#Static Roland

[morbidcherryblossom]

When Gary has to join the crew for important reasons.

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

you’ll never believe it but I’m thinking about (halo) ai again

[comfortless]

write swagger. anything for swagger. anything. i’ll take a crumb, I’ll take medic x swagger i’ll take any overdone trope give me something for this man!!!! i love u and your writing sm syl i’m sorry this isn’t a köni request but..

Spin Cycle

Roland “Swagger” Kaminski x mercenary fem!reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS: 18+ minors do not interact! violence, enemies -> lovers, implications of sex (no actual smut), swagger points a gun at your head sorry, reader may have a gun kink.

i hate(love) you, lele!! i listened to this guys voice lines so many times they’re just embedded in my brain at this point. lil rushed & not proofread, so there may be some mistakes, sorry!

wc: 3k

Cold. Wet.

This isn't the weather for a battle. This isn't a night to die. But some lack taste in the intricacies of being victimized, and as her sight settles on the enemy maneuvering through the war torn warehouse, she realizes he certainly doesn't have a preference in which way he's ripped apart. The mask covering his face tells her everything she needs to know, he's dead already, hiding beneath an ugly cover to conceal his identity; an unknown, evil thing in her eyes. She would be doing him a favor. Mercy for the man marching around wearing a face not his own.

She slowly positions her pistol, quietly aiming as her finger brushes the trigger. Once, to prepare herself for more blood on her hands. Twice, to make peace with his creator in his stead— he wouldn't have the time nor the delicate nature for it. Thrice, because she likes the feel of the cold metal against her fingertip; it grounds her, tethers her to the reality of what she’s here to do. Lucky numbers be damned, it was all for the thrill of it.

She pulls the trigger and the bullet rips from the barrel as she bites her lip.

To her chagrin, it buries itself in the wall behind her target. To her relief, it definitely struck. The man buckles to the dirtied floor with a groan, gloved hands reaching out to apply pressure to the gash in his calf. It's not enough to kill, they both knew it, but it would put the buck down long enough for her to reload and fire a shot right into his brain. She wonders if she could tell what his face actually looked like when his mask was blown off and gray matter spackled  the floor behind him.

"Knew you were in here, you slimy bastard."

The voice pulls her from her thoughts, and if she were forced to have any sort of virtue left she could be honest and embrace the fact she isn't the most coordinated mercenary out there. Her pistol clatters to the floor. She quickly slips further into the dark, not bothering with her lost weapon for the time being as she positions herself behind a crate to hide.

"Your aim is shit. Your hands must be shaking."

The man's voice continues to rasp. He's taunting her, wants to lure her out. There's something playful about his voice that sends a swell of unease from her chest to the pit of her stomach. The man had just been shot, and that surge of confidence couldn't stem from a wounded man unless he had some sort of a plan. She's been here so many times with so many different flavors of prey that the warning signs aren't lost on her.

She swears she hears the click of him replacing his magazine, the static of his radio, the sound of ripped fabric and a lightening quick application of a makeshift tourniquet. The thought that the gunfire gave out her position crosses her mind.

"Come out, fucking coward."

She's been here so many times, in the dead of night, playing this one-sided game of cat and mouse. She's seen blood, felt the sting of a bullet carving it's way through her, and she's never been afraid. Not until tonight.

This isn't a night to die, yet she's pissed off the fucking grim reaper.

A church bell rings out in the distance, some small mercy. It plants the seed of an idea and she follows the path her mind carves with her hand grasping for a knife at her belt. The knife rips through the quiet air of the warehouse, coming to a clatter some three meters behind him after she tosses it. The man takes the bait, fires several shots in the direction of the noise as she quietly finds her escape. Delivered from death by the heavenly portal of a broken window.

But when it comes to the intricacies of being victimized, it's very rare that things play out so simply. Hunting is a messy task, and one slip up can so quickly prove that prey often have fangs, too.

Her target, some Polish elite soldier, Roland Kaminski, isn't a buck at all. Bucks are easy, they're skittish and stupid. You fire off a shot at one of them, they buckle or prance back into the plush foliage of the forest for cover. When thundering footsteps can be heard in the dark, just past the safety of the broken window, she realises she's not dealing with another deer. Shes got a frenzied boar at her heels.

She's defenseless, her arms scattered in the darkness of the warehouse the boar is charging from, and she finds she lacks the will to break her ankle jumping down onto the pavement below. This is the line where the hunt becomes a proper fight. Her pulse beats like the thunder tearing apart the sky above her, every muscle in her body pulled tight like a spring waiting to maul her impending threat.

The fight never comes.

One moment, he's charging through the wreckage inside like a behemoth with a taste for human flesh, and the next he's simply staring at her while he's shrouded by the dark. It's almost comical, really, her thoughts flood with pictures of horror mascots as she teeters on the windowsill, staring right back into the wide, dark eyes of his mask. They remain in a stasis for a moment, both breathing shallow, both watching the other. Then, he does something that surprises her. Surprises and infuriates her.

He pulls his radio up to his mask, breathes out a heavy sigh as the sound of static cuts through this pair's silence. The grim reaper has the audacity to pretend his frustration over arches her own, and she's gritting her teeth wondering how likely it was she could free his esophagus from the column of his neck with her mouth alone.

She feels his gaze rove over her, lingering along the empty holster at her hip and the garter on her thigh.

"Target's down."

He's lying to his team, lying because he pities her, and she can't think of a thing more insulting. A mercenary is no different than a prostitute, money for flesh, pain or pleasure. She's aware of it, she's seen her fellow mercs gunned down without a second thought from their enemies. She's heard the men in her company boast of ravaging paid women without thought. For some time, she's considered they may all be beasts, but the grim reaper is sparing her. Sparing her, because he doesn't see her as a threat at all. A defenseless woman clinging to a broken window like it's the only tether she has to the world at all. He's no boar, no blood-stained reaper, just a person. He doesn't see her as pounds of flesh to march into battle before him. She sees humanity, and he sees an insect unworthy of his bullet.

"I tried to kill you," she breathes out, enunciates each word careful and slow as she tries to get a read on him, praying her assumption isn't true. There's the creaking of broken glass beneath the toes of her boots as she pivots herself to fully face him, standing in the window with the backdrop of a dark sky threatening violence. The man shrugs his broad shoulders, turns away, as though nothing has even happened. Her stare drifts to the tourniquet on his calf, and it dawns on her that he isn't even limping.

"I wouldn't even need a minute with you." He sounds bored. The pity stung enough. She wasn't just a hapless rabbit in his eyes, she was a gnat. A nuisance to top it all off. "Who are you working for?"

She falls silent, teetering on the ledge of the windowsill in silent debate. The jump would end in injury, but the darkened sky and the rain could cover her. There’s a building less than half a mile away and if she just made it there then—

“Answer.” Roland’s gruff voice sounds out in the quiet warehouse again, and she hazards a glance up just in time to catch those dead eyes of his peering at her from over his shoulder.

“I don’t know.”

“No?”

“I don’t have a name.”

Roland merely huffs at that, rolls his shoulders a little. He’s confident, a bit too arrogant for a man that’s been shot. She may have seen a boar, and he may have seen an ange, because he has the audacity to give her a comforting pat on the shoulder with a gentle swipe of his thumb along her neck.

Tells her, “Get lost.”

Follows it up with, “Let us never meet again.”

She doesn’t die on this frigid, rainy night, but a part of her is lost with him. Lost with a man that looks at her as though she had tiny angel’s wing, buzzing at her back. Lost with a man who’s entire existence is an enigma to her. Shoot to kill, and she hadn’t. Shoot to kill and not ever would she again, not to him, not to the man who gave her mercy when she deserved none.

— — —

She finds herself working alongside the Polish GROM. Realistically, she had returned sopping wet to her shabby hotel and spent hours researching how to work her way in. She doesn’t know why, but she’s found herself enthralled in a shadow, worshipping him in her own way. All for a chance to see her should-be reaper. And she’s no elite, can barely keep her trigger finger steady, but supplementing for a fallen soldier is the standard and she’s got enough falsified experience under her belt to look the part of a proper gunman.

It pays enough to keep her afloat until the next thing piques her interest or her contract ends, whichever comes first. Her room is simple, a barren mattress and dark walls, a concrete floor. It doesn’t feel homey, but no place ever does nowadays. Small blessings are found in the fact she doesn’t have to share the space, it’s hers and hers alone.

She spends her first few hours inspecting the place for bugs, then takes to staring up at the ceiling, listless, because what the hell had made her so impulsive? Roland could have already had his head blown clean off by anyone else by now. Did she even want to see him? To choke him with his own words or thank him for his kindness?

All of this uprooting driven by impulsivity for a man who told her not to meet him again and yet she’s here, walking about the compound like she truly belongs.

She should have cut her hair, tried to make herself look different from the trembling mouse on the ledge that night, but a part of her wants him to see her. Recognize her, bring him down from that gilded throne of his where women like her are just nuisances instead of a proper challenge.

Only, she’s not a challenge. Not at all, because the second she meets him in the stairwell her mind starts swimming and all she can do is stare. He looks a bit tired, likely having just returned from some dreadful mission, even wearing all black he’s covered in sprays of dust, the denim of his trousers painted darker in some places, blood.

“Ja jebię.”

He hadn’t forgotten.

His breath sounds shaky, and she’s not sure if it’s because the gas mask in its proper place or if he’s actually surprised, startled. If anything could shake him down from his pedestal she imagined meeting the woman who tried to kill him once again would do it.

“How’s your leg?”

“Better than your aim, pizda.”

She imagines that he would probably like nothing better than to put a bullet through her right then. The man merely laughs, something breathy and low. She’s surprised him, probably both startled and impressed that she even had the balls to face him again. She likes that, likes that little laugh, that his voice isn’t angry, that he’s playing with fire just as much as she is.

“What are you doing here?”

“Contract,” she states simply, not bothering to hide the way her gaze rakes over his body in the yellow haze of fluorescent lighting. “Just a few months, filling in a gap.”

He mutters something under his breath, a string of Polish and French that she doesn’t quite catch. She knows that he knows she’s infatuated, taking to follow after a wild coyote like a house pet.

It’s a dirty word, infatuated; dangerous in a way that scares her more than facing down the barrel of a gun.

Roland takes a step towards her, brushes her hair from her face with a touch too rough and leans in close to look at her, inspect her as though she’s not even really here, some figment of his vile imagination. She just… lets him. Despite her better judgement she lets him grip at her face like she’s nothing but putty in his hands.

“Here to kill me?” He asks his question as he retreats from her and drops his hands to his sides, staring at her as though she’s not an implant in his force, but an implant on the planet itself.

“Not this time.”

He gives her a tilt of the head and a grunt in response before brushing past in a hurry.

— — —

The following morning, she wakes to several rapid knocks at her door. Sounding just impatient enough to pull her from her sleep with her heart fluttering like a small bird in her rib cage. She readily hops out of bed and dresses before turning the knob to reveal something she didn’t expect— Roland. It’s the first times she’s seen him without his gas mask, but she recognizes him immediately. He’s more handsome when he doesn’t look the part of a famished buzzard seeking out carrion.

“Kaminski.”

“Swagger,” he corrects and she can’t help but laugh at the usage of his callsign. She wants to know how he got stuck with that, something so embarrassing it makes him sound as though he’s some teenage boy desperate to fit in or perhaps even a pirate, not the man she sees before her.

“We aren’t on the field.”

“Today we will pretend.”

He grabs her arm in the very same boorish way he had grabbed at her face just yesterday, and leads her down an empty hallway in silence. Each step seems to echo louder than the last. She wonders for half a moment if he does intend to kill her, hazards a look up at him expecting to see some flame of gruesome determination in his eyes only to be met with a calmness that makes her reconsider.

Today isn’t a day to die, either, it seemed.

He leads her to a room of bulletproof glass and well-placed targets. Pulls his gun from his holster after inspecting that she hadn’t thought to bring her own. She feels silly when his touch goes to prod at her hip, dips along the waistband of her trousers to seek out a weapon that just isn’t there. She’s ill-prepared and now her face feels hot all while Roland didn’t seem to have so much as a care.

“I’ll teach you to shoot,” he huffs as he steps behind her and places his gun in her hands, an ugly thing she recognizes to be a SIG P226. The metal feels cold and heavy in her hands, but she handles it well enough. It doesn’t particularly help that one of his arms curls around her middle to keep her steady. It’s even worse that one hand remains splayed over hers as she holds the gun.

Shooting when you’re in a desperate situation is difficult enough. The thought that death could be approaching doesn’t keep most grounded, not her at least. It makes her shaky. This is far worse. The man is so close she can smell him, gunpowder and something pungent and clean like mint. She feels his warmth cover her back, his fingers digging a bit into her side.

“I’m ready.”

He grunts in response, maneuvering her a bit closer to a small window carved out in the glass.

“Then shoot.”

So, she does. She misses, of course, and she feels even more silly when he mutters something into her shoulder and deliberately moves and angles her arm properly. The only thing good is that the gun’s recoil is soft, because if she were pushed any further against him she may very well melt down into putty.

Again and again she takes aim and fires at the brightly colored target through the window. After what feels like hours she’s finally hit some place that makes Roland give her an appreciative pat to her tummy.

“I’m improving.” She feigns his confidence, puffing out her chest a little in pride.

“Are you?”

He steals the gun from her hand and draws away to face her properly. There’s a tension she can’t place, something strange in the flicker of his eye.

“You saw—“

Her words are cut off when the man tackles her to the floor, covering her entirely as he pins her from either side. A sharp intake of oxygen is stolen as her spine tingles in pain from the sudden force. She yelps, he laughs, and none of it is funny because he’s still holding a loaded fucking gun. Only, worse, when he presses the muzzle against her cheek and uses his free hand to fix her wrists to the cold floor beneath her.

He tuts at her when she doesn’t try to fight him off, only looks up at him with wide-eyes and parted lips, a face too warm to only depict fear. If he didn’t know before, he knows now. She catches a mischievous glimmer in his eyes right before she tilts her head to kiss the cold steel clutched tightly in his fingers.

Roland stiffens above her for a moment, every muscle in his body pulled taut, jaw clenched and eyes fluttering.

“Not pizda,” he whispers as he clicks the safety back on and shifts to holster the weapon. “You are like a…”

“Ange?”

“Non,” he laughs. “Aniołku.”

If she didn’t know before, she knows now.

— — —

Any training session is spent with Roland.

Every mission they’re tethered to one another.

Any free time she finds yourself having is spent with him, even seeking him out herself just as often as he comes pounding at her door.

It feels both natural and absurd, sharing meals with the man she almost murdered, covering him as he covers her, both finding themselves less and less willing to be on their own as the days pass by. The progression just doesn’t halt, a train plowing off track, the man has his blunt talons curled into her and she just doesn’t have the sense to beat him back because she knows she’s got her teeth embedded just as deeply into him.

It doesn’t even come as a surprise when she starts her mornings peeling herself away from him, still sleeping peacefully in her bed. His room lacks taste— too barren, too bogged down with well-oiled metal and violence. She’s spruced hers up in the free time she has with small items, things she can pack up and carry with her to whichever side she finds herself pulled to next.

The thing she keeps most sacred, however, is a little photograph of him, one he had insisted on her keeping on the bedside table, despite being in flesh, wrapped tightly around her each and every night.

She picks it up, turns it over in her hands a few times before the weight of a heavy hand splays itself out across her middle, languidly tugging her back down.

“Stay,” he murmurs, someplace lost between dreaming and waking.

“Just for a bit,” she whispers in reply, nestling close, curling against his chest.

“Forever, aniołku.”

With a soft inhale, she falls back against him in a tangle of limbs and warmth, a part of her lost to the fantasy of permanence.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

ange: angel (French)

Ja jebię: fuck me

pizda: cunt

non: no (French)

aniołku: angel

[sleepyfan-blog]

Initial Planning

Author’s Note: Note: this is the next fic in Cedric’s Adventures in the Astartes Husbandry AU! Thanks to @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan for allowing me to borrow Zariel and @kit-williams for allowing me to borrow Roland!

First.

Previous.

Next. 

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @i-am-a-dragon34 

Warnings: panic attack, ask me to tag if I missed something 

Summary: Cedric realizes that he left several Older Brothers to be treated by a chaos space marine and freaks out. Before he can take back that decision, he’s intercepted and dragged off to calm down and eat. 

Cedric stalked off towards the breakroom and made it about half-way there before the reality of what he had done came crashing down on him, as the anger had faded from his mind and hearts. Horror, guilt and panic pulsed through his body as he turned around, intending on going back to where he had left five firstborn Brothers to the tender mercy of a Chaos Marine. A very capable Chaos Marine who had treated many an injured Loyalist… But fuck! Cedric was quite certain he had made the wrong call.

He should go back and deal with his older brothers’ injuries, despite their dismissiveness and needling. Cedric felt his body start to move back to the examination room as his breathing became fast and shallow. His entire body was trembling and his mind was filled with a screaming sort of static.

“Ah, there you are Cedric. It’s time for my lunch, and I know that yours was interrupted. Let’s go eat together. There’s an adorable little pastry shop next to a deli that I’ve been wanting to try for a while. My treat!” Apothecary Zariel spoke up, coming up to Cedric and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, squeezing him with a reassuring amount of pressure “Come on, let’s go.”

“I… But.. There are… The patients…” Cedric started, trying to explain what he had done. How awful it was, despite knowing that Hura was a trustworthy Apothecary, the absolute betrayal the others would (rightly) see this as. “They… I… Hura…”

“You were trying to deal with some unruly patients but they proved to be too much for you. You’re young and learning, so Hura stepped in to deal with them. There’s nothing wrong with that, nor for reaching out when you need it. We all get overwhelmed sometimes. You look like you need a treat. Shouty, entitled patients are some of the worst to try and handle. Especially if they’re from the same chapter you are, as you probably feel like it’s your duty to tend to them. But Hura will set them right, no need to worry.” Zariel murmured coaxingly, squeezing Cedric a little again.

“I… Okay… Okay… Food sounds good.” Cedric managed out, nodding a little as he walked alongside the Teal apothecary. 

Zariel wouldn’t let Cedric follow behind him. Instead the alleged Ultramarine had one of his arms wrapped firmly around his shoulders until the two of them made it to the bakery that Zariel had said he wanted to try.

A very familiar bakery. Cedric blinked as the scent of sourdough bread and the cheerful sign of The Pastry and Bakery was before the two of them. “I’ve been here before. Arnault helps out his bonded run this place.”

“Really? I hadn’t known that.” Zariel likely lied, letting go of Cedric’s shoulders, only to grab him by the elbow and steer him gently into the shop “From what you’ve told me, we really are in for a treat! That donut you shared with me was delicious!” 

“We really are. Miss Bakerin makes the best baked goods I’ve ever had.” Cedric managed out, feeling slightly less like a treacherous asshole. He took in a deep breath and stepped up to the door to the bakery, opening it and stepping inside, the older Apothecary on his heels. 

~

There were quite a few baseline mortals in the bakery, in line to purchase the baked goods. Music played pleasantly over the speakers and Cedric took a moment to close his eyes and breathe in the delicious smells of the freshly baked goods, his stomach rumbling and mouth watering a little as he did so. He was feeling much calmer now, and more centered. This bakery felt… Safe. He waved cheerfully to the mortal who was at the cash register. 

The mortal  blinked and darted off into the back, fetching Brother Roland.

The older Black Templar walked over to where Cedric and Zariel were standing. He nodded politely to Zariel before smiling a little at Cedric “It’s good to see you, Cedric. Are you in the mood for anything in particular?”

Cedric looked at the delicious foods up for sale before answering “I”d like two of those sesame seed bagels with cream cheese and ham… And I think I’d like one of the strawberry hand-pies, please. What would you like, Zariel?”

“Oh… Goodness, it’s going to take me a bit to choose! Everything here looks so good.” The Ultramarine answered, his eyes scanning everything “What are the filling in those buns over there?”

Roland didn’t even glance at the buns in question “Spiced ground lamb with chopped potatoes, peas, carrots and onion. They are great cold or warm. Are you… Well, Cedric? You seem a bit out of sorts.”

“I’m… I’m alright. I just had to deal with some particularly… Ornery patients and they got under my skin in a way that I wasn’t expecting them to be able to… Also, I’d like to mention that there are at least two different Crusades in or very close to this city. I’m not sure if you were aware of that or not.” Cedric answered honestly.

Roland sighed a little “That explains the strange message I got from Arnault this morning. I texted him after and he said that he und Angela are going to be headed to the coast for a week or two of vacation, to avoid the nonsense. If any of them cause you trouble, feel free to call me and I’ll help you.”

“Thanks, Roland. I’ll keep that in mind.” Cedric responded with a small smile.

“I know what I want now! Three of those meat pastries and two loaves of the potato bread, please.” Zariel stated, having waited for a lull in the conversation in order to tell Roland what he wanted. He also counted out the money for both his and Cedric’s orders, along with a generous tip “I believe this should be sufficient?”

“You’re overpaying for what you ordered.” Roland pointed out.

“I see a tip-jar and the service is excellent.” Zariel answered with a smile.

The older Black Templar nodded and said “I’ll be back with your orders in a moment.” It did not take Roland long to get their orders together, and he returned with them in separate paper bags that crinkled pleasantly when they moved. “Here you are.”

“Thank you, Roland.” Cedric murmured, smiling as he took the offered bag, breathing in the delicious smells and sighing happily.  The variety of foods available on Ancient and Holy Terra was truly spectacular.

“You are welcome, Cedric.” Roland answered, still smiling a little.

Zariel nudged him in the side “It’s a beautiful day today, and it’s a little cramped in here with all of these eager mortals. Let’s go to that park nearby to eat. Then we’ll head back to the clinic.”

Cedric nodded “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

~

With their baked goods in hand, Cedric and Zariel headed to the nearby park. The flowers were in full bloom in the mid-spring and the trees all had fresh green leaves. Holy Terra really was quite pretty in this time period. Hopefully some of the natural beauty could be preserved through the millenia… Cedric followed Zariel over to one of the park tables that had been specifically sized and reinforced for astartes, sitting down across from him and pulled out one of the bagels.

As he started to eat the bagel, a small frown creased his brow. A thought that he’d been struggling to deal with occurred to him again. He sighed softly, shaking his head a little trying to get the thought to leave him alone.

“Something wrong, Cedric?” Zariel asked perceptively.

“It’s just… Have you ever had a… Something occur to you that you probably shouldn’t act on, but… If you did, would probably make your life a lot easier, or at least safer, if you managed it?” Cedric hedged, biting into the warm and toasty bagel, chewing it slowly to try and give himself time to verbalize his thoughts.

“Sometimes. Depending on the thought, I act upon them, discreetly of course. What sort of thought has been bothering you, as of late?” Zariel asked curiously.

“... Back in M42, there was this… Loyal Older Brother. He was… Quite harsh and strict on us Primaris marines, but nothing we couldn’t handle… For a time. Until he decided that…” Cedric sighed, shaking his head a little “To make a long and painful story short, a loyalist astartes who has the blood of at least a dozen primaris Black Templars on his hands is currently on Ancient Terra. He has influence over at least one feral warband of Black Templars and has enough authority to punish Black Templars of other warbands. I’ve seen his handiwork on the injuries of both groups of Feral Black Templars who’ve come in for treatment this month.”

“... Well he certainly does sound like a problem that needs solving. How was the issue solved in M-42? Or were you brought here before he could be dealt with?” The Ultramarine asked, his eyes narrowing a little as he leaned in a little over the table. 

“The decision to accept Primaris Marines into the Black Templar Chapter was a… Fraught one. It nearly tore the entire chapter in half in a civil war that had already claimed the lives of dozens if not hundreds of Primaris Marines. The High Marshal called for a meeting of the whole chapter and stated that we Primaris Marines were here to stay, and were not heretical abominations to be purged.” Cedric swallowed hard, unable to look Zariel in the eyes as he continued to explain “Anyone who disagreed with him could either leave like the cowards they were or challenge him to the right to lead the chapter. Petras was one of the challengers, and these fights are always to the death. He lost the fight and was killed… Or possibly, brought to Ancient Terra instead.”

“And now this fucker’s been running around Terra, beating the shit out of firstborn brothers? To the point where they’re looking for treatment? Yeah, I can see why he’s a problem to be solved. What did you have in mind?” Zariel asked, curiosity in his eyes. “I can help you talk to the base commander. He’ll likely call in a meeting of the loyalist leaders and-”

“No! No. Petras is a Chaplain. The Crusades are likely to rally around him, to try and protect him out of spite, more than anything else. Anything official like that won’t help. It’ll only drive the Brothers being hurt by him to the edges of their crusades, if they aren’t already and they won’t try to seek treatment for their wounds.” Cedric answered, shaking his head a little. He’d talked over hypotheticals with Jophiel and Claude, as both of them could see glimpses into the future. 

“... I certainly hope that you aren’t suggesting that nothing be done about him? There are ways to bring him to justice, as the mortals are allowing us to police each other… Though Black Templars tend to be on the fringes and highly mobile… Do you think you can talk the Brothers who have been injured by Petras to speak to the base commander, or one of the chaplains on base about the particulars about what happened? To bring him to a tribunal.” Zariel suggested, the frown on his face intensifying a little.

“That won’t help, either. The other Crusades will think that this is a… and I am aware that this is a very ironic phrase to use in this way for Black Templars… A witch hunt, targeting one of their own leaders in order to try and bring them into line with the majority of loyalist astartes. I know there have been rumors that occasional astartes suddenly vanish, as if potentially being sent back to where they came from…” Cedric hesitated for a moment before continuing “ But since it’s possible Petras was brought to Ancient Terra as he lay dying - he wouldn’t be the first astartes nor the first Black Templar for both of those things to be true - he has no more life left to live in M-42 so he wouldn’t be headed back to that time.” 

“Him continuing to run around unimpeded is dangerous. He is unlikely to be sent back to his proper time, if that indeed is what is happening to Astartes who abruptly vanish into thin air, never to be found again… and official censuring will likely cause more harm than good. What, precisely, are you suggesting, Cedric?” The probable Alpha Legionnaire asked, his eyes glittering several shades lighter than they normally were for a couple of seconds.

“Petras needs to die here on Ancient Terra. He needs to die quickly, and soon, so that he won’t harm anyone else.” Cedric answered immediately. He squirmed in his seat for a moment before reluctantly admitting “Or… He needs to be captured and put through rehabilitation, so that he knows his actions were wrong, and… Given the chance to change for the better.”

“Do you know if Petras is from the time he was running around killing Scouts for ridiculous reasons? Or do you merely suspect that he’s from that time, and would need to make sure, before we decide on what should be done with him?” Zariel prompted.

Cedric grumbled wordlessly again, taking a vicious bite out of his bagel and chewing on it grumpily before responding “I don’t know if he’s from that time or not. But the wounds he’s been leaving on his firstborn brothers certainly speaks to his horrible, awful temper being the same. But the only ways I can come up with confronting him, to see if it is him from that time is to reveal that I am here, where he could potentially get me. Because I will not let Ramiel, Elias, or Mattias be the ones to confront him. He killed all three of them. Petras was the one who wounded them like that… Alongside the other two Primaris Black Templars who died on Ancient Terra, minutes after arriving.”

“... Is there, perhaps a less risky way of ascertaining whether or not Petras is from the time period you suspect him to be from?” Zariel prodded, frowning a little “I doubt that your brothers would want you to put yourself in such danger.”

“... Ask him what he thinks of Primars Marines? But he might be able to lie and say he doesn’t know what we are… Though… Given his very clear stance on it, perhaps if he was inebriated in some way, he wouldn’t stop himself from ranting about how he really feels about us… But it’s possible, even then he would be able to keep his tongue. I’m concerned that only direct contact with a primaris marine will get him to react, if he is from that time.” Cedric responded, sighing a little. 

“We can start with that, then decide based on his responses where to go from there. Regardless as to whether or not Petras is from the time period that you are concerned he is from, the fact that he’s running around flogging a bunch of Black Templars is no good for anyone. Most Black Templars are difficult to work with while uninjured, present company exempt, of course. You’re a delight to work with, and I am glad to have met you.” Zariel hummed, a small smile appearing on his face “If he is from the time where he’s running around killing Scouts for no good reason… There are legal methods of bringing him to trial, but it will involve you and your brothers giving testimony. Though… It certainly would be easier if he suffered a regrettable, but permanent and deadly accident.”

Cedric sighed, trying not to scowl a little. He… Wasn’t sure how much he trusted the legal system that had been put in place for Astartes on Holy Terra. In part because he worried that his fellow Primaris Black Templars would be targeted by Petras and his Crusade, once their presence were made known. “I… I’ll talk to the others. See if they’re comfortable with filing Grievances against Petras. I… I don’t know how they’ll react, though.”

Zariel nods, reaching out an gently patting Cedric on the shoulder “Keep me posted on what you and the others decide to do. I’ll help you, to the best of my abilities. Whether that’s through official means… Or by something a little bit more stealthy.”

“Thank you, Zariel… And thanks for lunch.” Cedric responded, feeling himself relax a little. He’s not sure what the Teal Ultramarine will ask of him, should they decide to go the less honorable route for dealing with Petras - if the bastard is from the right time. Cedric really doesn’t know what he’s going to do if Petras is from Before he knew about Primaris Marines… or before he decided that Primaris Marines were abominations fit only for being purged from existence. “How much time do we have left, before we need to head back to the clinic?”

“Don’t worry about that. It’s a lovely day and Hura promised to vox me after he’s treated and shooed away those ornery older brothers of yours who were causing a mess earlier. He’s in charge of the clinic today, and we’d rather they try not to kidnap you.” Zariel responded, smiling indulgently at Cedric.

“... I’d rather avoid that happening… Again…” Cedric grumbled, scowling a little at the memory. That had been humiliating, and he was very grateful that Zariel had been there to intervene and help him get away from a group of very overzealous firstborn Brothers. 

“Both Hura and I figured as much. If you’ve finished eating, I suggest that we enjoy a walk through this beautiful park. I really do hope that we can prevent the ecological destruction of Terra, it is so lovely here.” Zariel hummed.

“Yeah, I’m finished. Terra in this time reminds me of stories I’ve heard about pleasure worlds… Except that there is less likelihood of Slaaneshi cults forming here… Despite the chaos bastards who live here too.” Cedric answered, standing up and following after Zariel as the two Apothecaries wandered the carefully paved pathways of the park until Hura gave them the all-clear to return to work.

[tailschannel]

New Sonic LEGO sets inbound for 2023!

New Sonic the Hedgehog-themed LEGO sets have been unveiled. These sets will feature characters from the Sonic the Hedgehog series, such as Amy Rose and Miles "Tails" Prower, and will allow fans to recreate iconic scenes.

Sonic’s Speed Sphere Challenge (76990)

3 characters and accessories: The set comes with Sonic the Hedgehog, the iconic Moto bug Badnik, Sonic’s Flicky friend and lots of accessories for role play

$34.99 USD, £24.99 GBP, €29.99 EUR

292 pieces

Tails' Workshop and Tornado Plane (76991)

4 characters and accessories: This action playset comes with characters Sonic, Tails, a Clucky, Buzz Bomber and lots of toy accessories for role play

$39.99 USD, £37.99 GBP, €42.99 EUR

376 pieces

Amy's Animal Rescue Island (76992)

6 characters and accessories: The set comes with characters Amy, Tails, Crabmeat, Picky, Pocky and a Flicky, plus accessories for creative play

$49.99 USD, £46.99 GBP, €52.99 EUR

388 pieces

Sonic's Green Hill Zone Loop Challenge (76994)

9 characters and accessories: The set comes with Sonic, Amy, a Flicky, Becky, Pocky, Pecky, Dr. Eggman, plus Badniks Chopper and Newtron and lots of toy accessories for role play

$99.99 USD, £94.99 GBP, €104.99 EUR

802 pieces

Quotes

Ivo Gerscovich, Sonic chief brand officer at SEGA of America:

"At Sega, we strive to create memorable experiences with our licensing partners that fans will cherish for years to come. The Lego Group is the leader in play, and the perfect partner to bring exciting stories, iconic characters and environments from the Sonic universe to life in fans’ living rooms globally. Through our creative collaboration with the Lego Group, Sonic fans of all generations can use their imaginations to play out their favourite Sonic moments, and we can’t wait to see their awesome creations."

Frédéric Roland Andre, LEGO Group designer:

"It really isn’t like anything else: the sets offer an entirely new, action-packed play experience. I’m especially proud of the Speed Sphere, as it was quite a challenge to figure out how we would get Sonic to speed up and interact with each course. Sonic is known for his speed and how he runs and jumps through courses, so for Lego sets inspired by him there was no way we could create a static set, we simply had to be creative and make them as action-packed as possible."

The sets are scheduled to hit retail and digital storefronts on 1 August 2023.

[aemiron-main]

Henry Creel, Seizures, The Exorcist, and Roland Doe: Did Henry Creel Have Epilepsy?

So! I’m wondering if Henry had epilepsy. And before we dive into it, a few things to note:

Not all epilepsy is photosensitive epilepsy/triggered by flashing lights

Not all seizures are grand mal seizures (the ones where people are laying down jerking). Absence and temporal lobe seizures are far more subtle & can just look like staring into space.

Some people have a combination of grand mal seizures and other more subtle types of seizures.

So, first of all, “The Exorcist” is namedropped regarding the Creels:

And we also have Will’s S2 seizure on the field where he has SO many Direct exorcist parallels during both that scene & his cabin scene “exorcism”

Which, those Will exorcism parallels made me think “well what if Henry had a seizure during his exorcism- but what would cause it? he’s not possessed the way Will was” but then it hit me: what if its the other way around and the seizures caused the exorcism?

And we’ll come back to Will’s seizure later, but focusing on The Exorcist for now, Reagan, the girl in The Exorcist, has a seizure.

And historically, exorcisms were frequently done on kids who had epilepsy/seizures, which were mistaken for demonic possession. But rather than speaking about history in a broad sense, let’s look at a specific example- Roland Doe, the boy whose story literally inspired The Exorcist.

And hell, The Exorcist was specifically inspired by the NEWSPAPER ARTICLE about Roland's exorcism, which has me staring DIRECTLY at the Weekly Watcher article that talks about the exorcism at the Creel house.

And get this-

This is EXACTLY what happened with Henward- his parents hoped that moving to Hawkins/a change of scenery would cure him, but it did not.

And after all, what were they trying to cure him of? What symptoms was he exhibiting? They never actually tell us what was “wrong” with him. Like, sure, he’s autistic, but there’s not many “symptoms” of autism that Henry displays as a child that are disruptive enough to have him sent to doctors & moving to an entirely new town in the hopes of curing him.

What actual event/symptoms made Virginia and Victor go “okay, yeah, this boy needs to see a doctor” AND also had them move to a new town (JUST like what happened with Roland Doe as a result of his seizures) in hopes that a change of scenery would cure Henry???? I wouldn’t be surprised if it was seizures.

And his powers don’t seem to have activated until he was in Hawkins, so it likely wasn’t those.

And also, Henward says that all of the teachers and doctors claimed he was broken:

Which, epilepsy can cause issues with learning and retaining information, and if Henry was having something like absence seizures in class, too, that would also likely freak teachers out/have them see him as “broken,” because he would seem outwardly fine/just be staring into space, but wouldn’t be able to respond to them calling his name/asking him things.

And going back to the talk of being “cured,” Epilepsy is also referred to as The Sacred Disease, which would also tie into all of the religious imagery with the Creels.

And we also have the auditory and visual hallucinations that can often be part of epilepsy. Starting with the auditory hallucinations, those are often likened to sounding like radios- which would be an interesting connection to all of the radios in the show, especially the radio with the Creels.

(And this is speaking from personal experience, but, it definitely does sound like a radio like not just “a radio is the closest comparison” but instead “i genuinely believed it was the sound of a radio/sounds like what we heard with the Creel radio malfunctioning where you can't quite clearly make out any of the channels”. I was actually scared of the sound of radios/radio static as a kid because I used to hear this sort of stuff all the time as a result of having epilepsy.)

And there’s also these drawings of visual epilepsy hallucinations, which James @henrysglock pointed out to me.

And when we look at Henward’s shadow monster drawing and all of the elder brain/brain imagery in the show and the mindflayer being named, well, a mindflayer, and DND mindflayers being controlled by an elder brain & the whole "cutting the brain off from the body"/directly referring to the mindflayer as a brain.... the vibes are definitely very similar.

It's also very interesting to me that the drawings of the tunnels that Will draws before having a seizure/draws as a result of what was CAUSING his seizures are directly paralleled to Henry drawing the mindflayer (Henward's mindflayer drawing style & the medium he uses actually resembles the tunnel drawings more than it does Will's own mindflayer drawing, especially with Will's frantic scratching during the tunnel drawings and Henward's frantic scratching during the mindflayer drawings).

And like I said, Will's tunnel drawings were caused by the same thing causing his seizure- so many Henward's mindflayer drawing was caused by the seizures as well- was Henward seeing epileptic hallucinations that would later inspire him to shape the mindflayer/shadow monster the way that he did?

And again, this part is personal experience, but as a kid, part what I would hallucinate was silver spiders hanging down from door frames (and also spiders crawling all over me but those only happened at night whereas the hanging spiders were throughout the day/constant and yes, I'm 1000% sure they weren't just nightmares). Which, of course, the Duffers aren't inspired by me/don't know about what I saw, but I'm not the only person with epilepsy who's reported seeing spiders (here and here and here), which makes me wonder if it was something they came across when researching seizures/epilepsy for the show & may have influenced the decision to include all of the spider imagery with Henry.

And going back to Will’s S2 seizure, we also have Will's "now memories," which, interestingly enough, they chose to have Mike ask Will if he sees anything in his "now memories" RIGHT before Will has a seizure. Which is interesting because strong feelings of deja vu tend to precede seizures, and "now memories" are very similar to deja vu/feeling like you've seen something before but can't quite place where/aren't really sure if it's Your memories.

El also has a seizure in NINA (this is before her cardiac arrest scene) and in Surfer Boy Pizza, which are both paralleled to Will’s seizure (and yes, El was also choking, but her body did seem to be having a seizure, and it's shot with the same sort of pose and rotating camera movement as Will's seizure and El's NINA seizure).

And we also have the stroke imagery with El and the fact that strokes can cause epilepsy AND people with epilepsy are at a higher risk for strokes.

Which has me staring at Henward’s “it almost killed me” scene and how his fainting scene is paralleled to El fainting in 1979 & then El waking up without her memories/with the sort of stroke stuff that Brenner talks about.

And the focus on all of the flashing lights in the show too?? NGL, I would laugh a bit if Henry’s powers started flashing the lights during his exorcism & that triggered a seizure. It would also tie into him just. Staring sometimes/being seen as weird for that because that’s also often a part of epilepsy/absence seizures.

And even if I’m wrong about the seizure thing (which again, it’s not smthn I’m super firm on), the Duffers DEFINITELY know about Roland Doe. Roland DEFINITELY inspired Henry- that bit about what happened to Roland with his family moving towns to cure him isn't in The Exorcist but IS identical to what happened with Henry, so it's not even something that the Duffers could've just pulled from The Exorcist, because it's actually one of the parts of Roland's story that didn't end up in the Exorcist movie.

And speaking of movies, we also have One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest on the S4 board. And in One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest, Sefelt has epilepsy and has a seizure:

And also, we have Henward’s straitjacket, which I talked about in this post.

We literally see him wearing the straitjacket on screen- but why was he wearing it? Why not just drug him if they wanted to keep him under control? And what good would a straitjacket do against a child with psionic powers anyway? It wouldn't have even worked to keep him under control! UNLESS the powers weren’t a concern (because he was unconscious/seizing) but the flailing/jerking from a grand mal seizure was making him difficult to transport/deal with.

And this is more of a minor sidenote, but something that's interesting to me is how quick Victor is to picking up Henry, almost like it's a habit. We see him pick Henry up in the dining room AND the foyer, and it's not something we ever see him do with Alice, so it's not just something that Victor Does With His Kids. But if Henry was prone to seizures and fainting, it would make sense that Victor is used to picking him up/carrying him around.

And Victor was also told that Henry was in a coma after fainting and then died- and again, speaking from personal experience here (and research), having a seizure can put you into a coma which may result in your death. So, I wonder if that's the explanation that they gave to Victor/if that was the official cause of death for Henry. Which would also make sense if, like I said, the straitjacket was put onto Henry because he was seizing, and Victor saw it happen.

I also wonder if Victor saw Henry still just sitting at the table staring & thought he was having another seizure (an absence seizure rather than a grand mal one, which would mostly just look like blank staring/exactly what Henry does in this scene) & grabbed him, especially since stress can trigger seizures, and well, watching Virginia die would've been stressful. I'm not saying that Henry was having a seizure in this scene persay, but rather that Victor may have believed he was/may have mad the connection that Henry's "fits"/moments of blank staring are connected to stress.

And the jerking motions and rolled back eyes during Vecna visions/his attacks are interesting considering how they resemble a grand mal seizure. Like, look at how Fred is posed the same way was Will was during Will's seizure:

And the same gaping mouth imagery:

And then the jerking motions:

Long story short: I won't be surprised at all if Henry/Edward had epilepsy and experienced a mixture of various types of seizures.

[ashleighsharmaine]

Toon Wood Series Continues: The Bet

Gerald x Mike

Static Shock x Slim

Vince x Roland

Available now! Click the link below!!

[throuple-tournament]

These are the throuples that are currently in the tournament in alphabetical order by media. The bolded ones have a submitted description and the italicised ones have no image (Last Updated 6th October 2024):

3 Will Be Free: Neo, Shin and Miw

A Chorus of Dragons: Kihrin D'mon, Janel Theranon and Teraeth

Agents of Shield: Jemma Simmons, Leopold Fitz and Daisy "Skye" Johnson

Arrow: Oliver Queen, John Diggle and Felicity Smoak

Berserk: Guts, Casca and Griffith

Boy Meets World: Cory Matthews, Shawn Hunter and Topanga Lawrence

Dead Boy Detectives: Crystal Palace, Edwin Paine and Charles Roland

Doctor Who: 12th Doctor, Missy and Clara

Ferris Bueller's Day Off: Ferris, Sloan and Cameron

The Golden Girls: Dorothy Zbornak, Blanche Devereaux and Rose Nylund

Guardians of the Galaxy: Peter Quill, Richard Rider and Gamora

Ice Age: Manny, Sid and Diego

The Infernal Devices: Will, Tessa and Jem

Jane Eyre: Bertha Mason, Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester

Jurassic Park: Alan Grant, Ellie Sattler and Ian Malcolm

Keroro Gunso AKA Sgt Frog: Giroro, Dororo and Keroro

The Kingkiller Chronicle: Bast, The Chronicler and Kvothe

The Kingkiller Chronicle: Kvothe, Willem and Simmon

Lockwood & Co: Quill Kipps, Lucy Carlyle and Anthony Lockwood

Luca: Giulia, Luca and Alberto

Lupin III: Arsene Lupin III, Daisuke Jigen and Ishikawa Goemon XIII

The Man From U.N.C.L.E.: Gaby Teller, Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin

MASH: Hawkeye Pierce, Bj Hunnicut and Peg Hunnicut

Mass Effect: Garrus, Tali and Shepard

Merrily We Roll Along: Frank, Charlie and Mary

Mo Dao Zu Shi: Jin Guangyao, Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue

Monarch: Legacy of Monsters: Keiko, Bill and Lee

The Mortal Instruments: Jace, Clary and Simon

Nancy Drew: Nancy Drew, George Fayne and Ned Nickerson

The Phantom of the Opera: Erik, Raoul de Chaligny and Christine Daaé

The Picture of Dorian Gray: Dorian Gray, Basil Hallward and Lord Henry

The Princess Bride: Fezzik, Inigo and Wesley

Project Sekai: Rui Kamishiro, Shizuku Hinomori and Tsukasa Tenma

The Road Within: Vincent, Marie and Alex

Romeo & Juliet: Romeo, Rosaline and Juliet

Sherlock & Co: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, and Mariana Ametxazurra

Shrek: Donkey, Shrek and Fiona

Six of Crows: Jesper Fahey, Inej Ghafa and Kaz Brekker

Star Wars: Leia Organa, Han Solo and Chewbacca

Static Shock: Richie Foley, Virgil Hawkins and Daisy Watkins

Stranger Things: Nancy Wheeler, Steve Harrington and Jonathan Byer

Ted Lasso: Roy Kent, Keeley Jones and Jamie Tartt

Tokyo Ghoul: Seidou Takizawa, Akira Mado and Koutarou Amon

Totally Spies!: Clover, Alex and Sam

Transformers: Ratchet, Rodimus Prime and Drift

Twelfth Night: Viola/Cesario, Olivia and Duke Orsino

Welcome to Demon School Iruma-kun: Suzuki Iruma, Asmodeus Alice and Valac Clara

White Collar: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke and Elizabeth Burke

Wings of Fire: Clearsight, Sunstreak and LeafWing

Winx Club: Stormy, Icy and Darcy

Winx Club: Stella, Bloom and Flora

Yentl: Anshel, Avigdor and Hadass

Y: The Last Man: Dr. Allison Mann, Yorick Brown and Agent 355

Zero Escape/Zero Time Dilemma: Carlos, Junpei Tenmyouji, and Akane Kurashiki

Feel free to submit descriptions for any of these throuples, even if they're already bolded!

[crashcitycentral]

[ Concept: Bart uses the Camcorder Preston gave him to leave Preston a message vlog style that he’s given after his death, cause the concept was there but never touched and I want Preston to know his best friend didn’t just disappear. ]

Bart sets up the camcorder on the top book of the stack on his desk, angling it to face the chair he had sat in front of it. It was the one Preston gave to him, and he finally figured out what he wanted to record. A little memo for Preston to find.

He flips open the screen and presses the power button.

The video starts with Bart’s arm still outstretched to the camera, tongue stuck between his lips as he fiddles around with the controls. “Oh. The red means it’s on, right? Shoot!” The clip cuts to static for a few moments before it’s back again and this time he’s in his chair.

“Got it to work! Man, technology here is so confusing. Nothing like from my time.” He shakes his head. “Hey, Pres. you may know me as Bart, or daredevil Allen. If you’re seeing this, well, I’m guessing I’m not around anymore. But that’s okay! I probably went out super cool.”

“Man, where to start. I guess I wanted to tell you my secret but I didn’t know how. Max says I have to keep it hush hush but. I dunno, I don’t want to. Not from you.”

“Carol knows, though she kinda figured it out. It was an accident really, I ain’t never been too good at this secret identity stuff but here goes. I am Impulse.”

“Saying that finally is… wow. I’m sure you have a lot of questions so I’ll try to go over everything in this before i run out of space on this rinkidink camcorder you gave me. Er, no offense.”

“The Flash is my Grandpa and second Flash is my second cousin, once removed. I was born in the year 2980. Crazy, right? That will probably make some stuff I did or said make sense now, huh?”

It cuts again, this time to him upside down in the chair, back on the seat and feet kicked up in the air. “I want you to know you’re my best friend. Which is why I’m tellin you all this.”

“Max isn’t really my uncle, but he is my Guardian after Wally… anyways, he’s got superspeed too but he like, never uses it. Lame. He just coaches me on the sidelines. And Helen, she’s great! Like my big sister. She’s Max’s daughter but doesn’t have powers.”

“Oh! Y’know my dog, Dox? He’s got super intelligence! Not entirely sure how…”

“The first superhero I was friends with was Grant. Er- Damage. He’s cool, you’d like him a lot. I haven’t seen him much nowadays.”

“I’m on a new team now. ‘Young Justice’ they call us. Awful name, right? Like hellooo, we’re trying to get out of our mentors shadows. I’m not even a sidekick!”

“I met Rob on a skii trip before we met in the masks, can you believe that? He’s smart. Like Carol. I hope they never meet or we’d be doomed!”

“There’s superboy. He’s kinda like the block-head jocks at our school but he has moments where he’s okay.”

“Wondergirl is awesome! I saw her pick up a car a few days ago. Wish I got it on camera for you, you’d love it.”

“Secret and Empress are really cool as well. Secret is like, super nice and matches my energy. I don’t know if you’d know who Empress is, she just joined us, but she’s got a sword! Won’t let me use it…”

“There’s Slobo, he’s a pretty rock and roll kinda punk, pretty sure he’s goth or somethin. One of them head-whippin’ screamers we hear on the banned radio stations.”

“There’s this girl, Arrowette. She’s like, my superhero best friend. Or maybe I just befriend blondes.” He pauses a moment and looks up at the camera. “You’re still my number one, though.”

“Even with all these heroes and powers, you, Carol, and Roland are… different. I dunno how to describe it. It’s like… you’re normal, and treat me like I’m normal, y’know? We’re just kids when it’s us. No responsibilities.”

Bart goes quiet and the tape cuts again to him stacking cards into a tower. “I’m not really sure what I’m expecting to happen to me. Max says I’m ’danger deficit’, whatever that means. I just want you to know that.. I’m not really gone? If I have to go away for a mission somewhere far away or if I fall through a wormhole, you’re still my best friend.” He huffs a sigh, the breath knocking down his cards.

The next cut shows him juggling a rubix cube, bouncy ball, and boomerang. “Did you know I have a brother? Yeah, me neither. Remember that time my mom visit? Well, she’s from the future too, like me. She told me she had another son named Owen who’s in this century too. Think I’ll ever get to meet him?”

“I never met my dad but I heard lots bout him from Mom and future Grandma. He was killed right after I was born by my other grandpa. Sprocked up, huh?”

“There’s my cousin Jenni! You remember Jenni, right? She was my partner for the talent show last year. Her hero name is XS and she works with superheroes in space! It’s awesome, right?? That’s where I met Brainy too. He’s kinda mean but in a funny way.”

He’s back in his chair again, chin propped on both his palms and legs kicking out under him. “Grandpa says he doesn’t believe in me. Wally says I’m annoying and negligent. All I wanted..” he shakes his head and covers the camera with his hand.

He’s up again, this time wearing his Impulse suit, holding his arms out like he’s showing off. “Cool, huh? Batman named me Impulse, though he said it was a warning. He’s kinda a stick in the mud, but the whole ninja stuff is cool. Too strict for my taste though, I wonder how Rob puts up with it.”

“I guess I don’t have much else to say. I hope you get this someday and I’m not making a fool of myself, talking to a camera for nothing. Don’t tell Max. I’ll see you later, Pres.”

The video ends.

[pinnithin-writes]

Star-Blessed

Scene expansion from episode 27 of the Live and Let Fly podcast. 3809 words. Read on Ao3.

The wind on the mountain was cold enough to burn. Roland Mons Gelidus narrowed his eyes and tucked his muzzle into his scarf as he surveyed the horizon. Dusk approached and the sky was a freezing cobalt, the dying sun sinking rapidly out of sight. Behind him trailed nine other vlakas, breaking through the snowdrifts in single file. 

Their journey was tethered by constant contact. Thick pelts of moon and ice, shot through with the bleak blue black of the darkening sky, brushed, connected, parted and met again as they trudged along. It wasn’t a time for speaking, conserving energy for the hike through silence and stilled hands, but each knew how the others felt about their trek. Heads ducked and ears flattened against the chill, emotions sparked between their fur like static in the cold, dry air. The scent of their nerves and exhaustion swirled on the wind. 

The Lajok wilderness in early spring was a dangerous beauty. Its stillness couldn’t be trusted; every motionless mountainside held the promise of an avalanche, every too quiet night the careful inhale before a snowstorm. Soaring peaks of sheer gray stone funneled the pack into a saddle between them, the boughs of spruce and fir offering sparse shelter from the elements. As Roland studied their formations, heavy with ice crystals as they grew into the unforgiving wind, he wondered if he, too, would freeze in a bizarre shape if he stood still for too long. Even in spring, the cold was enough to sting his eyes and crust his eyelashes with frost, the air so frigid it hurt to breathe.

He turned to face his traveling companions. “It’s getting dark,” he said, signing as he spoke. “Let’s find a spot to camp.”

The Lajok Leadership Academy had dropped Roland and his squad in The Space Between approximately twelve hours ago, leaving them with nothing but basic survival essentials and their thick woolen uniform coats. Their assignment was simple: make it back to campus alive. Roland had been excited by the challenge in the beginning, stepping forth as he often did to take charge, as none had officially been assigned as squad leader. Finally, a chance to test themselves in a real life scenario, something he had hungered for after the negligible stakes of so many simulations and exercises.

Roland knew it would take all of them working together to survive the task. Each member of their squad had a unique set of skills and experiences to lend to the collective whole. This particular group he was quite close to; all third year classmates of his, all with intrinsic knowledge of each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Where Kedric lacked orienteering skills, Alyn covered him, and where Alyn struggled with trapping, Hoyt covered her, and so on. 

He rapidly grew disillusioned as he hiked through the snow, realizing that their wilderness assignment was simply beleaguering a point. It was all very pedestrian to him, a lesson taught time and time again since the moment he was born. Cooperation is key, no man is an island, and only a team succeeds. It was inherent to any vlaka anywhere on the planet, an interdependence ingrained in every facet of their society.

Roland knew they shouldn’t be in their third year at the Academy and still learning something so elementary. He hadn’t enrolled to learn teamwork. He was here to learn leadership, and he was beginning to suspect the Lajok definition of leadership was just another way to keep vlakas like him planetside.

As the group dispersed to set up camp, a familiar touch on Roland’s elbow drew him out of his thoughts. At his side was Zuri, a deafblind squadmate he often defaulted to as his deputy. If we keep this pace, they signed, we should reach Lajok in three days’ time.

“Thank you, Zuri,” Roland replied aloud, taking their paw in his and signing his words against their palm. “How are the others faring? Have you noticed anything I should take note of?”

Their eyes, pale pink and wandering, couldn’t see Roland as they conversed, their expressive ears unable to pick up the cadence and timbre of his voice, but Roland knew they understood the intention behind his words better than most. Zuri gathered it in his scent, the pressure of his touch, even the resonance of his footfalls. It was a much needed reassurance, to have someone by his side who not only understood what he meant when his words failed him, but could also mediate between others just as successfully. They had an extrasensory talent for understanding others, as if they could smell the very words their emotions translated to.

So far so good, Zuri signed, though some think we should press on through the night. The Space Between in early spring makes them uneasy. They want to be back within the city’s rings as quickly as possible.

Roland’s snout wrinkled with disagreement. “I told everyone it would be unwise to push ourselves,” he stressed. “We know how to survive in an austere environment, and we won’t come to harm if we take the journey slowly and carefully. Who is saying this?”

Zuri offered a small, sympathetic smile as Roland expressed his concerns into their paw. Skinner and his usual clique, they signed back. Just something to keep an eye on. You know how he can get.

Roland did know how he could get. Gaius Skinner Valens, who went by Skinner amongst his squadmates, was often at odds with Roland Mons Gelidus. He was an irascible, opinionated vlaka whose headstrong leadership style clashed with Roland’s thoughtful, meticulous approach. Troubled, he turned his gaze to the horizon again. The temperatures would drop from dangerous to deadly come nightfall, and they couldn’t afford to lose a single vlaka if they were to survive the journey. Something to keep an eye on, indeed. Perhaps he should speak to Skinner early before this came to a head.

For now, camp setup took priority. Starting a fire, thawing provisions, and divvying rations was the simpler matter, while the majority of the group’s efforts went toward excavating a snow trench to shelter against the elements. Tempers in the camp were tense but subdued, packmates conversing through low whuffs and tactile signing. Occasionally, a brief spat broke out and dissipated in moments - a harmless vent of anxiety.

Regardless of what their opinions might be, everyone contributed to the chore, tolerating Roland’s hovering. While he was confident in the squad’s ability to survive in The Space Between, the unpredictable spring weather made him nervous, and monitoring the particulars helped him maintain a sense of control. Thankfully, he had Zuri to soften things when his orders came out unintentionally abrasive. 

He took his own turn clearing out the trench, his paw pads stinging with cold. He could hear his own labored breathing and the howling wind as he worked, but underneath that was the faint nocturnal call of birds, the sparse patter of prey animal feet. If Lajok’s smallest creatures could survive out here, so could they. Not to mention dozens of lone vlakas survive in The Space Between year round, doing whatever it is they do beyond the city walls. Roland and his classmates had survived their adolescent journeys through the wilderness in valai, after all.

His breath clouded the air as he appraised the work, questioning himself. This was no longer valai, though. And they were no longer children.

As he contemplated this, his ears picked up the low tones of a grumbled conversation. A short distance away, Skinner huddled with a few of his friends, paws jammed in his coat pockets. Even without signing his words, his scent was enough to convey his dissatisfaction. It stained the bitter wind with a thick yellow anxiety. 

“...Wasting time out here digging ditches,” Roland heard him mutter. “He’s going to get us all killed.”

“I’m sorry, Skinner,” Roland interjected, brushing snow from his palms. “If there’s something you’re concerned about, please do tell me.”

The other vlaka scoffed at the interruption, turning from his huddle with a reproachful look. His eyes were the same ice blue as frost in moonlight. “Oh, now he knows there’s a problem,” he sneered.

Roland had no idea what Skinner meant. If he was so bothered by making camp here, why hadn’t he said something about it earlier? Zuri told him Skinner was uneasy, but this level of hostility was unexpected. “I… apologize,” Roland said, “I was unaware you had a grievance. If you have input that would better serve the group, I’d love to hear it.”

“Don’t play ignorant. I didn’t say anything because I knew you’d only pretend to listen,” Skinner snapped back. “Then you’d just go on ahead and do what you were planning on doing anyway. Tyrant.” As he spoke, the two other vlakas with him reflected his attitude, shifting their weight from foot to foot and raising their hackles.

Roland exhaled heavily through his nose. He really tried with Skinner. Even if he didn’t like him, he still respected him for his boldness. When it came to making quick, decisive action, he was the best of them, and Roland had full confidence he would make an excellent battle tactician someday. Matters of caution didn’t suit him, however, and he became agitated at anything that made him wait. He should have expected opposition from the likes of him.

Skinner’s coat, streaked with indigo, bristled as he continued. “The longer we wait out here, the more we risk getting injured or worse. We don’t have enough rations for a three day trip. We’re practically buried in snow. Spring is here, Roland. What if there’s an avalanche?” He gestured to the nearby mountainside, where its sheer face hung heavy with snow. 

Work around the camp ground to a halt as their raised voices drew the others’ attention. Roland caught movement in his periphery, but it was only Zuri, signing to ask a squadmate what was going on. Though Skinner and Roland were only verbally disagreeing, the deaf members could read lips well enough to gather the dispute. Uneasiness rippled through the pack, their fear scent betraying an erosion of faith.

Roland scowled. The name calling was a little juvenile, but he had heard worse. Sowing discord among the squad he wouldn’t stand for. He cut his eyes to Tiber, a classmate whose wilderness skills he trusted the most. “Is there risk of an avalanche?” he asked, signing out the words along with his question. 

Tiber studied the mountainside carefully, checking her own work, then gave a reticent shake of her head. “Snowpacks look stable, no recent displacement, still too early for rapid melting,” she responded, also signing. “There’s risk, but it’s low.”

Her words confirmed aloud the reasoning in his head. If the choice was between an avalanche, which might kill them, and subzero temperatures, which most definitely would, he was picking the avalanche. 

Roland turned a justified stare on his opposition, hoping the public address of Skinner’s concerns would be enough to quell the squad’s anxieties. “Pardon me, Skinner, if I trust the words of our most experienced mountaineer over yours,” he said, unable to keep the disdain from his tone.

Skinner rolled his eyes. “They’ll say whatever you want to hear because they know you’ll walk all over them if they don’t,” he said. “I should be leading this squad, not you. Everyone agrees.”

Did they? Roland wanted to pass a glance at his pack to verify, but he forced himself to hold eye contact with Skinner, even as doubt stormed his heart.

“This is challenging for all of us,” he shot back. “It’s going to be a hard couple of days. If you’re afraid, just admit it.” He meant it without malice, but like many things he said, it came out insultingly. “We’ll get through it together.”

“Afraid?” Skinner repeated. His tail lashed with agitation. “The only thing I’m afraid of is your stupidity. I’m putting an end to this.” He took a challenging step forward, eyes bright and alert. “Duel me. Winner takes charge of the assignment.”

The gall! Roland bared his teeth. “I’m not fighting you, Skinner,” he snarled, “have you lost your senses?”

The hot, impulsive side of him wanted desperately to accept the challenge. Prove his capability, vent his aggression, and put an end to this ridiculous argument all at once, so they could get back to more important matters.

Roland swallowed back the growl in his throat. He shared Skinner’s fear of dying, out here in the Lajok wilderness where the elements leached the very life from your blood, but it was eclipsed by a something greater. The onus of their survival rest upon his leadership. If anyone succumbed to cold, hunger, exhaustion, or injury based on his decisions, it would be no different than if he’d killed them with his own two paws.

He couldn’t risk hurting a packmate, no mater how badly he wanted to. He held his ground. The other vlakas flanking Skinner shifted indecisively, and all around them the temperatures continued to fall. 

Skinner was dauntless. Steam and fear scent rising from his body, he showed no indication of backing down. “I thought you’d say that, coward,” he spat. “It always has to be your way, on your terms.” He pointed defiantly at Roland. “I’m not letting you dig your heels in this time. You aren’t fit to lead this troop. Step down. I won’t say it again.”

Roland was beginning to gather that this stemmed from more than just the present situation, but he couldn’t examine how many times he might have unintentionally slighted the other man that very instant. “These are unacceptable terms-” he tried to protest, and Skinner charged him.

Reflex kicked in and he ducked, unable to fully dodge the claws aimed at his face. The blow came first and then the pain, a stinging, hot gash that ripped down the length of his snout. 

He clapped a paw to his muzzle and staggered back. The scent of his blood drenched the air, soaking through his fur and spattering scarlet on the snow. If he hadn’t moved in time, Skinner could have taken out one of his eyes. Panting, he felt a growl vibrating his chest, his nervous system flooding with the instinct to defend himself.

“Calm yourself, man!” Roland barked, both to himself and the opposition. Skinner was already preparing for another attack, his lithe body low and stanced to strike. 

As Roland braced himself, the pack surged around him, forming a barrier between him and Skinner. Backed up against him was Zuri, as vicious as he had ever seen them, teeth bared, hackles on end, head ducked and ears pinned against their skull. The others snarled and snapped at Skinner, scolding him for disrupting the order of the pack. It was a chastisement beyond words, coming from a primal place before the vlaka had developed language.

Roland was stunned. Both at Skinner’s audacity and the loyalty of his squadmates. He was tempted to resist their protection, to order them to step aside, to tell them this wasn’t their fight. But enveloped as he was by the animal congruence of his team, he allowed their support to wash over him. He realized, with a tiny thrill of vindication, that the pack took Skinner’s challenge as a threat to them all. A leader spoke for the group and the group spoke for him. His successes were their successes, his failures their failures. His squad would not stand for hostility from a wolf who would rather endanger them than trust their collective capability.

Skinner backed off, breathing hard, as his brethren rebuked him. He flicked his eyes questioningly to his usual supporters, but even they were unwilling to take his side against the rest of the squad. Fear and fury billowed off him and curled into the frozen sky; Roland could smell his humiliation even from behind the resolute wall of his squadmates. Skinner let out a snarl and set off, disgraced, away from camp.

“Skinner, wait!” Roland called, watching the indigo coat lose itself amidst the pines and snowdrifts. He tried to shoulder past his team to pursue him, but Zuri caught his arm.

Let him go, they signed, their hand motions quick and sharp with their remaining agitation. You can’t get yourself killed going after him. We need you here.

As much as he hated to admit it, they were right. If he ventured into the polar darkness, he was just as foolish as Skinner. All the bravado and self assurance left him in a rush and he took a step back, reeling from what had just happened. Blood dripped from his wound, glittering rubies congealing in the snow.

The phalanx dispersed, his packmates murmuring and signing amongst themselves. One of them offered Roland a clean cloth, which he gratefully pressed against his muzzle until the bleeding stopped. Though the cuts stung, resentment found no purchase in his heart as he stared at the place where Skinner had fled. The squad finished digging out their shelter and turned to other matters: eating and drinking, checking their paws for blisters, patching over minor injuries, wrapping hands and taping feet to protect against the next day’s strenuous hike. As night swallowed them, they huddled against the deadly temperatures inside the snow trench.

Roland posted himself at the entrance, watching the darkness, an anxious, guilty dread gnawing at his chest. Ordinarily, he would take this downtime to check on everyone, but the habit escaped him as he stewed in his emotions. He was furious with himself for allowing the argument to happen, for letting it escalate to violence, for losing a member of the team. It didn’t matter that he had successfully avoided a fight. If Skinner died out there, it was Roland’s fault.

He pressed his shoulder against the cold trench wall, listening to his companions slumbering at his back. He talked himself down from searching for Skinner over and over again, and as he did so his gaze wandered heavenward. Cradled by the mountains, away from the light and haze of the capital city, the night sky was a sprawling, starlit invitation. Roland found himself momentarily breathless, entranced by the glimmering cosmic expanse above him. There were entire worlds beyond the Vast, mere pinpoints of light from his small, insignificant vantage on Lajok.

Why he was doing this? Attending the academy, honing his leadership, striving for achievement - it all felt so meaningless under the infinite sky. The Circle of Lajok only fought amongst themselves, wasting time deciding what was best for the planet while Sota continued to die. Did his dispute with Skinner portend his future? Was their assignment supposed to teach him acceptable loss? This couldn’t be the life he was meant for, to lead his people confidently to their end. 

Rest, the stars sang him, and Roland felt a profound quiet overtake his troubled heart. Rest, yes. He needed to rest. He still had to lead the remainder of the squad safely out of the wilderness, and he was doing no one any favors wasting precious energy on penitence. With one last look at the sky, he ducked inside the snow trench, pressing himself amongst the furry bodies of his squadmates. He thought he would be too anxious to sleep, but exhaustion took him the moment he closed his eyes.

He didn’t know how much time had passed - minutes, hours - when movement stirred him awake. Roland startled, expecting an intruder, but the familiar scent of Skinner quelled his alarm. Wordlessly, he moved aside to allow room for his wayward teammate. Skinner settled sullenly against him, shivering from his solitary trek through the cold. Any impulse to scold him for his rashness was erased by a relief so powerful it made Roland dizzy. Together they nestled in close, sharing in the warmth of the pack.

Abruptly, he returned to the present. He was no longer on Lajok, the wound on his muzzle having long since healed over. The mist clouding the hall wasn’t from his breath in the frigid air, but the steam from Morgan’s shower. His hand hovered over their door, his determined knock utterly arrested by their haunting, bittersweet song.

His fear of losing Morgan was what brought him to their quarters in the first place. The necrograft they volunteered for was a point of contention he didn’t wish to escalate, but concern roiled within him all the same. Skinner had survived his recklessness, but would Morgan? He had come to care for and depend on them, even more so than Zuri back in his Academy days. While he couldn’t afford to lose any one of his crew, he knew he would be especially devastated if something happened to Morgan.

Roland had always struggled with his words, even on Lajok with the aid of all his senses. Now, it was even more difficult to convey how he felt, speaking a language that was not his birth tongue, parlaying with people who couldn’t scent the true emotions behind his stilted words. He spoke as clearly and often as he could, for fear of being misinterpreted, but it seemed the more he said, the deeper he dug himself. He had offended everyone on his crew dozens of times over, and still, somehow, they followed him.

It left him with the same shocked assurance he’d felt in The Space Between, with his squad rallied around him. Surely the crew didn’t defer to him based on rank alone at this point, but it was hard to believe everyone had his back when he fumbled his title left and right. This inexplicable cooperation he owed largely to Morgan.

The song ended, but its echoes rippled around him like ghosts. He lowered his hand, feeling unsettled and wistful and vaguely itchy, his fur saturated with ambient humidity. Morgan’s lyrics had slammed him back in time, back to the mountains of his namesake. A tremendous homesickness overwhelmed him. Rather than tamp it down as he usually did, he took a moment to sit with it, his throat tightening and his eyes prickling with tears.

One day the sun would set on his homeworld for the last time. How cruel it was, to love something so doomed. 

He had left his circles - his family - behind on Lajok. The crew he captained now was a naive replacement, a product of fleeing failure. Still, something within him ached for this to work. His leadership was tested and tested again, yet he felt a peculiar fondness for it, every impulse to run outweighed by a deeper desire for connection. This crew was just as hungry for life as he was. He felt privileged to lead them.

Roland drew in a shaky breath. Only after sunset could he see the stars.

He raised his hand and knocked.

[morbidcherryblossom]

My goretober candy gore art! Featuring Static (left) and Anthony (right)!

(They are boyfriends if you didn’t know-)

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Exit Strategy

A short scene inspired by something @fablepatron drew.

-

Adrenaline and training numb the pain in his abdomen. The white hot shock of injury fading away as his brain and nervous system kick into overdrive via natural and artificial means. His body and mind have been made into a weapon and that very fact might save his life.

And the fact that he isn't alone.

"Roland..." Miller calls after glancing around the corner. "Could really use an exit strategy about now."

"Working on it." Roland's voice is short and clipped, buzzing moodily from the ceiling, like he's annoyed and this is just them on Ops. It's familiar and comforting in a strange way. Miller's not going to snipe back because there's someone with a gun and he doesn't even have a sidearm. Lost it sometime in the rush. Spartans can do a lot but they aren't invincible - no one believes that lie anymore. He can feel his pulse in the throbbing wound and the wet seeping down the techsuit.

"Okay. I have one, but..." Roland says in a garbled rush of static from the ceiling. It draws his eyes up from where Miller's got himself braced in a crouch. "I need you to trust me."

"What are you doing?" Miller asks. Trepidation settles in the back of his skull, a brief icy chill that spurs him on.

"Just trust me okay?" Roland's tone dips into familiar territory, near manic in its joviality. Even the most insane plans he's had have worked out. What other options are there? Miller exhales. Animal fear is wrestled down and settles in the back of his brain. Focus returns.

"Okay. I trust you."

The world turns red.

Someone inhales sharply, the pain in the body sharpens and is then ignored. It is noted -cataloged- and then they move on.

I need to redo this.

The body gets its feet under itself again, hands braced as they review the options, the choices and actions that led him here.

The body looks and it sees from another perspective. The pilot of the body sees. Miller has forcibly been made to take a backseat and he isn't quite quick enough to keep up. He watches and trusts because it's all he can do.

The eyes of the body see from the other place. The enemy is injured, crouching 1.8 meters away, wounded leg visible.

"Just one guy? You're getting old, Miller." Roland speak-think-tells him. 

The body continues to look and think. The pilot weighing on the wetware, manually correcting and dragging it upright, spurring muscle and bone into position. There is slight frustration-indignation-relief at the jab, so Roland follows up with congratulating him with the hit on the enemy. The bullet will slow the enemy. Another advantage.

The world is red. A pulse pounds, blood in his ears. Blood loud. Meat is so loud, especially when pushed. Everything is in sharp relief, crystal clear and muddled as the pilot looks with the body's burning eyes. Brown to gold. Pupils dilated. Data pours in.

85% certainty at this distance. The BR85 is gas-operated, magazine-fed. 36 rounds with a high rate of fire. Effective up to 950 meters. 97% certainty the magazine isn't full. Short controlled bursts are easy to miss if fired in a panic. Dangerous to unhelmeted wetware.

Do you trust me?

The world is red and the pilot primes the body. The plan is - the plan is - the plan is in motion, always has been, always will be. There were a thousand plans - there was only ever one plan. The body survives.

The eyes of the body watch as the surroundings change. They are outside themself, it sees itself and it sees the enemy through the eyes of the body. Its eyes are locked onto the gun and the foe and the body moves faster than ever. A fist, bone and muscle and more - the skeletal fullerene lattice supports the speed, while the increased production of myelin sheaths allows the wetware to bear the load of an outside pilot. The body moves as the outside mind has already decided, already planned for. The body's mind, pushed to the back, does not understand. It watches, a silent witness.

Vertigo. Red. Pain. Noise. Meat and bone.

The hit lands, the gun is taken, the enemy staggers, the trigger is pulled. The noise of the gun firing is the loudest thing the body has ever experienced. Blood pounds in his ears. Borrowed eyes burn, he forgot to blink. The pilot is so young. 

The recoil shudders through meat and bone. The bullet tears through meat and bone. The body is standing. The enemy is falling so fast - dropping in slow motion. The enemy is downed.

Wisps of smoke dissolve from the barrel. Heat floods the system. 

The world turns white.

Miller comes to propped up against the wall. 

The world is white and pain returns. He is seeing out of his own eyes now - has only ever seen out of his brown eyes. His muscles burn and his lungs draw in breath like he's surfaced from underwater. His pulse pounds in his body, ears and all. The blood is loud even as his head is quiet. He isn't alone.

A breath then two. The ceiling swims above him. He's vaguely aware of the camera focusing on him.

"Roland?"

"Yeah?" The voice comes from outside, from a speaker on the ceiling that is still swimming.

"Fuck you." Miller closes his eyes and focuses on breathing. His legs are folded beneath him. He doesn't think he could stand right now if he tried.

"Aw, I knew you loved me."

[amzarashi]

there's this thing where you can't say certain words or phrases or breathe a certain way or touch something for too long or nudge the book that's been collecting dust on your bedside for two years because anything and everything could turn the world against you

i can't sleep at night because my breathing doesn’t feel right and the prayer i said five times in row doesn’t feel right so i have to get up open the door turn the lights on retrace my steps until my feet start aching from how bad i need it all to make sense to fall into place to not hurt the people i care about because guilt makes your heart sink like stone and i still haven't learned how to swim

fox reads me poetry until fox is all i think about until the world isn't so scary and the static in my brain is quiet i tell fox good night i say i love you but it's rarely there so i say it again over and over because repetition speaks things into existence until it piles up on top of each other until i can gather it all in my hand and squish it together like putty and use it to close up everywhere the hurt is leaking through

exposure therapy sucks. it's not that i can't touch door knobs or cross the threshold or have to wash my hands so many times or that i have to click the lock and turn the bathroom lights on and the bedroom lights off and the doorway lights on and the people around me have to say good night with an inflection that tells me i won't die tomorrow because i don't know what my brain wants more often than not

words have so much weight and i haven't told anyone i love them and meant it because i’m scared if i do i will doom them to my fate of picking at nails and skin so i use loopholes like my life depends on them. i say it with breaks in between. the pauses are periods so it's a string of words not a curse set into motion it'd be nice to breathe without having to think about what i can or cannot say

instead i send poetry, i say read the orange by wendy cope listen to 400 lux by lorde it's not a love language because language was made to share love babel was a death sentence there are many words i want to say but can't say but roland barthes says, i've got nothing to say to you but it's to you i want to say this nothing

[robotstrategy]

Rediscover • Part 1 • 7 - Nero

Previous • Series Masterlist • Part 1 Masterlist • Next

Nero follows the director, whom she now knows as Marilyn down the Hospital-like hallways. They still unnerve her, it’s surprising considering how much time she spent rearing young Rewinds in sterile environments.

“I’ve heard you’ve had a job in nursing, tell me about it,” Marilynn asks her. 

Nero scratches the back of her neck. “It was more like an advanced daycare, my job was really just to educate the fresh Rewinds and make sure they felt comfortable in their bodies.”

“Hmm, that’s good nonetheless, keeping teens in a good state of mind will be a big part of your job.”

Nero is confused. “Won’t there be children too?”

Marilynn laughs. “I sure hope not!”

Soon they close in on a room simply labelled “Training Room”. Nero watches as Marilynn walks over to a filing cabinet to the side and picks out a DVD case. She opens it and hands the DVD to Nero. 

“Insert this into the player when you go in, it’ll start up immediately.” Nero notices that almost all of Marilynn's peppiness is gone like life has drained out of her.

“Is something wrong? Are you okay?”

She looks at Nero, confused. “No?” She opens the door to the room for her, the first thing Nero notices is the only furniture in the room consists of a TV and its disc player, a comfy chair, and a side table simply holding a box of tissues. Nero snickers at the side table, “Is training the only use of this room?”

Marilynn looks to the side. “The walls are sound-proof, sometimes people will scream in here to get rid of pent-up frustration.”

Nero looks back at the tissues. “Riiiiiiiiiiiight.”

Marilynn’s voice, despite being dead of all emotion, somehow becomes soft, yet authoritative. “There are no security cameras in there, take your time and come out when you’re ready.”

Although still miffed about the ambience of this situation Nero steps through the doorway and is promptly closed in by Marilynn shutting the door for her. Nero inspects the room more, its floor and walls are made up of white fabric panels. She knows they’ve been there for a long time as when she softly punches one of them dust waterfalls out of it. 

“This room is a big fire hazard.” She whispers to herself. She looks at the block of light on the wall and follows it back to a small window on the other side of the room. It’s placed in a way one would place a basement window, though Nero knows she isn’t underground. She finally goes to sit down in the chair, picking up the player from the floor. She inserts the disc and watches as the TV screen illuminates. Free-Range Camp Nursing: The Hand-Holder Nurse is what the screen reads, at the bottom of the screen she catches the words Happy Jack, those words seem familiar to her, has she heard them before? Perhaps they were listed as funders for this camp, this camp is called Jack’s Canadian Summer Camp after all. The video starts with a narration, it sounds like an older woman, maybe, the voice seems so cigarette-filled that it is hard to tell the gender of the voice. 

Nero sits cross-legged as she sets the player down.

“A Hand-Holder Nurse is a very important job in a Harvest Camp, you will have the greatest impression on everyone you see.”

Harvest Camp? Harvest Camp! Nero has heard those words many times before she believes the last time she’s heard them was when Roland was talking about the events leading up to his original body’s unwinding. Wait, then what is she watching, oh god what is she watching? 

“The job is very simple, you are to keep the unwind calm during the process of unwinding.” 

What! WHAT! SHE’S TO WHAT! The screen then suddenly cuts to a boy panicking on a table, the boy is about Sam’s age, and he even sounds like Sam. Nero finds herself off of the chair and onto her knees she feels the static coming from the old TV as she has her hands pressed to it. The boy cries for help as directions on how to act are spoken, from the boy's reaction it’s clear that the instructions aren’t an audio overlay, they’re being told to you in real-time as the boy screams. As the video plays on it shows how to direct the unwind’s attention away from the cutting, it’s mostly focused on the face of the unwind, that poor, poor child, until it flashes to his body being taken apart. Suddenly, Nero feels her body tense up and ache; she curses as all the scar tissue stings like there’s no tomorrow. She’s really in for it now. 

Nero can’t even pay attention to what’s on the TV screen anymore the voices scream in her head crying out wanting to go back to their bodies. They can’t, and they never will, not without tearing Nero apart herself, and she doesn’t want that. It seems like all those opportunities Nero takes lead her back to rotting in situations he’d rather not be in. Being at that support group brought her friendship with Roland, yes, but it also brought her pain through no one understanding or wanting to understand how she saw her own life. She found peace for a moment in the academy, but it only led to her friend becoming miserable and her going back to the military. And now she lays convulsing against the floor knowing she made another mistake of bringing her and Roland here. She could’ve been with Sam now, she wouldn’t care that she’d be on Molokai if she had her brother by her side. If she still didn’t want to be on Molokai, she could’ve been brewing coffee at three in the morning for Roland as he told her about all the crazy stories that came with being an EMT Helicopter Pilot. For a brief moment through all the struggling Nero hears only a blurb of the film. “Reassure the patient after their eyes have been removed that you are still here, then only, will you be allowed to leave.” Nero receives the worst headache ever as her brain implodes on itself screaming traitor, liar, and whatnot. She feels her fingers dig into her shoulders and her legs kick into the ground as Roland, Beth and her Biobuilder fingers do whatever they can to rage in her convulsing body. Nero lays on the floor teary-eyed wanting all of this to end, the video, the convulsing, and being stuck on this smelly padded floor. So she does the only thing she can, She takes a deep breath and lets out the loudest, anger-filled, blood-curdling scream she can muster up. 

“You have come to the end of the training video, please return to your camp director when possible.”

Nero stares at the ceiling feeling sobered up, she’s finally able to reach up and grab tissues from the box. She feels hopeless in her situation as she stares at the end card of the video. Nero knows she’s in the palm of the enemy, and she must find a way out of it. But first, she’ll cry, she’ll cry her big heart out, she’s not sure if it’s the homesickness or the fear of what waits for her on the other side of that door, but she knows it can’t be good. 

She looks at the garbage pail hidden from her sight when she first walked into the room. Nero goes to put the Kleenex in the garbage only to have second thoughts, she wonders if the staff would check the garbage after she’d left. See if she had cried. Nero stuffs the Kleenex in her bra before opening the door, outside is Marilynn waiting for her, Nero would’ve jumped if this wasn’t exactly what she expected. 

Marilynn has the same stone-cold face when Nero returns the disc to her. She expects Marilynn to say something to her, but instead, she lifts Nero's veil and Nero immediately slaps her away. That gets Marilynn to react.

“Strong hands,” Marilynn mutters. She puts the disc away and ushers Nero into a backroom. Nero wonders if the shelves are planted on the wall or if she could knock one over and easily kill the director, pretending it was an accident. 

Nero snaps out of it after being handed a few garments, she looks at the shirts, noticing they are a bright, sunshine yellow. 

She cringes at them. “Is there any other colour?” She asks. 

Marilynn blinks at her. “We all wear yellow.” 

Nero huffs. “Isn’t Maha wearing blue?” 

“We don’t have any blue shirts your size.”

Nero holds the garments close to her, frowning, she goes towards a bathroom to change. Upon entering she looks in the mirror to see a veiled figure looking back at her. Somehow the hard plastic mask she wore when she came here seems more comforting now. She begins to slowly undress and redress herself, although now wearing more modest and flowy attire she feels even more trapped and exposed than before. She feels nauseous like a patient anxious before their first surgery, not sure what exactly to expect. She takes the tissues out of her bra and throws them into the garbage already in use. Before leaving the bathroom Nero takes one last look at herself, her nose is stuffed, her eyes are puffy, and she has a very noticeable pout. She takes a deep breath and calms herself like she was taught to. At least serving in the military had some use in the end. She takes one last look at her yellow shirt and then dismisses it before her legs get any second thoughts and starts falling on her. 

She returns to the main room to see Marilynn with Maha at her side, and she notices Marilynn has something in her hand. Once she gets close enough she’s handed the paper, Nero should’ve been surprised by what she saw, but when else would Marilynn have given her the list of every unwinds’ appointment with her? 

“You’ll have to tell me how the first one goes.” Maha smiles. “I’ll be more ready for Fatima when her time comes.” 

Nero can’t exactly give the stink eye if her eyes are out of view, so instead she turns her head to Maha for an uncomfortably long second before looking away. It gets her point across. Nero looks back at the paper and notices something. “Why am I hand-holding a 19-year-old?” She asks. 

Marilynn clears her throat. “That’s Connor Lassiter, known for forcing unwinding out of the United States.” 

Nero looks at her, confused. “Isn’t he a liberty fighter?” 

“A war criminal really. We plan on unwinding him first before anybody else,” Marilynn gets closer to Nero. “I need you to gain his trust, he’s obviously hatching a plan to destroy us, and I need to be one step ahead of him, understand?” 

“Yes ma’am!” Nero says out of habit before biting her tongue. 

“Good.” She then leaves Maha and her alone, Maha takes the hint that Nero doesn’t like her and leaves soon after. 

Nero looks at the page again, Connor Lassiter/Robert Saltries, set for unwinding on the 24th, that’s the guy she’ll help if she wants this place crushed beneath her feet. 

[paper-poppy]

Stamp

The red hue, the sharp corners of the beautiful crystal, a clear style of Rella's. It was cradled inside the woven basket. It's memories and secrets waiting to spill out.

Walking up the steps with a bounce in his pace Emil opened the door to his aunt's home. Ready to be away from the tension in his own house he stared at the new stack of books on the table. 

Opening the cover nonchalantly and letting the pages flip closed his magenta eyes tracking the slight movements of the wispy nature of the pages. Attracted to the pastry's scent he smiled and set the basket down.

“One bunch of Roland berries, successfully delivered by yours truly!”, he grinned wide feeling proud of himself.

“As always, I can count on you.”, smiling faintly as she walked over and examined the berries. They had a different hue from the usual variety. Bursting with flavor she offered a thumbs up. 

“Passed the test Emil, these will certainly be great for the Roland berry jam for the croissants.”, her eyes then caught sight of the red crystal.

—---

Xiela curled up in bed, wrapping her arms around herself. 

“I don't think I can keep you hidden anymore..”, she whispered quietly.

Thinking back to the defining moment when she could no longer blame her anxiety and worry and decided to find out for sure.

The moment she confirmed her fears.. seeing the plus sign stamp on the tool. Congratulating her of her deceit and rewarding her with a slap to the face. 

She could have maybe gotten away with it by explaining and it would have been fine. But now? Now? 

‘Why did you wait until now? Were you ever going to tell me??’

Imagining him speaking coldly to her and saying it over and over, the doubt kept building in her mind. Overwhelming waves of doubt were too much for her now.

That night was a haze for her, but one thing she did remember was ugly. Pushing the ugliness out of her mind she thought back to the memory crystal. It had the entire record on there. 

Shame filled her mind, she would rather die than let G’raha know what she had done to him. She needed to destroy it. He didn't need to know the full details. 

Feeling the need to rid the world of any account of her acts she rushed down the stairs and ran out the backdoor. 

Pushing past the garden gate and feeling her shoes get trudged down in the recently watered plot she dug into the ground. 

Feelings of dread slammed into her, her brain feeling static. Digging further and around the area. 

‘No,nonononono-’, her breathing was coming out weak and dizziness drained her, bringing her to her knees on the wet dirt.

—--

“Yeah I found this.. do you know what it has on it?”, Emil walked over and handed the crystal to Rella. 

Reaching out to meet him halfway, She flinched instantly, reconciling slightly. Letting the crystal clink to the ground.

“Oh oops sorry!-”, grabbing it off the floor, Emil went to pick it up.

Feeling sick and disgusted, Rella put on a faint smile to cover what she just saw. The crystal had revealed all the record, the history and the emotions of said individual. In a single moment she had witnessed it all.

Truthfully, it had been such a long time ago for her, she did remember wondering when she would catch up to those events all those years ago. 

However, this was entirely not what she had expected. 

Xiela had snatched the crystal before returning back to her original time, without a goodbye to Rella. Despite her firm warnings to return the crystal once she was to go back home. 

Now Rella knew why.

“It's fine Emil, just set it on the table there, okay?” 

[voiceactormarchmadness]

Laura Bailey- Notable roles: Tohru Honda (Fruits Basket), Lust (Fullemtal Alchemist/FMA: Brotherhood), Maka Albarn (Soul Eater), Kid Trunks (Dragon Ball Z), Abby Anderson (The Last of Us Part 2), and Vex'ahlia (The Legend of Vox Machina)

Phil LaMarr- Notable roles: Samurai Jack (Samurai Jack), John Stewart/Green Lantern (Justice League/DCAU), Virgil Hawkins/Static (Static Shock), Hermes Conrad (Futurama), Wilt (Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends), and Roland (Dragon Age: Absolution)