#flashback time

[retrokid616]

Cold open and it’s another prequel of where halandil’s been like a decade prior to the kickoff off the campaign

Yeah could not find my Wayne’s world gif on mobile anyway enjoy the episode everyone

[crimsonblue31]

[sephirthoughts]

Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH. 5

FLASHBACK TIME: Deepground Part I

screenshots borrowed from @siringadev 💜 💙

Nero’s first memories weren’t of Weiss. They were of fear and pain. Being alone in a terrifying white space, full of noise and chaos. A woman weeping, somewhere he couldn’t see. Aching all over his body, sharp pricks in his skin, tubes sticking out of him everywhere, sickening chemical smells. The whirring and clicking and occasional beeping of machines.

They thought he was blind, at first, because he never looked around or focused on anything. It turned out he was nearly blind, but only in bright light. He had perfect dark-vision. This wasn’t a physical defect, they decided, but a successful result of bio-engineering, and congratulated themselves on their ingenuity.

He never cried, as an infant, and as a toddler, he never smiled or laughed. He was marginally responsive, but avoided eye contact, and was entirely nonverbal. They assumed he was mentally deficient, but he wasn’t broken. He just didn’t work the way they expected. 

The silent, crimson-eyed little boy was actually hyperaware, always absorbing and digesting information, sucking it up like a dry sponge. He just didn’t want to communicate with the people who put a muzzle on him, whenever they took him out of his room, poked and prodded him all over his body, like it was their property, stuck needles and probes into him, pumped his veins full of stuff that burned his insides, and fed him pills that made him vomit.

Rather than asking questions of his tormentors, he sent superfine threads of darkness into people’s heads and examined their thoughts directly.

When he wanted to know what was going on outside his cell, darkness vapor seeped from his palms and fingertips, slipped into the shadows, and wandered the vast, underground complex, taking his perception with it. 

Though he’d hardly ever left his own cell, by the time he was six years old, he knew enough about the Deepground complex's layout, that he could’ve drawn a reasonably accurate map from memory.

One day, his darkness tendrils crept under a door, to find a cell like Nero’s own, only it was bigger and had much nicer furniture. There was a boy there. Snow-white hair and silver eyes, a descended angel in a halo of light, blindingly bright to Nero’s darkness-filtered senses. 

He was definitely a child, but he was a lot bigger than Nero, and he looked fierce and strong. Beautiful and dangerous, like a lion in a picture book.

Nero wanted to reach out and touch him so badly it made his chest ache, but the darkness would only hurt the other boy. So he satisfied himself with watching him, from dark corners and beneath furniture. 

Over time, he grew bolder, and when the beautiful boy was asleep, the darkness would silently coalesce, inky purple-black, into the little demon’s spectral form, and he’d sit there for hours at a time; a creature of the abyss, lurking in the shadows, watching his angel sleep, and listening to the music of his soft, regular breathing.

Then, one night, the unthinkable happened. Those silver eyes opened, and looked right into his face. Nero’s spectral projection should have collapsed and scattered, but it could only stand petrified and stare back at the boy, captivated by his gaze, trembling with something that was akin to fear, but not quite the same.  

“Who are you?” the silver boy’s voice asked, drowsy and thick with sleep.

That broke the spell and Nero’s projection instantly dissipated. As his consciousness returned to his body, he thought he heard the other boy calling out to him. Wait! Come back!

For a long while afterward, he didn’t dare enter that room, or even send his tendrils anywhere too close to it. But eventually, his curiosity and an intense, irresistible compulsion to see that boy again won out, and he went venturing cautiously back.

This time, the silver boy had been waiting for him. He looked asleep and his eyes were closed, but the moment Nero’s specter had fully materialized, he heard a soft voice say, “Please, don’t run away. Please.”

He almost did, but something in the boy’s tone stopped him. His spectral form stood perfectly still, wide-eyed and wary, as the boy sat up in his bed. 

“I dreamed about you,” were the next words out of his mouth. “That you were sitting by my bed, watching over me. I mean, I thought I dreamed it. But…you’re real, aren’t you.”

Nero’s specter gave a tiny nod. 

“What are you?”

Nero stared. 

“Can you talk?”

He shook his spectral head slowly. He could talk, but he would have to touch the other boy with his darkness, and he was afraid that he’d hurt him. He’d seen the tentacles drag people into the miasma to be consumed within mere seconds, before. 

Not that he felt bad about it—they were all big people, and he didn’t care one way or another whether they lived or died—but this boy…he felt instinctively that it would be deeply heartbreaking, if he no longer existed.

“It’s ok, I can ask you yes or no questions,” the silver boy said cheerfully. “Are you alive?”

Nod.

“Do you live here, in Deepground?”

Nod.

“I’ve never seen you before,” the silver boy mused. “But I’ve never seen anyone but adults. They must keep you locked up, too. Are you dangerous, like me?”

Stare.

“Well, you must be, if you can sneak around past security and everything. Hey, have you seen any other kids, here?”

Shake.

“They say my brother is here, too, but I’ve never seen him. They say I can’t, because he’s sick. I don’t even know what he looks like. Probably like me. If you see a kid who looks like me, could you tell me? I just want to know if he’s ok.”

Nero recoiled, at the idea that the silver boy had someone he cared about, already, and would have become morose, only at that moment, booted footsteps came plodding down the hall, outside, accompanied by several adult voices.

“Oh, no!” the silver boy whispered. “They must be doing a surprise inspection! Go, go! Before they catch us! Wait—you’ll come and see me again, won’t you?”

Nero hesitated, then nodded, before his specter vaporized, whirling away into the shadows, leaving no trace of his passing.

LINK TO CH. 6

Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped Flashback Time: Deepground Part 2

REBLOG WITH @siringadev 's AMAZING ART 🖤🤍 screenshot from Dirge of Cerberus of Nero's spectral form being super not gay for his brother

[recoveredviolinist]

Hey there

Howdy

Is this seat taken?

It’s 20 minutes till class, none of them are taken

Yeah but i like this one

Is it a particularly special seat?

You could say that. I’m Kai by the way

Emily

So, Emily. why’d you choose that seat?

Front of the class but not front row. Central i guess, why’d you choose yours?

To introduce myself to you

I’m very flattered

You should be, this is otherwise a terrible seat

Oh, you’re a back of the class type person?

Yep, just blending in

You should have thought about that before you dyed your hair bright red

Yeah but now i can pretend to be an apple

That is an upside

Yeah except its been really hard to see a doctor

And i bet hiding from William Tell is really stressful

It does make life difficult

I’m sure it does.

Sooooooo, they’re showing the new Evil Guy at the theatre downtown this afternoon if you want to judge those seats

I have a sneaking suspicion you’re gonna be partial to the back row

And right there is another thing i like about seat choice, it’s a window into someones mind

Ok then, whats going on in my mind?

Well you’re a diligent student who’s a little quiet, doesn’t want to lead the discussion in class but has a great many thoughts on everything discussed. Though hopefully whats going on up there right now is along the lines of “Wow i can’t wait to go see a movie with Kai”

Thats pretty accurate, i’ll see you there at 4, Kai With Strong Opinions On Seats.

See you there, Emily With Bad Opinions On Seats

[thedaily-beer]

Societe Brewing Flashback Time IPA (Picked up at Windmill Farms). A 3 of 4. A nice, bright tropical and juicy nose and a firmly bitter and decidedly West Coast body. Nice mix of components and has a clean, refreshing, and dry finish. Probably wouldn’t stand out in a pack of IPAs, but it’s quite nice.

[chispas-and-broken-bindings]

he he he...here is way more than six sentences, but I don’t care: 

Jon, wake up. Wake up. I need you. 

Go away, Sansa. 

But I need you. Father is coming home today. We must meet him at the river with flowers to give to my lady mother. 

Ask Robb. 

He’s already told me no. If you say no too, then I’ll just have to find Theon—

Don’t ask Theon—just—just give me a moment to dress. 

Thank you, Jon. It will be so romantic. We’ll pick asters for love, and daisies for loyalty, and forget-me-nots so my mother will know she was in father’s heart the whole time he was away. There is nothing sweeter than fresh picked flowers from your one true love. 

Then why do we have to pick them? Shouldn’t father—

—Mother doesn’t need to know we helped. Father works so hard to be a good lord and husband, but he isn’t very romantic. 

Everyone knows he loves your lady mother. 

Of course father loves her now, but— but, wait—that’s not to to imply—

—that he has a bastard to make up for? 

Jon…that isn’t what I meant—

It’s alright, Sansa. Just let me get dressed.

I'll make it up to you by showing you just what to pick when you fall in love. Goldenrod for good fortune, and geranium to show what a fool for her you are, and—

Save it. I’m never going to fall in love. 

But why? 

You know why. But don’t fret, little sister. Show me what flowers you like best and I’ll make sure your husband picks them for you one day. 

Then we must do this again come spring, when the daffodils are blooming. 

And what do they signify? 

Unequaled love. I yearn for nothing less. 

Then you shall have it, I’m sure.

You really think so? 

You’re very good at getting what you want, Sansa.  

But that’s a very big thing to want, Jon, and I will not have a choice—

Father will choose well for you. He’ll find you a handsome highborn lord who plays the harp and writes poetry in his spare time. 

Oh, that would be lovely. But what if he doesn’t love me back? 

Who wouldn’t love you?

[pixeldolly]

Walden BACC #287

Eli: “Hey, sis. How are you holding up?”

Imogen: “You know...just trying to keep it together; some days are easier than others.”

Eli: “I just can’t figure out how she was able to just...disappear like this!”

Imogen: “I know, it’s even made the news but nobody knows anything! It’s as if she fell off the face of the Earth!”

Imogen wondered miserably if she would ever see her daughter again. She hoped that wherever she was, at least she was safe; she couldn’t bear to imagine the alternative. 

--------------------------------------------------------------

Two months previously, on the night of Fiona’s disappearance

[groovydude21]