

“We don’t have to dance. We can um…. we can scratch our ears or our eyebrows… ooh, we can scratch our noses.” The blonde chuckled and shook her hand in disbelief.

“Maybe just a look would be fine.”

“A look, yes.. I like that. It’s easy and subtle.” Y/n nodded leaning forward to grab her beer bottle.

“So when we give each other the look, we should make a plan.”

“I have an idea.” The blonde grunt as she leaned forward, getting closer to the y/h/c.

“When the look happens, we need to find a way to escape.” She continued as Y/n nodded, holding the bottle with both hands.

“Okay… okay, yeah. One of us has to pretend to go to the bathroom. When the person is gone they’re gonna look for the control panel of whatever it is we’re on at the moment. I have these contact lenses.” Y/n said and turned to the floor to rummage through her bag, taking out a small box. She placed it on the table and Yelena looked at her in question.

“I’ve been working on these for years. They’re contact lenses that also work as some kind of computer drive. You can see all the information on the person you’re looking at or the device you’re trying to hack and the best part is that people don’t see it. So we don’t have to worry about people noticing and then I was thinking about making-“ Y/n stopped looking up at the blonde and down at her hands, immediately shutting up noticing how much she had rambled. People always made mean comments about her so when she gets excited and starts to ramble she stops herself before the other person shuts her up.

“What’s wro-“

“Sorry for rambling but uh… yeah. We can do that.” The y/h/c muttered tucking a piece of hair behind her ear in embarrassment.

“You didn’t have to stop talking.” Yelena muttered as she looked into Y/n’s eyes that were beginning to look sad.

“You were gonna get tired of hearing me anyway… but back to the plan.” And she drifted off into putting together the whole thing. It was a very elaborate plan. One thing goes wrong and everything was going to crumble. Which made them wish they were never in a situation where they had to use it.

“Fine.” Y/n scoffed as she turned around, walking to the window. She stared at the ocean for a while, completely blocking the conversation in the background as she began to think about what Neculai said. A sudden scream made her turn around to see Yelena and Neculai pointing at each other with their guns.

“Put it down before I make you.” The blonde muttered, making the man chuckle dryly. Y/n stared back and forth between them and decided to put the plan in motion.

“I’m gonna go pee, so don’t kill each other yet. I wanna see that.” She said walking down a small hallway, disappearing from everyone’s view.

“I see you have soft spot for the girl.” He whispered, making Yelena clench her jaw.

“I see her head is halfway up your ass.” She muttered, tilting her head towards Valentina.

Y/n walked down the hallway and opened the wooden door to see computer screens everywhere. They were all live surveillance from his building in Bucharest, the docks, the pizza place her and Yelena hung out in. He already knew who they were before they had shown up in Romania.

“You lost the bathroom?” A deep voice asked, making her jump and turn around to see Neculai’s friend. The same one she saw at the party.

“Um..” She began but was quickly cut off by him throwing himself on her. Y/n covered her face and pushed his arms away, quickly punching him on the jaw. He grabbed her wrist and turned her around, choking her with his arm. The y/h/c her nails into his forearm, trying to release herself from the grip.

She stomped her heel into the man’s shoe making him shout and take his arm away. The only thing in front of her was a keyboard, she grabbed it and swung it with all her strength, hitting the man in the side of the head. He stumbled to the side giving Y/n the opportunity to start running out of the room.

A hand gripped her ankle, making her fall forward, face first to the ground. Y/n turned her body and pushed her leg to kick him. He anticipated the move and grabbed her other ankle, putting them together to keep her still.

The y/h/c kept pulling on his grip, making his hand slide down to the heel when she took the opportunity to pull her foot out. She quickly stood up and ran down the hallway, almost making it out to the deck when the man that paid her at the party walked out of a room, crashing into her.

“Bine, dacă nu este fetiță dansatoare. (Oh well, if it isn’t little dancer girl.)” he smirked and walked towards her, making her step back. The man looked up and saw his boss’ friend with a bloody temple. He reacted quickly and pulled out his gun but Y/n was much faster. She hit his arm and grabbed the weapon, taking the lock off immediately. It was pointed at him, making him lift his hands in surrender.

She turned her head slightly over her shoulder and saw Neculai’s friend still walking towards her. Y/n groaned and lowered the gun, turning around to take care of her problem. He blocked her fists and kicks until she jumped off the wall, falling on his shoulders. Her legs went around his neck, making him fall while the y/h/c never released her grip. She kept her legs locked around him, never letting go even with all of his fighting against it.

The man’s legs stopped moving after a while and right that second a loud crack was heard. Y/n unwrapped her legs and saw his head fall limp to the ground as she caught her breath while standing up.

“Fuck, I never thought I’d kill ya.” Y/n panted with her hands on her hips. She looked up and noticed the other man staring in fear. He looked down at the body and up at the y/h/c before running away.

“Ugh, why do they run? Don’t they notice how out of breath I am?” She muttered, walking over the dead man and picking up the gun from the ground.

Yelena kept her gun pointed at Neculai as he put his weapon down when he saw one of his men running towards them with a pale face.

“Ce s-a intamplat, Serban? (What happened, Serban?)” He questioned putting his gun back in his jeans and then putting his whiskey glass behind him.

“Fata dansatoare… ea doar- (The dancer girl… she just-)” a loud bang interrupted him and he fell to his knees. Blood began to drip from his forehead as his body fell flat on the floor. Neculai stared in shock, mouth agape and looked up to see Y/n pointing the gun towards Serban.

“Your little friend saw too much.” She muttered as she walked to stand next to Yelena, pointing her gun at Valentina.

“Oh look at you two. The little besties, partners in crime. It’s almost… cute.” The woman smiled and lifted her foot, kicking the y/h/c in the gut making her fall back. Neculai saw that Yelena was a bit distracted and slapped the gun off her hand. Her fist went to his ribcage as his hand gripped her hair, bringing her head back.

She gasped and grabbed onto his wrist while trying to kick his member. Her foot connected to his knee making him release the grip he had on her hair and stumble to the side. The blonde took this as an opportunity to put her hands on his shoulder and continuously jam her knee into his abdomen.

Y/n punched Valentina in the nose, making her head fly back. The y/h/c extended her hand and held onto a small gold sculpture at the bottom of the coffee table, swinging it to her head. The black haired woman groaned as she fell to the side. Y/n began to sit up and was quickly knocked down again with Valentina climbing on her. She took out a knife that was strapped to her thigh and held it close to the y/h/c’s neck.

“Not so brave now, are you?” The black haired woman muttered as specs of blood fell on Y/n’s dress. Her hand pushed the knife away while her foot went up to Valentina’s abdomen, kicking her away.

The y/h/c grunt as she stood from the ground. She began to catch her breath not noticing how the black haired woman was crawling towards her. Y/n winced as she felt something sting but didn’t pay attention to it. Her adrenaline was too high at the moment. She swung her other leg, immediately knocking Valentina out cold.

“Y/n! We have to go!” Yelena shouted as she ran towards the y/h/c. The blonde grabbed her arm and pulled her to a window, looking down at the ocean. They looked at each other and slightly nodded.

“Le obține! Acum! Le obține! (Get them! Now! Get them!)” Neculai yelled angrily from behind them as Y/n climbed over the window and jumped into the water. Yelena followed, diving into the water as bullets pierce through it from the yacht. They both swam a bit far and emerged from the water, taking a deep breath.

“We need to get to the dock.” Y/n said and continued to swim towards it, the blonde following suit. They climbed up the rusty metal ladder and laid on the wood for some time. Yelena sat up and looked to the side to see her motorcycle still parked there.

“We should go to the apartment.” The blonde grunt as she stood up.

“Get our things and go somewhere else.” She said as she jogged to the bike.

“Yelena.” Y/n muttered from behind her as she lifted her hand from her thigh, showing that it was covered in blood. Valentina had cut her thigh during the fight. The injury went from the top of her thigh to always at her knee. The blonde looked at the blood and back up at Y/n’s watery eyes before running towards her.

“You’re fine, you’re fine. We just um- We have to go to the apartment.” She said taking one arm over her shoulder and wrapping her free arm around the y/h/c’s waist. Y/n winced as she limped to the motorcycle, using Yelena as support.

“Yelena, it hurts.” Y/n cried as she limped into the apartment while pressing a rag to her leg.

“I know, I know just.. just stay here. I’ll be right back.” The blonde said hurriedly, placing the y/h/c on the couch. Then running to the bathroom to get the first aid kit.

“I got alcohol.” She opened the bottle and poured it over her leg as Y/n shouted.

“FUCK! YELENA!”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” She placed the gauzes over it as the y/h/c whimpered with every touch. Yelena hated seeing her like this. She never wanted Y/n to get hurt and now she has to see it directly in front of her eyes. After a few more screams the blonde was finally wrapping the bandages around her leg.

“I should really change clothes.” Y/n muttered, taking deep breaths, feeling the pain from her leg.

“I can get them for you.” Yelena walked off and came back a minute later with a hoodie and sweats.

“Help me up.” The y/h/c groaned as she sat up while extending her hand towards the blonde. She stood up and unzipped her dress, letting it fall, not caring about the russian seeing her naked. After changing into her clean clothes she limped to the bathroom to wash her face while Yelena was in the bedroom getting her stuff together.

Y/n’s tablet began to ring, signaling that a stranger was entering the building. The blonde ran to it and saw that it was 3 of Neculai’s men looking for them. She quickly ran to the bathroom and helped the y/h/c outside.

“They’re here, we need to leave.”

“I know where we can go.” Y/n muttered, grabbing her duffel bag and throwing it over shoulder. They climbed out to the fire escape and down the ladder, taking a bit longer due to Y/n’s injury. Yelena held her waist as they made it down the alley to get to the car. The bags were out in the trunk and the ignition was turned on. They quickly got away from the building and away from the men as they looked for somewhere to go.

“Turn right here… there’s a motel we can stay in for the night.” Y/n said, pointing out the window. Around 10 minutes later, Yelena pulled up at the said motel and quickly got out to look for the room. Y/n was currently laying in bed on her side as she played with her rings while Yelena laid next to her, staring at the ceiling.

“How are we gonna get out of this?” The y/h/c whispered looking at the blonde’s green eyes.

“I don’t know but we will.” Yelena replied, turning her head to Y/n with a slight smile. They stared at each other with nothing but admiration until Y/h’s eyes fluttered closed. The blonde placed a warm blanket over the y/h/c and leaned in, giving her a soft kiss on the cheek.

yelena taglist: @evansmermaid @ilovefandoms102 @imfuckinggenius @orangewheein @yelenabelovv @halsmultibitch @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @daniescady @ilovewinter101

#yelena belova x y/n #yelena belova x female reader #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova smut #yelena belova one shot #yelena belova blurb #yelena belova angst #yelena belova fluff #yelena belova #yelena belova fic

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musetta3 · 3 years

Text

Dragon Age OC as a Companion: Revka Cadash

Trend started by @little-lightning-lavellan it’s an amazing one and I had such fun with it! Thank you for the template!

This will be under a cut, because ohhhhhh my, there’s a lot here <3

This is also on AO3!

Is your OC a Companion in the Dragon Age series? What would it be like for a player to select them to join their party for quests (or romance them, perhaps? 👀)

You have selected Revka Cadash to join your party!

Race: Dwarf

Affiliation: Carta

Gender: Female

Class: Rogue/Archer

Specialization: artificer

Background

Revka Cordelia Cadash (born 8:95 Blessed) is a dwarven rogue and businesswoman. She is a companion and a potential romance option for a male human, dwarf, or qunari Inquisitor in Dragon Age: Inquisition.

Revka is a member of the many-membered Cadash Clan, and daughter of Brygida ‘Cookie’ Cadash and Artur ‘Archie’ Cadash. She has an older brother, Tavi, as well as numerous cousins, including Edric ‘Dasher’ Cadash, the head of the Ferelden Carta.

Revka grew up in the company of her rambunctious cousins, and thus views them like brothers and sisters. It’s common for Cadashes to play tricks and pull pranks on each other as a way to show affection, as is evidenced in the short story ‘Flapping in the Breeze.’ Some of Revka’s favorite pranks include spiking food with chili oil, switching people’s beverages, hiding belongings, and breaking into ‘private’ things such as journals, desk contents, or that box of cookies under the bed.

Revka made a name for herself in the Carta accompanying her mother and cousins on patrol as a teen. Her deadly accuracy with a bow earned her the nickname ‘Hawkeye;’ her duties quickly expanded to include ‘problem-solving’ for the Carta, her solutions ranging from assassinations, blackmail, and negotiating contracts, to smuggling, and forgeries. Her successful business plans and battle tactics made her a valuable asset to the Carta.

In 9:13 Dragon, Revka married Iwan Feddic, a member of the merchant caste and a Cadash client in Ostwick. She helped her husband run his international shipping business, a venture she took over after his untimely death. When Dasher’s wife, Darya, died at the hands of the Orlesian Carta, Revka returned to Ferelden to help her cousin raise his five children, turning over the Ostwicker affairs to her brother, Tavi.

When the Cadashes eliminated a rival Carta branch in Kirkwall, they sent Artur Cadash to oversee operations in the city. 22-year-old Revka volunteered to accompany him, becoming her father’s second in command. Once arrived in Kirkwall, she helped him found Graywater Imports, an import/export company functioning as a storefront for both legal and illegal goods. She is a prominent member of the Cadash Carta branch in Kirkwall, often dealing with the Dwarven Merchant Guild and Varric Tethras.

Romance with Varric Tethras

Shortly after Revka arrived in Kirkwall, she met the young Varric Tethras. What began as mixing business with pleasure became a romantic entanglement that lasted until Tethras met the talented smith Bianca Davri, and broke off with Revka for Bianca. As much as Revka wanted to cut all ties with him, she maintained their business relationship… and an unrequited, one-sided love for the deshyr prince.

Involvement

A special mission at the War Table will unlock a quest at Kirkwall’s Docks, ‘Ten Shades of Graywater,’ in which the Inquisitor will receive a mysterious anonymous letter inviting them to the coast to discuss a purveyor/supplier contract for the Inquisition. The Inquisitor will arrive in a seemingly abandoned alley, but is ambushed by Coterie thugs. After the enemies are slain, Revka can be engaged in conversation.

If Varric is in the party, he will be surprised to see Revka. It’s revealed that they know each other through various business ventures, and are old acquaintances… although the weighted, bitter quality of Revka’s answers imply that their relationship is more complicated than Varric had said.

Upon further questioning, Revka pitches her business proposal: wholesale lyrium for the Inquisition’s mages or Templars, with access to the Cadash Family’s network of spies, businesses, and Carta members for Inquisition purposes. Her only condition is that her family obtains an industry monopoly, becoming the sole provider of lyrium for the Inquisition and Southern Thedas.

Revka can be found near the archery targets and training dummies in Haven. Once the Inquisition relocates to Skyhold, Revka spends time training in the courtyard, in Skyhold’s main hall talking to Varric, or in the rookery, spoiling her messenger crow, Cipher, with treats. Dialogue options will reveal that she uses the bird keep in contact with her family and business associates.

Approval and Romance

Revka can be romanced by a male Inquisitor of any race, and will jokingly comment on the height differences if romanced by a qunari, elf, or human. A Cadash inquisitor of either gender can unlock Carta-specific dialogue. Revka is guarded at first, giving out only generic information about her family, but with some persistent questioning the Inquisitor can wear her down. Depending on dialogue choices, the conversation can end with the Cadashes exchanging stories of ‘colorful’ family members and an approval gain.

Revka takes a more pragmatic view on politics: she supports whoever pays the most, and sells lyrium to both the Templars and mages without discrimination. Upon learning the truth behind the events Redcliffe, however, she is dismayed to learn what her products enabled. Traveling to Redcliffe with Revka in the party will trigger her personal quest ‘Scales Fall from Her Eyes.’ (this quest will trigger after the Inquisition relocates to Skyhold if the player sided with the Templars)

Revka approves of Inquisitors who are tenacious, calculating/far-sighted, and does what is best for the majority. She believes that the end justifies the mean, sanctioning death only as a last resort. She approves of bold plans, investigating all aspects of a quest before making a decision, and an Inquisitor who makes jokes (especially puns). Her sense of justice changes as the player completes more of her personal quests. She will approve of charitable acts and kindness as the game progresses and her personal beliefs change.

Revka’s romance can be initiated through the conventional method flirting and conversation. During the quest ‘Scales Fall from Her Eyes,’ the Inquisitor has an opportunity to embrace Revka, leading to a kiss.

If Revka is not romanced by an Inquisitor, she can enter a relationship with Varric Tethras, but only if the Inquisitor assists in reconciling the two ex-lovers. Revka’s romantic past with Varric is hinted at in party banter if both are present, the two bickering with each other. This series of quests are available post-arrival at Skyhold, and has conditional dialogue for certain scenarios.

Revka gets along well with Dorian and Cassandra, bonding with them over their mutual love of books. It’s revealed that the three of them have an unofficial ‘book club’ going on, where they read various novels and comment on them in party banter. Revka also gets along well with Sera, bonding over pulling pranks in Haven and Skyhold. She makes a special bond with Leliana over nugs, owning a nug, herself.

Revka does not trust Solas from the moment she meets him, stating he knows too much, and is fond of talking without saying anything. She also suspects Blackwall of hiding something.

Companion Quests

Scales Fall from Her Eyes

After the events of Redcliffe, the Inquisitor will receive a note from Revka to meet her at the abandoned cabin outside Haven. Or, if the player sided with the Templars, this will trigger once the Inquisition relocates to Skyhold. At the meeting, she will share her guilt and horror at what occurred. She questions her personal beliefs, and offers an apology with the promise to amend her family’s business practices. After this quest, Revka is more empathetic, approving of selfless and charitable acts, whereas before she’d disapprove.

At the end of the quest, the Inquisitor has an opportunity to embrace Revka, which can lead to a kiss, if desired.

Varric’s Quest in Valammar

Revka can be found beside the fireplace in the main hall, arguing with Varric over the contents of a particular letter. Upon investigation, the Inquisitor learns that Revka has broken into the locked box in which Varric keeps his correspondence, which she claims he’s done to her on multiple occasions over the years. He neither denies nor confirms the accusation. Revka demands to know why Varric is still in contact with ‘that woman,’ declares she won’t set foot in the main hall until his ‘guest’ is gone, and leaves, demanding the Inquisitor ‘talk some sodding sense into him.’

This leads into Varric’s quests with Bianca Davri, and some cutting comments from Bianca calling Revka a ‘sore loser.’ Varric comes to Revka’s defense, much to the Inquisitor’s surprise.

If the Inquisitor takes Revka to Valammar, she disapproves and will grouse all the way there, cutting snide remarks whenever Varric says something. She becomes jealous during Bianca and Varric’s reminiscing, interjecting and muttering. Her anger only grows as the quest proceeds, Revka calling out Bianca for her selfish, pragmatic methods and carelessness. Once Inquisitor concludes the quest, Revka declares she needs some air, and says she’ll meet the Inquisitor at the nearest inquisition camp later.

Upon arrival at the campsite, a scout reports that Revka never returned to camp. The Inquisitor must search the nearby area; eventually, they find Revka injured after being ambushed by bandits (the Inquisitor and the party must defeat them in order for the quest to proceed).

If Varric is present, he will be upset, demanding to know why she would be so foolish as to wander around alone. Revka half-jokes, claiming how surprised she is that Varric cares about her safety, after all these years. Varric’s expression visibly shifts. The Inquisitor arranges for her immediate medical care, but it’s too serious a wound for her to remain out in the field. After this point, Revka is unavailable as a companion until after the Inquisitor returns to Skyhold.

Once the Inquisitor returns, they will find Varric in the central courtyard, pacing outside the infirmary/medical tents. The medic will inform the Inquisitor that Varric hasn’t left since Revka’s arrival, but refuses to go inside to see her. Selecting Varric for a conversation will show he can’t bear to face her after what happened at Valammar; he feels especially guilty, knowing that she got hurt in an attempt to calm down after the encounter. The Inquisitor can remind Varric that his apology should be to Revka, not them. To trigger their romance, the Inquisitor can encourage him to visit Revka and share his feelings.

If the Inquisitor visits her instead, they will gain high approval with her, and further unlock romance scenes. After the visit in the tent, Revka will invite the Inquisitor to her quarters to personally ‘thank’ him. The Inquisitor can choose to accept her proposition, or refuse. Depending on choice, Revka may sleep with the Inquisitor. There is an option to break relations off with Revka the morning after.

Revka’s Family

Revka’s war table missions mostly revolve around business opportunities she’s scouted out for the Inquisition throughout Thedas. Some of these are triggered through conversations with Revka in the rookery or throughout Skyhold. Completing quests from her cousin Jon in Tevinter will reveal Venatori camps on all game-maps, and will reduce the cooldown time on war table quests dealing with Venatori in general.

Revka’s cousin, Czibor, can be encountered in the Hissing Wastes hunting Venatori. Accompanying xem in eliminating a Venatori camp can lead to xir recruitment as an Inquisition agent.

The Trouble with Tavi

After the quest Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, Revka will ask to meet the Inquisitor, requesting their assistance in a matter of life or death. She reveals that she’s received a letter from the Orlesian Carta, stating their displeasure at the Inquisitor’s choice of ruler, since they’re encroaching on the Orlesian Carta’s operations. They know Revka and the Cadash family has been helping the Inquisition, and threaten to exact revenge. She’d thought it an empty threat until her brother Tavi stopped replying to her letters. Upon investigation, it’s revealed that the Orlesian Carta kidnapped Tavi and have hid him at their base in Val Royeaux. Revka asks the Inquisitor for assistance.

Should the Inquisitor refuse Revka, she will greatly disapprove, stating that her brother’s more important that the Inquisitor’s ‘sodding principles,’ and leave the Inquisition to save him. She will not be available again until later in the game (post Adamant), when a war table mission will appear from Tavi in Ostwick, stating that Revka saved him and has returned to Kirkwall. She is still very offended, and is considering terminating the Cadash business contracts with the Inquisition. He urges the Inquisitor to please make her reconsider, citing the monetary gain the contracts net him but also Revka’s hurt (note: the letter will also reference a romanced Varric, asking the Inquisitor to enlist his help). The Inquisitor has the choice to make up with Revka and invite her back, or leave her be.

Should the Inquisitor choose to help Revka, she will greatly approve and travel with the Inquisitor to Val Royeaux. Varric—regardless of the romance status—will also express interest in coming, but bringing him along is not required. Revka will be touched by his offer, regardless.

The meeting place mentioned in the Carta’s letter is an abandoned oil warehouse at the docks. Inside, the companions note the derelict condition of the place. The further they travel into the warehouse, following a trail of blood, the smell of rancid oil grows stronger. In a storeroom, there is a lone dead dwarf bearing a note, a man Revka recognizes as Tavi’s second in command in Ostwick. If the Inquisitor can find Tavi before time runs out, the note says, they’re welcome to him. As the Inquisitor reads the note aloud, a shadow darts in the periphery; the door slams shut, locking them in. A torch is thrown in through a window, setting the spilled oil on fire.

The Inquisitor may, through a series of dialogue choices, decide to rescue Tavi or leave him to his fate, opting to escape. If the Inquisitor chooses to escape and leave Tavi behind, Revka will greatly disapprove, running off to find him herself. If she is romanced by Varric, he will also greatly disapprove, stating that they should go after Revka. If the Inquisitor chooses this route, they can still save Revka and Tavi. Otherwise, the two Cadashes are not seen again, supposedly perishing in the fire. Revka will then be unavailable as a companion for the remainder of the game.

The mission to save Tavi is time-sensitive, with several endings: should the Inquisitor take too long to escape or find Tavi, the warehouse will collapse on them, killing everyone. The timer, separated into quarters, is marked by sections of the roof collapsing: escaping by the third collapse will guarantee the party’s safety. Escaping post-third collapse can result in a 50% chance of the roof collapsing on the party: if this occurs, Revka pushes either her love interest or her brother out of the way of a falling beam, sacrificing herself for their safety. The mission then ends with the party barely escaping in time, mourning the loss of their lover and/or friend.

Pranks

Various pranks around Skyhold and Haven are attributed to Revka via ambient dialogue and party banter. If the approval rate is high enough, Inquisitor has an opportunity to join Revka in pulling pranks around Skyhold post-Adamant. She claims that she’d like to cheer everyone up, and would like the Inquisitor’s help.

Prank 1: sneak into the kitchen and switch the sugar out for salt in a cake.

Prank 2: paint a smiley face on the back of a sleeping Solas’s head

Prank 3: Rearrange Vivienne’s furniture

Prank 4: Distract Varric so she can steal his letters and replace them with scrambled riddles

A cutscene follows, showing a crowd standing at the base of a flagpole the morning after. Revka pushes through the crowd, gasping: someone has nailed her frilly blue panties to the pole. Varric is seen leaning against a column, howling with laughter. Revka pulls a face at him and scowls, but eventually ends up laughing, too. (Note: this is inspired by the short story ‘Flapping in the Breeze’)

Trespasser

If Revka left or died during the events of the game, she will not be at the Winter Palace. Otherwise, there are several outcomes as to what she’s been doing…

If she romanced Varric, she returned to Kirkwall and is his lover

If she romanced the Inquisitor, she stayed alongside him as an Inquisition agent

If she did not romance anyone, she returned to Kirkwall

There is an option to marry Revka as a romanced Inquisitor, or urge her to marry Varric. If she marries, her brother Tavi and a recruited cousin Czibor may attend the ceremony.

Combat comments

Kills an enemy

And stay dead!

Sodding nughumper, good riddance.

Low Health

A little help would be lovely!

Oh shit. Not good.

Atredum na satolva! Toss me a health potion, will you?

I’m too old for this…

Low Health (Companions)

(The Inquisitor) Inquisitor!

(The Inquisitor - if romanced) Hold on, love!

(Varric, unromanced) Varric, you don’t look so good...

(Varric, if romanced) Oh shit, don’t you dare die on me.

(Sera) Can someone check on Sera, please?

(Cassandra) Cass! Wait!

(Dorian) Dorian needs help!

Location comments

(Approaching Camp) Ahhh! Home sweet tent.

(When collecting a shard) Ooh! I wonder how much it’d fetch at market.

Storm Coast

(sighs) They ought to call this place the ‘Soggy Coast,’ or the ‘Sopping Coast.’ My socks are soaked through to my boots.

Fallow Mire

The bugs will drain you dry before the undead will. Nug-humping bastards keep biting me…

Anyone else feel eyes watching you from the shadows?

Hinterlands

(Laughs) You know, back when I was running jobs for the Carta, I would get so lost here in the Hinterlands. Good to know things haven’t changed.

Don’t go near there; bears love that place. I learned that the hard way…

(at Witchwood) Ah, the Which-Witch-is-Which-Wood. Da would warn my brother and I about this place when were children.

The Hissing Wastes

I have sand in places I never knew existed.

Why my cousin had to choose to hunt Venatori in the ass-end of nowhere is beyond me…

Emprise du Lion

(scoffs) Snow. Snow. More sodding snow. I’m up to my tits in the stuff.

We don’t get snow like this in Kirkwall.

(on seeing a snowfleur) Ooh, look! Fluffy nugs! Can I take one home? Lucky could use a friend.

Emerald Graves

I…I heard the reason why this place is called the Emerald Graves. Such a tragic story.

I didn’t expect such greenery this far south, to be honest.

Exalted Plains

(shivers) You can feel the sorrow in this place.

Companion Comments

Blackwall: “Rev? She’s a bit… unnerving, to be honest. Never smiles, glares holes in the side of your head. Offered to sell my carvings in Denerim, though: two sovereigns apiece. I swear she could sell water to a fish, that woman…”

Varric: “(Laughs) Hawkeye and I go way back. Don’t let her innocent face fool you: she’ll bleed you dry at Wicked Grace if you let her. Learned some of my best tricks from her—Don’t…erm. Don’t tell her that.”

“Do you know how Hawkeye got her name? She shot a fly from across a room, once. Still don’t know how she did it.”

(If Inquisitor romanced Revka) Hawkeye’s a sweet girl, under all the Carta bullshit. I’m glad she has you; she deserves some happiness in her life.”

(If romances Revka): “I know they say don’t mix business with pleasure, but I get all the best discounts at Graywater Imports, now. You want anything? I think they’re running a sale on Antivan leather, at the moment.”

“She’s probably upstairs feeding Cipher, knowing her. Or taking another order for Dagna; buys crafting supplies like candy, that one.”

Sera: “Rev’s fun, not all stuffy just ‘cause she’s someone back home, yeah? Takes jokes well. Can’t shoot for shit, though…”

Cole: Ash, steel, gray, withering inside at the sight of him smiling at her. Don’t look back, you’re not going that way; old coals don’t rekindle. It bleeds under her armor, but she can’t bandage the wound. I want to help. (if she romances Varric) but he helped her feel whole again. (if she romances the Inquisitor) but you helped her feel whole again.

Solas: “Is it wise to allow a known member of the Carta in our ranks? She actively seeks information and passes it along to her superiors.”

“Do tell Mistress Cadash that if she breaks into my desk one more time, I shall ward the drawers to set her on fire. I can tolerate harmless pranks, but one thing I cannot abide is liars who snoop.”

Iron Bull: “They say still waters run deep, and she’s no exception. She might appear all laughs and smiles, but that woman knows exactly what she’s doing. Don’t underestimate her.”

Dorian: “Ah, my darling Rev: she has excellent taste in literature and baked goods.” (if she romances Varric) “And dwarven merchant princes.”

Cassandra: “I doubted her intentions, at first, but she has proven herself quite useful to the Inquisition. If you see her, tell her to return my book, will you? She ‘borrowed’ a week ago, and I want to know what happens to the poor Guard Captain.”

Vivienne: “Mistress Cadash would do quite well at court; she understands the Game surprisingly well for one who’s not a courtier. Too strong from the onset, however: the idea is to gain a person’s trust, not frighten them into submission.”

Cullen: “I knew Mistress Cadash back in Kirkwall; I’d frequent Graywater Imports often. They carry three kinds of hair pomade there, did you know?”

Josephine: “Mistress Cadash has many useful connections throughout Thedas; I’m pleased she offers them to us so freely. But then, we’re making her a rich woman with all the business contracts. Quid pro quo, as the Tevinters say.”

Leliana: “Rev is a shrewd woman, fierce and good at her craft. Did you know that she has a pet nug in Kirkwall? She always has something for the birds when she comes here; I like her.”

Trivia

It’s said that the young Varric Tethras wrote his first novel, The Dasher’s Men, about Edric Cadash, Revka’s cousin. The femme fatale who assists the hero of the tale, Revka, is heavily inspired by Varric’s lover at the time, Revka Cadash. An autographed copy of The Dasher’s Men can be found in the rookery, where Revka sits.

Revka adores cookies, and has been trying to get the secret brandy snap recipe off of her cousin, Edric, for years. She has tried everything from recipe book publisher scams to impersonating the Viscount of Kirkwall’s chef to obtain the recipe

In party banter, Revka will mention her nug, Lucky, which, according to the short story, she won during a rather raucous evening of Wicked Grace.

When Revka isn’t reading, answering correspondence, or training, she enjoys baking, sewing, and embroidery.

Despite being an adept businesswoman, Revka is terrible at bookkeeping, and will often complain about it to Varric… sometimes enlisting him to do it, with a bribe of cookies.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #writing prompt #dai #dragon age companions #revka #revka cadash #Cadash x Varric #dorian pavus #Varric Tethras #dragon age varric #cadash #female cadash

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umbralstars · 3 years

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(Picrew because the drawing machine broke :'). Really cute Picrew though here's the link: https://picrew.me/image_maker/614903)

Name: Yekaterina (Katya) Deryn Blaiddyd

Gender: Female

Orientation: Bisexual

Race: Human

Ethnicity: Faerghal

Age: 13 (Pre-TS); 18 (Post-TS)

Birthday: 12 of the Wyvern Moon 1167

Height: 4'11

Family:

- Rufus Cassius Blaiddyd

- Darya Artemi (deceased)

- Emyr Artemi Blaiddyd

- Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd

- Others not listed

Starting Class: Commoner

Residence: Castell Itha (Formerly); Traveler

Faction: Jeralt's Mercenaries; Holy Kingdom of Faerghus

Basic Backstory

The daughter of Grand Duke Rufus Cassius Blaiddyd and Duchess Court Darya Artemi.

Katya was born during a particularly turbulent time in the court of Itha. With the death of the Duchess Consort a few of the more enterprising and ambitious courtesans strove to elevate her half-siblings to the role of hier or remove the competition entirely. Katya was mostly spared from the political machinations by being so young at the time, but her earliest memories are of this dark period. Despite the circumstances, Katya's early life was not completely mired in darkness and she sought to bring happiness to her life and lives of her family.

She grew very close to her older brother Emyr and a few of her half siblings as well as the other noble kids and castle staff. She could never grow exceptionally close with her father and holds tightly to the pleasant memories of Itha she does have. Katya was very aware of the tension that existed between Rufus and Emyr, and did, for a time, believe it was somehow her fault. She had an interest in the various flying creatures of Fódlan, especially the native Itha Gryphon and swore she would one day learn to fly on them again like the knights in Faerghus' stories. Katya has a great love of Faerghus' stories of chivalry.

When she was around 6, she followed Emyr out into the town and was kidnapped by a group of thugs wishing to extort her older brother for gold. Emyr ended up rescuing her in the end and event served to bring the siblings closer together. Emyr taught her magic in order to defend herself if she ever wished to sneak out of the castle again.

Katya was 8 when the Tragedy of Duscur happened. She didn't understand the true extent of what had occurred at first. Why her father had to move to Fhirdiad, where her uncle went, or why her cousin was suddenly so distant. When her brother came to Fhirdiad from the Officers Academy, Katya didn't understand Emyr's pleas to leave Faerghus but willingly left with him anyways that night. She still wears the same blue cape Emyr brought with him from the Officers Academy.

After the siblings were folded into Jeralt's mercenary company, Katya took to the constant traveling and fighting as best she could. At first, like with Byleth, she wasn't allowed to fight and was taught skills and cared for jointly by her brother and the other willing mercenaries. She helped out in other ways like cooking, mending clothes, and learning healing magic/potion brewing from other proficient members in the company. She does miss her family in Faerghus dearly but considers the Mercenaries just as important to her.

Personality

Curious - Katya is always willing and ready to learn new things. She's imaginative and open minded with a fascination for pretty much anything. She is extremely intelligent and a borderline genius for her age.

Perceptive - To Katya nothing or no one is unimportant. She pays attention to pretty much everything around her and can pick up even the slightest changes in body language or emotions in a person. She hates being presumptive and always airs on the side of being wrong, and will apologize if he is, but always wants to take account for other people's feelings and needs.

Enthusiastic - Katya's energy and optimism seems nearly boundless. She's warmhearted with an extremely friendly disposition. She loves talking to anyone and loves hearing different ideas and perspectives than her own.

Festive - She always tries to find joy in the present moment. Katya knows that joy can often be fleeting and genuinely wants to bring as much joy into the lives of those around her as possible.

Overly Optimistic - Katya is always trying to keep and peace and uplift others. She has a rosy outlook on life and often makes well-intentioned if naive choices. She genuinely believes that often it is worth the risk to trust people and give them the benefit of doubt, even if someone has not necessarily earned it. However, she has a hard time accepting hard truths and will stubbornly cling to her faith in others.

Restless - Believes she has to always needs to be doing something. Katya will get restless and stressed if she isn't working on some kind of project or overarching goal. She does like to relax but relaxation had to be in a way productive.

Hides her feelings - Katya is much more willing to hide her own sadness or frustration if it means she can help someone else with theirs. She keeps a cheerful disposition nearly all the times and only breaks down when things become too much for her. Once she does break, it takes a very long time for her to calm back down again.

Loyal and Dedicated - Katya will do anything and everything for her family and friends. She's extremely loyal to those who she cares about, and actually won't hesitate to use trickery or other dubious methods to help someone.

Likes: Sweets, her family, making friends, animals, helping others, lively places, painting

Dislikes: Lies, Emyr's overprotectiveness, Indolence, People who will hurt those she cares about

Other Notes

Katya is a light prankster and loves to jokingly poke at people, most often her brother.

She loves the woodcarvings Emyr makes her and her brother's poems.

Katya does sorely miss home and doesn't understand why Emyr's so hellbent on keeping their identity a secret at Garreg Mach.

She goes by Katya Artemi while they are traveling with the Mercenaries and does prefer "Katya" over her full name.

She is very religious and often prays to the Goddess for protection.

She doesn't mind fighting as long as it's to defend others and herself. Her brother and the other merchs are teaching her how to handle weapons, and she really enjoys her lessons because she gets to spend time with her brother.

She does really love her father and half-siblings and wishes she got to know them better.

She goes with Arash to Derdriu after the Blaiddyds are scattered on AM, SS, and VW while her brother fights with the resistance in nothern Faerghus.

She eventually makes it back to the other Mercenaries and helps out during the war.

She will not join during Crimson Flower but will survive the war unlike her brother and likely leave Fódlan all together for safety.

After Azure Moon she likely returns to Itha to help her brother manage the Grand Duchy.

#fe3h oc #jeralt's mercenaries #blaiddyd bastards #yekaterina deryn blaiddyd #yes katya is a disney princess and i love her for that #fe3h

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moonchild-in-blue · 4 months

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GUYS!! Guess who got the big Blåhaj shark from IKEA for Secret Santa??

Me. I did. 🥺🦈

#LOOK AT THE BIG BOY #his name is Ramón btw #HE IS SO CHONKY I AM IN LOVE #(partial face reveal i suppose. he is just so cute and fluffy i've been hugging him for the past hour)#i'm gonna honk shoo so well tonight 🥺🥺#(excuse the peeled forehead my bangs are too long and in need of a trim)#darya talks to herself

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ironheartedfae · 9 months

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Timing: Early August Location: Wicked's Rest State Park Feat: @lithium-argon-wo-l-f & @ironheartedfae Warnings: The Ren Starterpack: Mentions of ( child abuse tw, child neglect tw) Summary: Ren and Gael have a little picnic and talk about Ren's past.

Beyond the last rows of houses, past the outskirts. Out far past where the trails ended, where the only human structures were fire watch stations and the occasional radio tower jutting high above the canopy. Beauty could be found at every turn. Nature in all its splendor. A perfect place to pick flowers, far enough that no humans would cross their paths, and no nosy cu-sith would come sniffing around. Hopefully. Ren didn't know what she might do if the creature tried to hurt Gael. The thought alone gripped her by the heart and shook like a mangy dog gnawing on a bone.

At the same time, somehow she couldn't imagine the beast doing something so… beastly. It was calm when Emilio found her at the dump. It wasn't even that aggressive the first time they met. She was mostly just…protective. Ren didn't understand why, but she knew what it looked like.

The walk out had been mostly quiet. Not awkwardly or anything like that. Each of them pointing out various flora and fauna along their hike. Mostly her, but not just. Every once in a while Ren would get so excited she'd grab tight onto the man's hand and rush him over to see some bug she happened to spy. Or to quiet enough that they could listen to a bird call, one she'd spend ages debating with herself which specific species it might be.

Ren found herself lost in the journey. Found that she hadn't even thought of the reasons for coming out this far. Only thinking of the bright warm sunlight, of the way getting to walk alongside Gael through the overgrown woods made her feel like she was a kid. A real kid. For the first time. Arriving at the flower filled valley was a treat, not an end. The picnic they'd packed was another. Ren had practically dove into the tall grass after a particularly fat cricket as Gael set up the big blanket. She was far more exuberant than she'd ever been. And she didn't want any of it to stop.

"Look! Gryllus campestris! This is the biggest one I have ever seen!"

—

Each conversation was progress, each exchange, each gentle affirmation and long-winded explanation Gael had with the girl who was fae and yet more human than she wanted to admit. More human than she was raised to believe. He’d never met Darya but as they took their leisurely walk, his cardio having improved since he started going on hikes and she would touch him with excitement or a childish enthusiasm when she pointed out a plant she was fond of or an insect she told him the scientific name of, he came to a more cemented conclusion that he didn’t like her, not at all. He tried not to think about it though; it wasn’t healthy for either of them to compare what they were doing to what would’ve happened if it was Darya instead of him. Instead, Gael held onto each time she took his hand to show him anything, each time she cast him a bright-eyed look with her emerald eyes, seeing youth radiating from her. Now and then, with increasing frequency, he would forget that this was the same girl that he met in the soft rains that day, wide-eyed, afraid, not talking or moving too much out of the very recognized fear that she would be punished for what, he still couldn’t figure out; he lacked the capacity to understand why someone would abuse a child. They hadn’t seen the dog yet. Gael figured it wouldn’t be that difficult to see as it was the size of a cow but he wasn’t questioning not having seen it as he himself was caught in the moments they spent dappled by the sun through the trees, hearing the breeze rustling the leaves and their curly hair, absently whistling in response to a bird he heard that he was sure she’d know the name of if she could find it. The flower field, as they got to it, was expansive and colored with so many colors he wasn’t sure if he could list them all. It was unusual but no one was about to catch him complaining. As Ren’s attention was captured by another insect, Gael set up the blanket carefully, picking a particularly grassy patch where the flowers were more sparse and once it was spread to his satisfaction, he had just set down the large picnic basket he’d packed for them (with her suggestions and input, of course) when she called to him and he turned his head to regard her. “Really? Here, lemme see.” He knelt near her and craned his neck to get a good look at the thing, which looked to be a cricket of some sort. “You weren’t kidding! That’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen, too!” He remarked, taken aback by how large the specimen was.

—

Dazzled as she was by the spectacle all around her, Ren was far too absorbed in her activities to care that she was smiling like a fool. That she was acting like the person she always feared she couldn’t be. If the young fae had realized, she might have shied away. Might have tried her best to reconstruct those walls because everything outside of them was so foreign. So unknown. There was danger in lending your heart to another, but Ren was trying her best to ignore it. Hope was the word of the day. Belief in the man she’d come to know, and the day she wanted to give him.

So much stress had been passing through their house. Ren knew not all of it was from her, but it was hard to shake that notion. A day out in the woods, picking flowers for their experiment, having a picnic while they talked about matters too heavy to type out online… maybe it was what they both needed.

“She must be very good at her job.” The red head nodded, holding the cricket carefully in the palm of her hands. She eyed it this way and that, making a perfect mental note before gently letting the critter go. “This place is good for the bugs, I think. Lots of nutrients for everyone.” A softer smile graced the nymph’s lips. If she was meant to have a biome or something of the sort, this would be it. Hell, they could probably find a few actual praying mantises amongst the grass and flowers if they tried. Ren could show off how they legitimately listened to her command. But for the time being, she left them all to their own devices.

Scooting back until she was on the blanket, Ren picked a sandwich from the basket. One of the ones she’d made. With cucumbers and salami and just a little bit of cheese. Even though it was red meat, it was still one of her favorites. And having a slice or two every once in a while couldn’t be that bad, could it? It wasn’t like her stomach was the pinnacle of perfection any day. Ren began nibbling at the corners. Systematically removing the crusts first, so the better tasting part of the sandwich would come last. “I am glad we are…” A few seconds into speaking she realized a bit too much food was in her mouth. That wasn’t exactly one of the manners she was taught, but it did make it harder all the same, so she swallowed before continuing. “I am glad we could do this today. It is so lovely out. Not even too hot, or too cold. Right in the middle for both of us.”

—

The cricket was in her hands and a smile was on her face, bright, shining more than he’d ever seen her and Gael had to keep himself from letting his gaze linger too long on her lest she think there was something wrong with her. Nothing was wrong with her. She’d protest if he said that, he was sure she would. All the discussion they had about how she was a monster, how she was raised to hate the thing that she was, not being given anything and having to lastingly earn the things that she shouldn’t have had to. Color was returning to her dappled skin, her hair was growing out a little bit. Her cheeks seemed less hollow, her expression replacing emotionally distant with curious. It wasn’t perfect, of course it wasn’t - she still spent most of her time in her room and had a tendency to sneak out when she thought Gael couldn’t hear her, which he wouldn’t have if he wasn’t given a few perks in exchange for the injury. She still bore the marks of her abuse, and that was something he would need to navigate. He had faith in her, however, just as he had faith that he himself would be able to help - or at least be better than Darya. Give Ren something she needed, which was to smile and chase bugs in the grass. Gael adjusted himself on the blanket as she did, close to her but not too close, and waited until she picked out one of the sandwiches she’d made as he observed before he pulled one of his own out. She could keep her cucumbers and salami, he was a ham-and-cheese person all day though he did spare himself a pulled pork sandwich that was nicely nestled at the bottom. He snapped to her attention when she started speaking through her mouthful of food, which was difficult to parse but at least she had stopped to swallow. He wasn’t about to get onto her for it. “I’m really glad we could, too.” Gael smiled through his own bite of sandwich. “The sun feels good, the breeze feels good, the air smells pleasant.” He looked over at her, his expression soft. “This is how it’s supposed to be. This is what happiness feels like.” Even if they weren’t going to take any of the flowers home for the science project he had told her about, this was still very healthy for her. It was healthy for him, too, when he thought about it - it had been a while since he was out in nature and he didn’t feel like he was losing his mind. He reached into the basket and pulled out one of two thermoses, unscrewing the lid and pouring some apple juice into it. “Here, try this.” Gael said, offering the lid-turned-cup to the girl. “If you don’t like it, I have water for you.”

—

Something about warm sunlight on a cool enough day was magical. Finding a spot amongst the flowers with such a lovely view was magical. Bright blue skies (like Gael's favorite color) blanketing over sprawling green fields (dotted of course with Ren's) were magical too. But these were the world's mundane magic. The kind that was anomalous only in that most people did not make time to seek them out. Normal people worried about their jobs. About traffic. What they were going to have to grab from the grocery store for dinner each night. Who liked what clothes, holidays, coffee, that sort of thing. Ren had never those luxuries, nor those burdens.She didn't have much of anything.

But now she had this.

Soft eyes gazed upon her and she didn't feel the need to hide away. Not anymore. Ren didn't feel like her disguise was slipping and every flaw would be noticed if she made the wrong move. Gael had seen her at what she assumed to be her worst. At that moment he welcomed her closer. Reminded her of her humanity. Her personhood. Hugged her close and let her cry. If she could do that in front of him, what was a smile? What was a laugh? What was learning and experiencing joy?

Ren tried the emotions on like normal girls tried on clothes. Finding that they could exist for something more than utility. More than her mission. That there could be in betweens. Her latest letter back to Darya had been sitting on the small desk for almost two days now. Her reports had slowed since the vodnik attack. Ren found herself extrapolating on older files rather than drumming up new targets. She could always find another detail she managed to overlook, find some new context to it. She didn't always have the time to chase new leads. Not while learning to interact with the world around her, not while getting to know the people that inhabited it.

A fuzzy warmth filled Ren's chest to bursting. Gael went on about happiness and how life was supposed to be, and she couldn't agree more. Even when that very thought drew out a nasty kick of guilt. A small pain that wilted her into the sandwich. Into the thermos with the strange liquid inside. Ren took the moment of examination to sit in her feelings. To try and not let it show. They were having such a good time, she didn't want to stop that now. Not yet. They had plenty of things to speak on, but first. The picnic.

Ren sipped, and promptly sipped again mere moments after the sweet juice had finished coating her tongue. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating in wonder and delight as this nectar danced across her senses. The moment of doubt and dissociation was gone in a gulp. The young nymph's attention shot back up at the professor with a wildly shocked look. "It is so good! D-Does everyone know of this?"

—

He thought she might like it. He didn’t know how much though and for a moment the thought occurred to Gael that she’d probably never been given things to eat or drink that were ‘fun’; why give the kid juice as a treat or something tasty to drink while she was training vigorously? He assumed there were no exciting days for her to explore at her leisure, no instance in which she enthusiastically showed Darya a big cricket she found and was met with a smile and a level of humility that she’d also never seen one that size. She wasn’t encouraged to express herself, her interests. Everything seemed to be streamlined; if her skills could be utilized and deployed in the context of her job, then they were allowed to stay but not as things she enjoyed Gael was being presumptuous. He found himself frustrated internally at his inability to just focus on today. So in response to her sudden buzzing, he couldn’t help but laugh, both at the reaction and in an attempt to dismiss the comparisons, the negative thoughts, the idea that he needed to be better than anyone else. He just needed to be there with her. For her. “A lot of people do, yeah! It’s called ‘apple juice’ and it uses, well, juice from apples.” That wasn’t entirely accurate but he didn’t want to ruin the good feelings. “It’s a popular drink, welcome to the club!” Quirking one of his thick eyebrows, he held the thermos up to indicate that the juice was in that one before carefully setting it into the basket securely so it wouldn’t get knocked over. “You can have as much as you want, it’s for you. I just ask that you don’t drink it all at once.” He suggested; she might’ve had a mismatched mental age to accompany her body’s age, and even then he was thinking in human terms and not fae terms but he knew that she understood a simple form of ‘moderation’, even if the word itself was unnecessarily long. He didn’t want to baby her. Contrary to how people tended to treat the young adults around Wicked’s Rest, Gael was cognizant of her human age and wanted to respect her ability to make her own choices; he could ask that she not drink it but she could make her own decisions. It was an interesting line that changed with every 19-20-something year old he encountered. He made mistakes, of course he did but it was all he could do to try to fix those mistakes so they didn’t happen again. He first met Ren as she fiercely stabbed a vodnik to death; she was childlike but she wasn’t a child. The professor thought maybe he still got those two mixed up, try as he might not to. Opening up the other thermos, Gael poured himself some water from it and was content to sip it while she enjoyed the juice. Leaning back, feeling the rays of the sun on his curly-haired head, he wondered briefly how he should broach the topic of feelings. While she was on the high of apple juice, another small wonder that she’d never been given? Should he wait until she calmed down a little bit? This was new territory for him, admittedly. So instead of saying anything at first, he simply took another sip of water and looked around their peaceful environment. “You’re right, it’s the perfect day.”

—

A perfect day for trying new things. For opening up and allowing herself to at least pretend to be just a normal kid for once. Ren was cautious. She always was. It’s hard to say if it was just a fact of her nature, or (like many other facets of her personality) grafted into her. A foundation built, brick by brick. Not of clay or terracotta, but of extensive labors, hard won lessons, and (debatable) truths about the world around her. Each carefully laid by one who sought to make her into something perfect. Or at least their vision of it.

Ren would be strong. Stronger than the warden children from the compound. Ren would be fast. Ren would be able to sense out the fae and move among them undetected. Welcomed even. Ren would send out field reports back to the compound, let them decide her actions and then she would just as dutifully carry them out. Ren would have no trouble killing her own kind.

Except she did.

Wardens believed the fae to all be monsters. If they didn’t, their jobs would have far too much nuance to keep on how they’d been trained for centuries. Maybe Darya truly thought she was starting with a blank slate. Maybe she just assumed there would be nothing on the canvas she painted into a soldier. Beneath the layers of blood stained strokes, there was a person. One with not one, but two mother wounds. The family she’d been told left her, and the one she was learning did not love her in the way they could have. Only in the presence of something real did the facsimile lose its luster.

What Darya had shown Ren was not love. It was a shadow on a wall. Scaring away thoughts of rebellion. It was the monster and the hero. It was all just stories that she was told were caring. She inferred that it was love, because she had to. Because that’s what kids want. That’s what they all need. Every time the older woman came in and Ren did everything in her power to earn those few moments of contact, she was searching for it. A brief shoulder touch, a rustling on her head, a pleasant nod… she was chasing love.

Begging for it.

Here, among the wildflowers, sun shining like a warm blanket… Ren didn’t need to plead for something she’d never really had. Gael gave so freely, so openly. She felt almost guilty at earning it as quickly as she had. Felt a lot of things she couldn’t really explain. Like the very sudden inclination that she wanted to let herself be closer. After finishing her sandwich and delicious juice, she scooted over. Tentatively, the redhead leaned, allowing her head to come to rest on Gael’s shoulder.

“Should– Should we start?” She didn't want to. A great big part of her wanted to just leave the day as lovely as it could be. But this had been the whole reason for it. Ren knew what this all was. A soothing balm on something that they both knew was going to be rough and ragged.

— He’d gotten to know her well enough to know that if there was something she wanted to do, a way she wanted to engage, she’d make it known to him one way or another. Such was the case here when Gael remained where he was and she made the conscious choice to scoot closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. And he made the conscious choice to turn his head slightly, brushing his jaw against her skull, feeling her soft curly hair on his chin, the motion not unlike a dog wanting to rest its head on someone’s leg. Lowering his head, his cheek against her for a brief moment, Gael inhaled deeply and calmly through his nose, breathing steadily, keeping his expression mild, soft, half-lidded. “Yeah, maybe for a few minutes.” He suggested. “I don’t want to overwhelm you. Let’s start slow.” He began with a light shrug of the shoulder that she wasn’t leaning against. “Tell me about how you’re feeling right now and we’ll go from there, okay?” He asked, glancing down at her earnestly. “And if there’s something you don’t want to say, then you can say no and I’ll respect that.” Gael wanted to make sure that this wasn’t an interrogation, something he could learn about her that he’d subsequently hold over her head. He wasn’t going to guilt her, coerce her into saying anything she didn’t want to. This was a delicate process but the fact that she was willing to come out here to even talk in general, the way she was acting during the trip so far, how she now leaned against him with the timid gentleness of a child wanting to know if it was okay for them to touch, all these things told him that even if she weren’t to talk about anything, she’d already come so far from where she started months ago and he was proud of her.

—

A short breath caught briefly in her chest before a long exhale pushed it along. Ren leaned into the comforting touch. Closed her eyes and felt the weight shift from her neck to his shoulder. Felt the roughness of his stubble at odds with the softness of his smile. Darya would never. She could never. Iron skin or sheltered heart. The effect was the same. Distance. Always arm’s length or more.

“Okay.” Such a simple word. Breathed out like a sigh. A rush of water breaking through a dam of poorly placed leaves, built up over time as the canopy withered through the seasons. Ren made no move to change her position. Here was good. Here was safe. The girl had never felt so seen as when she was with Gael, never felt so secure. It was why secrets had to be shared. The past laid out, so they could both come to understand one another even better.

“Right now is–” Butterflies and wasps. Coziness and dread, somehow all wrapped up in one. Ren’s head was spinning and her heart was a great iron anchor. The moment was everything she could have ever hoped for. Things she didn’t know she wanted right up until they were given. She felt wanted. That never happened before. Useful, sure. But not wanted. “Now is good, I think. But perhaps stained. By what came before.” A flash of pink dashed across dry lips. Another sigh. Deliberation on where to go, what was the best thing to say next? Was there even a best in this scenario? Probably not.

“I do not remember my family.” Ren remembered most things with near picture perfect clarity. Even so, things that far back were lost to a yet to develop brain and a flurry of activity. “I only remember Darya. The compound. When I was very little it was just us.” The nymph fidgeted, making use of her fingers by weaving together a few long strands of grass she plucked absentmindedly. “That was my whole world. She cared for me. But she also trained me. As I grew older, it became more of the second, less of the first. I–” The strand of grass split off under the tension of Ren’s fingers. Breaking apart from the rest of the knotted wheat. “–I thought it was because I had to earn it. Being cared for. That I had done something wrong.”

Ren examined the plant. The structure of it. Where it broke off and left the rest behind. She was silent for a few moments, contemplative. Careful about what she wanted to say next. “That was when I started to think that it was bad just to be what I was. She was teaching me to fight monsters. Monsters who were like me. She did not call me one, but she–” A breath, uneasy and far too heavy, blew away the plants from her hands. “–she did not have to.”

—

She didn’t flinch from him. Rather, this time Gael felt her soft, light weight press against his as she leaned into him again and he allowed himself to lean back. An exchange of body heat, a physical connection, a repeat of that day on the bed. Her heartbeat was much calmer now, her face free from tears; he didn’t feel desperation in her body language. How far she’d come. And yet, the ghosts of her past still haunted her, stuck to her like a chill you couldn’t shake. A disease that took such a beautiful thing and forced it to look in the mirror to view itself with horror because who could love a thing like that? Nothing Ren said about Darya could’ve surprised Gael anymore, the initial rage that bubbled inside him with learning the bulk of the woman’s deplorable actions as he sat on his laptop, reading the things she did through the conduit that was his conversation with Ren having since simmered down to a residual irritation that lined his esophagus, gnawing at the soft tissue as he learned a new thing to hate her for. He couldn’t presume to truly know Darya and as such, he didn’t feel right casting unbiased judgment but from one human to another, he wished the earth would spontaneously open its maw where she stood and plunge her into the deepest, furthest pits of Hell. …But that coping mechanism was just as unhealthy, Gael knew that too. You couldn’t heal the wounds from the past by pretending they didn’t exist, by the cause suddenly being removed forever. As Ren spoke to him about more of those fragments, bearing the wounds to him, he was given something he felt she spared few others - the opportunity to simply talk about it, start treating those wounds until they could turn into scars that she would carry with her but no longer were they open, neglected as she was. This day was important, these conversations and words she told him were important. “She means a lot to you.” Gael offered quietly, keeping his head facing forward. “She raised you and trained you. Taught you everything you know.” He inhaled deeply. “And she kept you at a distance. Never comforted you when you needed it. Made you feel like a stranger in your own skin.” He knew how that felt nowadays and he hadn’t forgotten that he said he’d talk to her about that while they were there… and how he couldn’t predict how that conversation would turn about. It caused his stomach to twist itself into knots the way he was sure hers did when he suggested she just… express herself. How could he be so selfish and hypocritical? That was for down the line, however. “It’s okay to feel conflicted about her.” Because that was true. There was a reason why the heavily abused and neglected clung so desperately to their beliefs, the idea that whoever was abusing them was the only light in their world of darkness. It was a terrible conditioning effect, implemented from an age that was never right because it itself was never right. “It’s also okay to think that she’s not all bad while realizing that there are some things she did that are bad.” Good, bad, simple terminology to describe an evil in one of the purest forms - the corruption between a parent and a child. The acid that simmered in Gael’s esophagus churned at the thought.

—

Open honesty was once again rewarded with patient understanding. Ren didn’t smile, not exactly. This wasn’t the time for that, but… she did allow her cheek to squish in closer. Looped a small arm around his. Trying out another new gesture as she listened. As she tried her best to commit these things to actual understanding. If only it was as easy as just remembering the words.

Knowing something and feeling it were not the same thing.

If knowledge was a stream, each current a different branch of study, knowing would be standing along the shore. Pulling fish from the depths to feed oneself, but staying dry all the while. Feeling however, was an immersive dive. Flowing down the river. Cool waters cradling and lifting your body while the waves lapped around you. It was wind dancing along wet skin. A weightlessness with applied pressure. All surrounding, all consuming. Blotting out the world around you as your head dipped below the surface.

Feeling was like floating, feeling too much was like drowning.

Ren wished she could just crush away the feelings that threatened to pull her under. Conflicted, confused, and careful. A few tentative breaths cooled the rush of heat always swelled when she tried to feel. How often had the only emotion to surface been anger? The fires of rage, fueling her like a furnace. Everything else was simply too much to process. An overwhelming tide where it all mixed into one force that just made her cry. Ren hated crying. She hated being mad, too. But at least there was something you could do with anger. You could direct it outward, could expend the energy by throwing herself into fights far too big for her to handle on her own. She, a defiant David against every Goliath that dared cross her path.

Not everything could be solved that way though. More, in fact, couldn’t be. “I do not think I knew comfort was even a thing I wanted, until here.” Ren squeezed tighter, inhaled the subtle scent of cedar and leather. Something she hadn’t even realized had become so synonymous with home. “I was alone. I lived in a cabin. On the compound but away from everyone else. Darya said it was for my safety. I would be left to my own training, and she would come to observe when she dropped off supplies. Was not so different when first arrived in Wicked’s Rest. Still get supplies. Only now I do not see her.” The nymph’s mouth dried, a pang of guilt at the fact that she realized how relieved that made her. She’d been so excited, she’d always been so excited to see her mother. Distance drew them apart. And yet– “She sent call. Day I ran away. Checked in. She sounded… concerned. Sounded proud. I had been angry at her and not sent reports, and she was worried I think. And I–” She quieted. Slumped slightly. Kept her breath steady. “–It was same day as the cu-sith. Too much filled my head at once. Could not think properly. Went to where I thought it would be clear. Only made things worse.” Ren licked her lips again, her eyes fixated on the edge of the blanket. Frayed strings, just like her mind. “I–I do not want to be bad daughter. But I was mad that she showed she could be good mother. I was mad at how much I still need her. Mad at how much I want her to care about me. At how much I would still do to get this. Mad at everything.”

— Her cheek against him, an arm wrapped around his own and further words in an attempt to express herself, each one acting as a small task of its own that she tried now that she had the space and ability to do so. Gael reciprocated by brushing her head with his jaw again lightly, gently, like a cat marking a human with the glands under their chin only with the touch of a finger on highly-fragile glass. The man thought carefully on each of the words that Ren said, every sentence that felt like it was cracking off just a little more of the shell that surrounded the small, beating heart of the girl. Wounded, tired even at her young age, pumping survival and primal instinct through her but not ever supplied with what she needed: joy, happiness, love. And as she spoke, as she said these sentences, Gael wanted to scoop her up in his arms and stop the conversation where it was, embracing her, apologizing for making her discuss this when he knew how difficult it was, wanting to give her more juice and to turn her loose in the field once more so she could find that hidden happiness again. But they both knew this was something that needed to be addressed, the splinter that kept the wound from healing properly. And Gael admired her strength, even if she didn’t see it. “You’re not a bad daughter.” He affirmed first. “It’s understandable that you were mad.” The more Gael thought about it, the more he wondered if Darya was concerned for her or was she more concerned at the fact that her little super soldier who went out into the world and gathered information for her was no longer making contact. He paused for a moment, taking the opportunity to scoot a little closer to her this time. “I think there might be part of her that cares for you.” He explained slowly, looking at the grass that swayed slightly under the touch of the wind that shifted through their curly hair. “But she waited until you were grown and gone before telling you that.”

It was a difficult thing to say and Gael didn’t want to straight up call it abuse, even if it obviously was; telling her daughter that ‘her kind’ were monsters, that fae were inherently dangerous and needed to be killed, that she should hate what she was. Then of course when Ren found independence, people she could talk to and relationships that would actually give her the things she needed, Darya calls and wonders if she’s okay and that she was worried. The thought tensed a small part of him up despite knowing better and he released the energy by popping his neck, tilting his head away from the girl. “Just because she wasn’t a good mother until it was on her terms doesn’t mean you’re a bad daughter, Ren.” Gael repeated, the idea that she held herself to this impossible standard that was forced on her making the acidic feeling in his esophagus rise. “You’ve killed but you’re not a murderer. You’re a fae but you’re not a monster.” He bit his tongue now to keep himself from going overboard with his own emotions, wanting to get back onto his passionate soapbox about how Darya wasn’t worth Ren’s affections or craving for approval, how Ren was so much better than anything Darya could’ve offered her after 20 years of abuse and neglect, how Ren had friends and people who cared deeply about her over the course of a few months than Darya had her entire life.

He breathed deeply, feeling himself simmering down from his flash of anger, the temperamental creature that rose inside him on occasion, the sleepwalker beneath the surface that ruined things. He didn’t want to ruin this. He didn’t want Ren to leave again. “If she asked… would you return to her?” Gael asked softly.

—

A long drawn moment of quiet contemplation consumed the girl. Each idea Gael proposed was tucked away, neatly and carefully. Revered tomes of wisdom to be reviewed over and over until she could call them true. Ren swallowed hard, when he reminded her that he didn't see her as a murderer, a monster. The two statements and how they contradicted one another in her brain had driven them to this conversation, hadn't they? If she wasn't a murderer, it was because she only killed monsters. But if she wasn't a monster, then neither were the people she killed.

Ren had realized more and more since she got to Wicked's Rest how much choice she had in everything. Why hadn't she stopped at the first? Why didn't she question more when they looked back at her with betrayal and fear. Weakness. She thought they were cowards, weak cowards begging for their own pitiful lives, but no. They were probably just people. Terrified and confused as to where the hellion came from and why she was trying to kill them with such fury.

"It is not just… it is not so simple as this." Ren looked towards the horizon. Beyond the tree line as best she could guess was the direction of the compound. "I killed them." Tiny arms loosened as she sat up straight. Tucking her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on folded arms. Somehow the sweet contact seemed too much. She didn't want to sour it, not with this. "I did that. Nothing changes this. Not even if I was told to do so. Darya was not here. She did not make me hold the knife. She only gave me ideas. I should have made my own." You're a kid. That's what Emilio kept saying. Was she? Most days Ren felt like she was just a hollow vessel for other people's intentions.

"Not all of them were bad. Certainly not, not if I also am– not a monster just for what I was born as. Maybe–" Ren paused again. Wetting her lips and talking a breath. "Maybe I am– because of what I have done. How do you fix something like this? What if the ones I have hurt… what if they had people they cared about, people who cared about them… what if they had their own Gaels or Noras or Vans or anything like this. I must have hurt those people too, and I did not even hold knife to them." It had been eating away at her, the more close bonds she made, the more she realized she'd be upset if something happened to these people, the more Ren realized she had done just about the worst thing someone could. Multiple times. And had felt no remorse until someone dared show her what kindness was.

In a way, she wished she could go back. At least she didn't wake up in the middle of the night panting and sweating, seeing ghosts of the faces she couldn't force herself to forget. "No." Defiant. Small. Weakly, she responded to his question. "...Yes." Taken back about as soon as it'd been unleashed. "Maybe. I do not know." Each was a lie, each was the truth. Her stomach hurt but not from intricate rules that bound every fae, at least not fully. Ren let her head droop further. Till she was looking down at the blanket where a line of ants had begun to make their way towards some of the apple juice that had been splashed in her earlier excitement.

Could she ever just stay in a state like that? Happy, content. Or was it always doomed to be more like this. Moments of precious pretend, then bitter harsh truths. Go back, go back, go back. To where, to when? Was there ever a time when things were just okay? When they would have stayed that way if nothing changed? No, she supposed. Life didn't work out that way.

"It is not like I can just stop, if I do not send reports, she will not send supplies."

—

Gael adjusted his position when she pulled away from him - they were getting to the meat of the issue. A root cause, one of the bigger wounds he wanted so badly to address and help start to heal. But even he wasn’t sure how to fix it. It was a problem and not a small one at that. Gael didn’t want to admit that he might not’ve been the most well-equipped to tackle this problem, the one where she’d killed several people. He had already snapped at Emilio for his description and defense of hunters, and what was Ren’s upbringing if not “a hunter of fae”? He wracked his brain for answers, an explanation that would soften the blow or words of affirmation that might make her feel better but she brought up some valid points. If they were all like Ren, creatures who could doll themselves up to appear human, pursue relationships the way Ren had been, had thoughts and feelings and emotions… a capacity for love… How many people did Gael know that weren’t human? ‘Supernatural’ as Emilio had called nonhumans. How many people did Gael know as people, not aware of what was under the glamour, the trick of the light? What they kept inside, their true natures as beasts with human skin– No, that wasn’t the right train of thought. That was a dangerous place, one he didn’t want to go to. No, they were still people. And Ren had killed a bunch of them. That was true. Gael couldn’t contest that. It had happened and she was now coming to the realization that it wasn’t the right thing to do. And yet… “She wasn’t there in person.” He said aloud after a lengthy moment of silence. “But she was still there with you.” He looked earnestly at the girl, making sure his expression remained gentle, as full of understanding as he could manage despite not knowing exactly how she could’ve felt. “You did those things because no one taught you any better.” His expression managed to soften more, his brow twitching. “My grandfather had a saying. ‘Violence is not the fault of the weapon, but of the person who wields it’.” He licked his lower lip and changed the way he was sitting slightly, pulling his legs in a little so he could rest an elbow on one. Gael tapped on his chin in thought. “You were the weapon. Darya is the person wielding you.” He considered. “I… can’t give you a clinical answer on how to fix what’s been done.” He admitted. “But you’re still very young, both for a fae and a human. You have so much life to live, so many things to learn, so many choices for you to make.” He craned his head, searching for her gaze that was on the ground now. “I don’t know what supplies she sends you as collateral for your reports. But if you let me, I’ll provide you with anything you want or need. Books, food, a new knife, a plant for your room.” He inhaled deeply. “Whatever you want, however you feel is right now. And I’m here with you right now. The past may be broken but that doesn’t mean your life and how you want to live it going forward is.”

—

The quiet stretch was a long bout of self imposed agony. Things Ren wouldn't recognize as anxiety but would whisper things her way. Telling illogical things that were proven so false so quickly. Gael, clever professor. Fountain of warmth. A hearth made man. He assured the nymph the decisions still lay on the hands of the one who taught her. Professed her a weapon in those instances, not fully at fault.

Maybe it wasn't perfect, maybe it didn't fully pull the sting away from those bright green eyes, catching sight of the man as he stooped to meet her gaze. Maybe it didn't fix things, but it was a start. It was a step towards okay. Nextdoor to normal.

Slowly, slowly, she nodded. Pressed her lips together and mimicked something of a sad smile. If Ren had been more accustomed to the normal life she might have lived, more adjusted to living and enjoying company, she might have proposed a toast.

Raise a cup of apple juice high for the concept of time. Time enough for justice. For healing. For the world to spin on its axis and Ren to learn how to exist within it. How to live with herself and what she had done. Time enough to form bonds with people like Gael who so clearly wanted to help soothe the wounded parts of her heart and soul.

Ren let her forehead drop a little forward. Just enough that the very crown of her head met his. A gentle bump, and an affirmation that if nothing else, she was willing to try. And so, so thankful for the hand of guidance he offered.

Ren pulled back slightly, but not of fear or anxiety this time. Just enough to get a better look. Enough that she could compose herself and throw an idea out, as her mind was always looking for solutions rather than just letting her feel her feelings. Emotions were a puzzle she was keen on solving. Even when she couldn't. Even when she shouldn't.

"There are… still dangers out there. Things people do not see coming. If I can protect them from those… if I can stop danger from happening, maybe this is penance? Maybe it is only fair…"

—

Her eyes met his, to his quiet relief and she dropped her head before it made contact with his. A small smile made its way onto Gael’s face as he closed his eyes briefly, taking the small motion as a nonverbal indicator that she was at least receptive to the things he said. Happy that he didn’t push too hard, he wanted to tell her how proud he was of their conversation, the good things that she’s done. He’d be sure when the situation presented itself. For now, though, he was satisfied with the small, gentle head bump and he kept his dark eyes on her as she pulled back, the same small smile on his angled face. And Gael’s expression lightened with a gentle enthusiasm at her suggestion, accompanying it with a nod. “I think that’s a great start. Protect people from the objectively bad ones. Like what you did with me. “Though I hate to break it to you, little fern. Unfortunately, life isn’t fair and it probably won’t ever be.” Gael explained, softening his gaze once more. “But that willingness to move forward and more importantly, letting you be kind to yourself are great steps to take.” He reached over for more of the apple juice, pouring some for her and offering the cup to her again. “The rest will come with time and patience.” He winked. “Little pleasures. Feeling happy. Rain comes but the sun always follows.”

#wickedswriting #lithium argon wo l f #ironheartedfae

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sableflynn · 3 years

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Sable Sable, if you're able: I'd like some embarrassing secrets about your good guys. 💖

Hey no fair there's no pure rhymes for April so I can't give you a cute lil rhyme back! 😔 but anyway I love this question thanks for making me have to think about things!

Felicia is soooo bad with names. Specifically one time she spent an entire year sitting next to one girl in one of her intro classes, talking to her every class, working on assignments together, and just never knew her name. One time she and Elyse ran into her outside of school and Elyse was like oh Felicia you know her? Who is this? And Felicia was like 😬 and awkwardly fumbled to cover it up. Elyse never lets her live it down lol

Elyse is SO BAD with her lefts and rights. She has to do the L hand thing like every single time. Usually does it secretly to herself bc she doesn't want to look immature or whatever but she hates it. This is why she's never in charge of navigating whenever the crew goes anywhere.

Marcus absolutely had an "I'm gonna start a band" phase. Tried to learn guitar and drums. Kind of sucked at both of them but he can still strum a few basic chords on a guitar. He never wants to though bc it makes him feel like a pretentious ~anyway here's (fantasy version of) wonderwall~ type dude. Felicia likes to try to cajole him into playing at parties sometimes and sometimes he will!

Anna is so scared of horror stuff. Not so much the home invasion or slasher stuff, but supernatural, ghost stories? Someone could tell her the most basic "and then she untied the ribbon around her neck AND HER HEAD FELL OFF" ghost story and she'd keep a totally straight face and then sleep with the light on for a week after.

Kailo is so easygoing that very little embarrasses him, and he's a total open book. When he was ten he had a lil crush on a kid in his class and so for that kid's birthday he made him a painting of a bird. The kid looks at it and goes "Oh wow what a cool fish! Thanks!" in a pretty unconvincing tone and Kailo was too embarrassed to correct him. He still winces a bit when he thinks about it.

Darya once did several shots and then bet someone in a bar that she could do 300 squats. She fuckin nailed it and everyone was amazed and then two days later she ended up in the hospital from muscle breakdown and lowkey almost died. She's like fine now but it was embarrassing as hell.

also you didn't ask but when Volkan was 14 he had his hair grown out long and it was soooo bad. Not like the kind of long hair people can rock but genuinely just awkward teenager terrible long hair. I think he's destroyed any photographic evidence of it at this point bc it was so terrible.

#the darya one is a true story that happened to my brother lmao #he was in the hospital for several days #well it didn't start at a bar it was just something he decided to challenge himself to lmao #asks #whumpopology #should i tag all the ocs here for the ~lore #my oc: felicia #my oc: elyse #my oc: marcus #my oc: kailo #my oc: darya #my oc: annaliese #not tagging volkan bc he sucks #ou content

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ratabrasileira · 3 years

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Heey, I hope I'm not bothering you.

I saw you the other day answering a question talking about art inspirations that could send you some inspiration. I was seeing a fanart of Jasmine's Aladdin with her tiger and in my head it created an image of Elain sitting in a field of flowers with a big fox beside her. So I went looking for some pictures of foxes in flowers and I found these pictures.

This artwork are beautiful as hell and I wanted to share it with someone who would look at it and appreciate the beauty as well.

https://www.reddit.com/r/Art/comments/kfscqd/autumn_goddess_by_blackbl00d_deviant_art2018/

https://br.pinterest.com/pin/355854808056792266/

https://br.pinterest.com/pin/32158584817946875/

there is art here too that is not with a fox but is equally wonderful

https://br.pinterest.com/pin/821977369488845758/

Ps.: I just wanted to send you this, I wanted to share these photos with someone, please don't think I'm weird. =)

Helloo!! Noo, you don't bother at all

OK BUT THE REDDIT LINK YOU SENT YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW I SEE LOA HOLDING THE FOX (eris) AS SOME BADASS BITCH WHO KILLED HER ABUSIVE HUSBAND AND TOOK HIS KINGDOM TO HERSELF OOOOOOHHH

Guys, go see these

And this

Darya Stetsyura and Foxes photographed by Lady Zabiyaka and PF Studio (just want to save the artist and model, who btw is gorgeous)

ELAIN AND HER LITTLE FOXES OH GOSH

AND THIS?? HIGH LADY ELAIN HOLDING HER HUSBAND LUCIEN SHAPESHIFTED INTO A FUCKING LITTLE FOX LMAO

Oh no, you're not weird (unless we both are, but fuck it, it's good to be weird) I'm constantly scrolling through Pinterest and I see things pretty much similar! Thank you, nonnie, those photos are amazing (of course I saved them).

And the fanart? the painting and idea are 😘👌. If Lucien becomes High Lord of Spring (he only steps in the Day Court as a heir, nothing more nor less) I can clearly see them like that.

#ask #elain #lucien #elucien #oooh gosh they're so beautiful #thank you nonnie #anon #inspo

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siderealxmelody · 3 years

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"I have things that need to get done. Go somewhere else."

"We're talking woman stuff!"

Merikh made a face. "Why would you waste a distance mirror on that?"

"In case you haven't noticed, there aren't any women in our lives who can tell me these things."

"Katya-"

"Mer, I love you, but having that conversation with someone who occasionally tries to kill you is extremely awkward."

There was a pause, and then Merikh grabbed a stylus and a pile of scrolls. "I'll leave you ladies to it, then."

Darya turned back to Azariah with a smile.

"Men. Works every time."

//Darya lives AU

Azariah gives her best irritated face and grins as Merikh leaves the room.

"I am aware, it came in handy when I wanted Lazai or Ganymede to leave me alone with Makaria and Lyrae. So what did you actually want to speak on?"

She may be annoyed with Merikh but she liked Darya. She was strong and had an edge to her she recognized in herself.

Besides she would always help a woman over a man anyway.

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stonecoldjerseyfox · 4 years

Text

Jersey on my mind (part 19)

Mila’s feet dangle in the air as she sits on the edge of the guard post, while looking out over the surroundings. Next to her on the floor lies a bottle of vodka, in case she gets bored. She turns her eyes to the flickering flame of the oil lantern, the only source of light. Besides the lantern its pitch black. The darkness is wrapped around the surroundings like a heavy blanket. No lights are on in the houses.

Before she put on her jacket, hid the vodka bottle in the inner pocket and went out to the guard tower Mila tucked Juri in for the night. She helped him choose a cassette tape to fall asleep to, made sure he had all of his ‘friends’ also tucked in; the brown dog named Jeff (Mila had no idea why), his soft bunny named Bruce after Bruce Springsteen and the teddy bear that goes by the name Eddie, after Eddie Vedder. But Mila hasn’t been able to figure out Jeff. Who’s Jeff? Instead of asking him about it, she kissed Juri on the forehead and left for guard duty. Daryl wasn’t at the guard tower when she arrived, so Mila made herself comfortable.

She taps her fingers towards the floor and hums the tune to “Hungry heart”, starts to sing faintly. Springsteen makes her think of the summers in New Jersey. Driving around on hot summer days, the long days at the beach in Point Pleasant, eating tons of ice cream and drinking Pepsi Cola, riding around Atlantic City with Darya and Laura in Darya’s dad’s convertible-

“You sing well.”

Mila looks up. Daryl has joined her, finally. In one hand he holds the crossbow and in the other two bottles of water.

“You’re late.”

”You’re easy prey, sitting like this.” Daryl sits down besides her, lets his legs swing over the edge next to hers and gives her one of the bottles.

”Wolves are gone. Walkers don’t jump.” Mila removes the lid and takes a sip of water. “I think I’m fine.”

”You’re really good.” Daryl looks down at his knees. “I mean, singing. Your accent disappears when you sing.”

”Yeah. I’ve heard that.” Mila laughs and puts the water bottle down, next to the vodka bottle. ”It would sound even better if I had a guitar and a cowboy hat.” With a smile she grabs the Vodka bottle from the floor, unscrews it and takes a bountiful sip, before offering it to Daryl. ”I’ve heard you should drink at least one liter a day.”

”Thought that applied to water?” Daryl lifts an eyebrow and brings the bottle to the mouth and drinks, lets out a cough as he lowers it. ”Gotta get you a guitar then, Jersey.”

“Yeah I wouldn’t worry too much about that.” She replies. “It sorta’ feels pretty pointless now. I haven't played in forever.” she meets Daryl’s gaze. “I was engaged to this guy, before- It’s because of him I play the guitar, and sing in ‘American’.”

Daryl stiffens up at her words. It’s barely noticeable, but Mila notices.

“He’s dead anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” Mila takes a sip of vodka. “My father hated him for encouraging my interest in music. Said it was a waste of time. He didn’t understand the phenomenon ‘hobbies’.” Mila tries to remember what her dear papa yelled at her through the glass. It was hard to hear exactly what he yelled, since he banged at the window, but she could make out some of it. ”Eto chepukha, Milena, chepukha!” she repeats. “Nonsense.”

“Seems like a charmer.” Daryl replies. “Ain’t a waste though. I like it.”

Mila glances at the broad archer next to her. Somehow he reminds her of Jim; tall, broad shoulders and muscles. Jim had brown hair and beard, a bit more groomed than the Southern archer, but still-

The first time Mila laid her eyes on Jim was during a gig at a bar in Brooklyn. She was there with her friend Laura. Jim played guitar in the band and halfway through he pulled his shirt off. Milas eyes were glued to his bare chest during the rest of the performance. Even a blind person would have noticed such an intense stare down; as did Jim on stage. Afterward he asked her over to their table, and she fell like a paw for the big Oklahoma native, with the pretty eyes and the kind smile. Jim was big as a bear and kind as a puppy. He was warm, had a boisterous but contagious laugh, he was friendly and charismatic. Everybody around Mila adored Jim, everybody except papa, which made sense. Papa hated everyone, except himself.

Physically, Daryl reminds her of Jim somewhat, but their personalities are like night and day. Jim was able to entertain an entire room full of people, and happily did so by telling stories or playing the guitar. Daryl would probably never even think of entering such a room. He’s encased in armor, a hard shell no one seems to be able to break. She hasn’t heard an ounce of bursting laughter from him and he barely talks. And yet she likes his company. When she saw him walk down the street into the Safe-Zone last night it felt like a ton of brick was dropped from her chest. Of course she was still angry with him for some unimportant reason she can’t really remember now, but she was happy for having him back.

“Where’s he by the way?” Daryl asks. “Your old man. Ya’ said ya’ came here together.”

“In prison.”

The statement doesn’t seem to surprise Daryl significantly.

“What for?”

Mila hands him the vodka bottle again. Daryl looks puzzled at it.

“If you want to hear about it, you might need it.” Mila explains and doesn’t take her eyes away from his. “There’s a legit reason why I have alcohol problems.”

“Haven’t noticed.” the archer winks at her over the bottle and drinks. “Why’s he locked up?”

“Murder. And for kidnapping me.”

It might be so easy to say it because she feels some kind of connection to the man sitting next to her, or maybe it’s because the whole world went to hell and papa, Mila’s perdition, her Achilles heel, probably is dead by now.

Mila was the only child. Her father, her papa, wanted to have a son. Instead he got Mila. Her mother, who loved her more than life itself, couldn’t bear more children and Mila was punished for that her entire life by her father. Papa was stern on her from the start. Sergey Yuruchenko’s offspring wouldn’t be a weakling. Her sole purpose in life would be to make him proud. Like a show dog. He hardened Mila like steel; dragged her out on the frozen river Volga during the winters for an ice bath, a procedure to ‘man her up’. If Mila hesitated or began to cry she had to stay longer in the water. Eventually she stopped crying. He taught her to fight, games that often resulted in cracked lips and black eyes. Sometimes Mila began to cry because it hurt and she felt scared, but he assured her it was a fun game, and she believed him. He coached her in sports, to make sure she would win. Second place was never enough. Mila could’ve easily become an olympic marathon athlete, if she would have had the choice. But he had already set out her entire future.

”My mama loved me with all of her heart and papa made sure that I never forgot how he grieved the son he never had. It was my burden and my responsibility to prove that I was worthy of his affection. I was a wreck emotionally. Thrown between boundless love and emotional abuse.” Mila pauses and takes another mouthful of vodka. “I got respect from him for the first time when I was fifteen. He firmly argued that if a man couldn’t hit a soup can fifty yards away with a gun after drinking a whole bottle of vodka, he was a wimp. He didn’t count on me, a fifteen year old girl to even dream about trying.” She raises her eyebrows at Daryl. ”But I passed the test and he eased the leash.”

After that summer, Mila had a great year. She was ‘allowed’ to be an ordinary teenager in all its meaning. She went to parties with her friends, dreamed of Leonardo Dicaprio when she kissed her first boyfriend Dima for the first time and she was convinced that life would continue like that.

“Then one day he asked me to come with him on a trip abroad, for work. It was just the two of us at home that day and he was so different. Friendly even. It felt odd, but he was so convincing. He asked me to be ready in an hour with a bag. I felt so excited. Not until we walked through the gate at the airport I understood where we were going. I couldn’t believe it. We were going to America! He made the whole trip sound so exciting. It felt like we were friends for the first time. That I finally had a father.”

Mila pauses. She’d thought about that moment many times since that plane ride. How it all was just an act. How he used Mila’s cluelessness to save his own ass. In reality he didn’t feel like that at all. He didn’t care about her.

”We were arrested as soon as we got through the passport control at Newark. We were separated, put in different rooms. I panicked the entire time, fought and cried. An interpreter and two policemen came and told me that he was arrested. I tried to convince them that it must have been a misunderstanding. But it wasn’t. I was kidnapped and papa was internationally wanted for murder in Russia by Interpol. Or serial murders, I think it’s called, in the case of more than three victims.”

“How many?” he asks.

Their eyes meet through the darkness. The only sound that’s heard is the chirping cicadas, the wind rattling in the trees and the thudding sound of the walkers crashing into each other on the other side of the wall. Well, he hasn’t run away yet, Mila thinks.

“Including the policeman he killed at the station the day after we arrived; ten.”

Daryl doesn't even try to hide his astonishment.

”A woman disappeared in Moscow in- gosh, I don’t even remember the year. Anyway, she was found under a bridge, two days later. Then another woman was found a few weeks later, under a viaduct. Seven women and two men around Moscow. One woman was completely beheaded. I was fourteen when they found her, and my father told me to ’be safe’ when I walked home from gymnastics practice.”

Mila remembers almost all of them by name. They were read out during the trial in New York, while images of them were displayed on a projector. Mila saw their bruised faces, the dead eyes in the pale, straight faces. No matter how awful it was, she couldn’t look away, like passing a car accident. Mila had to watch, to understand that it was her papa, who worried when she would go home alone from gymnastics, he who always urged her to beware of boys in a group (or boys in general), that had done these horrible actions. The youngest victim was eighteen and was found in a shallow part of Volga. They had to identify it through dental cards. In court, sitting on that hard bench in between Ellie and Joe Galka, Mila desperately tried to meet her father’s gaze, wanted him to turn around where he sat, with his back against her. When he finally did, Mila didn’t see a trace of regret or empathy in them.

”He kidnapped ya’ to- what, to save himself?”

“It didn’t seem suspicious if he traveled with his daughter. I was his ticket out of it. If he did get caught, he could use me as-” Mila fiddles on a thread in her jeans. “-Yeah, I haven’t figured out that part yet. He really knew how to inflict maximum damage to his advantages. Because of his position, working for the state, which is... corrupted beyond imagination, he could change my documents without anyone asking, making himself my sole guardian. On paper, I no longer had a mother. It was- He was so split. On one hand, a well regarded worker for the state, modest and punctual. And on the other hand, emotionally disturbed, a psychopath. A monster.” She sighs. “The same day we were arrested he overpowered a police officer. He killed him, granting him life in prison here, not risking being extradited to Russia. Social services took care of me and I ended up at the Galka’s. The first six months I visited papa in prison weekly. It really fucks you up in the head, being pulled back to the root of evil, to one's perpetrator. In my case, it was the same person. Perpetrator and father. Evil impersonated and the only person I felt I had some connection to here. And yet, I never got an explanation to why he did what he did. Eventually, thanks to the Galka’s, I stopped visiting. He didn’t like that, being out of control.”

Mila had never revolted, but when she had to acclimatize to a new culture and language all on her own, that changed. She could just as well have ended up dead behind a dumpster from drugs, but instead she went on to study at Columbia University. When papa found out that she studied to become a dental nurse, instead of a ‘real dentist’, or ‘the president of all dentists in the entire world’, or anything equally grandiose, he went all mad and had to be dragged out of the visitors room by the guards. A few days later he made a phone call and yelled at Mila for three straight minutes, until the call broke. When Mila paid him a much involuntary visit a few weeks later he’d calmed down a bit; he’d been in solitary confinement since that lash out.

”Of all professions...” Papa snarled into the handset. ”Dental nurse? A servant! Milaya, why are you causing me this pain?”

Mila pulls herself away from the memory of Southport Correctional facility’s visiting room, back to the present, to the cool, calm night, where she shares a bottle of vodka with the archer.

“As far as I’m concerned I don’t have a father.” Mila meets Daryl’s gaze through the faint, warm light from the lantern. “I moved on. I made it. I got pregnant while in uni and tried to commit suicide. That was a nightmare. Once again I had to... switch on survival mode. I felt so defective. How could someone with a father like mine, someone who’s been hurled between motherly love and fatherly abuse, possibly be a good parent.” Mila takes a sip of vodka. The bottle is almost completely empty by now. “I haven’t had much space for making my own choices in life. Until recently.” she says. “I did some stupid choices on the way here. But at least I turned out... fairly good in the end.”

They look at each other in silence. Nothing is heard but the walkers collected hissing breaths, like a choir of rotten asthmatics, gasping for air, while pushing up against the wall. Sometimes a thud, like flesh against metal, is heard when the ones in the back push the ones in the front extra hard into the wall.

”Ya’ think he’s alive? Or they?” Daryl asks, husky. ”Your parents?”

Mila shrugs her shoulders; she doesn't know. After a while in the weeks following the outbreak, the phone calls to her mother in Russia stopped working. Her father can’t be alive. It would be impossible, just as impossible as it is to escape a high security prison like Southport.

”What about ya’ foster parents?”

”I don’t know.” Mila bites her lower lip. ”When the two of us came back to Jersey the Galka’s were gone. So we left, me and Juri.”

”Ain’t too bad, though.” Daryl says, in what Mila thinks is an attempt to cheer her up. “He’s a great kid.”

”He is.” she smiles. ”I never thought I’d make it, being on my own with him like this. He’s my everything, the better person of the two of us; wakes me in the morning, cheers me up and is always happy. I don’t know how he does it. He’s three!”

”And a half.” Daryl smirks.

“Touché.” Mila looks at him. “Gosh. I’m surprised you haven’t ran away.”

”Why would I? Ma’ old man was a boozer, an ass.” Daryl replies, and his eyes suddenly shift from almost warm, to dark. “I hadn’t much of a mother. Smoked herself to death, burnt the entire fuckin’ house down at the same time. Ma’ brother went in and out of juvenile. Died, as everyone else.” Daryl hesitates, but then he continues. ”I’m a nobody. Always been. I don’t have anything to run from.”

Mila lays her hand on top of Daryl’s, that rests against the floorboards. He twitches by her sudden move, like a stray dog that has never felt a friendly touch.

“You’re not a nobody.” Mila says, emphasising every word. “You saved my life. Heck, I think you saved more lives than my sorry ass. Do you always push those who care about you away?”

Daryl becomes silent.

”Sorry.”

”Don’t be.” Mila says. “Honestly, It’s like you don’t think you deserve anything; people being kind to you, that people care. That’s not healthy. No wonder you’re so peevish. Just let the guard down once in a while. You do so much for everybody here, who are so thankful for it and want to show that to you. Let them. You need it. Let people in. Have you never done that?”

”Never had a chance.” he answers. ”It’s always been bloody knuckles and shards of glass.”

”But does that mean that the whole world is dark and evil? I’ve had a bumpy ride too and I’m not all stiff and irritated with everything.”

”Well ye’ ain’t me.”

”And thank god for that.” Mila smiles a little. ”No matter what your life was like before it doesn’t have to continue being like that.” she gets silent, before she meets his eyes again. ”Have you ever just sat down and thought about what you want? Not what everybody else needs, or what they tell you to do, no matter what you think. Have you?”

”Never gotten that chance either.” Daryl grunts, and continues to look at his shoes.

“Well, do that.” Mila holds up the bottle of vodka in front of her. It’s empty. “Crap...”

“Ya’ haven’t had enough of that?”

Mila puts her head to the side and smiles dazzling.

“I told you I have problems.” Mila smirks and puts the bottle down. “But I’m workin’ on fixing that. Not tonight though.”

The corners of Daryl’s mouth curves slightly upward and he chuckles faintly. They sit quietly for a moment before he once again turns to her.

“Ya’ really a dentist?”

“Dental nurse.” Mila corrects. “What, are you surprised?”

“Not at all.” Daryl replies. “How’s that like?”

“We'll take that one another time.” Mila adjusts herself on the floor. “I have to save some cock-and-bull stories about tartar and teeth extractions for later.”

“Can’t wait.” Daryl smirks. “If ye’ want to sing something, I don’t mind.”

Mila smiles. They sit next to each other, watching the night turn into early dawn. Mila sings faintly, to avoid unnecessary attention from the walkers, dangling her legs in the air, while Daryl’s eyes rest on the horizon, wearing a pleasant smile upon his lips.

#daryl fanfiction #daryl x oc #daryl dixon #twd daryl #Jersey on my mind #Daryl Dixon Fanfic #The Walking Dead fanficition #The walking dead fanfic #fanfiction #twd fanfiction #fanfic #twd fanfic #the walking dead fandom

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