((less of a drabble and more of a dumpster fire))


Click

Well the least I could do is buy you dinner.

“I have no need for mortal sustenance.”

“‘Mortal sustenance’ it’s called food, dummy.”

“Do you really think it wise to speak to your deity in such a tone?”

“Oh c’mon, just humor me yeah?” The mortal grabbed Nemesis’s arm, giving her best shot at what puppy eyes looked like. For some reason, they cave. 

“Alright.” 


Click 

You’re here! 

I didn’t think you’d actually come..” 

Nemesis really really debated on whether to show up or not, in fact they were just ready to leave, chicken out last minute because even deities feel fear when facing the unknown, but then the mortal opened the door. The strange, fascinating mortal opened the door and smiled at Nemesis, as if their simple act of showing up meant more than the dozen people Nemesis has killed for her, and suddenly they wanted to stay. 

“Come in, come in! I wasn’t expecting a visitor so the place might be a bit messy, hope you don’t mind.”  


Click 

Careful, there’s thorns. 

“It’s fine, I don’t mind-”

“Yeah but be careful anyways, I don’t like it when you’re hurt.” 

Nemesis did not know how to respond. To their knowledge, no mortal has ever even fathomed the idea of them getting hurt, and most definitely not over something as small as a rose thorn. This mortal was the first to treat Nemesis as someone who could bleed. 

“No need for such concern, I’m not human like you.” 


Click 

If I were any more stupid, I’d think you didn’t even like me Nemesis 

Nemesis suddenly realized they liked the mortal. It was probably why they’ve stuck around for so long, even if they couldn’t feel much of the emotions that apparently people who like other people felt. They didn’t feel the joy or contentness that supposedly comes with being with someone you like, but they did feel less angry. As if the existence of someone like the mortal meant there’s something enjoyable to being alive. 


Click 

Maybe this is blasphemous but I see you as more of a friend, than my deity. 

Nemesis, friend? 

“Ahaha perhaps it’s stupid to think we’re equals, considering you’re well a literal immortal but that’s just how I’ve come to view you.” This is the first time in a long time the mortal sounded unsure of her words. 

“I think, I see you as an equal too. Even if you are just a human.” 


Click 

You… How did you even? 

“Do you like it?” 

“What kind of question is that?! Of course I love it, it’s- it’s the best birthday present I could’ve wished for!” She practically threw herself at Nemesis, squeezing the deity in a big hug. “Thank you, though I can’t fathom how you managed to recreate Willow.” 


Click 

This is a family heirloom, so you better take care of it once I’m gone. 

“Are you leaving?” Nemesis felt an unfamiliar emotion well up, like someone has reached through their chest and tried to squeeze their heart. It felt terrible but also carthartic for Nemesis who was so used to feeling anger instead. 

“Not soon I hope, but it’s not like I’ll live forever y’know.” 


Click

Yeah yeah, I love you too 

Love? 


Click 

I’m going to, go back to sea 

and, I know it’s dangerous, and wreckless, and I’m probably way too old for this but, I just. I can’t stay like this anymore, you know me Nemesis, I can’t stay still. I’m an adventurer at heart, that’s me.” She takes a breath, “So, this might be the last time we meet, and I’m not saying like y’know, it’s not definetive or anything, but I just don’t think I’d want to come back after I get a taste of freedom. So I wanna give you a proper goodbye, just in case yeah?” 

“...alright.” 


Click 

… 

There’s no one here, Nemesis knew that of course. There’s been no one here in nearly a decade. That didn't stop them from twisting the handle and pretending they had the guts to step inside. Lying inconspiously on the dinning table was the sheathed sword taunted them, an insistent reminder of all that’s left. Nemesis, should’ve thrown the wretched thing away and continued on with their life. It’s pathetic, the way they kept showing up at a dead woman’s house like they didn’t understand what death is. That terrible feeling grips their heart again and Nemesis is sure anger would feel better. Nemesis is certain anything else would feel better. 

The door shuts loudly. Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow they’ll take the sword away just like the mortal wanted. 

Turns out I'm on a writing streak, this time with a little snippet of how Leon is taking Patil's leave and their separation (Spoiler alert: not well)

Warnings: cursing

Death was supposed to be closure. One way or another, be it one’s own death or the death of someone else, it was supposed to be the final ending. A confirmation that the person who died would never do anything again. Confirmation that, for Leon, meant he would never ever ever be stuck in that wretched, windowless, bedroom with nothing but piles upon piles of books to keep him company.

And yet.

And yet.

The bookshelf has begun bending under the weight of the pages and a decade and a half of time. The bed was still made, sheets neatly folded and spread out across the queen-size. Waiting for his return. Everything looks the same as he remembers, except for the dust that has made its way into every crevice, washing everything in a layer of grimey gray. Leon doesn’t think anyone’s touched his bedroom since he left. He’s not sure what to make of that.

He shouldn’t be here again. He should be burning this room to a crisp, or at the very least tearing everything apart until nothing but the chandelier exists. He should want to close the door and never return.

Instead Leon takes a seat on the corner of the bed and just stares. The view is painfully familiar and he hates everything. Hates the architects that designed this room, the constructors who built it, his parents who assigned this hellhole to him. Leon hates, most of all, how right this feels. How, even after all these years, there’s a part of him that liked his old life. When everything was easy and he had no choices to make. There’s this terrible weight in his heart, a self-loathing he’s never been able to shake since as long as he could remember.

Reading would make him feel better, make him forget, but he’s scared the whole shelf would topple over and turn to dust if he so much as breathed on it. He should’ve brought his own book. He should have never opened the door in the first place.If Nemesis was here right now, she’d probably be lecturing Leon on how he’s “self-sabotaging” and that his behavior is “unhealthy,” as if he ever gave a shit about himself. If Patil was here he’d sit with Leon and hold his hand and let him sob all over his old cotton shirt. Patil would’ve said all the right words and breathed comfort into his very being, because he knew Leon like no one else ever will. Patil would’ve been exactly who he needed right now.

Patil’s not here though. No, Patil had left because Leon was stupid and said some stupid things and now it’s too fucking late to take his words back. It’s always too fucking late isn’t it. Feels like he’s been chasing lost time since the moment he was free.

The memory haunts him, the bitter words they had thrown at each other, their first real argument.

“You’re not going, Pat, it’s too dangerous.”

He hadn’t even tried to reach a compromise.

“I’m calling your bluff, asshole, you won’t. You know you can’t win, you’ve got nothing but that shitty disappearance act.”

He gloated Patil for fucks sake. 

“Fine! If you wanna leave, then leave!! See if I care. You won’t make it one fucking week without me.”

He’d set a dare and of course Patil took it. 

Leon was an idiot.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

Leaning his weight back, he falls onto the bed, sending up a cloud of dust. He’s making a mess and getting his fancy clothes dirty but he really couldn’t care less. His heart hurts and all he wants to do is curl up in a ball until he disappears. The world was terrifyingly quiet without Patil around and he hates the quiet. It reminds him of before. Of the endless hours he spent alone, in this room, not even speaking for days at a time. He hates being alone even more, hates being ignored like a fucking ghost.

There’s not a single family portrait with Leon in it. The painters didn’t even know he existed. No one was supposed to know he existed. None of that should matter now because he burned it all. Every last painting. It’s all gone, they’re all gone, so why? Why is everything backwards now?

The one person he wanted to keep has left him. The people he’d wanted to get rid of just won’t leave him alone. 

What is he doing wrong? 

What has he done right?

“What the hell am I supposed to do.” He asked the ceiling. The chandelier doesn’t move, it’s never moved in all the twelve years he’d spent here. Of course nothing would change now.

Oh no, the character I traumatized has trauma?? Who wudda thought

Honestly? Beautiful backstory. Loved the ending line and how it links to the beginning. It feels reminiscent, to me.

Oh no, I wrote a Nemesis character study? Who woulda guessed...

(cw: very mild gore? (idk if it really counts as gore but just to be safe))

Loud, painful, screams echo through the abandoned warehouse like death bells. It doesn’t matter, there’s no civilization in miles and there’s not a soul who’d dare condemn her. He won’t walk out alive.

Violence hangs heavy in the air, and after every cut a brilliant cascade of blood follows, yet never flies far enough to stain a surface. She tries to keep the floor clean, despite the gruesome method of murder, but control is a fickle thing and her head is full of clouds. No one can blame her for leaving a few drops behind. She’s high off the taste of death on her tongue, something metallic and tangy and much too salty, like tears. Practically vibrating with anger as she tears into the man’s flesh, watches his muscles fall away in ribbons. It’s not like she enjoys the act, no more than mortals enjoy breathing. (That’s to say, killing simply comes naturally, and death has always been her birthright.) It does, however, feel dangerously close to coming home, to being alive. She doesn’t know what to do with that. She doesn’t need to know.

The deed’s been done, the poor girl’s prayers fulfilled, and as Nemesis calms back down she realizes she’s not sure what to do with the gallon of blood she has. It’s just there. Sort of hovering, three feet off the ground in an undulating orb and she figures she must’ve just been subconsciously siphoning all of this guy’s blood into a ball because she can’t remember anything but a haze of red. Something shifts in her peripheral that reminds her she has an audience. Internally chastising herself for getting her priorities mixed up, Nemesis turns to face her newest follower. That’s when she realizes she’s forgotten her lines, it's been a few centuries since she was properly active and now all her social skills are rusty.

The poor girl (Danella she reminds herself) looks frightened, concerned, but also awed. The expression sends a wave of deja vu over her head. “Are you…okay?” Nemesis asks. The delivery is awkward and she immediately feels self-conscious, a new emotion for the goddess. She files it away to think about later.

Unexpectedly, Danella answers with the same question, “Are you okay?”

It’s so out of left field but it makes Nemesis realize she must still look a little crazed. She still feels a little crazed. Unable to regulate her expressions, she simply nods and hopes it looks reassuring, “I’m fine.” The two fall into silence again. Awkward tension rises but she can’t seem to manage another word. A deity, choking on her own tongue, it’s embarrassing. 

Danella breaks the silence by asking another question, “What’re you gonna do with that?” She points at the floating orb of blood.

Nemesis…hadn’t really thought about it. “I don’t know, probably feed it to leeches or something.” She wonders if the nearest blood bank would accept a suspiciously large donation.

Danella nods like Nemesis actually presented a good idea. It makes the goddess realize just how young the child is. The naivety of a teenager, who thinks any idea they’ve not thought of was one they should entertain. She can’t be much older than seventeen, freckled skin and hand-me-down clothes that don’t fit quite right. It makes Nemesis’ blood boil. The idea that a kid would be driven to such lengths, to turn to her of all deities for vengeance, for closure. The reality of a dotting older sister, now long gone because some sadistic freak wanted to play god and she just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nemesis hates it, the unfairness of it all, but taking the lives of those who deserved it was her own way of righting the scales.

It’s not lost on her of course, just how hypocritical she is. Nemesis is not a paragon of justice, no matter what anyone of her followers would say. Maybe that’s what she’s supposed to be. The goddess of vengeance, blade of the wronged. A just death, if such a thing even existed. Truth was, she’d answered this prayer much too quickly to be moral. Truth was, sometimes she simply wants to rip a person to shreds and feel like she did a good thing.

Nemesis never bothered to fact check the girl’s story. She didn’t even think of the aftermath. Where to dispose of the body, or what to tell Danella once the man had stopped screaming. Gods below, the poor girl must be traumatized. She didn’t mean to, really she didn’t, but she was just so mad. So, very, upset by the story she heard (and Nemesis knows she’s easy to set off, dammit, she knows). There wasn’t time for an afterthought. She acted on her emotions, no better than a rabid animal, and now it’s too late to take any of it back. None of this matters, what’s dead is dead and if the child had somehow lied to her then she doesn’t want to know. 

Belatedly she realizes the kid probably has parents to get back to, or maybe not, “What’re your plans after this?”

Danella looks away, fiddling with the drawstring of her hoodie, “Just um..walking around I guess.” She’s hiding something and it’s painfully obvious.

Nemesis tries not to let that get to her, people are allowed to have privacy, she shouldn’t pry. It’s around noon now so she asks, “Are you hungry?”

“What- what’s that supposed to mean?” The girl is scared, Nemesis realizes.

She lowers herself until she’s sitting, eye-level with Danella in the hopes that it makes her seem less threatening. The mangled body brushes against the small of her back and she tries not to recoil in disgust. “Do you want lunch?” She asks again.

Danella’s not bolting away yet but she does sounds slightly more panicked, stuttering and stumbling over her words, “I don’t- It’s fine- I uh I- money, I can’t pay you- I’m sorry…sorry.”

And Nemesis just blinks stupidly because the idea of having this child pay never even crossed her mind, “I’m paying for your lunch.” She clarifies.

Danella stares like she’s not sure what she just heard, “You- you’re? What? No, no it’s uh it’s fine, I’m fine, I’m not-” This was the moment her stomach chose to growl, loudly and impossible to ignore.

Mind made up, Nemesis rises back up to her feet and gives a simple command, “Let’s go, you’ll pick a restaurant once we get there.” She dumps the blood in some random patch of dirt on her way out, it’s probably not healthy for the environment or whatever, but all the plants here are dead anyways. She doesn’t need to turn around to know the kid is following, her hurried little footsteps trailing close behind. It reminds Nemesis of something she can’t remember.

The blade that hangs at her side feels heavier than ever and she refuses to think about this nasty habit of inviting her followers to meals. It’s unbecoming for someone of her status.