#ezra's world was violently taken away from him when he was only a child | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mwolf0epsilon · 5 years

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ngl josh reading to kids in his spare time sounds really cute, i bet he'd be a good dad

I made this a little sad but yes, Josh would definitely be a good dad :')

Enjoy!!!

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[[MORE]]

When he first came across a child model Josh didn't know what to say. He knew there were androids meant to simulate human offsprings but he'd never actually thought he'd meet one himself, or any child for the matter...

As a norm PJ500s did not exist in spaces where humans bellow the age of 16 or 18 congregated. They weren't programmed to teach bellow college program levels and thusly had no social protocols for children. Even privately owned tutor PJ-Series were meant to help with advanced studies on topics like socioeconomics and physics.

Talking to a child wasn't rocket science so Josh had failed terribly at it, if the look Simon had given him was anything to go by.

He'd sounded robotic when he spoke to the poor girl, and frankly he had felt ashamed that he not only frightened her but also couldn't find it in him to be welcoming towards her.

Simon had definitely been very upset with him for upsetting the poor thing...

The second time he met a child android was a little less awkward than the first. He'd practiced with Lucy's help. Loosened up a little on the whole teacher-student relationship protocols that tried to force their way into his general demeanor, and helped Simon settle in a pair of YK500s who had been on their way back to the shop after their mother (their owner) had perished on the ride back home from an evening at the bar. At the time he'd played it off cool, but something in the back of his mind had nagged at him that leaving two small children completely alone (even if they were androids), felt like negligent and reckless behaviour from someone who was trying to be a parent...

Josh had felt somewhat satisfied that he'd managed to work out how to talk to little kids. And some of them liked history, so it had fed them little tidbits of historical trivia he knew. The stuff that was age appropriate and non-violent of course. Simon would be furious if he divulged the need behind inventions like the guillotine or a trebuchet.

The third time he meets a child android isn't a moment he likes to remember. In fact, it's perhaps one of his most darkest moments...

He'd been roaming the streets in the late evening, marveling over the little privacy he got from sneaking out and hiding in plain sight. His model wasn't common and he rarely had left campus, so no one thought to look at the big tall guy with the baseball cap and the ratty jacket. He was just another figure walking through the crowd.

It felt like freedom, even if in the end he was just hiding behind a facade.

Josh had nearly missed it himself as he walked. The tiny figure laying in a heap of trash, completely ignored by those who walked right past him.

He looked like a child, but was met with no kindness or sympathy from the humans who'd grown apathetic towards android-kind. The moment they saw blue staining bellow the boy's nose they'd simply turned a blind eye and carried on marching, as if in an assembly line.

Josh had been revolted by this.

Had been so horrified and disgusted that he'd nearly let his anger boil over.

He'd taken the poor YK400 to Jericho, fueled by a gutteral seething rage that would have incinerated those around him if it had come off of him in waves like pure energy.

He'd taken care of the boy himself, the dark look in his eyes having deterred Simon and Lucy from advancing in his direction.

North hadn't bothered him that day either. Instead she curled up with him when he finally came out from behind the blinding veil of rage against humanity.

He cried like a baby that night, and he'd cry again for every single little boy and girl that came crawling into the derelight freighter that should have otherwise terrified any child.

Anything looked like sanctuary when the adults that promised to love and care for you suddenly decided you were not wanted anymore.

Josh starts teaching the YK-series not long after his third encounter. He does his damn hardest to not go onto the advanced topics right away, instead gradually evolving their classes so that the children can naturally adjust to the level changes.

They're eager learner's, especially Ezra who Josh has grown incredibly attached to since rescuing him. The poor boy attends his classes, but his thirium pump malfunctions cause him tremendous discomfort that require him to take short breaks.

That's all fine, because afterwards Josh will sit with him and tell him bedtime stories he's learned from Simon. He watches over Ezra as he sleeps and feels a comfortable warmth in his chest.

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The day they leave Simon behind in Stratford is the same day Josh has to say goodbye to Ezra. It was a matter of time before his pump shorted out and Lucy had been watching out for the signs.

She finds him browsing through children's books he'd "borrowed" on his last secret excursion to the outside world, trying to forget that his friend is likely dead and gone by now, when the heavily damaged KL-series pulls him towards Ezra's corner.

The boy is terrified and in terrible pain, begging for his short little life. Josh doesn't cry. He holds the boy tightly and hums softly to him before he shuts down for good.

Lucy tries to comfort him but Josh doesn't look at her and doesn't speak. When North returns, crying over androids she hadn't known for more than a minute, he nearly loses his mind with anger.

He feels like she's betrayed him in some way, but he doesn't voice this. Instead he feeds into the growing argument between the both of them and gets out of dodge when Markus tells them to stop.

He only cries when Simon returns, blue blood splatters on his face and a slight limp to his tired geit.

He cries so hard his processor begins to stall.

Simon hums to him, just as Josh had done in Ezra's final moments.

It doesn't feel fair that children had to be in the crossfire of their fight against human oppression. Sadly life was rarely fair.

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After the revolution Josh continues to teach the android children at the tower. They're all fond of classes, eager learners that they are, and they especially love the extra curricular activities Simon sets up for them, and Josh's bedtime reading sessions.

He wasn't meant to teach kids but he loves it so much he can't bring himself to give up on his teaching sessions with the YK-series. Even in the heat of political tensions.

The humans couldn't make him hate his profession before, and they certainly couldn't do it now either.

He reads to them as a form of healthy enrichment and childish indulgence, but also to honor the little one he'd lost back in Jericho's ruined carcass.

The one he likely would have adopted as soon as the law permitted, if it weren't for the circumstances that took him away from him.

"You're a big softy, you know that?" North chuckled as soon as she caught him at the end of a reading session. The children had all left to go to bed and he'd finished another chapter of 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone' with them.

"You'll find that I have no padding to allow for that." He joked, tapping on his chest and stomach to emphasize on the hardness of his chassis. "Simon's the better hugger."

"You say that because you've never genuinely hugged Markus. His tits are super soft." North grinned mischievously.

"I'm not exactly interested in gropping anyone's... Tits..." He let her drag him away by the arm, smiling as he waved goodbye at some of the stragglers. "The kids are doing good in classes... And they're really liking the book so far. We have a lot of little boys and girls who want to be like Hermione Granger."

"Ever consider adopting?" North suggested.

"If we ever get that far, yes. Cyberlife is fighting us every step of the way though, and some of those politicians are adamant that androids don't need familial units..." He glared angrily at the implications. "Because obviously the YK400s and YK500s don't need parents..."

"Assholes... Well between you and Simon, the kids are good on parents. They've got their big nerd dad and their mother hen."

"What would that make you and Markus?" Josh asked.

"... Cool mom and cool dad?"

"Wow, you suck at this."

"Shut up..." She punched him lightly on the arm.

Josh snorted and carried on walking towards the elevator. He considered North's words and couldn't help smile to himself, a hint of longing in his eyes.

He wouldn't mind a few sets of little tiny feet running around the house...

#eps writes:#fanfic #detroit: become human #detroit become human #dbh josh #dbh north #kids love josh sorry i dont make the rules

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momo-de-avis · 5 years

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Wordtober Day 13: Ash

(Ye Old Cautionary Tale of Respect Women)

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I do not believe, Godfrey, that Margaret Browne was ever a witch.

You must remember her. A shy young maiden who’d sneak behind the trees as we boys played with sticks in the bog, and we’d never really notice her there until we’d all hear her aunt screaming across the meadows to call her upon supper or some chore she needed to tend to. We’d all watch those unruly auburn hairs fall around her face as she ran back with red cheeks, and the boys would make fun of her. My papa says she’s cursed, John Gibbs would say; my mother says her mother was a Jezebel, Ezra Stoughton would mutter, whose pitiful mother did nought but gossip around town against all and any she deemed unpleasant.

Everyone knew Margaret was an orphan of uncertain father, cursed by sin before her birth, and brought into this world in the blood and sweat of a woman who died in it, marked by the hand of Satan in sin. She lived with an aunt and uncle, two stern, foul and hunchback old people too fond of thrashings and with a stark unpleasantness to the eyes that made the little ones sing tales of woe and dread. But what was Margaret if not a child, and an innocent one too?

I liked her, Godfrey. Very much so, and from an early age. She always had these long auburn hairs falling freely behind her back which angered many a maid in Eldham, who thought it unkind that the girl tended not to her imprudence and rather exposed the beauty, I am certain, most old hags detested her for. But she was beautiful indeed, Godfrey. Her eyes were deep and clean amber, like two small copper medallions, with heavy long lashes adorning them, and she had a coyness to her posture that formed tiny dimples around her slender lips. She always looked at us from behind the thick curtain of auburn locks, and in her cheeks I’d see then a soft tone of carmine as her eyes locked onto mine.

The people of Eldham were not kind, and these days I see nought in your actions but consideration, Godfrey. I understand today why you chose to leave our town and take the habit, for I would learn in the most violent of manners what the people of our town were capable of, and what our actions bring even when we believe them to be in the name of God. I do not believe they were people of God, however.

Margaret was always isolated, yet in those days when we’d run off into the bogs to play with our sticks, freed from worries of childhood, her eyes would shine in expectancy, and I’d almost feel tempted to leave my friends behind and join her, but John Gibbs always gave me a thrashing to my nape and remind me I should not mingle with cursed women born of the sinful womb. I did not debate him in this matter, though I firmly believed him to be utterly wrong. John Gibbs was a leader, because his father ruled our town, so to speak, and no one right in the mind would dare cross him lest bad luck would befall them.

I saw Margaret once gathering twigs in the bog, sent there alone by her cruel aunt to tie them together and carry the heavy stack on her back like a poor mule. Alone, I dared to finally speak to her, so I picked up a poor, ugly daisy, the only thing colourful nearby, and pranced my way in staggering legs, trembling like any boy would before a pretty maiden. She did not suspect my presence, though as I made myself known, Margaret didn’t seem scared, rather turned around quite slowly, considerate of my coyness and flustered actions, and her eyes fell on the daisy I held. I gave it to her, and Margaret Browne’s fingers brushed against mine in the quickest manner as she grabbed the stem of the flower, and in that moment, Godfrey, I felt a pang of burning hot fire kiss the skin of my hand, though gone it was in a moment, carried away by the wind. I attributed it to my feverish condition of a boy smitten by the girl I’d grown infatuated for.

Margaret Browne did not speak, and I believed she needed not to. She simply smiled and slowly put the daisy in her hair with the gentle tug of a lock behind her ear. She grabbed the heavy stack of wood clasped underneath her arm, gave one step forward and planted a kiss on my cheek. If the touch of her hand had brought a fiery sensation to mine, her lips felt ice cold, and sweat poured down my forehead abundantly. Then, she walked away, back home.

Often, one would see poor Margaret Browne hiding beneath a ratty shawl, pulling her hairs closer to her face, acting elusive, but with a shove from one of the boys or a kick to her shin from one of the elder women, her shawl would slip or her hairs would flow and we’d see the bruises on her skin. We all knew poor Margaret’s aunt was a vicious woman, providing her with thrashings for the littlest inconvenience though I do not believe Margaret even provoked the old hag in the least, and do you know what the majority of the people of Eldham had to say about it, Godfrey?

“Serves her right, being the daughter of a Jezebel.”

Margaret Browne grew up to become an even more beautiful woman, I shan’t deny. When her body developed the sweet curvy temptations of the female sin, the boys started paying attention to her quite differently though I remained faithful to my heart as I thought I had adored her from her days of innocence.

John Gibbs was a devilish child and as such it was only expected he’d grow into nought but what defines a demon. His father was the bailiff of Eldham, surely you remember Godfrey, and what a foul, disgraceful man he was, so you will know the Gibbs were rotten from days of old, and this apple certainly did not fall far from the tree. That is to say, whatever John Gibbs did, of whatever malice, no evils befell him, for his father coddled up to his boy’s violence and never ever reprimanded him on any wrong-doing. He terrorized many with a good name who simply avoided his presence as much as they could, but those, when prejudiced by criminals or injured by evil-doers, saw not justice on their side, for Mr Gibbs was a begrudging old man who kept a blacklist of all and any who dared defy him, and for a man of Law he betrayed it more than any of us ever did.

Many a whisper began to surface from the moment Margaret Browne turned eighteen, horrible gossip most of which I shan’t repeat in neither writing nor speech, for most foul these accusations were and suited not the kindness of heart I ever saw in that poor girl, for I remain a believer that it was all but lies. Margaret, however, remained an isolated individual, and after her uncle passed and she was left with her brutal aunt, bedridden by a disease of the bones, more whispers emerged of her supposed witchcraft.

It was known by all that Margaret dabbed in the arts of herbal healing though many saw it an affront to the manners of God which I am sure sounds as unreasonable to you as it does to me, and many believed she had poisoned her own uncle. Then were the vilest of rumours of her supposed perverse activities, of preying after travellers to lure them into the pleasures of the flesh, stealing them of virtue and honour and even copper and silver at times. Some even believed she had gotten with child at some point from one of these travellers, but had the baby killed inside her belly, and on her face they claimed to see the mark of Satan, this Jezebel they believed to be the incarnation of the whore of Babylon.

Margaret got no rest from any.

And then there was John Gibbs. He dared us others he’d prove the entirety of Eldham the whore Margaret Browne was for it was said she took many a man into her bed and let them pay her for the sweet and immoral taste of her legs, but I know Godfrey, by God I know it to be the vilest of lies. John Gibbs was, however, bent on proving she was as a foul as any a harlot from a city, and all men in Eldham pooled in money for him to knock on her door and delight in the pleasures of her flesh. I did not partake in this horrible act, of course.

What came next, I did not witness.

The men gathered outside the home of Margaret Browne and watched eagerly as John Gibbs pounded on her door. It was said she only performed her immoral services after her aunt had fallen to slumber, and thus the men waited ‘til after sundown. The door opened and John Gibbs went inside, though nobody truly described what the expression on Margaret’s face was upon seeing her greatest tormentor and someone she certainly feared. And the men waited.

They say they heard a thrashing, of things collapsing and breaking, and then the silent night was cut by a cold scream. Yet it was not Margaret who screamed. The door slammed open and John Gibbs stumbled outside with a bloodied hand crushed against his ear, eyes sunken in horror as he cast a glance at his companions who now looked upon the woman behind him in a ragged and ripped dress and blood pouring out of her lips as she panted and panted and panted like a rabid dog. John Gibbs ran away with his tail between his legs and told his father that Margaret Browne, a witch and a Jezebel, had seduced him with magic and attacked him.

I am sure, Godfrey, you can foresee what came next.

Nobody protested the arrest of Margaret Browne. When the bailiff appeared at her door with shackles for her wrists, her aunt was the very one to beg that she be taken, and a crowd had already gathered outside, surrounding a bandaged John Gibbs who looked on with as much scorn and hatred as there was in his heart. When the cold, metal shackles fell on poor Margaret’s wrists, the crowd raged in joy, screaming things like: burn the witch, and others I shan’t repeat.

Even those who had once been wronged by the Gibbs, victims of their corruption and bribery and abuse, herded together to spit vile things at this poor woman, relieved they at least were not the victims of John’s villainy this time.

Thus, her sentence was decreed, without much discussion: a witch must be burned.

They built a pyre in the middle of Eldham’s main square, and on that horrible morning, the people gathered in cheers and lust for blood in their eyes that made my body quiver in dread. When Margaret Browne was brought from the gallows, dirty and ragged and covered in filth, the beatings began, many a kick and punch she did not evade, as they threw rotten fruit and stones at her already bruised body.

Margaret said nought. She walked her path of shame in absolute silence and a slight twist of her lips that I could read as a smile.

Unable to bear with that, I suddenly lurched myself at her, shielding her from the abuse a whole town took part in, and begged for mercy. The square went silent. All eyes were now focused on me as they pondered on why I would defend who they saw as a witch and a perpetrator of villainy that could not be proved.

Then, a shadow drew itself upon me, and John Gibbs rose before my eyes in all his imperial wretchedness and it was then I saw the piece of his ear missing, bitten off by the very woman he had attempted to violate. He spoke: “Do you wish to burn with the witch?”

I feared then and stepped away, but regret has ever since lied with me, deep inside my heart, for it was the most cowardly thing I have ever done, though I knew I could not save her. Margaret Browne then looked into my eyes as I stepped away, and from between the confusing threads of her auburn hairs, she smiled. It only then occurred to me that none of us had ever heard her speak.

I stepped back, weak and crushed, and watched in silence as they howled in a maddened delirium of scorn, shoving each other in ravenous animosity as Margaret Browne was tied to a stake above the bonfire that would burn her body for crimes committed against her for all her life, and could not comprehend why so many people had devoted their entire lives to blaming a parentless child for what surpassed her.

I wished then it was John Gibbs who was to be burned. I wished he would crumble into cinders for the perverted ways of his life. But God left us that day, Godfrey. God abandoned Eldham.

Mr Gibbs claimed her sentence aloud, every word bringing about a collective scream of cheers as the people sang their ever growing enmity for the poor woman who stood straight against the stake in thick ropes with a soft smile on her face. When he neared the pyre to set the wood alight, I closed my eyes, shoved into the back in shame and despair, and wept silently, and when the heat came the coldness of my tears reminded me of the kiss Margaret Browne had planted on my cheek as a boy.

Then, the smell came. Smell of scorched wood and burnt fabric fluttering between the screams of glee and delight from the blood-lusting crowd that watched. When the smoke rose to the skies and filled the space between us all I could not breathe, and my sobs were cut short. Then, I finally opened my eyes as I noticed one smell came not: the smell of burnt flesh.

Margaret Browne stood at the stake as the flames dance around her. The smile on her lips began to grow and soon the cadence of her voice transformed into laughter that brought about a maddening dance of despair. But the smell of burnt wood I felt came not from her pyre but from all around, and the screams were not in ravenous joy but anguish, as the people began to run in all directions.

The first one to burn was John Gibbs, his clothes caught onto the embers of the pyre, and the flame rose swiftly and higher, even as others rushed to him with buckets of water that miraculously did not put the flames out. Were I to say, Godfrey, it seemed all and any who attempted to aid him became infected by the growing fire, and they too burned: his father first, his mother then, and Ezra Stoughton, and many others who followed. One by one, they fell and rolled in screams as the flames ravaged their skin and bone and nought could save them.

Margaret Browne laughed still. I can not remember with precision, Godfrey, but I remember wondering then why had her clothes crumbled to ash yet not a scorch mark existed on her body.

Then, the houses and buildings began to burn too. As if the soil beneath us cracked open to let the flames of Hell through, they were set ablaze, almost spontaneously, as the one accused of witchcraft stood at the stake in laughter with this fire that seemed friendly to her. The screams of joy from afore disappeared entirely, and now there was nought but anguish and despondency, and the cries emerging from the treacherous throats of the people of Eldham were of pain as they all burned, every single one of them, from babe to old, they simply burned.

The air became thick and my eyes were filled with tears. In just one moment, everything that was Eldham transformed into nought but an immense sea of fire. Every building was ablaze and women ran with fire in their hairs and men screamed in horror with arms lifted to the air, begging God for mercy upon the punishment that befell them. Near the pyre, a pile of charred bodies lied, which I knew to be the Gibbs, and I felt in that moment, Godfrey, nothing but a sense of utter relief.

On the stake, Margaret Browne remained, and at last, as every single citizen of Eldham fell to the ground incinerated, and every bellow ceased, and death existed only in this putrid town, she began to burn. The flames then began to lick Margaret’s skin, and I saw her flesh melt like wax as she rose her eyes to me. Her auburn hairs were forever gone, but her eyes seemed far more amber than they’d ever been as she looked at me. I froze in dread and fascination all the same, for I had never feared Margaret in my life and still feared her not in this moment, as I was rid of her punishment because I had loved her all my life, and above the sea of death that was now Eldham, Margaret Browne smiled only to me.

I don’t know for how long I watched, Godfrey, but it was the most daunting thing to ever witness with mine eyes, yet that was all I did. I watched until all that was left of Margaret Browne, above the corpses of the citizens that had abused her for a lifetime, was the charred carcass of herself, her bones turned to cinders and a pile of ash of her skin and hairs, and she stood lifeless before the stake.

Only then, as the only survivor of Eldham, did I run. And for very long, as the wind whipped me and tears ran down my face, I heard their screaming voices and smelt their burnt flesh. The smoke followed me as well, for I could see columns of grey dancing between the trees and I knew, even after so long, that Eldham still burned.

I wandered the bogs for two days. Famished, parched and exhausted, I staggered on my legs until I spotted a house amidst the distant meadows and begged their mercy upon my condition, and they fed me bread, boiled turnips and some water. After two days, I finally took rest, and when I awoke, the news had already reached all over: that the town of Eldham had burned to cinders in a witch-burning gone terribly wrong. Nobody mentioned Margaret Browne’s name.

I became a vagrant for a while, for I did not dare to return to the black scorch mark left on the earth of that place, nor did I seek any other survivors, though I knew the truth that would soon reach my ears: that I was the only one. Nonetheless my existence remained anonymous and none could tell I had but witnessed the whole tragedy, and the world believed nought had survived, not even Eldham’s cattle.

I shan’t lie to you, Godfrey, for I committed sins in my travels, having stolen and swindled for the sake of surviving. I do feel those sins have been atoned, however, and shan’t bother God with them.

After seven days, I lay to rest beneath a willow on some dry land, cosied up to the ratty cape that I wore.

I was awoken in the middle of the night by a soft touch to my forehead. The moon was full and everything was glazed in beautiful silver. The touch, though sweet, felt burning hot, as if someone put an ember to my skin, and as I composed myself at last, I saw a pair of amber eyes framed by auburn hair looking down at me with a smile.

Before me stood Margaret Browne, untouched by the fire that had marred her body and reduced her to cinders, not a scorch, not a wound, not a scourge. She was as beautiful as I always remembered her being, and in her eyes I saw no evil that might have been present on that fateful day that brought about the destruction of Eldham.

She spoke not, only smiled. Then, she closed her eyes and leaned over to kiss my lips and I did not move. I am unsure, Godfrey, of how I felt then, but I know in my heart I was not afraid, as I was never afraid of Margaret Browne. So when her lips touched mine I fought not. She was cold, so cold it sent shiver upon shiver down my spine, and her body was terribly pale, yet I let her hands embrace me and in silence watched as she undid the laces of her dress, and before the moonlight her beautiful nude body drew itself in majesty as I lay below her cold, cold touch.

I shan’t spare you the details, Godfrey. And I hope you understand I do not find regrets in my conscience, as I saw not this as a sin. But Margaret Browne, reborn from the ashes somehow, unmarked by the fire that had devoured her, appeared in the flesh before me, and I made love to her that night, as I had dreamed and longed from a boy of young every time I glanced upon her coyness in the distance.

We lied together on the soft, humid grass as God put us on this Earth and stared silently at the moon. The soft hums and moans that escaped her lips that night were the only melody of hers I ever heard, and I began to wonder if she might not be a mute at all, though I could at least attest that she did indeed possess a tongue. I pondered on asking her about her fate, asking her how had she escaped the fire, how had she survived the burning, but rather chose to delight in the peace of our union as we lay together. I was quick to fall asleep.

When I awoke, Margaret Browne was gone, and I never saw her again. It was shortly after that I stumbled upon an abbey and delivered myself to God, taking the habit as you did, Godfrey. The brothers taught me how to read and write, provided me with nourishment and warmth and community, and with them, I worked in the fields, contemplated in silence, practised my reading and writing, and devoted many an hour to prayer.

It has been sixteen years since that night I spent in the arms of Margaret Browne. I never spoke of what truly happened to Eldham to anyone, and the reason I finally pen this letter to you, Godfrey, is not for that event but for what happened last night.

I was informed that someone was searching for me, and found an adolescent boy with amber eyes and auburn hairs falling to his shoulders dressed in commoner’s clothes standing in the middle of the nave of our church with a soft smile on his lips. I asked him who he was and he answered promptly: my name is Francis and I am your son.

I did not believe him and immediately laughed as I believed it a joke, but the boy did not falter. There was then something to him that I recognized, a sense of self-perseverance as he smiled duly before God and me with not a quiver. And for the first time in sixteen years I thought of that night, and could not but ask him who his mother was, as if I had always been a man of many a lustful night.

Calmly, he said: Margaret Browne.

You might be thinking what many have thought of Eldham ever since: that it was the work of the Devil somehow. That this boy, this boy I fathered, was the son of something Devilish. We are so adamantly given warnings on the son of Satan, to be born for the Apocalypse, yet have you ever wondered, Godfrey, what if it were Lilith the one to bear the child of Evil?

But I digress. You see, I do not believe that Margaret Browne possessed an ounce of evil within her. I do believe there was power to her being, and perhaps there was an enchantment to her, though certainly not a witch. But what happened to Eldham was not the work of Lucifer nor one of its spawns or henchmen. It was not Lilith incarnate before a burning pyre, setting pious people ablaze for pleasure.

No, Godfrey. There is power to Margaret Browne, tremendous and dreadful power, though as the man of God I am today, I realize there has to be a reason for me to not have ever feared her, as I do not fear God’s punishment before my realizing of what happened to Eldham or Margaret Browne herself.

That was not Lilith, nor the Devil. That was just… a woman, Godfrey. An angered, wronged woman, who shared with the perpetrators of her every sentence the pain and humiliation Margaret Browne had endured alone for nearly two decades. Perhaps that power she holds could have been used for good, but it was the people of Eldham who decided that Margaret should employ it to nought but devastation.

I know this because the night we made love she was but a woman. Not spirit nor dead, for how else could she have borne my child? No, Margaret Browne was no enchantment, no ghostly vision, but a woman avenged risen from the dead as one would on the day of Final Judgement, embraced in Heavenly light and piety. I did not feel lust, I did not feel tempted, I did not feel seduced. I felt merely compelled to unite myself to her, as one would in holy matrimony, and perhaps it is that we were never parted again from one another the moment my seed was planted in her womb and this boy was born.

There is no repentance to seek on my behalf, Godfrey. For if Margaret Browne set the town of Eldham ablaze with the power of a woman’s anger, I put the flames out with nought but my love for her.

But there is one more thing I must say about this matter. You see, the boy Francis and I did speak for a short while. He told me, much to my sorrow, that his mother had died upon birthing him, and as Francis Browne came into this world in blood and pain, and the midwife held his wiggling body in a pile of rags, the body of Margaret Browne immediately turned to ash and nought was left of her but a piece of her flesh born of my seed.

When Francis Browne was done with his account, he stood from the pew he sat and left. I watched him walk and noticed then a trail of grey left behind his every step, and I followed it to discover it ended on the pew he had sat.

It was a pile of ashes, Godfrey.

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Past Challenges:

Wordtober Day 1: Ring

Wordtober Day 2: Mindless

Wordtober Day 3: Bait

Wordtober Day 4: Freeze

Wordtober Day 5: Build I

Wordtober Day 6: Build II

Wordtober Day 7: Enchanted (Encantada)

Wordtober Day 8: Frail

Wordtober Day 9: Swing

Wordtober Day 10: Pattern

Wordtober Day 11: Snow

(Skipped Day 12)

#wordtober #writing #my writing #creative writing #fiction #give me a few hours im gonna eat dinner and then im going to properly revise this a second time #my wordtober

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eyushfoshvoidfjovdfoojojvod · 6 years

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( nick robinson • twenty one • cismale ) looks like ezra castner just moved into apartment 3A! i heard that he is here in los angeles because he is pursuing a career in photography but has been struggling – thankfully moreau has taken them in! rumour has it, they can be quite volatile and reticent but at least they're insightful and valorous, hey? i can already tell they’re going to be the irate of the building.

because i have had this lovely muse before , there is A LOT of information prepared for him below . he is one of my favorites to write so i figured i would wanna recycle him into this lovely rp :~) but anyways , let’s get to it !

⟶ backstory :

although he was surrounded by wealth & stability , neglect was a constant presence in his childhood . ezra was never meant to be brought into this world , he was never wanted —‑ he was a mistake , his father would say drunkenly to himself during nights filled with regret . ezra’s mother was troubled & had a greedy agenda , that ultimately turned out successful for her . she was a young broad in search of one thing , & one thing only : money . lots of it . the night she met one of the most eligible bachelors in the city of angels , she intended on getting as much as she could out of him .

the two were never married , considering mr. castner was all for infidelity , though it didn’t seem to matter to her once she found out she was carrying his yet-to-be born child . to say the least , he didn’t approve of it , in the slightest . being the religious man ( which i find so fucking ironic since he cheats 24/7 ) he was , he knew he couldn’t have her resort to abortion , & would have to deal with the damage that’s been done . the woman wasn’t exactly what you’d consider ‘ mother material ’ , & she knew this herself , so he offered up a deal she couldn’t refuse . in exchange for the child , a payment of half a million will be provided for her to give birth & then take off , leaving no contact with the child . although it would take nine dreadful months , she considered this to be the most perfect opportunity to get what she’s always wanted .

ezra was never told the full story , though he was able to come in conclusion of it all on his own , spending countless hours in thought of the first woman who’s ever broken his heart . a variety of nannies were deemed with responsibility over him , some slightly different but all the same , as all they ever felt for the boy was pity : the boy who was considered to be a problem rather than person in his father’s eyes , & would never be enough for him . his father was hardly a presence in his life , only around when it came to his education , got himself into trouble , or to give his allowance . there’s a deep void in ezra’s heart because of this , one that could never be filled by anyone .

⟶ his love for photography .

ezra was never really the kind to participate in sports or , the average hobbies a boy in high school would have . he was definitely no captain of the football team or leader of the robotics club , because he considered all of it to be bullshit . the one thing that managed to get him through the tribulations of his life , was his first camera . he purchased it downtown , lacking any type of knowledge for the type he should purchase . it was a canon powershot , not designed for a professional , but the path to being one .

he only started off with simple projects , surrounding nature & animals , before it eventually developed into photographing people . when ezra takes a picture , he intends on gaining truth out of a person , whether it’d be their emotions or their character . he longs to reveal their inner self , rather than just telling them to ‘ say cheese & smile ’ !

this passion had never outgrew him , so once he moved to california , he anticipates the next four years or so to become a professional photographer . he figured the city of angeles has plenty of opportunities for him as a photographer & to be surrounded by a newer scenery –- it also gave him the chance to be as far away from home as possible , or more specifically , his father .

i guess you could say he is so passionate at figuring out people & their true intentions because of his mother , considering her motives were to just achieve wealth & leave . it all ultimately led to having trust issues , & the camera is supposed to protect him , in a sense . it helps him rid of the disguises people try to display , for whatever reason , & it gives him comfort in knowing who they really are .

⟶ present .

when it comes to communication , ezra can be particularly quiet , especially if you don’t know him too well . he lacks trust in most people , & attempting to be close with him can be one of the most challenging experiences you could ever have , as it certainly takes time . for any friendships that would come , he would protect them at all costs & defend the other if anyone would dare to go against them , both verbally & physically . he also would occasionally give them small gifts , mostly sentimental ones rather than just buying them something , & doesn’t want to be given too much gratitude for it . it’s simply because he cares & is grateful for their presence in his life .

at his lowest points , which are quite often , he’s in search for trouble . intoxicated or not , he’ll engage himself in physical fights as a way to release the anger that rises within him , & figures it is the only way to do it right . you will catch him walking around campus with bruised knuckles , black eyes , or a cast from a fractured bone —- yet almost everyone knew not to question what’s happened to him , considering they are already aware of his violent outbreaks . ezra is often a conversation starter for those on campus , & his reputation certainly isn’t the brightest . though he couldn’t care less about what anyone had to say about him , as their opinion meant absolutely nothing to him .

in regards of his father , he doesn’t really keep in touch with him , as all the man can seem to do is disappoint or anger him . maybe an occasional text for birthdays or holidays , but other than that , there is a complete disconnect . it was sad , definitely , but it was a sadness he chose . during late at nights , part of him tends to wonder if his mother knows about his achievements , & lies awake wondering if she were proud or even thinking of him . it was sorrowing to think about , though it was something he couldn’t help , even if the likelihood of her caring at all was unlikely .

a not-so recent development into ezra’s life is the night terrors , which began to creep themselves in when he was around sixteen years old , & haven’t left since . on most evenings , he awakes with beads of sweat along his forehead & his lungs heaving for a breath , incapable of falling asleep after the dreadful dream . eventually , dark circles began to be more prominent around his eyes , due to only a few hours of sleep or none at all .

WOW that was depressing . if you got through all of that , then u are literally the realest out there , & i hope u would still wanna plot with this messed up kid .

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rebel-21 · 7 years

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Drowning in Mud part 4/5

Ezra knew when he was drugged he had been drugged enough on the streets to know what it felt like. His mind felt clouded he could hear voices around him but his ears couldn't really understand anything. He just felt like he was floating in space nothing tethering him down to earth. He didn’t know how long he was in this high like state but part of him didn't care. He felt like he didn't have care in the world but this high like the state was quickly crushed when his body was flooded with freezing cold sensation as his eye flew open in complete shock as he coughed as water got up his mouth and nose.

He quickly looked around to in panic as his eyes cleared from the freezing cold water that was dumped on his head. He hands tied to a pole in an open like field it was dark outside. He looked down to see that luckily he was still in his clothes the bastard hadn’t violated him not that he knew anyway. he tried to pull on his hands that were behind his back but the knots were tied to tight for him to really break free at the moment.

“ssssooo…… wwwht…..doo. yyu……wwnt…….” Ezra’s teeth were chattering as the night air was very cold the wind picked up a little bit moving his hair in the wind. His voice was weaker than he would like but when you been drugged for who knows how long it was understandable.

“ oh, I thought we told you little Jedi why we took you way.” The main gang member walked towards him. Ezra couldn't really get a good picture of the man because it was getting dark fast. “ Yeah yeah yeah.” Ezra mumbled out “ you want to kill me and your telling me you just let my family go unharmed. I doubt that” rolling his drugged eyes.

“Am hurt by that my friend.” the man walk right up to his face “ Am men of my word I don't lie. Your friends didn't really have my eye, not like you.” As he grabbed the boys hair and slammed it back into the wooden post. Smiling when he heard the child hiss in pain. “It will give me great pleasure when you’re your master founds out that you have passed away in very sad death.”

Ezra narrowed his eyes “ Well sorry to disappoint but it not going to be as easy to kill me.” As he spits right in the men face “ Fuck You Ezra said proudly which led his head to be slammed back into the pole this time Ezra didn’t make sounded not letting the men in front of him have any satisfaction.

“ I know your smart boy.” he spoke softly in the child's ear if you want to live a little longer then I suggest when I untie you-you stay right on the ground .” as Ezra felt the knots being roughly untied as the men but a lot of pressure on his body so he couldn’t run when he was loose.

He was pushed into the mud roughly when he got free as he could now see the rest of the gang starting to walk towards him. “ Have some fun boys but remember I want him alive after this. Ezra tried to get his feet under him but his boot kept slipping in the mud as he fell flat on his face as he the kicking and punching began.

Ezra new how to fight he been in enough in Lothal to get himself. he was able to get the upper hand couple of times. But each time seemed to end with his face get submerged into the mud field. As they would hold him under the mud till he thought he would pass out and they bring him back up again and he would cough and spit just when he thought he could get another good breath his head was back under the thick mud.

It smelled like human and animal shit. He tried desperately to call out to the force but he could never get really grip on it if he was honest with himself he really couldn’t sense anything it was like someone had put the wall between him and force. He couldn’t even sense Kanan which made him feel sick to his stomach What if they the son of bitch was lying to him what if they did kill the whole crew that why he couldn’t sense Kanan

As he was brought out of his thoughts by someone punching him right in the stomach as he doubled over in pain. “ come on Ezra stay in the moment as he dogged the person that had punched him but not before some else cut him off guard punching him the back of the head as he lost his footing and fell once again to the muddy ground sliding couple of feet away.

He was slowly losing stamina at this point and seemed like the further he went in the mud pit the deeper it was becoming. At first, it only came below his knees now when he stood it was to his waist. It was getting harder and harder to move around. The mud was freezing cold he had lost feeling in his feet and hands long ago. As he back up as the other gang member advances on him as he kept moving backward the mud slowly creeping up to his chest. As the ganging member snickering at him.

” You want to go for the little swim again they main gang member spoke to him as he stood above him on a dry spot of land. Ezra eyed his lightsaber that was clipped to the men’s belt if he could just use the damn force and bring it to him he would be able to take all these ass holes down.

The man seemed to understand “ you want this precious weapon as he held it in his hand such a magnificent weapon. It shames that you will die by the hands of it as he began to laugh mercilessly. “Drag him to the deepest part this pit and submerge him all the way and don’t let him got till he stops moving!!!!!!!”

The men went to make a grab for him Ezra fought tooth and nail as he kicked bit clawed at the men scream at the top of his lungs for help. But in the end they men got the upper hand as they dragged him to the end of the pit as they pried his jaw open as the would lay him on his back as just submerge his head keeping his mouth open as he gagged as the smell was so revolting.

The mud burned his eyes nose and throat as it went down. He screams and screamed. Bring his head back up and hold him up soo he could throw it up before doing the whole process over and over again. By the end of the 5th time or was it the 10th Ezra lost all sense of time his body was frozen from the mud as he lay there limp in the mud. He could hear the words kill him before his whole body got submerged as he went deeper and deeper and deeper the pressure of the mud was unreal he couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

His body felt like it was being stabbed with a thousand needles. He was so deep in the mud that he slowly lost all sense of hearing he couldn’t hear anything. As the mud slowly crept into his mouth as he made a gagging sound as he his body did little jerk for oxygen but none never came to his lungs burned he could feel blood rushing in his ear he couldn’t see it was just pitch black as his eye buried buy whatever was mix into the mud he wanted breath but he couldn’t as he slowly lay there as his eyes finally slipped closed as he knew no more.

His body felt so heavy he could see a soft light above him and he knew right then and there where he was. He wanted the pain to end so badly his body felt it was being ripped in half and he just wanted it to end. He reached out a hand to try and reach the light he could feel it he was almost there. All of sudden he felt another force wrap around him like an iron guard pulling him away from the feeling of safety. He tried to fight the whatever was pulling him away. The force that wrapped around him felt so familiar. But he wanted to go back to the light so badly he wanted the pain to end as tears fell from his face.

As soft force spoke in this strange place ” Come back to us Ezra please come back to us.“ The voice sounds panicked and so urgent. He wanted to help whoever was feeling so sacred. Something told him he needed to go with the thing that was pulling him away from the light. The force said it wasn’t his time he needs to be with his family.

The words family rang in his ears over and over and over as images began to flash past him his whole life Journey flashing before his eyes his mom his dad being loved by them than watching them being taken. Living on the street begging for money doing anything and everything just to live. It made his heart ache he didn’t want to live that life anymore as he was about to go back up towards the another image flashed in front of him. The images past through his subconscious mind. It was the image of the ghost crew and that when he realized where he needed to be.

He let go of the light that was trying to get him to leave he allowed his body to be dragged farther and farther away. Before he knew it his eyes shot open like he had been shocked back into his own body. He started to violently cough he was quickly turned over to recovery position as he vomits up blood and mud and whatever else was in his system. “Good job kiddo you’re doing great keep going.”

A soft voice spoke in his ear. When he finally stop coughing he was rolled back over as his blurry eyes full of tears look into the eye of his mentor "K……kanan he slowly raised his shaky hand to touch his mentors face ” Yes Ezra it me am right here Kanan spoke in in breathless sort of tone “ your going to be ok your going to be ok."

"H……H…….How……..I…….Thought……..yyyu……..d……ied……” His voice was so very weak ever word spoken was like someone had dragged razors down his own vocal cords. His eye never leavening Kanan.

Kanan moved some of his wet muddy bangs out of his eyes. “All tell you when you’re feeling a little bit better. But right now we need to get you onto the ghost.” As Ezra body gave a violent shake under the shock blanket that was covering him. “Kanan …….. I…….feel……sooo…..cold….. his head rolled to the side he blacked out once again.

#star wars rebels fanfiction

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