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@pertlips-blog
pertlips:
i haven’t finished working on this blog yet but zelda’s officially a far cry oc now and you can’t stop me.
just the run down: i’ll be doing all drafts i currently owe here on my new blog! and if anyone owes me and would like to continue writing with me, i’ll keep a look out for the reblogged post, but it’d be nice if you could tag @suresaint just to be sure :’)
i haven’t finished working on this blog yet but zelda’s officially a far cry oc now and you can’t stop me.
thanks for your service zelda
/
“I don’t know how to love without using my whole heart. I don’t know what its like to love someone ‘half way’. I practice giving love in the same way i’d like to receive it.”
— Reyna Biddy (via birthofasupervillain)
💬 the rumour is zelda and chloe hooked up sorry luci
you're asking for a smack you are, zelda. / catherine ... being peeved off by zel lbr
“ why’s that your go to when i annoy you? ” actually, why’s that everyone’s go to when she annoys someone? is it her face? does she have one of those faces? “ i’m not wrong! you’re a pussy. you won’t ask grace out. she clearly likes you, but you think she’ll wait forever? she’ll start thinkin’ you don’t fancy her. that she’s got no chance. ” zelda clicks her fingers and they snap loudly, pointing at catherine, her cheek squished by her other fist, propped against catherine’s kitchen table. “ you want me to tell her for you? ”
RANDOM → @velvetipped
also can you BELIEVE colette ( zelda’s mom ) shows up just as the collapse happens and ends up in the same bunker as faith and andrew and none of them know of one anothers significance ??? and that zelda is stuck in another bunker, not knowing her mother is alive and with faith, missing six / seven years of time with the people she loves xoxo
if we’ve plotted significant far cry / new dawn stuff chances are i’ve mentioned your character in my replies
ID: SCARLETT, SIDUSIGNES
She hadn’t heard a peaceful quiet in years. Even that one, interspersed with distant birdsong and wind lifting the leaves, felt ominous. Suffocating. She almost lived in her helmet these days but now wanted to claw it off, to breathe, to see. The visor was cracked enough to obscure anything more distinct than wooden beams and swirls of light in the dust, but Scarlett knew. Something to do with those New Eden nutcases. As the minutes ticked by, each seemingly slower than the last, she could have sworn the ropes that bound her in place constricted more and more.
And then, almost out of the blue, she was no longer alone. Creak. Thunk. “You killed my mom.” The voice was angry, of course. She couldn’t see who it was that spoke. They stood right in the centre of her visor’s crack, a baseball bat and blonde hair fractured into a dozen pieces.
“How d’you know it was me?” Her hands balled and flexed, the rope biting into her flesh. More likely the woman meant to accuse The Highwaymen as a whole, but the bat suggested otherwise. “Or am I just the one who has to suffer to make you feel better?”
it wasn’t her. zelda knows this. those highwaymen who attacked the day her mother was killed were all dead, but that doesn’t matter. they’re all the same. this is personal. resentment, anger, pain, it all blinds her. they are a group just like eden’s gate had been a group, just like the resistance had been a group. violence was, is, inevitable. but here? in the garden? what zelda, faith, andrew, her mother have worked so hard to create, to nurture? this was a family. there should be no place for violence here, and the highwaymen brought it with them just the same. why? why? she wants to ask: we did nothing to you! my mom did nothing. all her life she has tried to understand, to empathise, but this? now? she’s too close to see anything other than her mother’s bloodied, crumpled body crushed beneath the wheel of one of those fucking trucks.
still, her fingers tremble, wrapped around the bat, hearing the highwayman’s voice. violence is not a language zelda knows, but she is beginning to understand a few words, a few phrases, and it scares her. she doesn’t want this anger really, deep down. but she can’t say those three simple words to faith: i need help. she only chokes on them. zelda’s arm drops like lead, the bat too heavy for her suddenly, its head hitting the ground with a hefty thud, and she drags it over the hay floor as she walks towards the woman. mouth furled at the corners, like she holds a foul taste in her mouth, her eyes narrowed. does this not remind her of something else? hannah’s words, from years ago: they cast the first stone. and her own words, in response:
who cares? now we are all throwing stones.
zelda sets the weapon down and crouches in front of the highwayman, tilting her face, a sharp stare going over the woman’s armour, marked with artwork, with that eye. she wants to see her face. so she plants her hands to that ugly helmet. starts to wriggle it loose, pulling it off to uncover the woman beneath it. you can’t bash someone’s head in if they’re wearing a helmet. the truth of it is that she wants to humanise this stranger. wants to see who she is. who could join a group like that, if not a monster.
it takes zelda a few moments to recognise the face she stares at. the eyes. she is older, now. it’s been eighteen years! they both look different. and yet, entirely the same. it hits her all at once that it is her cousin. scarlett. and zelda takes in a sharp breath, the helmet plummeting to her thighs where she all of a sudden kneels, staring in disbelief, eyes wide. her mouth moves but no words come out. how could they? what is she feeling? this rush of joy gives way to sadness, gives way to confusion, gives way to anger again. her cousin, but not. her cousin, but a highwayman. “ scar? ”
she is a girl again.
who’s this then? light filters in through the wooden slats in the barn’s walls, hazy, dusty, the captured highwaymen tied to a back beam, her helmet still on. it is quiet in the garden, unlike the chaos that these monsters bring, with their music, and their loud motorcycle engines, and their obnoxious attitudes. not so obnoxious now, huh? all tied up and at her mercy. anger festers in the pit of her stomach. it’s their fault she feels this way, her fingers twitching around the steel bat she’s holding. strong jaw set, sharp. staring at this woman like she’s the one who murdered her mom, ( no amount of justice! ).
zelda takes one look outside, just to see if anyone is watching, she knows that this is wrong, guilt already creeping at the edges of her heart. she hasn’t even done anything yet. can she even do this? should she be doing this? but she enters, and closes the door with a nervous creak. finds a heavy sack of wheat and heaves it in front of the door, barricading it. and then she straightens, catches the bat by its length, and sighs out a long, slow breath, lifting the bat to point it at the highwayman. “ you killed my mom. ”
/ @sidusignes / asked
tragic that someone this sexy has to go through this much
ID: HANNAH, EARLYGRAAVE
There is something about the way Zelda speaks that last sentence that makes Hannah bristle and break the connection their bodies had. No more did their clothes soundlessly brush against one another, no more did their skin warmly connect in comradery, there was a cold distance. ‘ You can’t be okay with it. If you are … ’ It was an accusation, one that had been uttered before by many who thought that if they could pick at the tender heart strings of the wife of the leader, then she would crumple and urge her husband to put an end to all of this. That she would give in and in turn, so would he.
And what would Zelda do if she was? What if the matriarch of the Seed family was okay with the world as her family had crafted it to be? What then? Would she run to the resistance and tell them of what she had learned or spill the secret to Faith over some late night pillow talk? The resistance already vilified her and would gladly nail her to the cross if they caught her alone. They would need no other excuse than her last name to do that. There was nothing to be gained there other than to ease their conscious. The witless and naive wife was actually a false face too, they could celebrate when her death was announced. They would all claim they knew it. Could they not see her heart? It was so proudly displayed upon her chest in a fashion akin to the immaculate heart of the mother Mary.
They had once come to her farm to buy apples and pumpkins, they bought and broke bread with her. They invited her to places and brought their children around her, left them even in her care. She was welcomed then, but then the missing posters went up. The blood was no longer hidden. The baptisms were becoming more frequent. They burned her field that night. They spray painted vile things on her barn. They never came around again.
They did not know her, they never would, they only wanted a version of her. They only wanted a reason to either love or hate her. It was her childhood all over again. Zelda, you’ve awaken a tender spot, a memory that is unwanted, and now her body feels like it is no longer her own. Her fingers pick aggressively at a loose thread in her jeans. She wanted to see Joseph. She needed to calm down. “I don’t either, we began this project in peace. We followed the law and we did not raise a hand to anyone, but the first stone was cast by those who opposed the Word. It spiraled from there. We only wanted to save them. Now, I can only hope that I can save my family. ”
who threw the first stone starts to matter less and less, the more stones thrown. when you look at a field of ‘ thrown stones ’, who’s to say which stone was cast by which side? stones are stones! just like fire is fire! it is all the same. it all burns. given the chance, it all destroys. even zelda can’t say that she is exempt from wrong doing. she knows this. they all have a choice. paths. how much of a difference might one road make if they took that one instead of another? oh, she hardly knows, as much as she wants answers. she’ll never get them. who has them? who? god? if he even exists. what proof is there? hannah’s anger, if that’s what it is, shoots from her and ricochets off of zelda, leaving zelda quivering. she tremors, like a gong that has been hit hard with a mallet. her lips pucker, brows furrowing. she is affected by it, sensitive heart flitting in her chest. she had only come to talk, to understand.
her eyes ping to hannah’s fingers picking faster, rougher, at a loose thread in her jeans, and zelda cringes, almost like she can hear the flick of hannah’s nails and it’s too loud, like it is unbearable all of a sudden. she is upset that she has upset hannah, and even the cat senses the sudden shift, and half meows, half howls, dropping from her lap, leaving her cold, and lonely. the chapel darkens, the sun stifled by clouds. “ who cares? ” she wonders aloud, jaw sharpening. her eyes grow a deep, ocean blue, flicking in front of her like she is trying to understand, trying to sift through everything she has seen, and heard, and experienced. she loves faith. there she is trying to prevent more violence. stop the stone throwing. but what if she’s wrong? she doesn’t know and that’s the point. but it feels right. they all have to make choices. “ who cares who started it, now? ”
she bows her head forward. she is calm, though she frowns, scowling at her hands in her lap, at the ginger cat hairs on her trousers. she wants the cat to come back. the wind picks up outside, and again her eyes flick to hannah’s fingers with that thread. “ i’ve upset you. i’m still loyal. ” to faith. she feels she has to say that. scared, momentarily, that hannah will go to joseph and tell him how she questions everything. what then? “ i don’t mean to upset you. you know that, don’t you? hannah? we’re on the same side. ”
zelda building a lil house, project
