#bastardvszombies

(tw……..beta albus💔)

(ft chopped ahh edit by me) @iincogneeto

highly recommended that you go ahead and pull up the song Nine by Sleeping at Last for the full experience chat….bc that’s lowk the song that inspired this whole piece. enjoy :)

“Who am I to say, what any of this means? I have been sleep walking, since I was fourteen.”

Carefully, almost fragile in a way, the rain begins to scatter down around him, never directly on his rough skin. Albus blinks slowly, taking in the dark scene that has seemed to form around his body. white sand, a black sky with the greyest blue hue to it.

“Honestly, it’s easier to let myself forget.”

Albus looks down, his hands having a distant but slightly familiar appearance to them, his back feels suddenly less heavy, his nails were those of a damaged soldiers. A contentment washes over him as the rain takes the dirt rusting his face down from his vision.

“Wake up.”

Quiet thunder could be felt shaking the ground below his feet, there in the distance, shadowed by a pale light that attempted to find it, there she stood.

“Wage war on gravity.”

Before he was completely aware, his legs moved in a consistent pace, toward her, the rain growing extensively quicker and heavier with every step he took, however there was no wind to push him back.

“Another domino falls.”

-

“But I’m just trying to find myself through someone else’s eyes.”

He keeps silent as he walks as his mind guns millions of different thoughts, looking for whatever answers the sand might suggest to him. As the rain continues to knock onto his head, as if begging him to simply sink down, and never stand again.

“So show me what to do, to restart this heart of mind.”

His movements gain speed, the more he feels her presence even consider the thought of moving away from him. His mouth open, calling out her name, something that rolls off his tongue so easily.

“How do I forgive myself for loosing so much time?”

“Wait!” and it’s statement echos across the dead land, his chest raises and falls, his legs weak, his rough hands trembling as they reach out for her.

“Wake up.”

Her head turns around, her perfectly manicured hand is found to be held so suddenly by another that doesn’t suit her presence alone. Scoffing gently, she adjusts her body fully around, her expression almost unreadable as the man drops to his knees. Through a soft, scared voice, his eyes beg for her attention. His words a rushed cataclysm, a symphony that would hurt the ears of those who don’t understand.

“Roll up your sleeves.”

His sobs mixing in with the thunder that seems so forceful above them, and she soon cuts them short. Her words punctual, wise, and sweet. “Albus, stop this. You have it wrong.” “…I- what-?”

“There’s a chain reaction in your heart.”

“You have it wrong. You’re saying that I hate you for what you are, a bastard, a lair, an unfair unfit man.” “….faithful..that’s what I am.” “that! it’s that I hate!” “…I don’t get it…?” “it’s how you…just treat yourself so horribly! as if nobody else cares about you! you’re not some weapon! you’re not just some bastard! you’re not stupid, albus! don’t you get it?!” “..faithful I-” “…albus I could never find it in myself to learn how to unlove you, that’s a lesson I’ll fortunately never forget. hatred is far away from the feelings my heart has stored for you.”

“Muscle memory, remembering who you are.”

On his knees, his shoulders tense his tears staining the delicate fabric that lines her figure. “Im sorry-“

“..there’s nothing to be sorry for.” what’s left of his torn heart, has seemed to be sown back together by her regards.

“stand up,”

her hands find his face, cupping it gently, his eyes fall back up into hers. his hands gentle again as they fall onto her arms, his body following her words, his knees gaining strength, his figure, now looming over her, almost seeming timid as her body lets out a shake filled sigh.

”And fall in love, again, and again, and again.”

His body leans down above her, as if waiting for her signal, “Albus…I love you.” and almost like second hand nature, two lips connect together as the rain seems to fall heavier upon the pair.

“Wage war on gravity.”

But it’s how he pulls her closer, his arms squeezing her into a tight hug as one of his hands stays resting on her cheek. Both bodies tremble in the cold, wind picking up off of the horizon, as if the landscape itself is screaming at them to both stop.

“There’s so much worth fighting for, you’ll see.”

But it’s how he buries his head deep into her neck, hiding away from the outside world with her as she tightens her hug around his wide torso. The pair crying, their heartbeats spinning into a melody that could trance the other at a noticed glance.

“Another domino falls…and another domino falls.”

“Faithful I..” Albus feels his voice trample off as his arms feel empty suddenly, a head quickly whips back and forth. She’s gone. He’s alone again.

“A little at a time…I feel more alive?”

Albus’s eyes open, half out of fear, the other out of the noise that suddenly hits the wall next to him. Muffled apologies can be heard from the doctor next door. He rubs his face with a certain soreness, his talons now scratching that small place above his eyebrow. And as he sits up,

”It’s uncomfortable but right.”

His back now gaining the weight of two tons, the area above his scalp itching because of the horns he isn’t yet used to. Not even in his dreams can he escape her pricing memory.

On the edge of the bed there he sat, terrified of the monster that should find him the second he even peered into the nearby mirror.

No man left, Just the monster he wanted created.

Yet down went his head, pressing into his dirty hands, his eyes tracing static lines as the chaos of the day began to surround him.

“This is the most difficult and meaningful work we’ll ever do.”

-end-

hooray :D

shoutout to neeto ( @iincogneeto) who told me to post this

Juvenile and very reckless bounty hunter, Florian Wright.

(Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7dF1cXiklDa4ukLICMLp25?si=lE4WQPDxTwi7CdHB2vRmvg&pi=ELOYxX4rRc-MS )

-Born to the name Priscilla Raye York, they’re known as the third youngest to Knight Paladin York and their mother, who remains unknown to the general public of New Tennessee to this day.

-Priscilla was brought up in Clan York and held to very high standards once her much older siblings determined that walking a few steps could take her to the very ends of their home world itself.

-Everything was a competition in that house, from who could be the most well-behaved to who could gain their fathers’ respect the quickest, love seemed to slip away from any questions in any of their minds. Priscilla wasn’t one for the competitions, even from such a young age. Instead, she would quietly watch her siblings, one after the other, grab and pull at their own blood with the intent of bringing him or her down, all in the name of validation for the man who never seemed truly there whenever he was home.

-That’s not to say her life didn’t come with its struggles, at moments, often in blurs, she remembers those nights of loneliness, inching out of bed with bare feet on wooden polished floors, trembling from night terrors, to those only her mother would swoon and comfort her over. Memories fade in and out of scratched knees, yelling, and playful insults from who should’ve been their overprotective siblings.

-She was given the nickname “Prissy” by one of her older siblings, although she never quite understood why. Priscilla was an easy child, if not just a tiny bit “lazy” according to family standards. Could it be considered a crime that all she wanted was to be included in her older brother's studies? Is it a sin to want to hold the hands of her older sisters as they would weave such delicate features into peaceful figures of fabric? Was she supposed to be condemned to punishment for wanting to learn the art of sword fighting when it was the craze among her family?

-Many moons later, the day came as swiftly as the wind. Priscilla had picked up one of her brother’s swords after he was done with his training for the day and began to mess with it. Striking air without much thought, quick movements that would’ve knocked down a foe just about her size. That’s the exact moment she had caught her father’s attention for the first time, he examined the ways she carried herself, the energy and force brought into her every move. The moment only lasted so long before her older brother ended up catching her, bright sun pricing into both of their eyes as he scolded Priscilla for touching what was so clearly his. Her father, soon put a sudden stop to the mistreatment, and pulled her aside. She remembered clear as glass how he remarked at her early talent with positive words with the occasional critique about how all she needed was the proper training. So after a brief conversation with her mother, Priscilla agreed to train under her father in the art of sword combat, setting her on the path to becoming a Knight Sargent once she was of age and equally qualified.

-And so that’s how it was for years, from the age of twelve to her late teenage years, Priscilla would rise before the lights in the sky, and rest long after the skies themselves closed their eyes. Her palms, once soft and gentle, soon became scarred and rough. Her attitude, once cheerful to those who would notice and bright to the ones who bothered speaking to her, now was grotesque and snarky. Even though she has done everything her siblings had wanted of her, to play the game, to participate in their free for all competitions, she was never enough for any of them. After a tense match of sword combat, her brothers and sisters would taunt her with that damned nickname.

“Sweet little Prissy can’t seem to uphold herself to anyone’s standards, let alone be enough for herself!”

“Look at that spoiled little brat! Gets knocked down a few times during training, now suddenly it’s ’too hard!’ can you imagine it?”

Their comments would rolled off of their tongues with absolute ease, partnered with the occasional shove, Priscilla couldn’t see what was past playful teasing or attempts to get the upper hand on her own head. Yet even still, Priscilla pushed forward, burying her emotions into the deep chest where she kept her heart.

-Throughout this constant battle between her own mental stability and her own siblings, Priscilla would find someone who wasn’t her own mother, it was her older brother, Devlin.

-Often, memories seep in, those of genuine comfort or pleasure within the small moments they allowed each other permission to express themselves personally between one another. They were brother and sister, her younger at that, him, wise and full of a grief she never quite understood. Priscilla could often be found sitting a few feet from his work desk, the scent thick of old paper, oil, and newly polished metal. Sketches of cities as tall as mountains, ships as wide as valleys, weapons that would be sharper than rays of sun. All these and more, spread out and practically thrown into a pile of creativity. Devlin would often open up about his own emotional baggage, ranting endlessly about how he just had to work harder, he could feel it, the precipice of success was upon him. The glimmer in his eyes never once fading the more he confided into her. So full of life, the ideas seemed to fall off of his hands and onto the pages weapons he often mended.

-At sixteen Priscilla was entered to a entrance exam for one of the highest academies in Kansas for those wanting to learn the most advanced skills in Knight Training. And so the training began, day after day, up at unholy hours, asleep by less than peaceful ones. She neglected everything about herself, the food the servants made would go unconsumed by the empty presence that sat in her dinner chair instead of herself. Books stacked one atop another, knowledge flowed throughout her mind while Priscilla’s muscles and nerves stretched, screamed, and writhed for a moment of rest. Her hair, always maintained in that pulled back braid, palms rigged from work, nothing was be able to spot her.

-This all came to a sudden stop, Pricilla’s mother soon became ill amongst all of her daughter’s training, of course, Knight Paladin work reassured the young girl.

“Your mother will be alright, you just focus on the entrance exam, she’ll be waiting her once you finish.” What does he care?

None of his words stopped her from often checking on her mother, it took away from her training, but she’d never take back those days, sitting at momma’s side, her weak fingers gently tracing over the tiny details hidden in Priscilla’s hair. Her soft words speaking gently to the air, coughs that were layered with pain, smiles that hid away what real emotion lay underneath them.

-It was after one of these visits that she heard the small question from Devlin,

“Could I borrow you, just for a moment?”

The gift came in a rather heavy box, beautifully painted over, the design holding value that she didn’t exactly know how to put into words. Inside, resting peacefully were a set of six throwing knives, three for each hand, Devlin explained.

“I know they’re not exactly allowed for the exam, but..if all my observations are correct, they’ll match your fighting style in a flexible way!”

What lay beneath the knives however, was a sword that Priscilla had only dreamt of wielding. It was beautiful in every sense of the word, a hilt that seemed to shine like gold when hit with the proper lighting, and the blade was sharper than a cat’s eyes. The weight seemed to be properly fitted to her training, a sword that might as well have been a cheat code. Priscilla thanked her brother up and down, swearing to forever be in his debt. The happiest she had felt in ages.

-The day of the entrance exam came and luckily, Priscilla passed with flying colors, her praises were sung, slaps on the back were common afterwards, but something felt off. Different as she rode home, the stray hairs of her braid never came down, and her fingertips always tapping repeatedly whenever left in a moment of silence.

-That’s when she arrived back home, and the clan seemed a strange and uneasy amount of silent. Sorrowed eyes never met hers, hushed voices came to a sudden stop as she walked through the halls.

“What’s going on?”

-Priscilla’s mother, Flora, passed away from her illness soon after Priscilla had left for the exam itself. Its said that she went rather peacefully, in her sleep, the way most people rather prefer to go. Priscilla lost it, she was inconsolable for days, watching quietly as most of her mother’s items slowly moved into her quarters. Jewelry, clothing, books, all that was at rest within her parent’s room was tossed into her possession in what felt like hours after the passing.

-Grief transformed itself into anger, anger into misplaced passion. Priscilla found herself yelling at her siblings, shoving off staff who even attempted speaking around her direction. She even burst out towards Knight Paladin York, who was the one urging her to “move on,” and “don’t let this consume you, not when we’ve invested this much.”

-The calluses on her hands began cracking from the amount of work she put into her training. The cuts deepening within her skin, no amount of other energy was able to help her in any capacity. All the love that once consumed her heart now had nowhere to go, it festered into something she couldn’t control. And as the months passed Priscilla felt all her sorrow dictate where exactly her talent flew. All while her siblings continued on with the challenge, and it was almost like she was young again, in that constant cycle of neglect, with the only downside being no mother to come coo over her wounds, and bless her nightmares into dreams.

-That was until, it was the day of Devlins forge master promotion, he had came to her, confiding in her nerves.

“I know, you’re not feeling the best…and i understand. But if you’re up for it, would you like to tag along-?”

He was assigned to guard a ship, the Marigold if she remembered clearly. So hesitantly, she agreed to accompany, all in support of her older brother.

-And so the day came, it was, peaceful to a certain degree, the passengers were enjoying themselves, the journey had no issues that were at least visible, if anything it felt like Priscilla was being babysat the entire time as Devlin ran around doing his job.

All seemed fine until they made it to the docking station, a silent chaos started to arise around the ship. People began to be escorted off the ship, onto the docking station, when Priscilla questioned Devlin on the events, he quickly brushed her off.

“Go join the other passengers, it’s for your own safety.”

-So with a heavy hand on the hilt of one of her throwing knives, off she went. But Priscilla wouldn’t buy it, she then took it upon herself to look around the docking station itself, what could they possibly had to fear? What threat lay beneath the feet of the passengers? Some people yelled, many gossiped, but when Devlin returned, all seemed to turn calm. All while Priscilla kept searching, quiet as a mouse as fast footsteps practically wooshed! by her. Chasing the sound, it ended up being nothing, maybe a sense of paranoia was finally settling into her mind.

“Maybe a night of sleep will calm me down,” she pondered in her mind as she walked back to the passengers.

“I should get back to…what’s the sound?”

As soon as the sound of ticking registered in her mind, before she could make a connection, Priscilla’s head finally looked up and locked eyes with her older brother. A look of confusion, concern, and a tiny portion of anger behind those eyes were all she could register in Devlin. His arm reaching out, his voice audible as time slowed for what felt like eternity as a loud bang came from the ship, right next to her before she could develop what was happening.

-Ringing, cold, head turning ringing, blurred vision as the world spun around her within seconds. Debris flew all over in a take of sick snowflakes. Muffled yelling, all Priscilla could register that her head hurt- and someone- a man? Stood in front of her, his height tall, his voice couldn’t pierce the sharp sound plaguing her senses. He yelled at her in a confused manner, all before realizing that she was injured, he said words- phrases- but non of them got through to her. He helped her find her footing, and pointed her in a direction that she barely registered and stumbled towards.

-That’s when it hit her, standing behind a tower of flames, was this a way out?

-One that she had begged the gods for, one she cried for over the grave of her mother, a disappearance. For as far as anyone else knew, Priscilla Raye York just went up in flames. A standstill, rebirth in death or continuation on a path of mental decline.

So who was she going to offend now?

….

-Priscilla ran from the docking station, the panic made it easy. She had nothing but the weapons on her person, her swords and knives, along with the clothing on her back.

-They don’t quite recall the details, but miraculously, Priscilla found themselves on the next ship to New Tennessee. A constant cycle of wiping the blood on their right cheekbone, walking in a daze from place to place, nameless as they eventually heard their name in the local gossip as dead.

-They soon arrived on Spring Rock, looking rather, worse for wear. Strangers didn’t look twice at them as she walked quietly through the town she arrived in.

At some point, they collapsed, waking up four days later in an orphanage. The people there insisting that they stayed, but they disagreed. Thanking the strangers kindness for the shower, food, and new clothing they had provided. They were off again, sword by their side, knives around their waist, the only things they kept from their family, shedding the York name with no regret.

-This came to a standstill after they were thrown out of some motel that they could “barely afford.” Two strangers had began approaching them as they walked away. So they played the defense card as always taught.

The strangers, two bounty hunters, a gruff one, Barrett (which was now at the tip of their blade) and a peaceful one, Eulalia (who stood a few feet back from the both of them.)

“We don’t mean you no trouble, just want to see if you’re alright now, kid.”

At first, Priscilla refused help, shrugging off the offers of food or money. All until the more calm one of the trio gently placed a hand onto Priscilla’s wrist. “Child, it’s clear to us that you’re hurt,” she said, her words piercing more than Barrett’s, who was now scratching the back of his head, obviously frustrated with Priscilla’s behavior.

“Let us get you a bed for a few days, if you still feel like leaving afterwards, that shall be your choice.”

So slowly, they lowered their weapons, and sighed, nodding slowly.

“What’s your name kid?”

A question they weren’t ready for, they weren’t a York anymore…and Priscilla seemed uncanny to associate with, what was their name?

“..Florian. Don’t go running in through the mud.”

Small details-

-It’s been three years since the events that went down in their youth, so they’re currently at age nineteen!

-Florian now lives with Eulalia and Barrett! They joined their bounty hunting group the second they actually sat down and thought about it. (Although…they feel like some cat that got picked up by the scruff off of the street at times.)

-They’re deaf in their left ear because of the explosion at the Marigold! Following that, they also have a scar on their right cheekbone because of the debris that hit them.

-Florian goes by They/Them to He/Him pronouns! But in actuality….they really couldn’t care less as long as nobody really knows who they used to be.

-He’s got black hair! While he used to love it in a long braid that went down their back, they now have a mullet that shapes around their head.

-They wear eyeliner that’s like, smudged 80s rock star core, like they intentionally put it on and smudge it. Makes the look “dramatic”

-They’re 5’7!

-He’s got golden eyes, got them from his mama, Eulalia jokes at time that they look like a cat, considering the sharpness of their eyes and the eye color itself, i can see her perspective.

-i can see them having a pet, one they randomly found while out on a job, but they take good care of it.

-Their mom left them a golden locket with a picture of her and their father, happily married on her part one could consider. Whenever going through rough mental patches, he clutches the locket and whispers to it, as if he is talking to his mother again.

-He smokes cigarettes, but it’s totally in the edgy and rebellious way.

-He can play the electric guitar (yk if it’s around) and they have one, it’s just in the back of their room…they don’t pick it up as often.

-Since becoming a bounty hunter, they’ve since owned two nine millimeters (one for each side ofc) but they don’t shoot them!

-The only weapons they do use in jobs are the throwing knives Devlin made them! The sword is for special occasions so it’s like framed in their room, they outright refuse to use anything else.

-His favorite breakfast food is sugary cereal (Cinnamon toast crunch to be exact)

-One time Barrett let them smoke one of his cigars, never again.

-If he was on earth in this century, i can see the mf getting obnoxiously into K dramas.

-Florian does consider Barrett and Eulalia family! He just won’t admit it out-loud.

-One time they swiped Barrett’s flask, they then proceeded to get really angry when it was filled with water.

-When it comes to their aesthetic, the thing u typed into pintrest was “Midwestern gothic cowboy clothing.” So do with that as you please.

-When it comes to them fitting into the plot of BVZ, a silly idea that came to mind was them randomly appearing out of no where (think Hermes from Epic the musical) just to help Hipswitch on a job, then disappear after. They’re like that helpful character in a video game that points you in the right direction!

-

The other ocs, Barrett and Eulalia that come out near the ending, actually belong to my friends Candle and Angel, I don’t own them lol.

All Bastard Warrior characters belong to GBA, sorry if anything is OOC🙏🏼