#crimson crisis | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sephirthoughts · 1 month ago

Text

Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH 15: (fucking finally)

prev. chap here

back in the present, sort of ollie-centric, reeve is bewildered, nero gets several surprises in a row

RATING: teen and up there are several swears

WARNINGS: baby drooling a lot, giant spiders

NOTES: er-ge (ahr-guh): second elder brother, gege (guh-guh): elder brother affectionate. ollie's baby babble uses these terms

this man needs several lifetimes of vacations

darkness tentacles cause i think they're neat

“Stop that,” Sephiroth scolded. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting some juice,” Nero replied.

“If you want something, ask politely.”

“Why is it more polite to ask someone else to pass me something, when I can get it myself?”

“Because it’s rude to reach across the breakfast table with your disgusting tentacles.”

Cid, who had never heard Sephiroth sound even mildly annoyed since he’d begun constantly being here, looked up from his bowl of eggs and rice. “What’s goin’ on, you two?”

“My brother is jealous because I slept with our father,” Nero cheerfully announced, as one of his darkness tendrils poured juice into his glass, from the carafe.

Cloud choked on his coffee, Ollie burbled gleefully, and Vincent pretended not to hear any of it, from behind the week-old edition of the Wutai Times, he was reading.

“Don’t say ambiguous things to intentionally cause misunderstandings,” Sephiroth said, tugging the carafe from the tentacle’s grasp.

“You know, Sephi had a duel with my brother Weiss, once,” Nero intimated to Cloud.

“Your older brothers fought each other?” Cloud asked curiously. “I didn’t know that. When?”

“It was years ago, when Weiss was sixteen. Shinra broadcast it on live television.”

“Holy shit. How’d that go?”

“Sephi was the favorite to win, but Weiss nearly killed him,” Nero smiled beatifically. “In the end, he had to cheat. Isn’t that right, Sephi?”

“What did I just say about intentionally causing misunderstandings?” Sephiroth replied flatly. “You are mischaracterizing the situation.”

“Oh? Then do correct me.”

“I never wanted to fight Weiss. I was called back from an important mission and forced to participate in a product demonstration, for the executives. Hojo deceived him and used an implanted control chip, which was the product, to cripple him, halfway through the fight. The point was to demonstrate its effectiveness to the board.”

“And how very effective it was,” Nero sneered. “By the way, did you know that Genesis visited us, in Deepground, before the fight? He sparred with Weiss, and gave him tips on how to beat you. He said it was time you were knocked down a peg.”

Sephiroth’s brow knit and his jaw tensed, but he ignored the taunt, and spooned some cubed peaches into Ollie’s bowl.

“Nero, that’s enough,” Vincent’s deep voice said from behind the newspaper. “No reason to needle your brother’s old wounds.”

“Sorry, father,” Nero replied dutifully.

“I liked it better when you sulked in your bedroom all day,” Sephiroth muttered.

Breakfast continued in silence, but for Ollie’s cooing and babbling, and the occasional rustle of Vincent turning the page of his paper. All the while, unobserved by anyone, a spider-silk-thin strand of darkness had been creeping along under the dining table, climbing the leg of the baby’s high chair, like a vine.

Now, it slithered up and coiled around a chubby ankle, disappearing inside a lavender sock. Ollie gave a loud squeal and kicked her legs, but when Sephiroth looked, assuming she’d dropped some peaches into her lap, there was nothing amiss.

“Are you all done, Ollie?” Cloud asked. “You want to go play?”

“Mama,” Ollie agreed, reaching out her little hands, which were dripping sticky peach juice.

Nero rested his chin in his palm “Why does she call you mama, when Sephi is clearly the maternal one?”

“Uh…” Cloud looked at Sephiroth, who was carefully cleaning the baby’s face and hands with a damp cloth, while she wiggled and refused to cooperate. “Who knows. Maybe because I’m small?”

“Why are you so small?”

“You know we’re the same size, right?”

“Yes, but I was born in prison, and suffered from severe malnutrition, as a child.”

“I was malnourished, too. Grew up poor, with no father, in a tundra climate. My mother and I hunted, as much as we could, but…we weren’t welcome in the men’s hunting parties. They’d clear out most of the small game, before we got a chance. Got pretty rough. Especially in winter.”

“So, it was just you and your mother against the world,” Nero sighed. “You must miss her.”

Sephiroth stood abruptly and left the room.

“Why do you have to say shit like that?” Cloud said irritably, after he’d gone. “You know it’s a sensitive subject.”

Nero looked genuinely taken aback. “I was only asking casually. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine. Whatever. Come on, Ollie. Let’s go find gege and we’ll all play a game.” So saying, Cloud gathered up the squirming baby and left the dining room.

“I know you didn’t intend to be malicious,” Vincent said, folding up his paper. “Just be more careful, from now on.”

Nero crossed his arms sullenly. “I was being careful. No matter what I say, it’s wrong.”

“How d’you think Sephiroth’s gonna act, when you been primin’ him with all that shit talk?” Cid pointed out. “He’s got no reason to give ya the benefit of the doubt.”

“He’s just too sensitive,” Nero groused. “I don’t cry about it, if people mention the horrible things I’ve done. I don’t care.”

“But he does care,” Cid said. “He ain’t you. Can’t judge other people by how you feel.”

“People are so confusing,” Nero said dolefully.

“Tell me about it,” Vincent snorted. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to learn how to interact with other humans, to little avail. I’m afraid I’m still as lost as you are.”

The doorbell rang just then, and Cid got up, tossing his napkin into his bowl. “That oughta be Reeve.”

Vincent nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll join you once I’ve cleaned up, in here.”

“I’ll do it,” Nero said, at which both men turned and stared at him. He scowled. “What? I’m not an idiot, I can figure out how to deal with a few dishes.”

“Well…alright,” Vincent said tentatively. “Thank you, Nero.”

Still looking understandably dubious, the two men exited the dining room.

Rather than get up to begin clearing the table, Nero remained sitting exactly as he was. Instead, several dozens of darkness tendrils snaked out of his skin markings, waving and wriggling, like the fronds on nightmare anemones.

At a thought from him, they descended upon the table in a writhing swarm, and sucked up every item: plates, bowls, coffee cups, half-full glasses of juice, even the napkins and silverware.

Having enveloped everything, the tendrils darted off to the kitchen, with lumps of various shapes visible in their ‘throats’, as if they were pythons that had swallowed prey. Only the prey was shaped like forks and mugs and bowls, and the like.

The leftover food and other refuse never reappeared, but the flatware and dishware were all spit back out, into their proper places in the cupboards and drawers; every single item sparkling clean, as if they’d all been scoured and polished (which they had been, by the ravenous darkness of the all-consuming void).

The entire process took about sixty seconds, and that was only because the tentacles didn’t know where everything went, and had to figure it out by trial and error. Meanwhile, a few of the larger ones slithered all over the table, leaving it immaculate, as well, while Nero sat perfectly still, apparently in deep concentration.

His mind was not on the mundane task, however, which the tentacles were perfectly able to complete without his attention, but on his father. Despite his taunting Sephiroth with it, he was still reeling inwardly, from the flying lesson in the rain, with Chaos, the other day. And even more so from having awakened, the next morning, to find he’d been sleeping in his father’s arms.

His knee-jerk reaction was anger, with himself, to have been so weak and vulnerable, in front of the man. But he couldn’t deny that he was moving closer to his goal. The red-cloaked bastard was even beginning to trust him, a little. His reaction when Nero upset Sephiroth, just now, was proof enough that he at least wasn’t considering him guilty till proven innocent.

Though, to be fair, Vincent never treated Nero that way. From the moment he set foot in this house, he was pretty much unsupervised. They’d even let him go out to a grocery store full of civilians. Since he was finished cleaning up, he sent a few thread-thin tendrils slinking into the living room, to listen in.

“Good to see ya, Reeve,” Cid’s voice was saying.

“Thank you for coming,” Vincent’s added.

“Anything for you two,” replied a pleasant, mature, male voice. “Sorry it took me a couple of days to get here. I was in Midgar, with Rufus, putting together a redevelopment plan for the city’s infrastructure. It’s going to be a hell of a lot of work.”

Cid sounded dubious. “Why do you look so happy about it?”

“Well…I love my job. I mean, my real job as an engineer, now that i don’t have to be Shinra’s single voice of sanity. Rebuilding is going to keep a lot of people employed, for many years, and the result will be a safer, cleaner place for everyone to live. What’s not to be happy about?”

“You’re a weird dude, Reeve,” Cid observed.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Reeve laughed.

“Nothing wrong with being weird,” Vincent’s low-toned voice put in. “Nero, if you’re going to eavesdrop, anyway, you may as well come in here and meet our guest.”

Shit. Busted.

Having no choice, now, Nero retracted his spy tentacles and went gloomily to the living room. The visitor looked pretty much exactly like he’d sounded. A tall, forty-something man, with greying, dark-brown hair and a neatly kept beard. A little older than his picture in the Shinra company directory, but good looking, overall.

“You must be Nero,” he said. “I’m Reeve Tu—”

“I know who you are, Director Tuesti,” Nero cut him off icily. “What’s a Shinra dog doing in my father’s house?”

“Sorry, Reeve,” Vincent interposed. “Nero wasn’t aware that you’re a friend. Nero, Reeve is with the WRO now, not Shinra. And even when he was, he worked with us and helped us.”

“Reeve, hey,” Cloud’s voice said, from the hallway arch, as he came in, carrying Ollie. “Been a while.”

“Oh, Cloud, it’s good to see you,” Reeve answered cheerfully, then his expression changed and he went white as a sheet, stumbling backward. “S—Sephiroth! Sephiroth’s right behind you!”

“It’s alright,” Vincent said, materializing beside him, to steady him on his feet. “He’s not here to make trouble.”

“You’re…serious,” Reeve faltered, looking around at the perfectly calm group. “What exactly is going on? How is he here?”

“Uh. This is going to take some explaining,” Cloud said. “You may want to sit down.”

Nero was pretty curious as to how Sephiroth was here, too. From what he could tell, the man wasn’t really alive. He was full of the planet’s pure life force, though, which made no sense at all. Dead things can’t interact with the Planet's energy.

Thus, he listened attentively, while in a clear, concise, and perfectly calm manner, Sephiroth related the entire story to Reeve, in broad strokes:

Jenova’s control over him, his madness and death, his becoming conscious in the lifestream, with no memory left but for those Jenova hadn’t torn away, which were all of hatred and pain. His eventual overpowering of her will. His confrontation with Cloud in the ruins of Shinra Tower, using the life force of the remnants, to manifest himself.

Then his fight for his very existence, when Chaos and Omega awakened, and how, after they returned to the Planet, he was forcibly rejected from the lifestream. How Cloud found him, how they reached an accord of forgiveness, and how the dormant seed of love, buried deep in both their hearts, sprouted again.

“It’s a new seed,” Cloud interjected.

“What?” Reeve asked, bewildered.

“Seph claims the seed was already there, for him, but it wasn’t, for me. It’s a new seed.”

“So you say, now,” Sephiroth returned. “I happen to know that you were already in love with me, when we first met.”

“Yeah, the idea of you. Not the very real asshole you turned out to be.”

Sephiroth tossed his head. “I was not an asshole. Not until the incident.”

“Either way, the main point is that Sephiroth is sane, now,” Cloud said to Reeve. “Oh, shit, I forgot to explain why he’s here, specifically. He’s Vincent’s son.”

Reeve nearly fell over again, despite being seated on the sofa. “He—he’s what?”

“Sephiroth is my biological son,” Vincent confirmed, from where he was leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed.

Reeve passed a hand over his brow. “So, you have three children? Two of whom are augmented former Shinra personnel?”

“That we know of. Hojo used my DNA to conceive Sephiroth before I died, and Nero afterward. There’s no telling how many others he made.”

“Sephiroth wasn’t conceived…you know. The traditional way?”

Vincent didn’t answer.

“Uh. Sorry,” Reeve said sheepishly. “That was a weird question.”

“Speakin’ of weird, why’d ya bring the cat-bot?” Cid piped up.

“She has the database you wanted.”

Cid squinted at the perpetually cheerful-looking feline robot. “Uh…she?”

“Why don’t we go out to Cid’s workshop, to talk about this,” Vincent cut in. “I’m sure the boys are tired of listening to us old men.”

This was an obvious excuse, since it had been Sephiroth doing most of the talking, but it was good enough. Carrying the cat-bot on his shoulder, Reeve followed the pair out the back door.

“So, you are some kind of ghost,” Nero said to Sephiroth, when they were gone. “That explains a lot of things.”

“I am not a ghost,” Sephiroth replied tranquilly. “My original body was destroyed, but I never died. This body is just as real. It’s made of physical matter and sustained by my will, as well as the Planet’s life force. Technically, I am more alive than you are.”

“Unless your connection is severed,” Nero said, narrowing his eyes shrewdly. “Right?”

“Nero, don’t,” Cloud warned.

“But I wonder, is it enough to be remembered? Or must you also be loved?”

Sephiroth’s eyes flashed. “What are you implying?”

“You say your body is sustained by your will, but is that true? Is it not actually…his will?” Nero turned his scarlet eyes on Cloud.

“Mama,” Ollie put in helpfully.

“All the pain he caused,” Nero went on. “All the destruction and suffering and death, and still, you didn’t let go. No matter what atrocities he committed, you couldn’t make yourself let go of him. Could you.”

Sephiroth opened his mouth to say something, but Cloud interrupted. “No. I couldn’t.”

Nero’s catlike pupils dilated imperceptibly. “And you don’t regret it, do you. Even knowing that you holding onto him, acting as his tether to existence, cost thousands of human lives.”

Cloud’s blue eyes were glistening, but he set his jaw defiantly. “No. I don’t regret it. Not for a goddamn minute.”

“I think…I'm beginning to understand you, Cloud Strife. We are both people whose love outweighs every other consideration, including so-called righteousness and morality.”

“Love makes its own law. Isn't that what you believe?”

“It is. I'm glad to know that you believe it, too. For my brother's sake.”

Nero turned to go upstairs, but at that moment, he felt something he hadn’t, in a long time. It was a tug! Through the darkness! It was extremely faint, almost undetectable, but it was a tug! That was the way Weiss used to connect to him, he’d never mistake it!

He stopped where he was, breathless, quivering with anticipation, every nerve fiber on high alert, waiting to feel it again. Unfortunately, Ollie had begun jabbering loudly in Cloud’s arms, and it was quickly evolving into a fussy noise, which was frustratingly distracting. Nero needed to go to his room, where he had at least marginal privacy.

He stepped onto the bottom stair, but as he did, he felt the tug again, and froze in place. This time he caught hold of it, and connected to the darkness. The world around him dissolved into inky blackness.

“Weiss! Weiss!” he shouted, into the formless void. “Brother, where are you! I felt your pull and I came! Brother! Weiss!!”

As he was calling out for his brother, he felt a tickling sensation and looked down. There, at his ethereal feet, grabbing at his shin with its forelegs, was a black spider, the size of a housecat.

Its legs were rather stubby, its carapace was covered with thick, plushy, black fuzz, and its eight crimson eyes were too large, in proportion to its head. The result was that it looked weirdly adorable, despite being an abyssal abomination.

Nero curled his lip in disgust, shaking the thing off his spirit projection’s leg. “What the fuck are you? Why are you here?”

The big, glowing eyes blinked stupidly up at him, but he felt a wave of exuberantly friendly intent, coming from it, as it reached up and began to prod him with its palps, again. It must be a juvenile, and unable to communicate in more complex terms. That would explain its inane cuteness.

“But how did something so small and stupid escape from Chaos, and get into my void?” he asked, rhetorically.

The thing kept batting his shin and shooting waves of idiotic enthusiasm at him.

“I’m looking for my brother. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

When he said the word ‘brother’, he felt a strong pulse of affectionate intent, from the thing, and its forelegs smacked him even more excitedly.

For half a second, he almost thought the creature might be Weiss, but dismissed that idea, immediately. Weiss wasn’t a spider, on the other side, and this thing was made of darkness, like him. It was probably just some random anomaly, generated by Chaos.

“Why don’t you go away?” he said irritably. “I’m here to look for Weiss, I don’t need any annoyances tagging along.”

The thing stopped jabbing at him, pushed itself up on its hind legs, then toppled theatrically onto its back, where it proceeded to flail its legs about, exuding unbearable woe, as if nine generations of its ancestors had been wronged.

“Fine, whatever. You can hang around with me, just don’t make any noise,” Nero said, as his body warped and expanded, swiftly becoming the massive, nightmare spider of the void. “And don’t annoy me, or I’ll toss you out of here.”

The little spider vibrated with joy as it skittered up one of his enormous legs, and positioned itself happily on top of his head. It was physically impossible, of course, for a thing the size of a cat to traverse his planet sized body, but this was the void, and they were conceptual beings. When he grew, the little spider grew, in direct proportion, so it still seemed the same size, relative to him.

For time untold, the colossal spider traversed the endless darkness, with the little spider perched atop his head, searching desperately for any trace of Weiss. But no matter how he called out to him, there was no answer. No sign of his light, to be found.

Sensing his deep dejection, the little spider (who he’d entirely forgotten about, till that moment) wiggled its legs and radiated comfort, like a miniature hot-water bottle. Or an impossibly titanic hot-water bottle, depending on one’s perspective.

“Maybe he’s not strong enough, to keep up the connection, and had to drop it right away,” Nero sighed, as he shrank back down to his humanoid form. “All I can do is wait, and hope he’ll reach out again soon.”

The cat-sized spider on top of his head patted his face sympathetically, with two fuzzy, clawed forelegs. He pulled the thing off and set it on the (purely metaphorical) ground.

“I’m going, now. I don’t know how you got in, but don’t wander around this place, alone. You could get lost.”

The thing bucked up and waved its pedipalps, sending an impression that it understood. With a nod, Nero winked out of the void.

In the material world, he was still standing with one foot on the bottom stair, and no more than a few seconds had passed. Ollie was yowling and Cloud was trying to soothe her, while Sephiroth hurried away to warm a bottle.

“It’s ok, Ollie, gege will come back in minute,” Cloud reasoned.

“Ah-guh,” she wailed piteously. “Ah-guh guh guh!”

“I think she wants you,” Cloud said to Nero, who looked back with a sneer.

“How can you tell any of that drool-machine’s noises apart? Half the blabbering she does sounds like that.”

“Guh! Guh! Ahhh-guhhh!” Ollie howled, even louder, stretching her little hands toward him and struggling in Cloud’s arms.

Nero almost laughed at the stupidness of her stubby arms and legs flailing about, but then he was struck dead-on by a sensation like stepping off a short stair, and finding it’s a cliff.

“Oh, fuck. Chaos is going to fucking kill me.”

Cloud didn’t hear him, over Ollie’s howling. “What?”

“I said…I’ll h—hold her,” Nero managed to make himself pronounce aloud.

“Are you sure?” Cloud asked, doubtfully.

“Yes. Just give her to me,” Nero said, sticking his arms out, and trying not to grimace too obviously.

The squirming bundle was pushed into his arms and Cloud adjusted his grip to the proper position, before he let go. There. He was doing it. He was holding a human infant. There would almost certainly be some horrifying or disgusting consequences, but—

“Hey, it worked,” Cloud said. “She stopped crying.”

“Ah-guh,” Ollie’s suspiciously chipper voice squeaked, close to his ear.

Nero realized he’d had his eyes shut and opened them. Cloud was grinning smugly, and Sephiroth was standing beside Cloud, with the bottle, thunderstruck.

“What are you doing?”

“Holding my baby sister,” Nero retorted. “What does it look like?”

“But…why?”

“I thought it sounded like she wanted him to,” Cloud explained. “Seems like I was right.”

“Gege, ah-guh, mamamamama,” Ollie babbled, grabbing handfuls of Nero's long, jet-black hair.

Nero very clearly and distinctly felt impressions of Sephiroth, himself, and then Cloud, as she made each of the sounds. “So, you really are calling him mama. Huh.”

“Ah-ah-ah guh-guh-guh,” she said, and blithely stuffed a chubby fistful of his hair into her mouth.

“Cut it out, gremlin!” Nero protested. “I don’t want your gross slobber in my hair!”

Ollie looked at him solemnly, then spat out the lock of hair with an explosive ‘pffbbbt!’, spraying drool all over his face.

He stood frozen, blinking in stupefaction, while Cloud nearly went blue stifling his laughter.

“Well, I couldn’t possibly separate you two, now,” Sephiroth said. “You’ve clearly bonded.”

Nero glowered at him, as darkness tendrils snaked out and indignantly cleaned the drool from his face, which made Ollie squeal delightedly. Before anyone could react, she grabbed one and yanked joyously on it.

“No, Ollie, don’t!” Cloud exclaimed, but Sephiroth stopped him.

“It won’t harm her. She’s a child of Chaos.”

“And I wouldn’t let it, anyway,” Nero scowled. “What do you think of me?”

Cloud squinted. “Uh…do you really want to know?”

Nero ignored him.

Sure enough, the tentacle appeared to have no ill will toward the infant. It just lay there, wriggling helplessly, as Ollie held onto it with both hands and gnawed on it with her pink gums, like corn on the cob. It looked rather disturbing, but the upside was, no matter how much she drooled all over it, the tendril would just absorb it, so it was far less messy than all her usual chew toys (which included but were not limited to, her actual teething rings, her other toys, her own hands, and people’s clothing and hair, especially Sephiroth’s).

“Well, it looks like Ollie has a new favorite,” Cloud sighed. “I guess I’m just an old shoe, now.”

“Nonsense,” Sephiroth reassured him. “If you were an old shoe, she’d be chewing on you, right now.”

20 notes · View notes

aceduooooooooooooooooooooooooo · 4 months ago

Text

19 notes · View notes

crimsonwing · 6 months ago

Text

Dino Crisis is 25 years old! Fun fact, while not really inspired in her personality, Regina Vulcan WAS named after the protagonist of this Shu Takumi cult classic. The name of other guild members also include references to different things.

#dino crisis #capcom #shu takumi #crimson wing

6 notes · View notes

fightabear · 10 months ago

Text

jazzhands. i don't feel like maintaining multiple blogs so here is issue #1 of containment break.

CONTAINMENT BREAK is a FFVII AU webcomic taking place in a world where President ShinRa decided to leverage Deepground to take care of his SOLDIER problem. Nero the Sable is sent out with Zack Fair on that fateful mission to Banora, thereby altering the course of all events to follow. It’s a story about friendship, family, and maybe even a little love down the line.

You can take a look on the #Containment Break tag on my blog for more content.

#nero the sable #dirge of cerberus #weiss the immaculate #final fantasy vii #final fantasy vii remake #final fantasy vii reunion #crisis core #rosso the crimson #containment break

17 notes · View notes

mobilesuitmidas · 8 months ago

Text

Improving my painting skills a bit...

#mood #personal #vibe #chillin #marvel #shadow king #captain america #crimson dynamo #human torch #professor x #marvel crisis protocol

2 notes · View notes

lunarfeat21 · 8 months ago

Note

I'm so glad someone else asked about an extension of your TUGS yandere au into y/n's home world. I wanted to hear more about it but I had no idea how to word it as an ask!

If/when you write a fanfic of this would it be a part or plot line, because I really love the idea of the Fleets chasing y/n in the place they feel safest!

Well, it would be part of an another plot line (after the first fic lol) as I was considering making this a series of some sort (3 or 4 fics in total), but I’m still debating.

And while writing the fic, something hit me out of nowhere that I haven’t thought about: locations of Bigg City Port. Where on earth would Star Tug Marine & Zero Marine Bigg City located at?

Like, I have so many questions, is there even a map of it as reference? I’ll look into that tonight if I had time.

EDIT: it's been resolved and currently doing some research too!

#feat21 speaking #this is tugs #Sirens of the Crimson Sea #yandere tugs #platonic yandere #familial yandere #platonic yandere! tugs #I’m having a mini location crisis rn (it will be over soon)#ask #ask and ye shall recieve

5 notes · View notes

fctedivided · 1 year ago

Text

@lured-into-wonderland

(continued from here)

She laughed gently as Irvall was continuing to compliment her. He made her feel safe; she enjoyed keeping close to him. It was nice to know that Irvall shared some of her feelings toward him.

“Pretty and cute…” – oh why did she focus on these two words? Perhaps because she wasn’t often called pretty. Almost never at all. If anything, she was rather criticized for being vain; focusing too much on how she looked – “I am happy you find me pretty, Irvall. Even if I am not sure what I did to deserve all these so nice words.” – she truly was surprised with them; Nunnally turned around. She knew she was behaving too frivolous, but the girl was happy. Perhaps too happy. “Will you dance with me, Irvall? I love waltz.” – or would that be too much for a serious man as himself – “Do you like waltz?” – but everyone needed a break in their life; he could as well have it now and with her.

As usual, the Crimson Lord didn't give much reaction, however when being asked for a waltz with Nunnally, his expression softened a bit.

"Waltz, you mentioned? Well, I don't really have an opinion nor prior experience about dance in general." Despite he was living more than hundred years. "I'm uncertain I can be an ideal dancing partner to you, Nunnally."

#luredintowonderland #lured into wonderland #:: the crimson reaper. || irvall. ::#:: ferraros in crisis. || main verse. ::#( Nunnally. )

3 notes · View notes

bunnywand · 11 months ago

Text

i remember feeling kind of confused and or/burnt out when the "/assault mode" cards first came out in crimson crisis, cos the deal being made abt them at the time made it seem like they were gonna be the Next Big Thing and i was like aw man, i've only just got the hang of synchros and now there's Another new mechanic?? 😫

but i've found out recently that the gimmick p much only stuck around for that one set, and apart from a new card a few years ago there were only ever like. 6 "/assault mode" monsters released 😭

#i remembered this cos i was wondering when they were gonna show up in 5d’s and then they never did??#so i looked it up and they were only ever in a special that was made to like promote crimson crisis 😅#ellie talks ygo

0 notes

soaps-mohawk · 5 months ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 32: The Tragedy

Summary: Don't trust anyone. That's the advice you were left with. How much should you follow that advice? How much will you have to follow it?

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 8,058 words

Warnings: ANGST, heavy emotional turmoil, very detailed descriptions of depression, ANGST, panic attacks, lots of thoughts of death and crisis, distrust, anxiety, ANGST, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, ANGST, betrayal, weapons, guns, blood (barely), brief violence at the end, drugging (more sedation than anything), ANGST, hurt/no comfort, incorrect medical stuff again, oh and ANGST

A/N: Sorry

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

The world is painted in grey as you stare at the wall. Your eyes trace over the pencil lines on the paper as if it might bring you some sort of comfort, as if it might bring them back to you.

Johnny put the drawings up after your heat, ones he'd done while watching over you as you slept the days away. Strawberries, rolling hills, you asleep in a field of flowers. Visages of the outside world, a place that seems almost foreign to you.

Despite their absence you're still a prisoner, still locked in your tower. Dr. Keller is your guard now, dutifully watching over you as she had promised Simon and Johnny she would. She’s done it successfully before, or at least she was as successful as you allowed her to be, as you had kept her in the dark just as much as your pack. Obviously they trusted that she hadn’t known, otherwise they wouldn’t have left you here with her.

It’s not like they had much of a choice.

She's moved into the spare room temporarily so you're not alone. Your pack's barracks are far more spacious than her own room in the barracks with the rest of the medical staff. You almost wish you'd gone to stay with her. Anything would be better than your grey prison.

You get to leave now, only long enough to walk to the mess and back, and occasionally to the med center. You don’t get to eat in the mess, staying just long enough to grab food before you’re ushered back to your grey prison. You've gone to Dr. Keller's office twice, but even then it had been a short stop so she could grab some paperwork before you returned to the barracks.

The grey and white of your home has never affected you in such a way before. You've been able to look past the sterile halls and prison grey walls of the rooms until now, until you’ve become a bit stir-crazy. You’re afraid you might actually go crazy, driven to insanity in your isolation.

There's been no word on when your pack might return. There's been no word at all from them.

For all you know, they’re dead.

You've gone numb to that thought, the tears not even stinging at your eyes at the idea. You're empty, the only thing you're capable of feeling is the steady churning of your stomach. It's been two months since you revealed the cameras and you're still sick, still in pain.

What if they don't come back because they hate you? What if they've abandoned you here?

You're not sure you could even react to that if it does happen. You can’t even react to the thought of it happening. There’s no drive to, no instinct to be upset by the idea of being abandoned. For all you know it’s already happened.

You turn over onto your other side, facing the room. It’s Johnny’s room you’re in, the most welcome place in the barracks. It’s the place you spent the most time before they left, isolated just to Johnny’s arms by Simon’s anger at your betrayal. He’d only cared for you out of necessity, the progress you made with him all wiped out because of your own stupidity.

Those thoughts don’t even bring a tear to your eye anymore. He never wanted you, he wouldn’t have chosen you.

So why did it hurt so much?

Dr. Keller is worried, but it's her job to be worried. You've shut down, shut out everything. You're not capable of much more than laying around numb and depressed. The scents are fading, quickly disappearing and being replaced by the bitter scent of your depression.

Depression. That's what Dr. Keller said. Not surprising given the circumstances. You're not surprised either. Then again, you can't feel much of anything anymore. There’s no hope left, the memories of them fading as fast as their scents. They’ve moved on, or they’ve died. Regardless, they’re not coming back.

You’re alone again, abandoned by those you loved, those supposed to take care of you.

You can only count leaves on the plant hanging from the ceiling of Dr. Keller’s office so many times. You’ve given up sitting, instead curled up in a ball as you stare at the plant, counting leaves up and down the vines. Dr. Keller is at her desk, writing and shuffling papers, doing what she normally does during the day. Doing what she had last time you had been left alone.

She had the idea that leaving the barracks might be good for you. A change of scenery, a more comfortable and warm setting, might help your depression. Escaping the oppressive grey walls of your prison for some fresh air might aid in her efforts to help you wallow less in your misery. Being free of the suffocating walls of the barracks might help free you from the constant memories of what was, what might have been, what’s left you behind.

Your stomach still hurts. The ache had intensified as soon as they told you they were leaving too, that John and Kyle were so desperate for backup they had to call everyone in. It had made you uneasy, the idea of being alone so soon after everything, the idea that things might be going so badly that they need help. The memory of what had transpired while you were alone the first time makes you nervous.

What if it happens again?

What if something worse happens?

You won’t be stupid this time, you told yourself. If anything is off, you’ll notify Dr. Keller immediately. You’re not making that mistake again. If you did make that mistake, the consequences wouldn’t just be dealt out by whoever is so desperate to get to you, to watch you. Your pack will leave you, will mark you as untrustworthy and give you up, or worse, throw you in a cell until you can be sent back home, back to the institute. Maybe they would be merciful and send you back to the CIA. What would the CIA do though? They couldn’t send you to another pack, not in the initiative, not with you already having been claimed. They wouldn’t take that risk when the severing of those bonds would destroy you and everything that you are.

Maybe if you’re lucky, it’ll kill you. Save you from the pain and mental anguish after the severing of a bond.

“Hungry?” Dr. Keller asks. It’s close to lunch, you think. Time is meaningless, the only routine you have left the necessary mealtimes Dr. Keller insists on keeping. Even then, if it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t know when those were supposed to be.

“No.” You murmur, still staring at the plant. The leaves have begun to blur, blending together as your eyes unfocus.

“You should eat.” She says.

“Not hungry.” You say. “Stomach hurts.”

She sighs softly, pushing her chair back before walking over to you. She drops to a knee in front of the couch, staring at you. “How long has it been hurting?”

“Weeks.” You say, still not looking at her.

“Weeks?” She sounds surprised. “You didn’t say anything. Nausea? Any headaches?” She asks.

“Uh huh.” You nod.

“Any fever, body aches, congestion, dizziness?” She asks.

“Body aches.” You say, finally looking up at her.

She hums, staring at you for a moment. Her face is the usual clinical mask she wears when she’s in doctor mode, but you can make out the slight furrow of her brow as she thinks. She puts a hand on your forehead, your skin cold instead of the warmth it would usually have. Even you’ve noticed it in your numb state, your fingers and toes aching constantly from how cold they are.

She removes her hand, letting out a quiet breath. “Well, my dear.” She says, staring down at you. “I’m diagnosing you with stress.” She says, resting her arms on her knee. “It’s been a long few weeks, and then with your alpha leaving on top of it, I’m not surprised by your symptoms. I know you may not feel like it, but eating will help. You’ll be no good to your pack when they return if you’re wasting away.”

“If they return.” You say, not even able to sound worried like you did last time. There’s no tears, no panic, not even a hint of worry.

“They will.” She says, pushing herself up to stand. “They know what they’re doing and all we can do is trust their skills.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You murmur, taking her offered hand to get yourself up off the couch. You’ve heard it a thousand times. “I know.”

“Come on,” She says, giving you a smile. “Let’s get some lunch and then we can eat in the barracks again. Watch some dumb daytime TV show for a while.”

“Yeah.” You say, trying to sound excited as you follow her out the door. It’s been your routine for weeks. You’re growing sick of it, but what else is there to do? Read? Sleep? Lay numbly in bed staring at the ceiling until it blurs together or until you inevitably pass out from exhaustion?

Your life has become sad and pathetic, and it’s all your fault.

The days continue to drag on, every one without a single word of your pack driving you deeper and deeper into the hole you’ve already sunk into. You’re not drowning anymore, not clawing desperately to the surface, praying you can cling to hope long enough to drag yourself out of the depression. Now you’re just sinking, letting the weight of your numbness drag you down until the pressure becomes too much and you implode.

You miss them so badly it hurts.

Do they miss you? Do they think about you? Have they even thought about you? Did John and Kyle ask about you when Johnny and Simon arrived? What did they ask about? What did they say?

Or perhaps they just mutually agreed this was the opportunity to leave you, the chance to move on and make the job 100% of their lives again. No more worry, no more stress, no more distraction, no more needy omega clinging to them every minute of every day.

Maybe you should have been less needy, less reliant. Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten so close. It would at least have been easier on you. The job comes first. Why couldn’t you have kept yourself under that rule, distanced yourself to make this pain less severe?

Why didn’t you just tell them right away?

“How are you doing over there?” Dr. Keller’s voice breaks through the endless haze of thoughts.

You’re in the rec room with her, your most frequented place over the last few weeks. You might as well have moved in there. It would almost be better than the four places that only serve as constant reminders of what is gone. You could sleep in your room, but it’s been tainted, ruined. It’s not safe anymore. Even with your pack you hadn’t felt comfortable to be in there longer than it took to grab clothes.

“They left me.” You say quietly, voice muffled by the pillow your face is pressed into. You’re on your stomach on the couch, a blanket thrown over your back.

“Not by any choice of theirs.” She says. She’s sitting in the chair, Simon’s chair, but you can’t bring yourself to tell her. He’s gone. It’s not his place anymore.

“They’re not coming back.” You say, fingers digging into the front of your sweatshirt where they’re tucked under you.

“You don’t know that.” Dr. Keller says, closing her book. “Those men would fight from the brink of death to make it back to you.”

“They hate me.” You say, nails digging into your palms from how tightly you’re gripping the fabric.

“They don’t hate you.” She says softly. “They may have been a bit upset, but they’d never hate you.”

“Simon does.”

She lets out a quiet laugh. “Lieutenant Riley is his own beast.” She pushes herself up to stand, taking a seat on the edge of the couch next to you. “He’s in his head just as much as you are. In my professional opinion, he could use some therapy as well. Some extensive therapy.” Her hand comes to rest on your back, rubbing it gently.

You’re thrown back to the times you were sick when your mother would rub your back, almost as if she was trying to ease the sickness away. You are sick. Sick in your own grief and disappointment and anger with yourself. The depression is its own sickness eating away at you. You’re not even sure your pack’s return could cure it now. You might be too far gone, your brain too convinced that they’re not coming back that you won’t believe it when they do. They won’t return for you, they won’t be happy to see you. They won’t be real.

Dr. Keller lets out a quiet sigh. “I don’t think any of them are capable of hating you. Even Lieutenant Riley. They love you too much to abandon you like that. I don’t think they’re capable of abandoning you at all. I’m sure they’re just as worried, just as eager to get back here.”

She pats your back before holding her hand still. It’s warm through the fabric of your sweatshirt. It’s almost comforting, almost seeping through the chill that’s taken over you despite the warm summer air outside.

“I’m sorry you have to go through this.” She continues, her voice soft and laced with emotion. “I’m sorry this is happening to you. You don’t deserve it. It’s not good for you mentally or physically. It’s downright cruel. I thought maybe at first that you’d be taken care of, that you’d be taken into consideration as much as they are.” She scoffs. “I was stupid to think they’d ever give an omega the decency of being considered a human being.”

Her voice is determined, almost angry. She’s not angry at you, she’s angry at the program, at the initiative, at those above you making the decision, pulling the strings, controlling every part of your pack. You can almost feel it, the passion, the compassion for omegas that she carries. She knows firsthand what it’s like. Even before she became a specialist she knew. She could have presented as an omega herself. Instead she was blessed with presenting as a beta, able to be seen as a human being, able to have rights and make decisions for herself.

“I’m not going to give up on you.” She pats your back gently. “Once your pack returns, I think we need to have a long discussion about the future of this initiative.”

“Are they going to take me away?” You ask.

“No.” Dr. Keller says. “Your pack will fight for you. I will fight for you. But this isn’t good for you. It’s making you sick. I’m worried about what might happen if it continues.”

You slide your arms up, wrapping them around your pillow. “They’re not going to give it up, their jobs. They won’t. I hate it.” The words come tumbling out before you can stop them. “I hate that they don’t put me first. I hate that they have to hide things from me, keep things from me. Why is it fair that they can keep things that might put me in danger hidden, but I can’t do it without them getting mad at me? I hate that they have to leave, that they can just leave so easily. I hate their job, I hate what they do when they’re away. I hate them sometimes because they don’t even think twice about hurting me.” The nausea churns in your stomach, threatening to rise again. “It hurts a-and t’s not fair!”

Dr. Keller shushes you gently as you press your face down into the pillow, tears pricking at your eyes for the first time in almost two weeks. “I know. The CIA should have had an omega expert in on this from the start. There should have been someone that could advocate for the omegas they want to throw into these positions. I hate this too, what they do to you, what they put you through,” Her voice goes quiet, so quiet you almost can’t hear it. “What they will put you through.” She runs a hand over the back of your head, trying to soothe you. “All we can do is cling to the hope that word will come in soon that your pack is on their way home.”

You want to believe her. You want to believe she’s telling the truth, that they will be coming home. You want to have that hope, but hope has long faded from your mind. You don’t have hope anymore, as much as she tries to instill it in you.

The days continue to drag on. There’s been no word on their status, no calls, not even a text. Dr. Keller has tried to get ahold of Kate, but she’s been unsuccessful. It hurts. You feel abandoned, even by those that were supposed to be available, those that were supposed to help you. It all feels wrong. There’s something happening. You can feel it.

Something is changing, something is ticking at the back of your neck. It could just be the paranoia, the fear, the unease brought on by the isolation and the separation from your pack. It’s not normal. Johnny and Simon promised they’d do everything in their power to get a hold of you when they can.

Unless they can’t.

What if they’ve been trying but no messages are getting through? What if there’s something along the line blocking them? What if there’s someone purposefully keeping those messages from coming through? Purposefully isolating you from your pack.

The thought has a chill running down your spine. There’s things happening behind the scenes you can’t even fathom. Things beyond you, things beyond Dr. Keller and even John. Someone had those cameras put up. Someone was watching you, even after you found them and hid them. Someone wanted to see you, wanted to watch you with your pack.

Why?

It all seems too coincidental. John and Kyle being called away and then Johnny and Simon weeks later, isolating you from your pack. No word has been coming through, possibly no word from anyone getting to them. They won’t know what state you’re in, they won’t know something is wrong. If anything happened to you, they wouldn’t know. They’d have no idea until it was possibly too late.

You’ve been isolated on purpose.

All five of you.

What if it’s Kate?

You don’t want to believe it. You don’t want to even think about it. Who has contact with them during their missions, though? Who has been in control of relaying messages back and forth to everyone? Would she do it? Was she capable of such betrayal? John trusts her more than anyone besides the members of your pack. They’ve known each other for a long time, why would she betray them like this?

You can’t trust anyone.

The nausea churns in your stomach, threatening to choke you for a different reason this time. You’re beginning to panic, and while it’s nice to finally feel something, this is almost worse. You’d prefer the numbing depression, the emptiness, the inability to think. This is worse. It’s so much worse.

So many thoughts are flying around in your head, your stomach aching as you begin to panic. You’re not safe. You’re not safe here alone, not even with Dr. Keller. There’s too many chances. You’re too open and exposed.

You can’t trust anyone.

What if your pack is in on it? What if they were responsible for all of this? What if they knew Shepherd was coming and hid it from you on purpose? What if they had the cameras put up to watch what you do when they’re away? What if they’ve been surveying you to report to the higher ups about your progress and the initiative?

What if they pretended they didn’t know to see how long you’d hide it, how you’d take it if they were upset at you, how far they could push you before you’d crumble?

What if they left on purpose to make you crumble?

You can’t verify it. You can’t even know if those orders were real, if they ever came in. You’ll never know because you can’t because they have to keep you safe. What if Kate doesn’t even know they’re gone? What if they’re sitting in a pub in Hereford watching you fall apart at the seams? You want to leave, you want to run there, comb every inch of town just to find them and scream at them. What if they’re too cowardly to force you out themselves? What if they want you to leave, and they’re pushing you to the point you want to?

“Hey,” Dr. Keller kneels in front of you, her hands on your shoulders. “I need you to breathe for me.”

You stare at her face, the furrow of her brow, the worry in her kind eyes. You feel sick, your stomach churning. You want to vomit, you want to puke up all the worry and the depression and the stress. You want it all to be over with, you want it all to end.

“Come on.” She says, squeezing your shoulders tighter. “In and out, nice and slow.”

You can’t. You can’t breathe. The world is falling apart around you and there’s nothing you can do about it. Your breaths catch in your throat, stuttering as your lungs spasm. You’re beginning to tense, your joints locking into place. It’s not all that different from a few weeks ago in the rec room with Simon as you panicked.

Only there’s no alpha to help you this time.

“Come on.” Dr. Keller says, hauling you to your feet. It’s like trying to move a mannequin, your joints locked into place, dead weight as she half drags you down the hall and into one of the exam rooms. She manages it, stronger than you thought as she moves you easily into the private room. It’s the one you spent your heat in, still set up just like it had been then.

She gets you into a chair, wheeling over the oxygen. It’s cold as it hits your face, a clammy sweat covering your skin. Your hands close around the arms of the chair, fingers clenching until they pop and ache, shaking from the force but you can’t let go. You cling to the chair like it’s the last thing keeping you sane, keeping you in place, keeping you from floating away.

Maybe then they’ll come back. Maybe then they’ll feel guilty for doing this to you.

Dr. Keller approaches with a syringe, wheeling the tray closer before setting it on top. You stare at it, tears slipping around the mask before dripping onto your chest. “It’s a sedative.” She says, putting a damp paper towel on the back of your neck. It’s cold, still dripping water. “If you go into distress, our only option is to put you under and hope it calms your brain fast enough that you’re not going to lose yourself to your omega.”

You almost wish she’d let you. It would be an easier end than finding out your pack was involved in all of this. You’d fade away, let your omega take over until the toll was too great on your body and you died before you even knew what happened.

It almost sounds blissful right now.

“Easy.” Dr. Keller says, cupping your face. “Don’t think too much. That’s just going to send you spiraling even more.”

If only it was that easy.

She gently peels your fingers from the arms of the chair, crossing your arms over your chest. Your hands close around your arms, squeezing until it hurts, until you’re sure you’re going to have bruises. It’s a comforting position though, even without anything pressed against your chest.

You miss your bear. You miss having John wrapped around you, offering you comfort only he can. You want him back, you want to be in his arms again. You want your safe space back, your nest, your pillows and stuffed animals. You want your alpha no matter what. Even if he is behind this or not, if he’s involved, you don’t care. You need your alpha again.

The air in your lungs rattles as Dr. Keller replaces the paper towel on your neck. It drips down your back, sliding down your spine. Goosebumps rise on your skin but it begins to calm you, shocking your system out of the edges of distress it had been rapidly falling towards. It makes you miss being numb. Numbness was at least better than the dangerously high panic of distress.

You can’t even be stressed without being in danger of your own body.

The churning in your stomach intensifies and you rip the oxygen mask off, bending forward as you take deep breaths. You don’t want to vomit, especially not on Dr. Keller’s nice shoes. Your hands grip the arms of the chair again, eyes squeezing closed as you breathe.

“Good.” She says, rubbing your back. “Keep breathing like that.”

She steps away for a moment to grab another wet paper towel as you continue to focus on your breathing, in and out. You pretend John is there, breathing with you slow and even. You can hear it in his chest, feel the rise and fall as he inhales and exhales with you. The steadiness of his heartbeat that never seems to raise, even when he’s stressed, thumps under your ear. He’s always so calm, always so aware, always so capable of acting even in the most stressful situation.

A strength he possesses thanks to his job.

“I miss my alpha.” You whimper as your joints begin to unlock, muscles relaxing.

“I know.” She says, replacing the cold paper towel. She squeezes the back of your neck gently for a moment, sending a cascade of cold water that soaks into your shirt before she releases you. Something prickles in the back of your mind as she moves her hand, the back of your neck tingling and not from the cold.

You continue to breathe deeply, the hitch in your lungs slowly lessening until it's gone, the air flowing in and out evenly. The air in the room is cold, only made worse by the sweat on your skin. You’re trembling, the effects of the almost distress coming down, leaving you a mess. More of a mess than you had just been.

“I just want him back.” You croak out, the tears still falling.

“I know.” She repeats, easing you back so you’re reclined back in the chair. She stares at you for a moment, chewing on her lip before she nods. “I’m going to make a few calls.”

The days continue to go by in a haze. You’re not sure what to think anymore, the numbness and stress battling in your brain for control. The near distress you went into has left you exhausted and burnt out, yet your thoughts won’t let you relax. You just want your alpha, the need sinking deep into your bones, nearly consuming you now.

It’s getting colder, Fall making its rapid approach. A couple short months and it’ll mark a year since your arrival, a year since this entire thing started, since you joined your new pack. To think it might not even last a year. That was the point, though, to test if it would work and how long it would work.

Less than a year. Hope you’re happy with those results.

It’s windy today, blowing hard enough you can hear it inside the barracks. The whooshing as the air hits the side of the building, being forced over the top of the immovable object in its path. It’s grey outside too, the sky cloudy. It might rain, though it’s hard to tell. It’s been grey for the last couple days, the weather always seeming to be in tune with your emotions.

You’re seated on Johnny’s bed, knees pulled up to your chest. It’s been so long since you’ve seen your packmates, since you’ve seen your alpha. They almost feel like a distant memory, thoughts of them floating around the empty barracks like a ghost, haunting your mind. All of them seem like ghosts now. You’re scared you’ll forget what they look like, what they smell like, what they sound like. Your brain is being clouded by your own roiling emotions, slamming up against the sides of your brain like the wind outside.

It’s confusing, the violent rocking of your mind between numbness and stress in the storm that’s raging in your amygdala. It would be nice if it could pick one, choose a direction and send you head on into the storm or the doldrums. You want the numbness back, the clouding of your thoughts, the slowing of your body to a crawl. It would be a relief over the alternative point where you risk distress every minute.

There’s no help for you.

“Ready?” Dr. Keller’s voice sounds through the door as she knocks quietly. It’s lunch, the usual time the two of you go. Early enough the mess isn’t as crowded. The last thing you need is a confrontation, or for you to panic like you did the day you revealed the cameras to Simon.

Dr. Keller could help you, would know how to help you through that, but you’re not sure you could handle that stress, that embarrassment of falling apart in front of the soldiers that already send judgemental looks your way. Falling apart again.

Not when you can’t trust anyone.

The words still float through your mind, one of the last things John had said to you before he left. Before he abandoned you.

Don’t trust anyone.

Anyone could be a threat.

Dr. Keller knocks again, calling out your name softly.

You force yourself off of Johnny’s bed, your joints cracking as you stand. You’ve been in that position far too long. Your body has stiffened, losing the flexibility you once had in the weeks since John left. You’re not even sure you could run as fast as you used to. There’s no space to do it in the barracks, and with how numb you’ve been, you have no drive to even reach down and touch your toes anymore. For all you know you’ll fall forward onto your face and break your nose if you try.

You open the door with a sigh, looking up at Dr. Keller. You’re sure you look like death...you have probably looked like death for a while. The constant rocking between stress and numbness has made you feel that way, and has likely made it worse. It’s been a long time since you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror, you’re not even sure you remember what you look like.

You don’t care anymore.

There’s no one to impress here.

The less alive, the less enticing you look, the more likely it is to keep audacious alphas away.

“Ready?” Dr. Keller asks, her brows furrowed slightly as she looks down at you.

You nod, knowing you have no choice. “Yeah.”

She nods. “Okay, I-” She’s cut off as her phone begins to ring, the loud ringtone slicing through the air. She keeps it on at all hours in case someone calls about your pack.

For just a moment you feel hope, something coming back to life inside of you as her phone rings. Could it be Kate? Could it be someone with word of the status of your pack? Maybe it is your pack, calling just to let you hear their voice.

Maybe for the last time.

That hope fades as Dr. Keller frowns. “One second.” She steps down the hallway to answer, leaving just enough space between you, you can’t hear what’s being said on the other end.

You don’t really care to hear, leaning against the wall as you wait. It’s not about your pack, obviously. The thought stings. Still there’s been no word, not even a text. The drop of excitement is almost worse than the numbness, the acceptance that you’re not getting any word, that had begun to form in your mind.

Dr. Keller walks back up to you, the frown on her face deeper than it had been. It had been a short call, most of the talking done by the person on the other side, you assume. Her answers had been short and simple. Whoever it was...it must not have been good judging by her face.

“I have to run to my office.” She says. “I need you to stay here.”

Your heart rate picks up at her words. She’s leaving you alone? You’ve gone back and forth with her so many times, why does she have to go alone now? Maybe whoever had called wanted to continue the conversation without the risk of anyone listening in.

Who called her, and what did they say to get her to break her promises to your pack?

“I’ll be right back.” She says, sounding anxious to get to her office. “You’ll be okay here? I won’t be gone long.”

You nod. You’re not sure you have much of a choice but to agree, but you’re also not about to argue. It’ll be the first time you’ve been alone since the day you confessed to your pack. You’re itching for it now, just a second to be truly alone. Just a second to breathe.

“Don’t leave the barracks.” She says pointedly. “John will have my hide if he finds out.

You shrug. “Don’t know where I’d go anyway.”

She nods, accepting your answer. It is the truth. You wouldn’t have left anyway. “You call me immediately if anything happens. I’ll be just a couple minutes.”

You nod in understanding. “I’ll be here.”

“Good.” She seems satisfied by your answer as she turns to jog down the hallway.

Good thing she’s wearing comfortable shoes compared to the ones she normally does.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief as soon as the door closes. You stand there in the silence of the barracks for a moment. You’re finally alone, the oppressive feeling of being watched, of being held prisoner lifting just a bit. Sure you can’t leave, but you couldn’t do that before anyway. You head for the rec room, walking as silently as you can, almost as if one of your pack members will jump out from around the corner and reprimand you for being alone. It’s not your fault. Dr. Keller was the one who left you.

You try not to think about what that phone call had been about as you grab a snack, tiding yourself over before Dr. Keller returns. She said she’d only be a minute, but you’re not sure how long it really will take. You’re silently glad for the break, silently glad for the ability to rest in silence, even if it is only for a couple of minutes.

You’re not sure what to do with your newfound freedom. It’s not like you didn’t have freedom before, but at least now you feel like you normally do, free to wander around and go to the bathroom by yourself.

You’re going to do just that.

It’s instinctual that you choose Simon’s room. You’ve been using his shower still, comforted by the routine you picked up during the time he and Johnny were still with you. It’s comforting, so much so you’ve made sure you hang your towel where it’s supposed to go, and put your soap and shampoo back in place with his. He’d be angry if he came back to find his room a mess, the order he exists in disrupted.

More angry than he already is with you.

You let out a sigh as you leave the bathroom, eyeing the books on his dresser. You’ve read all of yours already, and there’s nothing new in the rec room. You haven’t felt like reading much, and you’ve already read all of yours. Now, though, as life begins to fill you again, you feel the urge to do something.

The spines of the books are slightly dusty as you run your fingers across them. You’ll need to clean again soon. You’d forced yourself to do all of their laundry once their shirts lost their scent. It was beginning to stink and after being gone so long, you doubt they’ll want to come back to stinky dirty clothes.

Maybe you should clean their rooms too. Dr. Keller has been saying it might be helpful to do something productive.

And this way it might help in case they do return. Omegas are supposed to keep house. It’s what you’ve been taught to do. The last thing you want is for them to be upset with you for not doing your duties.

You grab one of the books randomly before slipping back out of the room, closing the door behind you. Your steps are still instinctively quiet as you make your way down the hallway. Until you freeze mid-step. There’s a sound ahead near the rec room, the wind outside getting louder for a moment before it quiets again.

Someone opened the door. Someone is inside.

Your breathing hitches as you take a step back, then another moving backwards down the hallway. Dr. Keller did say she’d be back soon, but why would she go through that door? She knows your pack always uses the door at the front, the door behind you to enter. That door only gets used when the guys smoke outside, or when Simon and Johnny have to leave during your heats.

Whoever entered wouldn’t know that.

Dr. Keller doesn’t smoke.

You stumble back to the nearest door, fumbling with the handle for a second before slipping inside. You close the door quietly, clicking the lock before pushing the dresser in front of the door. It’s your room you’ve taken refuge in. There’s dust coating everything, floating around you as you disturb the stale air. You hold your breath, fighting the urge to cough as you wait, hoping the air filters hide your scent before they make it down the hallway.

Your hands are shaking, gripping the book tightly in your hand. If nothing else, you can use it as a weapon. Simon would be proud of that, improvising a weapon to protect yourself. The panic is rising in you as you wait, the silence of the barracks the only thing allowing you to hear the quiet footsteps making their way down the hall. There’s a nervous fluttering in your chest as you wait, trying to keep your breathing under control. If it’s Dr. Keller she’ll knock, she’ll say something to let you know it’s her. She wouldn’t sneak around the barracks. She knows how much stress you’ve been under. She wouldn’t try to scare you like this.

A scream dies in your throat as the door handle starts to jiggle, forced back by your own panic. Whoever it is on the other side is trying to get in. You're thrown back into the terror of your first time alone, when someone tried to enter your room in the middle of the night.

You’re not going to be stupid this time. You’re not going to face this alone. Your fingers fumble around your phone, barely able to unlock it as the jiggling of the handle gets more aggressive. Whoever it is, they’re determined to get in.

You press Dr. Keller’s number, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you lift it to your ear. It rings in your ear, the sound echoing outside the door. Your stomach drops, following your phone as it slips out of your hand, still calling Dr. Keller. The ringtone echoes in the empty hallway, quickly drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears.

The sudden phone call, leaving you alone for the first time in weeks to run to her office, entering through the wrong door...

No...it can’t be.

The door shudders as something rams against it. You have to hide, you have to get out. You can’t hide in the closet or under the bed. Even the bathroom wouldn’t be smart. It’ll leave you too vulnerable. If whoever it is can break through your door, they’ll get through the bathroom easily. You turn to look at the window. You have to get out. You have to get help.

There could be others out there, waiting for you to try.

You have no other choice. Better to try and fight than to stand there and let it happen. That’s what Simon always says.

You can defend yourself. You can fight until you get a chance to run. You can run. You’re an omega. Running is what you do.

You barely remember to pick up your phone before you climb onto your desk, not caring as you knock things off. You have to move fast. Whoever it is on the other side of the door probably heard that, probably has figured out you’re going for the window. You have to get out. You have to run. The window slides open slowly, the adrenaline pumping through you, giving you strength you didn’t know you were capable of. You’re not sure you’ve ever opened the window in the time you’ve been here. You squeeze through the opening just big enough to fit you through. You don’t waste time looking back as you take off running, heading in the direction of the trees.

You’re alone, kicking up gravel as you run to the road. You have to find someone to help you before whoever it was catches up to you. Would they be that brave to attack you in the middle of the base? Would they try something with witnesses around?

You can’t trust anyone.

Would they even believe you if you did try? Or would they take advantage of your state, tricking you into believing them before dragging you into a dark corner? Even if you try to go to the higher ups on base, who would you tell? How would you even find them?

You can’t trust anyone.

Instead you choose the trees, racing down the road you had followed Price down not long after your arrival. You thank the CIA for making you run, you thank the guys for letting you run laps to keep your strength and stamina as you tear down the road, getting glances as you go. You haven’t lost much of your ability, not even in the weeks you’ve been almost completely sedentary. It’s partially the adrenaline, partially your own fear, partially your instincts to escape from danger helping you sprint down the road.

It’s lunch time, most of the soldiers probably in the mess by now. Maybe you should have run there. Someone would help you. Someone would help you.

You’ve passed a few on your way down the road, only getting passing glances. If they really cared, they would have followed you, tried to intercept you to ask what was going on.

None of them stop you as you reach the trailhead, breaking through the brush. Don’t follow the trail. Weave through the trees and double back. Confuse them so they can’t follow. Price’s advice rings loud in your ears as you rush through the forest. Confuse them, and then make for the tower. You can hide there, call Laswell, get help. You’re not sure how much help she can provide from across the ocean, but if nothing else, she’ll at least know.

If she answers.

If she’s not behind all of this.

She might rat you out.

Maybe going for the tower is a bad idea. Maybe you should double back and head for base again. If you can make it to the gate maybe you can convince one of them to help you, or if nothing else you can force your way through and get off of base. You recognize landmarks well enough you can hike to Hereford, find the police, find anyone that might help you.

You can’t trust anyone.

Your chest hurts as you run, tears burning in your eyes, making the trees around you blur. You can’t cry now. You can’t let the ache of betrayal settle in yet. You really can’t trust anyone. John had been wrong. But why now? Why wait this long?

Something has happened to your pack.

The whole thing has been organized.

You trusted her.

You dart across the trail, a sharp pain biting through your calf before you can reach the other side. You yelp as you fall into the dirt, your leg giving out from under you. You push yourself up to look, a roughly half inch wide hole cutting through your jeans. Blood is starting to seep into the fabric, darkening it around the edges of the hole.

You’ve been shot.

“You’re a quick little thing.” A voice says, stepping out from the brush next to the trail. “Though, I suppose with all the running they made you do, you would be.”

Tears burn your eyes as you stare at the gun pointed right at you. Will it go off again? Will it rip through your chest, giving you a slow painful death out here where no one will find you until it’s too late? Or will it go through your head, giving you a quick death before you even know it’s happened?

“Why?” You choke out, your heart pounding in fear. You can feel it, the edges of your vision darkening as you begin to panic. You’re going to distress, you’re going to die no matter what happens next.

“Money.” The gun shifts with the accompanying shrug. “Sure the pay in these positions is decent, but it’s never quite enough. And, you know, I’m all for helping with experiments.”

The gun lowers, but that does little to ease the panic flooding through you. You turn your upper body, trying to claw through the dirt away from your assailant, trying to escape the shoes getting closer and closer. They’re tennis shoes, practical and easy for running if need be. Your mouth has gone dry as you gasp for breath, your heart thudding in your ears. It’s getting dangerously high, the dark edges in your vision continuing to get bigger and bigger. Your muscles are tensing, ready to tighten painfully, joints locking into place. It’ll be too late to do anything, but then again, it’s too late now to do anything.

You can’t run. If you try, you’ll get shot again, and maybe this time it will be fatal.

One of the shoes lifts, stepping down on your leg. You scream as pain ripples all the way up to your hip, stopping your movements. Tears slide down your face, dripping down your nose and onto the dirt.

A hand reaches out, gripping your chin and forcing you to look straight again. Fingers dig into your jaw, making you whimper with pain. “I always hate when omegas cry.” The hand releases you as their right hand rears back.

Pain erupts across your cheek, your body being thrown to the side. You fall into the dirt, your ears ringing as the entire left side of your face throbs. You can taste blood, the coppery tang making you want to gag.

“That was for fucking up the cameras and making me do more work.”

You’re forced onto your stomach in the dirt, a knee digging into your back painfully.

“You’re going to go to sleep now.” You can barely make out the words over the ringing in your ears. “When you wake up, you’re going to wish you had never been picked for this initiative in the first place.”

A stinging pain bites into the skin of your neck, but it’s nothing compared to the throbbing in your cheek and the burning ache in your leg. Tears continue to slide down your cheeks as you lay there, your vision going blurry as the sedative kicks in. There’s no help coming.

No one even knows you’re out here.

NEXT ->

To be notified about new chapters, please follow HERE and turn on notifications

#call of duty #call of duty fic #tf 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #poly 141 #captain price x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse

2K notes · View notes

batbabydamian · 5 months ago

Text

A Quick Guide to Damian’s Furry/Feathered/Scaled Companions

LEFT: R:SOB #1 Cover RIGHT: R:SOB #6

GOLIATH THE BAT DRAGON

Introduced in: ROBIN: SON OF BATMAN (2015) #1

DAMIAN'S BABY AND BEASTY BESTIE!! On a mission during the Year of Blood, Damian kills the family of bat dragons guarding his objective. Goliath, despite being the youngest and last of his kind, forgives Damian. Goliath goes on to become one of Damian's most loyal companions, even featuring beside him in Batman Beyond (2016) #10, #11, #43-#47!

LEFT: B&R #13 RIGHT: B&R #4

TITUS THE DOG

Introduced in: BATMAN AND ROBIN (2011) #2

A Great Dane gifted to Damian from Bruce as an effort in fatherhood. Funny enough, Damian finds him a nuisance at first and briefly refers to him as "Dog". Titus is a good boy that follows Damian's every step, even joining Bruce on his mission to resurrect Damian!

LEFT: Batman Inc #1 RIGHT: Batman Inc #7

BAT-COW THE COW

Introduced in: BATMAN INCORPORATED (2012) #1

Bat-Cow, branded with a star signifying which cattle were contaminated, was saved from a slaughterhouse to run some tests (which they do find of a mind control variety). Damian declares himself a vegetarian, and calls her Bat-Cow! She also sorta has a running gag of literally standing in the face of danger to save the day.

LEFT: Batman Inc #6 RIGHT: Batman Inc #7

ALFRED THE CAT

Introduced in: BATMAN INCORPORATED (2012) #6

Considered a "hopeless case" by the animal shelter, Alfred gifts him to Damian. The cat is a bold lil guy, which Damian takes an immediate liking to, and names him Alfred (likely because tuxedo cat = butler lol). After hours of chicken, playtime, and scratches, Damian and Alfred become friends! He makes his first appearance alongside Damian’s first appearance as Batman in BATMAN (1940) #666

LEFT: Batman: Li'l Gotham #2/#1 RIGHT: Batman: Li'l Gotham #23/#12

*JERRY THE TURKEY

Introduced in: BATMAN LI'L GOTHAM (2012) #2 (Digital) #1 (Printed)

The Penguin unleashes an army of turkeys at the Gotham Thanksgiving parade which Damian turns into his own li'l turkey march by playing the trumpet. He ends up bringing one of them back for Thanksgiving dinner (as a friend), and Jerry becomes a fairly regular appearance in the world of Li'l Gotham!

*WIGGLES THE DRAGON

Introduced in: NIGHTWING (2016) #42

A sort of filler issue where Damian has been kidnapped for his blood by the "Crimson Kabuki" in Tokyo, and Dick goes through a series of boss battles to save him. The dragon's blood has been the group's main source of power, so it ends up teaming with the duo, and returns home with them.

Wiggles was originally named by a fan, "Shanootnoot" on Twitter!

*Goliath, Titus, Bat-Cow, and Alfred the cat have been Damian's main canon cast of furry companions, but SUPER-PETS SPECIAL: BITEDENTITY CRISIS (2024) may have just added Jerry and Wiggles!!

#UPDATED!! I FORGOT TO ADD THAT ALFRED THE CAT MADE HIS VERY FIRST DEBUT IN BATMAN 666 #Batman Inc was his first intro to canon timeline but he makes regular appearances alongside Batman!Damian #made this in honor of that special because I'M STILL SO?? AGGH??#every one of them has a sweet story connecting them to Damian!! they love him!! they've fought at his side and for him!!#Damian's done the same!! he loves them!! they all love each other!!#i expected this comic to be heeheehaha NOT THIS I'M IN SHAMBLES #Damian has been away from them for so long so this does make sense but also. OOGH #i think my biggest complaint would be Goliath being sent off to a refuge bc Goliath's been a free ranger for a while #he is his own bat dragon since critically acclaimed comic Robin: Son of Batman (2015)#anyway ofc i had to add that RSOB page for Goliath PURE CINEMA #ALSO the Batman Beyond issues because their bond makes me so emo in there 😭#i still can't believe Jerry's probably been made canon only to immediately go through a traumatic experience WELCOME TO CANON COMICS JERRY #damian wayne #goliath #titus #batcow #alfred the cat #jerry #wiggles the dragon

2K notes · View notes

docgold13 · 4 months ago

Text

Heroes & Villains The DC Animated Universe - Paper Cut-Out Portraits and Profiles

Elseworlds Addendum - The Flash (Barry Allen)

Barry Allen was a forensic scientist who worked for the Central City Police Department. Late one night when he was at his lab, a freak lightning bolt struck a nearby shelf dousing Allen with a strange concoction of unnamed chemicals. In some bizarre fashion, the result was that Allen could connect to ‘The Speed Force.’

As such, he could now run at supersonic speed, had matching reflexes and could heal rapidly from injury. Furthermore, this Speed Force also protected Allen from the frictional velocity of moving at such extreme speeds. With these newfound powers, Allen donned a crimson bodysuit sporting a lightning bolt and dubbed himself ‘The Flash’ becoming a crimefighter patrolling the streets of Central City.

The Flash would go on to help form the first iteration of The Justice League and also married his longterm girlfriend Iris West. Allen perished in a valiant effort to save the multiverse during the Crisis of Infinite Earths; at which point his former sidekick, Wally West, stepped in to become the new Flash. Allen returned from the dead several years later thanks to some complex machination of The Speed Force. Reassuming the mantle of The Flash, Allen returned to protecting his city and serving on The Justice League.

Wally West was the main Flash of DC Comics at the time that the Justice League animated series debuted. As such, Wally became The Flash of the DCAU continuity (with elements of Barry Allen’s backstory incorporated into Wally’s character). Although a colleague of Wally’s at the Central City Police Department who resembled Barry did make a cameo in the Justice League Unlimited episode, ‘Flash and Substance.’

The Barry Allen version of The Flash first appeared in the pages of Showcase #4 (1956).

#The Flash #Barry Allen #Justice League #DCAU #JLU #cut-out #paper art

1K notes · View notes

sephirthoughts · 5 months ago

Text

Vincent's New Kid Just Dropped CH 13: Deepground Flashback and Present Day, Sephiroth and Cid get a little screentime

RATING: this is a pretty teen-and-up chapter

WARNINGS: disgustingly fluffy family stuff, gratuitous reading of Loveless, Genesis being the world's best onii-chan, referenced torture, phantom pain, PTSD, Vincent being an old man, canon-typical Sephiroth sadness

HE'S JUST A LITTLE GUY

brothers 🖤♥️🤍

also keep this outfit in mind

“Self-care is an essential life skill,” Genesis was saying, as he sat at the table, in Weiss and Nero’s room, gently pushing back Rosso’s cuticles, with a tool from the manicure kit he’d produced from a coat pocket. “We don’t groom and dress for others, but for ourselves. Even if you’re not going out, on a given day, you should take a little time to make yourself feel beautiful.”

“I am not going out any day,” Rosso said disconsolately. “And I don’t care about feeling beautiful, I just want to kill things.”

“Well, live your truth, darling, but self-confidence is an essential battlefield tool. Good grooming habits are a foundational element of self-confidence. Even on the front lines, I always kept my manicure kit with me.”

Rosso appeared skeptical. “You really did?”

“Mn,” he nodded, as he smoothed the rough edges of her fingernails with the crystal emery board. “I consider it a necessary item for survival.”

“A necessary item for survival…” she repeated, gazing dazedly at her newly manicured hands.

When Genesis was satisfied that the girl’s nails were as good as they were going to get, he stowed the tools and zipped up the little case, which had obviously been custom made for him, with an ornate apple tree embossed in the red leather.

“You know what? I want you to have this,” he said, holding it out to Rosso. “You can use it to establish your own pre-slaughter self-care regimen.”

Rosso’s eyes went wide, and she glanced over at Nero and Weiss, who were paying no attention whatsoever. “Me? I can’t…I can’t take such a nice thing, from you.”

“Nonsense, I have a hundred manicure kits. I insist,” Genesis countered, pushing it firmly into her hands. Seeing that she was still hesitant, he added, in a softer tone, “Every girl deserves to have pretty things, little sister.”

That master stroke thoroughly conquered Rosso, who had never been spoken to so kindly, before, let alone received a gift from anyone. She accepted it without further protest, blushing nearly as red as the manicure kit, in her flustered state. “Thank you, b—brother.”

“Don’t mention it. Now then, I think it’s high time we…ahem.” Genesis planted his hands on his hips. “Little brothers? I do admire your unquenchable passion, but if you could remove your tongues from each other’s mouths for long enough to have a conversation, I’d be much obliged.”

“We can talk without our mouths,” Nero informed him, through the darkness link.

“But our sister can’t,” Genesis said aloud. “It is rude to exclude her.”

“They are watching. And listening,” Weiss replied.

“Are they indeed.”

Genesis stepped to the center of the room and scanned the area, quickly spotting the concealed cameras and listening devices, in addition to the openly visible ones. Then he wheeled about, smiled directly into the primary camera, in the ceiling above the door, and raised his middle finger, before he tossed out a sparking and snapping thundara burst.

Rosso gasped and the two boys gave a jolt of surprise, as it struck the camera dead-on, and went crackling along precise and specific paths through the metal walls, instantly frying all the surveillance equipment, while leaving the lights and other systems intact.

“I do dislike being spied upon,” he sneered, dusting off his hands. “Now, tell me why the hell I can hear you two in my head. And why I get such a strong feeling, as if…I don’t know. As if we’re all actually blood related.”

“We don’t know, either,” Nero answered truthfully. “Weiss and me are half brothers, by our mother. We can talk to you in our heads because the darkness thinks we’re connected to you by blood. Rosso, too, but not as much as you. That’s why I can’t use it to talk to her, without hurting her. But it hasn’t ever thought anyone else is connected. Only us four.”

“Hm. You wouldn’t, by any chance, happen to have a parent from Banora, would you?” Genesis put forth.

Weiss shrugged. “Maybe. Our mother was a scientist here, but we don’t know anything else about her. She could have been from there.”

“I don’t know anything about my parents,” Rosso said, in answer to Genesis’ questioning look. “I only know I was born in Deepground.”

“You were all born here, then. That makes sense for the three of you, but how do I fit into this little chain,” he mused, tapping his chin with a perfectly manicured finger. Then he shook his head, with a sigh. “Well, speculating isn’t solving anything. I shall have to do some digging around, on my own. I have a sneaking suspicion that behind this thread there will be a much bigger knot, to untangle.”

Weiss studied the young man surreptitiously, as he arched his back in a stretch, then carded his fingers absently through his auburn hair.

His red coat and leather waist armor hung on the hook by the door, and he’d removed his gloves, before working on Rosso’s fingernails. Now, in only his sleeveless SOLDIER uniform top and trousers, it was suddenly apparent how very hard and muscular his body really was.

His long, streamlined trench coat, with its black, scarab-wing epaulets, had a minimizing and slenderizing visual effect, on his tall frame. It was the opposite effect to Sephiroth’s huge, white pauldrons and exposed chest, which made his lean and agile frame appear bulkier and more imposing than it was. Sephiroth was almost half a foot taller than Genesis, and somewhat broader in the chest, but the two were actually fairly comparable, in terms of muscle mass.

If Genesis and Sephiroth were built like swordsmen, however, Weiss was built like a heavyweight boxer. He needed no creative costuming whatsoever, to make his body appear more tank-like. The researchers liked to say that all the boy had to do to gain muscle mass was eat and breathe, which was fairly close to the truth.

“So, you want to fight Sephiroth,” Genesis said, sensing that he was being sized up. “How very amusing that will be. If he doesn’t just kill you, I mean.”

Wiess gave a snort. “Unlikely.”

An auburn eyebrow arched. “So confident. But take care it isn’t baseless arrogance. Remember, we trained together. I have sparred with him, on many occasions. Not to compliment him unduly, but I will tell you now, he is the strongest opponent I’ve ever faced. There is no way to describe him but…monstrous.”

“He is a monster because he is impure,” Weiss said, unconcernedly. “I am not. The corrupted can never triumph over the immaculate.”

Genesis squinted doubtfully. “Purity is a rather esoteric principle. I do hope that’s not all you’re basing your self-assurance on.”

“One way or another, I intend to defeat him. Is that a problem?”

“Please,” Genesis scoffed. “I would like nothing more than to see Sephiroth taken down a peg or two. His ascendancy has gone on quite long enough. But, you’ll have to forgive me for doubting your ability to do that. You may be naturally gifted, but he has years of experience in real, life and death combat.”

Weiss only smiled. “You doubt me because you’ve never fought me.”

“True enough. I suppose all will be revealed when I test you, tomorrow.”

“My brother is the strongest, you’ll see,” Nero put in, proudly, which made Genesis smile and ruffle his black hair.

Rosso said nothing, but quietly hoped Weiss was not making a serious miscalculation. She still wished he wouldn’t do this mad thing, but he was the leader and he’d made his decision. She had no choice but to trust him, and hope for the best.

All that afternoon, no one came to see about the damaged surveillance equipment, and when the handlers delivered evening meals, they didn’t mention anything about it. Genesis imagined that Hojo was probably fuming, but he seemed to have an understanding with Weiss, and there was no way he was going to risk a full-scale disaster, at this point, by interfering with a bunch of teenaged weapons of mass-destruction, at their slumber party.

Much later that evening, Rosso had gone back to her own quarters, leaving the other three to themselves. Genesis was seated on the bed, reading aloud to Nero, whose ink-black head was nestled in his lap, and to Weiss, who was snuggled up to him on the other side, with his snow-white head resting on his shoulder, gazing curiously at the first ink and paper book he’d ever seen in person.

“There is no hate, only joy. For you are beloved by the goddess. Hero of the dawn, healer of worlds. Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul. Pride is lost. Wings stripped away, the end is nigh.”

“This isn’t a very nice story,” Nero grumbled, from his lap, rolling his shoulders with their bare brackets, since his metal wings were hanging on a rack on the wall.

“Not every part of a story can be nice, little one,” Genesis explained. “They’re a bit like life. If there’s nothing sad or bitter in them, how can we fully appreciate the sweet parts?”

“Hmph,” was all Nero said in response.

Genesis chuckled and petted his head, then returned to reading.

Despite Nero’s initial grouchy declaration, both boys eternally endeared themselves to the famous SOLDIER, that evening, by listening attentively, through the entirety of the meandering and abstruse narrative, all the way to the end. Even Sephiroth had only done so once, in all their long acquaintance, and he’d fallen asleep halfway through.

“My soul, corrupted by vengeance, hath endured torment to find the end of the journey; in my own salvation, and your eternal slumber. Legend shall speak of the sacrifice at world’s end. The wind sails over the water’s surface, quietly, but surely.”

As he wrapped up his reading, Genesis heard a sniffle and looked up from the book. He was astonished to find Weiss wiping away tears, from his silver-blue eyes.

Weiss saw that his unwonted display of emotion had been noticed and scowled sullenly. “The end is too sad. I don’t like it.”

“But it hasn’t ended, yet,” Genesis pointed out. “How do you know it’ll be sad?”

“What do you mean? There’s no more written, after that. The pages are blank.”

“That is one of the most intriguing things about this work. It was either left unfinished by the original author, or that part of the text hasn’t been discovered yet. Who can say what the ending will be?”

“It doesn’t matter if we don’t have it written out. I know it’ll be sad,” Weiss maintained. “The end will be about sacrifice. That’s the theme, the whole way through. Even if the world is saved, someone will have to die saving it.”

Genesis tilted his head. “And that makes you sad?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Weiss paused, struggling to clearly frame his ideas. “Because…only someone who deserves to live would give up their life for the world’s sake. Tragedy is inherent in the very act of heroism. It makes me sad that someone so strong and brave has to die, to save all the weak, undeserving people, who will never know, and never appreciate it.”

“Hm. You are very astute,” Genesis remarked. “It takes most people much longer to decipher the themes in this work. But, might it not be the case, that true heroism lies in self-sacrifice, for its own sake, without expectation of recognition or reward?”

“Maybe, but that only happens in fantasy. I would never sacrifice myself or my brother, for the world’s sake. Even if we didn’t deserve life, I’d take it for us, with my own hands, and destroy anyone and anything that stood in the way.”

Genesis smiled archly. “I think, little brother, that would make you a villain.”

“I’ll be the best villain, then,” Wiess declared staunchly. “Being a hero sounds stupid, anyway.”

By way of reply, Gensis laughed aloud and leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek.

It was the first time anyone but Nero had dared to so boldly assail his person. Weiss was startled by the gesture, but found that he didn’t exactly dislike it. No, in fact, he rather liked it.

He nuzzled his head back into the crook of Genesis’ neck, to conceal the color that had risen in his cheeks, and mentally added him to the list of people who were allowed to touch him in a familiar way. It was now up to a grand total of two.

Nero, meanwhile, not wanting to be left out, sat up and presented his face for a kiss, too, which was duly granted. Neither of the boys had any way of knowing that this was the most affectionate Genesis Rhapsodos had ever been, with anyone. Including his own parents.

That night, the three newfound brothers talked and debated and laughed, well into the small hours, and eventually fell asleep together, in the narrow bed. Three heads lined up on the pillows, white, black, and red, with little Nero in the middle, safely enclosed in the arms of Weiss and Genesis.

Some time in the early morning, Sephiroth appeared silently, to check in on Nero. There he still stood, as the indigo sky lightened with the approaching dawn, gazing down at something, with a strange expression in his catlike eyes.

On the bed, his little half-brother was sleeping peacefully, in the arms of their father, who was also fast asleep. Two pale, beautiful faces, in repose, so like to his own and yet so unlike.

Sephiroth had never dared to touch his biological father. Never dared to reach out, to ask for anything, to make even the slightest nuisance of himself, for fear of shattering the uneasy peace, in which he was somehow allowed to remain here, with his infant sister.

But his brother, who had done nothing but kick and curse, and make his detestation of the whole household loudly known…he was embraced. Held. Soothed and comforted. Nero was treated like Vincent’s son, while Sephiroth was little more than a lonely specter, haunting this happy home.

They were wary of him, he knew, and viewed all his actions through a lens of suspicion, because of what he’d done. It would be useless to explain that he had been out of his mind, possessed by that creature, and deceived into committing atrocities. The atrocities remained committed. Innocent people were still dead. Exculpating his own guilt would help no one and repair nothing.

Ironic, that they should fear him, having no idea that the most dangerous man on the planet spent every moment paralyzed with fear, of being cast out from among the only family he’d ever had. Of being cut off from humanity, left to drift through existence, alone and untethered. To become a real ghost, and eventually to fade away.

His entire body and soul ached with longing to be embraced by his father as well, but that was foolishness. He needed no such coddling, he reminded himself. He was a grown man and Nero was a child. Younger than Cloud, by several years.

His cold, flickering body warmed and became more tangible, at the thought of his fiery-tempered and sharp-tongued darling. The only one who had held on, through the madness, and refused to let go of the man.

Cloud was all he needed. Cloud’s love was more than enough to keep him alive. He didn’t need his father’s love, as well. That would just be childish greediness. Tacit acceptance of his presence was all he could hope for. It was far more than he deserved.

Like a little alarm clock, always set to the same time, he sensed Ollie begin to stir, and knew that it was six-fifteen on the dot. With one more lingering glance at his sleeping father and brother, he vanished into purple-black vapor, to retrieve the warmed bottle from the kitchen, and begin his daily tasks. Quietly attending to the things that would otherwise lie neglected, in a house full of men.

“Yeah, I seen ‘em, plenty of times. Usually they’re bein’ used to couple old tech to new tech, where there ain’t compatible connectors.”

It was a little past noon, and Vincent had come to find Cid, in his workshop, out back.

“Newer OS uses a emulator program to talk to the old tech and make it all synch up.” Cid ran a hand back through his hair, giving a shudder as he recalled the metal brackets in Nero’s back, surrounded by deep, ugly scars. “I guess hookin’ up a human body to a machine is pretty close to the same principle, but…god damn. You’d have to be a sick fuckin’ bastard to do that shit to a kid.”

“Can you do anything?” Vincent asked.

“Don’t know. Maybe. There any way to find his wings?”

Vincent shook his head. “They were obliterated with everything else. I wish I’d known this would be an issue. I’d have been more careful not to leave them behind.”

“Only other way would be to get into Deepground’s system and look for files or anything that might have info on the design.”

“We should contact Reeve, then. He downloaded Deepground’s entire database, wanting to study its AI program. If there is anything about the prosthesis, he’ll have it.”

“Oh great, he’s studyin’ the fuckin’ AI. Just what the world needs more of,” Cid grumbled, as he lit a cigarette.

Vincent tilted his head to one side. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…I don’t get how ya can be so calm about this, Vince,” Cid answered, blowing out a plume of blue-white smoke. “That’s your kid in there, out of his mind and in constant pain, ‘cause of some monstrous shit Shinra did to his body, without—” He broke off and looked away, clearing his throat. “Sorry. Sometimes I…I let myself forget they did that same shit to you. If I didn’t, I’d be angry all the goddamn time.”

“You are angry all the time,” Vincent said affectionately.

“But like, even more angry all the time.”

“Thank you for worrying about Nero. I know he hasn’t been easy to deal with.”

“He’s your son, baby. You’re my husband, so that makes him my family, too. That’s the deal. That’s what marriage is.”

Vincent only answered with a stiff nod, but Cid was well aware that in Vincent-language, that meant he was suppressing some strong emotion, that he was unable or unwilling to express, at that moment. That worked out fine for Cid, because it usually meant he’d express it later, in private, which was bound to be a lot more fun.

Unable to help himself, he hooked an arm around his husband’s narrow waist and pulled him closer. Vincent’s long hair hung loose and free, half over his face, and he had his red headband on, like usual, but he’d started wearing more ‘normal’ clothing at home, which today took the form of a red v-neck, haphazardly embellished with a number of inexplicable and completely unnecessary zippers, and with a long, frayed and torn hem (all of which made it look suspiciously like his cloak).

His clothing items almost always featured similar signs of damage, despite the fact that he’d created them himself, in the moment, and it was literally impossible for them to have collected wear and tear. Same with his faded, black jeans, which were slashed all over like they’d been in a knife fight. He looked a hell of a lot like one of those guys on the rock’n’roll posters, in the 80s, come to think of it.

“Hey babe, y’ever listen to Guns N’ Roses?”

“No. I assume it’s a musical group?” Vincent ventured. “Rock’n’roll, from the sound of it?”

Cid snorted with laughter. “Fuck…you’re such an old man. They’re only one of the most famous bands of all time. Hottest shit goin’ in the 80s and 90s.”

“I spent the 80s and 90s sleeping in a coffin, under Shinra Manor.”

“Ain’t no excuse for cultural illiteracy, Vinnie. Specially since ya look just like one of them rock’n’roll dudes.”

“No, they look like me,” Vincent scowled. “I’ve looked like this for thirty years.”

“Mm, true. Who knows, maybe Axl Rose wandered into the basement and saw ya sleepin’, and it inspired the fashion of a whole generation.”

“Hmph. Axl Rose is an absurd stage name.”

“That’s his real name, sugar dumplin’.” Cid searched up a picture of the band on his phone and held it up for Vincent to look at.

“Oh. That does look rather like me,” Vincent admitted. “Does he also wear his headband to conceal a scar?”

“Maybe. I never seen him without one.”

“Cid…why did you say the person who attached Nero’s wings would have to be a sick bastard? I understand it’s gruesome, but we’ve seen many such things. You seem especially upset by it.”

Cid hesitated. “It’s cause…in order for the nerves to be spliced in right, they’d have to do it without anesthetic, and keep him awake, the whole time.”

Vincent’s black brows drew together. “Oh. I see.”

“I’ve seen a lotta shit, but never anything that fucked up. Fact the kid lived through it is…I can’t decide if it was a miracle or a cruel joke.”

“It was Chaos. His regenerative factor comes from the darkness. I wouldn’t call it regeneration, so much as indestructibility. More like my body, than a SOLDIER’s. But he does feel pain, normally. If he is like me, he does.”

The mood was growing heavy, so Cid changed tracks, to lighten things up. “Since we’re on the topic, you think you got a lot more kids lurkin’ around, out there?”

“There’s no way to tell,” Vincent said, shaking his head. “My DNA was taken and used without my knowledge. But, knowing Hojo, I somehow doubt Sephiroth and Nero were the only ones. He liked to have backups. The question is, whether any others survived.”

“If so, we’re gonna need more space. And, even if Seph and Nero are the only ones, Ollie’s gonna grow outta that nursery pretty quick. So, I was thinkin’…maybe it’s time we started fixin’ up the old Valentine property.”

“You hate that place,” Vincent objected. “You called it a creepy Dracula castle and said even ghosts would be afraid to haunt it.”

“I stand by that. Didn’t see any ghosts, there, did ya? Point proved.”

“I don’t think that’s logically sound.”

“The point is, ain’t no sense in just lettin’ it sit there gettin’ dustier and creepier. ‘Sides, it’s your family’s home, ya know? Wouldn’t it be nice to have it all cleaned up? Just in case?”

Vincent very nearly smiled. “Of course. Just in case.”

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY

yeah i put the stray dog outfit in there WHAT OF IT

next. chapter

21 notes · View notes