#“character who is forced to live and handle the things they never though they'd survive long enough to deal with” FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT.

[turtlespancake]

me when i write a character who is prone to dooming themself and then they run off and doom themself. core traits are stubbornness and a willingness to disregard their own humanity gET BACK HERE IM NOT DONE WITH YOU

[westrelics]

@wildlcck asked: “Don’t worry. I’m good at being alone. I’ve been alone for a long time.” / for jawn 😔

DEALING WITH TRAUMA : STARTERS

         Being alright with solitude didn't mean she should be alone. Maybe it was a little personal for him, the memory of his own isolation up on that mountain still pretty fresh in his mind, even if it was...quite some time ago, now. Much as he loved life at Beecher's Hope, the quiet times invited reflection he often found unwanted. John throws his hands up, a gesture of resignation - but he still had words.

         It'd been years, now, since that horrible night in Beaver Hollow, that night that haunted John more than he'd ever admit to anyone. They'd all been on their own for a while. Forced to scatter to the winds, to do whatever it took to survive. Sometimes he missed the old days, the security of the gang, of knowing Dutch had things on lock - but now he knew better. What he yearned for never truly existed, or if it did, it hadn't since that disaster in Blackwater.

         Had Dutch ever had a concrete plan? Had he really? Or was he just making it up as he went, and stringing them along like the fools they were?

         "Sadie- look, we worry about ya. Believe me, I know we don't need to. Ya handle yerself better than most of us. But... Well... We was family. Sure, it weren't the best situation, but we had each other's backs. It's too late to stop everyone splittin' up, but Arthur--"

         He almost chokes on the name. A name that once held such...resentment to him. An older brother figure, sure, but one John didn't especially like for a long time. And now those memories conflicted with those of a man he regarded a hero, the best among them. What he'd done was on the level with some of those characters Jack was always on about, in those books. The fabled hero who risks it all to save everyone, and succeeds, but doesn't live to see it. Who never knows, truly, if his sacrifice meant anything at all. Even though years have passed, the wound hasn't healed.

         "Arthur wouldn't want to see you destroyin' yerself for the sake of- what? Pride? An' I don't either. So just- slow down a minute, would ya? Have some damn pie, before Uncle gets to it." It's muttered under his breath - but he used one of Arthur's favorite lines. Damn parasite.

[shadowmaat]

Cmdr. Fox Week Day 3: Time Travel

For day 3 I decided to go with Time Travel. Give Fox a little payback. (Warnings for temp character death (Fox) and permadeath (Palps and his Apprentice)) @loving-fox-hours

The Hands of Time

Terror flooded his system as Lord Vader bore down on him. It had been such a stupid mistake. CC-1010 was a Commander, he should have been better than this!

"I... I didn't expect anything like this to happen, sir."

The wash of cold bit through his armor. Something told him this mistake would be his last.

"I just didn't think-"

SNAP

Fox jolted in place, his heart stuttering in his chest. He was still alive! And... at his desk. Horror and rage coursed through him as he realized what he'd done; what all his vode had done. Had it just been a nightmare? He'd like to believe that, but it had been far too detailed, too nuanced, and too real to be a product of his imagination. Though if it was real then he should be dead, not sitting at his desk with a cup of cooling caf.

He checked the chrono on his HUD and had to stifle an hysterical giggle. He was used to losing time, but now apparently he'd gained it. What was it Cody was always bitching about? Force osik. Though why the hells the Force would start screwing with him now...

Wait. Taungsday. It was Taungsday. The day everything went to hell. He lurched out of his chair, pulling off his helmet and vambraces as he slammed through his door into the squadroom, startling everyone.

"Lockdown starts now!" He said, stalking across the room. "Code Crimson-Crimson. Helmets off, comms off, anything that can transmit a signal goes off now!"

"Sir, but we just got notified that the High Generals are on their way to Pally's office. " Sergeant Hound was trying to mop caf off his armor.

"I issued an order, Sergent," Fox said. "Are you going to obey?"

Hound looked up, startled. "Yessir, but don't you think we should send someone-"

Fox locked eyes with him. "Unless you want to wind up shooting a Jedi cadet in the face, you'll do as I say. Now!"

Hound blanched. The room went deathly silent, followed by a chorus of clicks as those wearing helmets unsealed them and put them aside.

"I'd never..." Hound whimpered, but Fox could still see the image clearly. Swallowing bile, he continued on his way.

"We've been compromised. I want a total communications blackout. I don't care who the signal is from, don't acknowledge it, don't listen to it. Even if it's from me," he added, feeling queasy. "I'll handle the Jedi. When the threat's over I'll- I'll send one of them down to let you know."

Send one of them because whatever happened, he doubted he'd survive. Either the Jedi would live and check on the Guard, or they'd die and... Well, maybe he could delay things just a little bit. Just long enough to spare his troops from joining the march on the Temple.

He could feel a body-wide tremble threatening to start and stiffened himself. Not now. He couldn't afford to fall apart now. There was too much left to do.

Swerving to swipe a pair of earpops off a desk he continued out the door and into the hall, silence following in his wake. He jammed the earpops in his ears, activated them, and maxed the volume before taking off for the lifts at a dead run.

The screeching thumping beats of some Storms-cursed glimmik threatened to rupture his eardrums, but at least he couldn't hear anything; wouldn't be able to hear anything if that venomous slime-mold of a Sith Lord tried to order him to do something.

Fox punched in the priority override code to the lift and braced himself as it rocketed up to the Chancellor's Suite. His blasters were primed and ready and as the doors finally slid open he bolted through them, shoulder clipping the edge of one door.

He could feel a warm breeze on his face, which was wrong wrong wrong. The windows in the Senate couldn't open, not without compromising security. The draft smelled of aircar exhaust, but cutting through it were the sharper scents of ozone and charred flesh.

Finding an extra reserve of speed, Fox ran faster, and the scene before him coalesced. Palpatine on his back in the crook of the window- the missing window- as Windu held him at saber-point. And facing them, his back to Fox, was- was-

The frigid cold. The snap of his own neck. He fired both blasters at the dark figure, sure he could hear the rasp of Lord Vader's mechanized breath.

The figure dropped. Windu and Palpatine were staring at him. He could see they were both shouting at him, but the sound of tortured instruments and a thumping bass were all he could hear.

He didn't pause. His next shots were aimed at Palpatine, but they went wide and then suddenly he was struck by lightning. The earpops died with a burning screech and all his limbs locked. In the eternity of the moment, as the world flashed white, he knew he'd failed. The Force had chosen the wrong person. At least he wouldn't have to live through it again. And maybe the Guard could be spared...

As suddenly as it had begun, the electricity coursing through his body stopped, and he was able to see Windu complete his move as Palpatine's head went flying out into the sunset.

He dropped to his knees, whole body shaking uncontrollably. Windu was coming toward him and he tried to drop his blasters, tried to show he wasn't a threat, but his hands wouldn't obey. He kept them lowered, at least, and could feel something wet on his face.

"Commander, are you alright?"

The voice sounded tinny; distant.

"I'm n-not a g-good s-s-soldier," he said, and everything went black.

(Continued here)