girl im the gardener worm ill give you your crops back x10
“ I’ll be frank with you gardener worm I’m not scared of losing the crops, I’m scared of the fucking alien. “
girl im the gardener worm ill give you your crops back x10
“ I’ll be frank with you gardener worm I’m not scared of losing the crops, I’m scared of the fucking alien. “
✧ ♛ ✧ THERE WAS NO NEED FOR A MASK HERE. even with the bright sun overhead, the day felt grim, dark, and heavy. after removing the dried scattered leaves and placing the bouquet of flowers she bought along the way in their stead, she takes a moment to stand in front of the polished granite headstone. eyes focused upon the end date. the day where her father passed on from this earth unexpectedly. the same date where she stood now upon the anniversary of his death.
❛ ... hope you’re proud, dad. ❜ she speaks into the air, barely moving above a gentle whisper. this day was always hard to work through. she had accepted it long ago, but the sting was still present. now she continues his legacy, possibly becoming a better burglar than he ever was, following in his footsteps. but she’ll never forget that walter hardy honed the title of ‘black cat’ first.
with a light glance to the ground, she continues on her way through the graveyard. pausing every once in a while in front of some other graves. wondering what stories the bodies that now laid six feet deep beneath the ground left behind in this world and who mourned them.
Flower Husbands Fic - Chapter Eleven- I’ll Keep Him Safe From The Dark Things That Wait
AO3 in reblogs.
Scott flies back to his base, the sun long since set under the horizon. The Cod Alliance is…
Family. They’re a family, one that Scott can’t help but feel as though he’s intruding on. Lizzie and Jimmy are obviously siblings, and Joel is married to the ocean queen, but even Pixl acts like a cousin to the group, distant but somehow also close to everyone. Scott isn’t a part of this family, like he’s a friend that was dragged into it, or an acquaintance who just happened to come over at the wrong time.
He’ll have to get used to that feeling, or carve a place for him in that relationship. Maybe even both, because although they claim to have accepted him, Pixl and Lizzie give him strange looks when they think he can’t see them, and Joel outright doesn’t trust him. Tensions are high, he shouldn’t make them higher.
Which is why he had to accept the role of spy. He couldn’t refuse, he had to accept it. He shouldn’t have accepted it, but he had to. It’s a very complicated situation, and his advisors are going to kill him if he tells them. Maybe he won’t tell them. That might be the safest option.
The wind smooths his feathers as he flies over the mountains towards his home. The snow glistens in the bright moon light, and windows glow as the people turn in for dinner and sleep. His kingdom is as ancient as these mountains, if the stories are to be believed, families congregating under windows as the night sky darkens is a custom that none will shake.
Snow begins to fall as Scott passes over the last village before Rivendell’s city, and Scott makes a beeline for the closest mountain peak. He’s overdue a rest anyways, his wings are cramped and lungs ache.
The snow stings his face and legs, chilling him to the bone. The cold seeps into his soul, sending ice into the interior he was never supposed to let thaw for anyone. The snow and ice threatens to suffocate him, threatens to push him back into that cold place that he made into his home when he was young. The cold threatens to suck out his core, sobs wracking at his body.
His tears freeze as they fall, stinging his face as he scrambles to wipe them away before his eyes freeze shut.
Scott’s shoulders shakes as sobs try to force their way out of his throat. He can’t do this. He can’t save anyone can he? How can he save the server from Xornoth if he can’t even stop a kidnapping? He’s failed as Aoer’s champion and the idea of Aoer protecting Jimmy was played off as a joke. Guilt curls around his throat, strangling him and making him shake with frozen tears.
“Why are you crying?” A voice echoes through the mountains and his mind, startling Scott. He looks up, making eye contact with nothing.
At least, that's what it looked like.
Aoer’s eyes glow white in the snow, their golden body glowing etherialy in the moonless night. The snow freezes in midair, not falling. Not moving. Just remaining in stasis. The wind stops, the owls freeze mid flight and nothing for miles moves. This is a private meeting, between god and mortal, champion and patron.
Deer and elf.
“Aoer…” Scott breaths, the warm puff of air dissipating in the cold night sky.
“My child,” The deer’s mouth does not open, but the words are audible in the physical world all the same. “Why do you mourn? The world is not lost yet.”
“Yet.” Scott says. “I can’t save the world. You’ve chosen the wrong person to serve as your champion. I can’t do this.”
“Why would I choose you, if you could not succeed?” Aoer says warmly. “There will be setbacks, there will be strife. But you will persevere, because you are yourself. You will win, because you are loved. Not only by myself, but by your people. By your friends. By your brother.”
“Xornoth doesn’t love me.”
“He did, once. And in the end, that will make all the difference.” Aoer steps towards him. “You may not forgive him. No one would expect that of you, and not giving him your forgiveness will not make you any less of a good person. But he did love you, once.”
“If Xornoth loved me, why would he hurt my-” The words freeze in Scott’s throat, strangling him. He can’t say - he won’t say it. “Why would he hurt Jimmy?”
“He was corrupted by Exor.” Aoer says softly. “And for that, I apologise. I should have done more.”
“If he is Exor’s champion, what is the difference between him and myself?”
“You dream.” The deer says. “You dream of creation, and then you make what you dream. You love, and are loved in return. Everything you need is within you. Your creations, your light, your darkness, your love. Exor separated Conal from the universe, from his ability to create. You will not be separated from any universe, not whilst I am aided by you.”
“If I’m so great,” Scott mumbles, loathing dripping from his tongue. “Why couldn’t I save him?”
“You can’t save everyone.” Aoer says, nudging Scott’s hand with their head. “No one can. You can hope, and dream, and try your hardest and still fail. Saving everyone is an impossible task.”
“Saving the world isn’t?”
“You will have help.” The god says, turning away from Scott. “You won’t be alone in your task.”
“What if I fail?”
“Then you will have tried.” Aoer turns to him, golden and warm. “And thats all I ask of you.”
And the god disappears. Snow falls again, and the owls fly. The world continues on, and Scott readies himself for a harsh flight home.
“DON’T TOUCH HIM!” Scott screams, throwing himself through the doors of the bunker. “DON’T TOUCH HIM!”
“Scott.” Ren says, kneeling down. “I apologise. You would not have lost him if it weren’t for the red desert.”
“You killed him.” The widower growls, glaring at the red king. “You killed the only good thing in this world.”
“It was war, Scott.” Martyn says, sorrow in his expression as he leans against the bunker. “We shouldn’t have even told Skizzle to leave, Ren.”
“And let Scott kill him?” Ren mumbles to his hand, as though he thought Scott couldn’t hear him.
“Where will you bury him?”
“So you can kill me above his grave?” Scott snaps.
“So we can help you carry him to his grave, if it is far.”
“Don’t touch him.”
“Understood.” Ren steps away. “For what it’s worth, none of us wanted Jimmy to be the first life lost.”
The colours melt together as Scott struggles not to vomit. Jimmy? No, Jimmy’s alive. He’s not dead. He can’t be dead. He hasn’t died. He was sacrificed but he respawned. He’s not dead. He can’t die, Jimmy can’t die. He’s the emperor of the cod empire, he’s not here. He’s not in this limbo, this hell. Ren and Martyn didn’t kill him. Jimmy’s not dead. The world merges together and Scott’s head spins and he’s going to throw up and-
He’s lying on an altar, an enchanting table sits across from him. Jimmy screams, being held back by Martyn and Skizzle, as Impulse turns his back on them. His cod head is on, but for some reason it isn’t funny this time. It isn’t pitiful.
This didn’t happen. This hasn’t happened before. What’s happening? This isn’t one of his dreams.
“Please! Please, kill me instead.” Jimmy begs, straining against the two red lives. “Don’t kill him. Please. Please, Ren.”
“Very well then.” Ren says, nodding to Martyn and Skizzle. The pair let go of Jimmy, who falls to the ground. “I’m not cruel, say your goodbyes.”
“You’re more merciful than I would be, my lord.” Martyn says, glaring at Jimmy. “Traitor.”
Scott stands on shaking legs, walking towards Jimmy as though he’s a newborn deer. Jimmy runs towards him, faster than Scott thought he would be able to. They hold each other close, whispering nothing and everything into their ears. Scott knows that Jimmy won’t survive this. The only man Scott’s ever loved this deeply, the first person Scott ever clicked with, won’t survive.
“Don’t do this.” Scott begs as Jimmy pulls away from him. “Don’t do this. Please.”
“I love you.” Jimmy slips his wedding ring onto Scott’s finger, before he brushes a tear from Scott’s cheek. “I told you that I didn’t want to see you sacrificed on the altar. I promised to protect you. I love you. I won’t let you die.”
Skizzle and Martyn take Scott’s arms, dragging him screaming from his lover, his soulmate. Time stops as Jimmy walks up to the altar willingly. Ren gives him a hard look, waiting for Jimmy to kneel in front of him. Impulse, to his credit, apologises silently as the axe swings.
“JIMMY!” Scott screams, shooting up in his bed.
The fireplace crackles in the silent night, and Scott leans back against the bed. A nightmare, one that he has had before. This is normal. He’s just worried about Xornoth. This has to be normal. His dream husband has never been Jimmy before, but it’s hardly as though that couldn’t happen. He’s just worried. That’s all.
Scott pulls the comforter over his head, trying to muffle the sobs that wrack his body. It works, just barely, as the tears make a pool on his pillow and dampen his blankets he shakes. The sobs don’t stop coming, they just get worse, and worse and worse. He can’t save anyone.
“I want my parents.” Scott mumbles, choking on sobs. “I don’t want to be important anymore.”
like maybe it’s late and maybe i’m tired but it is truly fucking exhausting, sometimes, to see the way parts of the fandom discuss something as emotionally rich and nuanced and selfish and tragic as TTM. and i could talk about lujanne in that comic, or callum, or rayla, but rayla is the one that people misunderstand the most bc... people are teenagers and Dumb, i suppose??
like, literally every part of rayla’s character led up to her decision at the end. literally every single notable, character defining scene and relationship in her life, particularly with her family.
runaan leaves ethari at home and takes rayla off the mission. rayla sees ethari survive and she is the only one of her troupe to survive, ergo, leaving callum at home and taking him off the mission will ensure his survival. that is, quite literally, a Surface level reading of the text. that’s not even getting into how tdp is about trauma and grief and how ttm just enforces that tenfold.
it’s not even talking about how rayla has been Left so many times she’s developed the obvious coping mechanism of leaving first. that she struggles so hard in believing that other people actually need her. she thinks callum can complete her mission without her (“just keep [the egg] safe” in 1x03, “if i don’t come back, you and ezran can get zym to xadia” in 2x07, “you and ezran should take zym, but i can’t leave” in 3x08) but she doesn’t feel the same way: “because i don’t think i can do it without him.” how their relationship has evolved from rayla realizing she can depend on him to saying it’s okay if he can’t help her because she values him beyond what he can do to her telling him not to come with her because she can’t handle more loss.
how rayla has broken both her word stated in bloodmoon huntress, that she would never kill anyone or leave someone she loved behind, showing that she’s surely already going to rapidly change over the course of the novel. at the end of s3, she fulfils her mission by killing the king of katolis - and simultaneously fails again, just like in 1x01 by sparing marcos, because viren isn’t actually dead, and in her mind, it’s her fault. “you let him live” and “you killed us all” are deeply connected.
that her self loathing issues have been evident since 1x09 (“this is all my fault [...] i let you both down. i let the world done”) which is why 3x04 repeats this almost word for word: “it’s me, and it’s all my fault. i failed them. i let them all down” and how even saving zym, both times, by going nearly off or actually off a cliff wasn’t enough to soothe her core wound. that her self loathing directly feeds into her belief that there’s something fundamentally wrong with her (“i’m sure it would’ve flopped when it was my turn”), that she will always lose people because of it (“i can’t lose you like this”), that the guilt and restlessness she carries around is something she has never been able to entirely put down. that she’s cracked and so far gone that she won’t believe she’s ever Paid the Price enough until she isn’t just already dead, but actually dead. because it’s her fault if viren is alive and if viren is alive he’ll hurt callum, and in her mind, that will be on her. it’s all her fault. of course it’s her responsibility to make it right. (it always is).
that her last words to callum are “just... remember me, okay?” and leaving a letter in TTM because in her mind, her parents forgot her when they left and forgot their duty, because runaan and ethari forgot their love for her when they turned their backs on her, because she is terrified of being left, she is terrified of being forgotten, again, of having another person she loves die and be ruined.
because rayla is working from a fundamentally flawed viewpoint where she moves, and grows, becoming more emotionally open, understanding what she wants to fight for and protect, because she is so much like runaan it hurts (aka exactly where she got her “i bear it so my loved ones don’t have to”) but even amongst all that growth, she’s still trapped in the same cycles. she’s still repeating history.
it’s the way i’ve been waiting for this sort of plot beat since s2 and see the way that 1x02 and TTM perfectly parallel each other with rayla trying to ultimately spare callum’s life, and “i’m sorry. i have to do this. i don’t want to, but i have to,” because when has what she’s wanted - what makes her happy, what keeps her safe - ever truly mattered in a life wrapped up in war and grief? (“it doesn’t matter what happens to me”)
when will she get to choose to Stay and not feel like the floor is going to fall out from under her, again
IT'S ME BUDDY.
“ Ok. First of, good to know. Second of WHAT THE FUCK ?? “
I got a biggish ask with some lovely questions, so I’m gonna break them up! Thanks, Anon!
TW: Death mention/discussion
What habit would you most like to break/start?
Harrow: I have got to take time off. I tend to work all hours every day because it keeps this gambling hall running but I could leave it for a day and it wouldn’t collapse, right? I need to trust my people that far.
Alsander: I’ve got to stop flinching when doors open. It’s kinda obvious.
Would you want to know how and when you'll die?
Harrow: Yes, because I can dodge that too!
Alsander: ...Probably not. It’s probably something awful.
Anonymous said: Only $100? Bro the person who sold you got scammed. Do you know how much human organs are worth?
“ Dude, I’m a fucking witch, AND a harbinger of death at that ! If memories serve me right, the woman who bought me did so for my blood, which implies in times of Eld, witch’s blood held magical properties. I WAS WORTH MORE THAN 100 GILS COME ON THAT’S DUMB. “
What if QE2 (the person) dies on Nov. 5? Then what?
topaz just spent two fuckin hours trying to eat the rat sideways. now she’s finally eating it butt first. she’s almost 20 years old and still doesnt know how to eat
“ I was sold for a hundred dollars. Piss money. “
sometimes i think about how if i just dropped dead or something no one would even care 😂😂
2nd of November
In nearly ten months at the Tribune, Samantha Bishop never once received a notable piece of mail. Unsurprising when one considered that the vast majority of her journalism centered around fairly innocuous stories, just a few exposés on the wealthy elite and one hard hitting piece on some questionable city officials. Nothing that drew attention or revealed her side project of digging into local organized crime, the bulk of which sat safely tucked away in her apartment halfway across Chicago. It had admittedly taken a backseat to the public violence and harrowing circumstances that plagued her hometown as of late, not to mention obsessing over paper trails fell way down on the to-do list when sharing a house that wasn’t her own.
It was quick, the way her lips tilted at one corner in an involuntary half-smile when she thought of that fact before tearing open the small brown envelope on her desk. Despite having determined the contents were light upon first touch, Sam still found herself perplexed to discover only a USB stick and what looked like a folded piece of notebook paper inside. Staring at the two items in utter confusion, she began to gingerly unfold the note while taking internal bets on whether this was a love letter from some bizarre stalker or the world’s most creative hate mail. In all honesty, she much preferred the latter.
The message had clearly been written by a woman, though acknowledging that detail became irrelevant once its weight settled upon her shoulders. If you’re reading this then I’m already dead. Expose the monsters and protect yourself.
She read the words once. Then again. And again. Over and over as if attempting to parse out a meaning beyond the obvious. No name and no return address on the envelope. What sick prank did this person think they were playing? The entire situation was almost laughable really and her natural inclination towards joking off the discomfort bubbled to the surface before dissipating altogether. Crystalline hues settled over the innocuous thumb drive as she attempted to quell a growing uneasiness that settled in the pit of her stomach. Instinct maybe, like staring at a closed box and knowing in one’s heart of hearts that a snake lay within its depths.
Somehow the blonde always knew it wouldn’t pay to actually find what she sought for months now: a decent lead in the right direction where evidence practically dropped from the sky. In January she would have jumped at the opportunity to scour every piece offered, but now the circumstances shifted considerably and she found herself hesitating for another minute before scooping up her laptop. One of the many conference rooms sat empty and Samantha entered it with haste, immediately drawing the blinds before settling into a chair. Screen open, flash drive inserted, she waited with a mixture of curiosity and dread for the alert that it was ready.
Open file or Cancel.
Shelving her trepidation, Sam’s index finger selected the only rational option and discovered it was a video file lacking any discerning title. Only the date it had been taken. Sept 4 2021.
Mere days before the bombing at LITE. And it was two hours long.
With an elbow propped on the table’s surface and knuckles pressed against her lips, she hit play and watched as darkness gave way to the image of an unfamiliar man sitting in a chair. No, not sitting–– bound and gagged. A steady flow of crimson trailed from his hairline down to the mottled fabric of his t-shirt, though she couldn’t discern from the low lighting whether it was fresh or dried. Blood didn’t frighten Sam, not really, but darkened figures passing in front of what appeared to be a hidden camera absolutely knotted her stomach. The footage didn’t come with audio, though she hardly needed sound to understand its premise.
Torture in real time looked far different than the movies, more harrowing and gruesome on some levels, less dramatic on others. The methods being used were nauseating to say the least and it appeared as if the victim might have been missing one finger already, but she wasn’t enduring an entire fucking snuff film for this content... She wanted to see faces, perhaps take a few screenshots for police once the lighting improved. Even without being able to hear, Sam could tell the victim was in anguish and as another figure inducing the greatest amount of damage stepped back, a second sauntered into frame to seemingly tend to the wounds. Maybe it was dried blood. How long had they been at this?
Despite being quietly fearful of what she might witness during a fast forward, none of the current imagery was useful without being able to grab still photos of the participants and thus she dragged the buffering symbol to the right. Just a bit further–– Bingo. At some point another lamp had been turned on nearby and it magnified the scene far worse than she imagined. A number of lacerations had been carved across the mystery victim’s flesh, he was missing at least three digits on his left hand, and he was no longer moving. Bright hues attempted to focus on anything else, anyone else besides the horror show in the dead center of the camera’s lens.
That was when she saw him crouched at the man’s side, fiddling with a tourniquet’s removal as only a trained medic could. Brandon. No... No, no, no. Pausing the frame with his features still in view, Sam squinted in an attempt to convince herself out of the resemblance. Except it didn’t just look like him, it was him. He witnessed this, assisted in it, and they sat together making jokes in the back of an ambulance only forty-eight hours later. A sort of retroactive nausea welled in her stomach at the knowledge of how close she had been to this person without realizing, but there were other individuals on the tape and she still needed to put faces to their actions.
As suspected, the victim appeared to have passed some time between her first watch and the intentional jump cut to now. No doubt a result of the more brutal character who remained occupied off-frame, though she would recognize when he returned. That much blood was near impossible to properly clean off with only ten minutes left in the video. Instead another figure entered the frame sporting less carnage as he began to hoist the body up, but it was the height that gave him away before she even saw his face. Years of their childhood had been spent together before obligation and familial troubles ushered him out of Sam’s life. A soft, involuntary noise of denial emanated from her throat, though it sounded a whole lot like grief. Jesse.
That was the moment she knew. Before the final accomplice even returned to the screen, she knew whose hands were the most sanguine stained. A multitude of warnings from the last seven months ricocheted throughout her mind, all unheeded, and this is where that god awful stubbornness left Samantha: holding her breath within a jaw clenched so tight that it verged on shattering. Fletcher. Only his profile entered the foreground, but it was enough for her to viscerally slam the laptop shut in response.
You should be scared, Sam.
I’m extremely good at what I do.
You don’t know what you’re choosing.
He was right.
Glossy hues stared at the opposing wall for what felt like an eternity, replaying every conversation and cryptic half-answer. Between the obvious signs he’d provided lay a no-mans land of painful questions, skewed memories that didn’t measure up to the people seen on video, and the undeniable agony of discovering that her entire perception was once again someone else’s lie. First Brooke, now this. What else had been misconstrued? What other aspects of her life would the universe revise next?
Ripping out the flash drive, Sam immediately stuffed it into a pocket and vacated the conference room with her laptop in tow. Without a word, the blonde took all necessities from her desk, slung a purse over one shoulder, and left. After all, she had always been good at that.
Chapter 11 is here :)
[ vampire. 26 / 500+ ] olivia sharma? right! she is said to resemble anya chalotra and is a cis woman. she has been described as adaptable & guileful, but has been known for elegant dresses covered in dirt, hiding insecurities under annoyance and sharp wit, choosing your own fate. only in town for one year, olivia may have picked up a job as the owner of bar elysium.
Full Name: olivia sharma (emmanuelle rose godfrey). Age: twenty six (appearance). Birth Place: england. Gender/Pronouns: cis woman (she|her). Species: vampire. Occupation: owner of elysium (bar). Maker: tba.
Faceclaim: anya chalotra. Eye Color: brown. Hair Color: dark brown. Height: 5′6″. Tattoos, Birthmarks, Scars, etc: none.
Positive: adaptable, sharp-witted, charming, loyal. Negative: aloof, guileful, critical, skeptical.
vampire physiology (enhanced senses, strength, speed, agility, and stamina), accelerated healing, and immortality. mind compulsion, telepathy, and illusion casting. skilled in armed and hand to hand combat. fluent in multiple languages and knowledgeable of various cultures, including the species and their customs within the supernatural world.
abuse tw, child death tw, violence tw
Born in 1503, Olivia and her younger sister Amelia spent the first few years of their lives in the care of their loving parents. But before Amelia turned three, their father was sent away by the military and disappeared in battle, declared dead months later.
The family was moved to a different village by Olivia's uncle, a stoic and stubborn man with a harsh appearance and cold demeanor. He wasn't an understanding or progressive man either, holding onto beliefs that looked down on his sister in law and her daughters, Olivia finding herself in many arguments with her uncle that did not end in her favor.
Tired of living under her uncle's ruling, Olivia searched for a way out. She managed to catch the eye of a Lord and decided to take full advantage of it, the older man seemingly charmed and promising her the freedom she wanted. They quickly got married and Olivia moved, planning to bring her mother and sister along after she was settled.
That would never happen, the man Olivia married becoming a complete stranger once they were alone, isolating her from her family and the world around them. Olivia realized then that he saw her simply as property, a pretty little trinket to parade around his social circle, the girl once again trapped and put down.
Years passed before Olivia was able to escape, the death of the son she never wanted but grew to love motivating her enough to set fire to the Lord’s home and disappear into the night, finally finding her way back to her old home when she was 20. Unfortunately, she was too late; her mother and uncle had passed away earlier in the year, and her sister had been married off some time after Olivia left.
Alone and on the run, Olivia kept moving, working wherever she could to feed herself and keep a roof over her head. Some years later, while working in a tavern, she met a charming stranger, their gentle demeanor making her extremely suspicious of them. They weren’t deterred by her skepticism though, always remaining friendly and treating her with respect. They never made any advances or demand things from her; all they ever seem to want was ale and someone to listen to their stories.
While alone at the tavern one night, Olivia was approached by men her husband had hired, though this time they didn’t seem interested in taking her back alive. Olivia struggled to defend herself, almost meeting her end after she was beaten down and held at knife point. But in the blink of an eye, the attackers were a bloody mess on the wooden floor, the charming stranger standing over them with a hand reached out to Olivia.
Instead of being afraid, Olivia was fascinated, and when the stranger asked for permission to avenge her, the brunette instead asked them to give her the power to avenge herself, refusing to take no for an answer. She was turned that very night, the stranger pretending to be one of the people her husband hired and bringing back Olivia’s body to him. The Lord was the first human she ever fed from, and Olivia didn’t hesitate to make his end a painful one.
For years, Olivia and her Maker traveled the world together, the brunette adapting easily to her new life. Her ambitious and resilient nature also helped her climb the social circles of vampire society, the fact her Maker was one of the oldest vampires known to date aiding her determination to gain respect. Whether liked or hated, Olivia earned a reputation for being a formidable adversary, many choosing to create alliances rather than get acquainted with her wrath.
Her Maker was never truly interested in the vampire hierarchy however, so Olivia was often left to her own devices, her Maker disappearing for long periods of time every few years. She’s been on her own for the past 80 years, getting tired of the big cities and moving her bar to the small town of Salem, Oregon one year ago.
Fully stocked in order to cater to its human and supernatural clientele, Elysium is a popular spot for vampires and humans aware of them. It’s discreet lower levels provide carefully selected members with a safe place to feed and be fed from, strict rules and high security making sure no client gets out of hand. Though she has little regard for human life, Olivia has no interest in attracting the wrong attention, the recent deaths of supernaturals making it clear she and her people need to be on guard.
very regularly I see shitposts meant to poke fun at the expense unvaxinated individuals, probably drawing on their valid (or if not, then at least relatable) frustration that shit hasn't exactly gone back to normal, the virus has fucked up their lives, deceased friends and relatives, retail employees drained from having to enforce masking while still on min wage, etc etc etc. It's been like a year and a half we all know the deal I don't need to type an extra paragraph.
i always assumed that it was understood that 95% of the time, people making said posts WERE NOT including people who COULDN'T get the vaccine, due to
Prevented by antivax parents or guardians (technically kinda falls under the first point but yeah)
am I braindead and missing something or
Mikey may be dying but damn that waist thin snatched queen
STARES into the VOID in ‘ was a slave and PIT FIGHTER in another life ’
trigger warnings: kidnapping, torture, drugging, killing, death
"I found you." The hero grabbed his twin brother's hand, crushing him in a hug, dropping his sword, almost not daring to believe the sight before his eyes.
Pale—almost bloodless—and too thin, and tired, judging by the closed eyes, but alive. Taken away when Thess was just a kid—when both of them were just kids—by the villain. Thess had always believed that Al had fallen prey to the monsters that the bastard set loose—but no, he was here. Alive, and—not well, but alive. Thess could settle for that.
"Hey—hey—I can't breathe, Thess."
"Sorry," Thessalus mumbled, stepping back. "I just—you're here. You're alive."
Alcimenes smiled, the sort of smile that forced him laugh, if only sadly.
"I'm really not, Thess."
"What do you mean?"
"He makes the monsters."
"Yeah, well, everyone knows that—"
"No." Al cut his twin off, in a rare display of hastiness, eyes still shut from grogginess. "He makes the monsters. He turns people into them. That's why kids have been going missing all over the city. He raises them like cattle and gives them this drug that makes kills them inside. It's like a disease, Thess. For some kids it changes their arms and legs. You can hear it when their bones snap and shift because they scream so loud and it's awful and I wish I never heard it. But other kids it changes their heads—the way they think. The younger ones, usually." He shuddered. "It's terrible. It's so bad. You have to get him, Thess. You have to fight him." Al was clutching at Thess' shirtsleeves, tugging on him with surprising strength. "You can't let him keep doing this."
"There's more." His twin brother inhaled, the wind whistling in through the ruins of the villain's unfortunately empty lair. "It hits your eyes first. No matter who you are, it hits your eyes first."
"I haven't had it in me long enough to turn yet," his brother whispered. "He saved me for last, for whatever reason. But I'm almost there." He let out a shuddering, bone-chilling sort of breath. "I need you to kill me."
"Never," Thess said, shoulders wracking with unshed sobs, voice breaking. "You can't fucking ask me to do that, Al."
"I'm asking you because you're the only person I trust to do it."
"I can't fucking—you're my brother!" The sound reverberated off what was left of the cement walls, ringing with anger and pain and disbelief.
"Not anymore, Thess."
"Open your eyes, Al." Thess was almost crying. "Open your goddamn eyes."
"You don't wanna see it, Thess. I'm telling you. Do it fast. Make it painless. Please, for God's sake."
"I'm not fucking killing you."
Al opened his eyes. There was nothing beneath his eyelids. It was nothing. Darkness. Blackness. Thess felt like he was looking into hell.
"I'm halfway to not being your brother anymore, Thess. I'm begging you to do it while part of me is still human."
Alcimenes brought the edge of the fallen sword to his heart.
"I'll do it. I'll kill him. I promise."
Alcimenes smiled. "I know you will."
And we'll be carrying each other Until we say goodbye on our dying day.
Goodbye, Thess managed to think through the tears as the sword slid home.