Sometimes we do things that we regret; it rips us apart, makes us feel out of control... but the truth is you're always in control. Even when you've got rage pent up inside, it doesn't make you a killer until you blast someone with a neon laser. We are who we make ourselves, and though I've been a killer in the past I'm not a killer anymore. No one else is going to suffer like I did. No one.

My name is Abigail Walker, and I'm going to set things straight. I promise you, brother... I will.

Indie Abigail 'Fetch' Walker from I:SS/I:FL. Selective. Single Ship, Multi-Universe. Mun is underage. Sidebar Art Credit. FC: Hayley Williams

Neon Queen;
Watch Her Conquer
About Fetch
Universes Navigate The Mun
tagged:#[ out of neon ]

New-ish AU-ish Blog →

posted onSep 27thwith0 notes  reblog
tagged:#[ out of neon ]

[ Thinkin’ ‘bout rebooting this blog. I don’t know though. ]

posted onSep 22ndwith0 notes  reblog
glxtcheddruggie says: ϟ



Send me a ϟ and I will generate a number 1-35 to see what my muse will say to yours.

7. If you had to choose, how would you want to die? 

          If you had to choose, how would you want to die?

          Pink-painted fingernails drive ceaselessly through the man’s
          sandy hair, reassuring him with her touch that things would
          be okay, that the withdrawal would end and he’d finally be free.
          Then her question comes, passing from pink lips into the cold
          atmosphere of her apartment — the heater had gone out and
          they were both too tired to fix it, so the reverted to cuddling on 
          her dingy couch to stay warm, which was where they were 
          now. Swallowing, she looks down at his head in her lap, not
          expecting an answer and yet still wanting one.

          That whispered inquiry stirs him, causes his gaze to flick to her face,
          so clean and young and beautiful above his. Their gazes meet, both
          tired and wise beyond their years — that’s what the drugs did to you.
          For a moment Clay is silent, uncertain, then he closes his eyes and
          sighs in preparation of his answer. 

         I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.❞ 

          But he does; the drug addict knows he wants to die with her. For her,
          for any reason involving her, because she was his light and his love
          and a drug he could never go without.

          Raising a gentle hand, he strokes Abigail’s face, his own features
          painted with impassivity as he returns the question. 

         What about you? How would you want to die?

          I don’t know either.

          The quiet utterance tumbles from her lips almost too quickly, because she, too, 
          knows how’d she die — fighting for something, next to this man who was all and
          everything to her. They’d never get her on her knees, no, she’d be standing if,
          when, they shot her down. And she’d be standing next to him, next to Clay. 

         We’ve got time; let’s not worry about this. Fetch finally says, and she means
          it, because they’re both still young and growing and learning and… death could
          wait. They’d soon too much of it, known it for too long, so they had time. They
          had to have time. Just a little.

          Hesitantly she takes Clay’s hand and kisses it, smiling at the salty taste of his
          skin on her lips. Running her free hand continuously through his hair, she knows
          things will get better, that he’d see the end of this tunnel. He had to.

          No, he would. As long as he was with her.

posted onSep 17thwith2 notes  reblog

From Darkness To Light ;; Reggie + Fetch


Another sigh comes form the elder, brown hues softening themselves at the usual spiteful tone calming to something of a miffed teenager. “I don’t hate you, Fetch. And I don’t hate addicts.” He remarks, finally turning towards her with something besides distrust and anger. They had a long way to go, but he wanted her to understand at least one thing.

"Everyone struggles—and I give help if they ask for it. I don’t have the power to do something they don’t want in a situation like that." He truly did; he could be an ass. But he knew the feeling of being lost, lost in yourself and lost in the sense of the world. Did he justify their choice? No, it was a desperate one and sometimes the foolish. Or worse. 


"Don’t just make assumptions because of my work choice." Hip cocks to adjust the weight between his legs, teeth worrying at his lip from the sudden turn of the conversation. "I want to help people. And yeah—I’m still working through the..conduit thing. But I’m trying."

          Brown eyes steal a wary glance at the cop, arms folded in a look of petulance,
          though her worn, tired demeanor implied otherwise about her current state of
          stubbornness. Gaze flicking back to the ground between them, the neon
          conduit exhaled and shook her head. Were things ever going to work like this?
          Probably not, or at least not yet, but they were trying.

          I will, because I saw that look ‘n your face, and I know what C told me. I know
          you try, but that doesn’t change the fact that deep down you probably hate us
          because you know it’s wrong. Trust me, I’ve known my fair share of cops and
          all of them were the same: moral and without passion. Of course, she knew
          Reggie was different - he seemed different - but she couldn’t trust him quite yet.

          Don’t bullshit me. I know you helped Clay, yeah, and I know you try to get D,
          but I also know that you do your duty, and duty says the exact opposite of
          what you’re sayin’ about where I’ve been. For some reason Fetch wouldn’t
          let this go; she wanted him to admit something, she just didn’t know what. Or
          maybe she wanted him to know he wasn’t fooling her.


(Source: lxsergirl)

posted onSep 17thwith7 notes  reblog

From Darkness To Light ;; Reggie + Fetch


An exhausted sigh passes his lips as he closes his eyes. “I don’t want to start a spat, Fetch.” He really doesn’t; he’s civil for Delsin. After everything they’d all gone through, the last thing he needed to worry about was whether his sibling and friend would end up doing each other in instead of Augustine. So he tries again, stubbornness making it so hard to just swallow his pride. God, he’s arguing with a kid in their twenty’s that’s not his brother. 

"Thank you. Really." Hands flex at his sides now because god this was uncomfortable. 

He catches the change in her features at the mention of the former addict; Clay. Right—they were quite the pair. To come from something like that. It’d be unhealthy and creepy if it weren’t for that look in Fetch’s eye when she talked about him.

Something only years of struggle can bring. “You’re right, I don’t know him. Not like you.” The guy honestly freaked him out to an extent. He didn’t know what it was. The face, the eyes. Something about him was just borderline manic and it creeped him out to no extent. “Just saying—he seemed like a good guy.”


          Of course Reggie didn’t want to start a spat, because the threadbare relationship
          he shared with Delsin relied on him being civil to all his friends. But, of course,
          Fetch suspected the young Rowe probably wouldn’t carry out any of his threats
          to his brother, no matter the spats, just because they were family after all. She
          knew he loved the cop, despite their differences, and wanted his approval above
          all else, though he was too stubborn to stand down from his beliefs.

          It kind of reminded her of herself and Brent, but that wasn’t worth thinking about. 
          Brent was dead, after all, and the only family she had left was Clay. 

         Yeah, yeah. I’m sure ya’ mean it from the bottom of your heart and all that. The
          neon conduit scowls, though her tone noticeably softens, her stance loosening as
          she gazes about nonchalantly. With a gentle exhale she shakes her head. I know
          you don’t think kindly of addicts. They’re the lowest of the low, right? Too far gone
          to redeem themselves? Well they aren’t, because I’m here, and Clay is, too. We’re
          not just fuckups. But you can hate me, either because I’m a conduit or was once
          an addict… just don’t hate him because of what Brent and I did to him.


(Source: lxsergirl)

posted onSep 11thwith7 notes  reblog
glxtcheddruggie says: “You look so sexy when you’re all bloodied and bruised like that~”

          Shut up.Fetch huffed, playfully punching his shoulder. A smile graced her
          lips despite the harshness of her words, her tone painted with loving annoyance.
          They’d been cleaning up DUPes all day, and after so much tension it was nice
          to relax with playful banter. Smirking, the conduit huffs and bumps shoulders
          with Clay. Actually, ya’ don’t look t’ bad yourself.


posted onSep 11thwith1 note  reblog
glxtcheddruggie says: "You left me alone."

          Ya’ know I didn’t—Dry eyes meet hers and she stops, her lips still poised to
          form the next word. Slowly her mouth closes, and as she swallows  she  feels 
          the  bitterness  of  her  own  thoughts  draining  down  her  throat; Clay wasn’t
          going to listen,  she knew,  because he had no reason to.  She’d  never  given
          him a reason to. Swallowing once more, the conduit let’s out a low exhale, the
          memories  from  all  those  years  ago  swarming into her mind’s eye like flies.


          They’d been young,  just teenagers,  being taken care of by Brent.  They’d  all
          been  hooked on the drugs,  living on the streets like cockroaches; yet,  they’d
          been happy,  together. Until  Brent sobered  up, decided  enough was enough
          and convinced Abigail that he’d go back to get Clay, but never did. And  they’d
          left that boy,  that addict,  behind them.  But she  never  forgot, and  when her
          brother  had seconds to live he told her the truth:  he’d told Clay to stay away,
          that he’d kill him if he came back and ruined their family. Of  course  she  had
          forgiven him,  but  she’d  never  gotten  the chance to look for Clay after it all.

          Seven years had kept them apart,  and when Fetch had finally returned she’d
          found out that  Shane hadn’t just ruined her life,  he’d ruined Clay’s too.  After
          saving Seattle she’d found him,  passed out in the back of an old warehouse,
          that wretched needle still in his hand, and she’d hated herself for letting Brent
          take  her away,  condemning the boy  she loved  to a horrid  existence  alone.
          So  she’d vowed  to save him,  to help him get clean,  and here he was now…
          telling  her the  truth she  hated with  every fiber  of her  being: she’d left him

         Brent told me he’d go back for you, C, and I believed him. I’m sorry. I wanted
          to go back after I found out what he did,  but they found me,  and I couldn’t…
          The  once-addict  wasn’t listening though;  he was turning away,  leaving,  like 
          she had left him. And now she knew just how much it hurt to be alone.  Really
          alone,  without  anyone that cared.  Without a family.  That was  how he’d felt.
          That  was how she felt now,  water collecting under her  eyes as she watched
          his back recede into the shadows,  listened to the door slam shut. I’m sorry.


posted onSep 11thwith1 note  reblog
tagged:#fillanmccarthy#main;#[ ugh sorry this took so long ]
fillanmccarthy says: ... You have a lighter..?

          I don’t smoke, sorry.                    

                                                               [ Fetch responds, arms crossed, chipped  nails
                                                                  tapping at her jacket as she gives the male a
                                                                  patient look over.                                             ] 


posted onSep 11thwith1 note  reblog

From Darkness To Light ;; Reggie + Fetch


At the girl’s thoughtful drone, equally bored irises glide over to meet their gaze with a soft quirk of his brow. Well then, something that wasn’t too hateful or in a smartass tone.

Why they couldn’t get along—put their differences aside was beyond him. Maybe they were too different, too rough of an introduction. He could admit he saw her as some sort of threat—part of him, deep inside, still held something against conduits. So deep inside he couldn’t even tell how spiteful of a man he was. They had some sort of begrudging respect for one another that only lied skin deep. “Gee, thanks.” He deadpans in return, something telling him the girl was just blowing smoke up his ass.

Or maybe, it was fear—the girl was brutal; in a dangerous, if you cross her you’re dead sense because oh, he’d already nearly died once. And he’d rather not make it a definite yes. 

"Hm? Oh, yeah." Right, the blond one. That guy could creep him out with one look. But there was something…well intended about him. Jerked around. Manipulated. A fire long washed out to die. "That’s-that’s great. He seems like a great guy." That was something honestly genuine; the younger male seemed better with his shit together. With her around.


          I could’ve said nothin’. Is Fetch’s huffed response, a look of irritation crossing
          her features; even if it was a dry attempt at peace, she didn’t appreciate the cop
          brushing it off like it was nothing. His deadpan tone just gets under her skin,
          makes her regret trying to start a conversation in the first place — why should
          she try to make amends when he wouldn’t?

          Snorting, the conduit shakes her head, fingers curling into her arm with
          unmasked dislike for the other. Like he knew anything about Clay or what he’d
          been through for the past seven years — being abandoned, beaten, hooked. It
          made her scowl, believing that Reggie had tried to help at all. And maybe she’d
          lied: Clay resented the cop for those weeks he’d spent locked up, clawing at
          himself like his blood could aid in another high.

          The once-addict didn’t heal like Abigail did; he had scars, from when he’d tried to
          kill himself, when he’d gotten his highs, when he’d gotten beaten, and, most
          recently, when he’d tried to live without the drugs. When he’d been forced to, after
          surviving for so long.

          Her gaze flicks up to Reggie’s, her features painted darkly. Not like you’d know;
          you’ve only seen him at his worst. And she’d held him at his best, held him 
          through the withdrawals and the nightmares and the nights when he thought it
          wasn’t worth living anymore. She’d caught him and loved him and had never let
          go… or rather, only once, and she resented herself for that.

          If she’d saved him the first time then nothing would have ever gone wrong.

(Source: lxsergirl)

posted onSep 11thwith7 notes  reblog

From Darkness To Light ;; Reggie + Fetch

          You’re not so bad, once ya’ get past the cop in ya’. Fetch comments vaguely,
          her tone not carrying an ounce of her believing her own words. Her bored brown
          gaze travels to the older Rowe, her arms crossed over her chest, chipped pink
          nails drumming methodically on the green fabric of her jacket.

          There was still a lot to be forgiven between the two; though Abigail recognized
          Reggie’s authority and relationship with Delsin, she didn’t trust him. Everything
          about him told her he was anti-conduit, anti-free expression, anti-her. And just
          because she’d gotten hooked all those years ago, he’d never let that impression
          go, not off her or Clay. For that she could not trust the cop. 

         I guess I should thank ya’ for helpin’ Clay a few months back. He’ll never admit
          it, but what you told him knocked some nerve back into him. Sure you probably
          don’t give a flyin’ shit, but he’s better now. Off the drugs.

posted onSep 10thwith7 notes  reblog