#cw: child soldiers

[sleepyfan-blog]

Exhaustion

Author’s note: this is the second part of Sirass’ backstory! First. Next. I hope you enjoy the fic!

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @whorety-k @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

Warnings: medical horror, child endangerment, child soldiers, child death, child abuse mention of brainwashing/indoctrination, Iron Warriors Aspirant Training, please ask me to tag something if it bothers you/I missed something

Summary: A look into the day of Aspirant Sirass, immediately post surgery.

Sirass woke up, as he did most days after his capture by the Iron Warriors, in pain. He gritted his teeth and breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth as he waited for the agony from the most recent surgery he’d been forced to endure. He heard a quiet sob from one of the other aspirants in the bunk above him. Part of him desperately wanted to reach out to his brother to try and comfort him… 

But Sirass was keenly aware of the fact that their captors were watching them most if not at all times. They saw compassion as a weakness. They saw kindness as pointless unless it was in service to manipulate others. If they were being watched, saying a kind word, or poking his head over the side of the other’s bed and trying to crack a joke, or offering a light touch to the shoulder or arm would get their entire squad beaten black and blue if they were lucky.

So Sirass forced himself to ignore the quiet sniffling and hiccupping from the occupant of the bunk above him, breathing through the pains of the surgery inflicted upon him. He’d been informed that it was another organ meant to make him stronger, better, faster. To turn him into an Astartes. He knew when the pain was at a level he could start to move at, as the aching, bone-deep ravening hunger in the empty pit his stomach had become started to gurgle and grumble.

The Iron Warriors aspirant looked at the chronometer and suppressed an annoyed sigh. He had an additional hour and a half before he and his squad would be collected for the morning meal…

Though to call the thick, porridge like substance filled with chalky vitamins and gods knew what else a meal was generous at best. It tasted awful, but it filled his belly up like nothing he’d ever eaten before. Sirass closed his eyes, muttering to himself the many if arbitrary seeming rules that he’d been told that sticking too would allegedly allow him to survive the trials ahead of him into becoming an Astartes.

Sirass didn’t necessarily want to become an Astartes, but he’d also been told that if he did survive and pass all of his trials, he would eventually be able to go back home. He might be able to see his mother again, which was the main hope driving him onwards. He’d heard over and over again how it was an honor for him and the others to be chosen to become Astartes. To Serve the Imperium of Man, to serve the Tyrant of Olympia in such a direct and honorable manner. Sirass privately thought that was a lot of groxshit, but he knew better than to say that out loud. 

Rebelliousness was severely punished. Dissension meant death - and often not just of the mouthy Aspirant who said unwise things, but those closest to his physical proximity. 

~

“GET UP YOU LAZY LAYABOUTS! IT IS TIME FOR FIRST MEAL AND TRAINING!” The training sergeant yelled as he kicked down the door, startling awake the nearly dozen aspirants who’d been sleeping in their bunk beds. 

There were startled sounds coming from the others, and Sirass had jumped in his bed as well, but he waited three seconds before getting out of bed, immediately turning to make it before standing at attention at the foot of his bed, hoping that he hadn’t bled through his bandages and sleeping tunic from the abdominal surgery he and the others had received yesterday. He’d be scolded for being messy.

The others slid out of bed at varying levels of coordinated and stumbling. The aspirant two bunks above him rolled off the edge of his bed and began to fall.

Sirass reacted on instinct, taking a half step forwards and catching the other before he could fall all the way to the floor, setting him on his feet as fast as possible, silently hoping that the training sergeant either didn’t notice, or didn’t care that had happened.

The training sargent swept past the two of them  without so much as a glare in their direction - which caused Sirass to let out a tiny sigh of relief, making sure to make as little noise as possible.

The brother he caught murmured a soft “Thank you!” Before going up on his tiptoes to make his own bed before standing at attention.

Two of the aspirants at the far side of the sleeping room hadn’t left their beds. They hadn’t even moved when the Sargeant had called for everyone to leave their bunks.

Sirass could understand why they didn’t want to move - his body ached from the surgery and he was so hungry he was shivering and felt a little weak at the knees and clammy. But such open defiance meant a beating.

The training sergeant stomped over to where the two unmoving aspirants were and looked at them both. There was a small sneer on his face “Weak. These two were week. Not enough Iron Within to handle the process. Cadet Sirass!”

“Yes sir!” Sirass called out, snapping a crisp salute the other’s way, ignoring the way that it tugged at his stitches.

“Lead this group of your brothers to the cafeteria. I will hold you personally responsible if anyone gets lost or the group loses discipline on the way to the grubhall. Understand?” The sergeant ordered.

“Yes sir.” Sirass acknowledged, swallowing hard. “You heard the sergeant. Everyone line up in two lines. Cadet Malix, you’re my second.” Several of the others looked at the unmoving Aspirants, but no one wanted to be accused of Questioning Orders and hurried to obey. That and Sirass suspected that they were just as hungry as he was.

~

The trip to the cafeteria was mercifully short and silent, though He had been forced to reprimand four of the others for trying to start an Unauthorized Conversation in the hallway of the massive ship they’d been training on. He wanted to know what was going to happen to the unmoving aspirants as they did, but as he was “in charge” of them, and cross-chatter wasn’t allowed in the hallways, he had been forced to maintain discipline. 

The hot sludge they were being fed today was greyer than normal, and the liquid that was too sweet-salty to be normal water was thicker as well. Sirass couldn’t find it within himself to care or wonder about the whys behind it, eating his position of food as quickly as possible. 

“I wonder why Umil and Shay weren’t moving… They’re going to be in trouble.” Malix murmured quietly, a worried frown on his face.

“They were the last ones out of surgery, yesterday.” Sirass responded quietly “And their surgeries took twice as long as ours. I don’t… I’m not sure…” While most of the time, if an Aspirant was going to die because of a surgery, they died on the table, not returning to the squad they’d been assigned to, from what SIrass had seen. But sometimes an Aspirant or two died in his sleep after being released from the butchers… Apothecaries… Who’d cut him open and shoved an additional organ inside of them before sewing them back up again.

“Ah. I… Oh.” Malix sighed, staring forlornly at his half-full bowl of sludge. 

“You need to finish eating. You know how they get when we don’t.” Sirass encouraged. “It’s best… Not to think about it. There’s nothing we can do.”

Malix huffed silently but nodded, morosely digging his spoon into the grey sludge, swallowing down another mouthful.  The two of them diligently watched over their remaining brother-aspirants for breakfast.

~

The only positives about the handful of weeks after a Surgery Day was that the physical training was less gods-awful, if only to ensure that they didn’t rip their stitches and bleed out over the training floors and waste the time and expense poured into them by the trainers and medical staff who were shaping them into astartes. The downside was during those weeks, they pushed the propaganda and indoctrination into How Amazing The Imperium Is and Serving The Imperium hard.

Sirass dutifully repeated the mantra of the Iron Warriors over and over again, to the beat that the training sergeant set, alongside his fellow aspirants. They would be doing this for another hour, before being told more Glorious Stories about the chapter, and the brilliance of their Primarch, Lord Perturabo. 

The more he learned about the incredibly powerful being, the less he ever wanted to be anywhere near the near-godlike being. He sounded equal parts tyrannical bastard and unholy terror, both in the forge and on the battlefield. All Sirass wanted was to be able to see his mother again, to apologize for not listening to her. He could still remember what she looked like, and the sound of her voice, at least…

He did most of the time. It scared him, the days when he forgot what his home had been like. To know that he couldn’t recall the color of his mother’s eyes. On those days he’d take out the purloined needle he’d taken and practice the stitches his mother had taught him on the blanket he had, or the inside of his clothing, making sure to undo it before anyone could see what he was doing. The needle wasn’t something he was allowed to have as an aspirant, and practicing a skill that would probably be seen as frivolous… Sirass did not want to be beaten for trying to remember the one person who had truly loved and cared for him.

Not in this place of blood and fear and misery. Sirass was fairly certain they were trying to beat all of the kindness and humanity out of him and his fellow aspirants. This one, small act of defiance was something that he was hoping he’d be able to have.

[fictionkinfessions]

Born to be a living weapon forced to be an actual person for once. I hate this let me out

x

[multi-lefaiye]

GLOMP!

Poke poke!

Please and thank you!

HELLO responding to this late! i was typing up a response during work yesterday, then i got busy :'> alas. but i digress, now it is pavel time.

tagging @void-botanist and @invaderskoodge bc y'all also showed interest :3 and i'm gonna tag @vacantgodling purely bc i think you might like this disaster fella at least a little

-

pavel is the main character of a wip i go back and forth on quite a bit, going back and changing the worldbuilding over and over lol. it's called 'wild animals,' with the longer working title being 'wild animals: or, who killed wanda bright?' (i'm working on it) it's a murder mystery, with anthros :v

pavel is an extremely burned out social outcast in his late 20s, who's been through A Lot and fucking hates himself and his life for the most part, but doesn't have much in the way of means or motivation to change it in any way. to him, it just... is what it is. he floats through life, not making much of an impression and just... kinda letting things happen.

until one night, when he goes to a party at the behest of his best (and perhaps only) friend, meets a girl named wanda and seems to hit it off with her, and then blacks out for several hours. when he comes to, he's shirtless on a cold bathroom floor with blood on his hands and staining his fur.

and before he knows it, he's being accused of wanda's murder... unless he can figure out what happened and prove his innocence, he is almost certainly fucked.

i really enjoy the trope of taking animal/anthro characters and using them as commentary on The Human Condition, and that's what this ended up being. and pavel is an example of another trope i like, a character finding their own agency and what it means to make your own choices. a little differently than ways i've tackled it before, but a way that does resonate with me personally lol.

he's also a fucking cat. originally i imagined him as a housecat, but lately i've been really digging the idea of changing his species and making him a cheetah instead. specifically a king cheetah :3 that feels right.

heeere's some old art i did of pavel and wanda back in 2023! feat lyrics from where did the party go by fall out boy, a song that vibes a lot with this story.

also i mentioned i keep changing the worldbuilding for 'wild animals', and tbh. that's mainly because i have a very hard time deciding whether or not humans should also exist here, or if it should just be anthros. i like both ideas, so i can never settle on one lol. but either way, pavel is kitty boy.

anyway, here's an excerpt from an older version of 'wild animals' that has one of pavel's most iconic moments:

.

Pavel doesn’t remember all of the details, only that another cat leaving the bar had shoved him not-so-gently out of the way as they stalked past him. Reflexively, he hissed at them and shoved back, and before he knew it the other feline had whipped around and slugged him hard in the face.

The punch hurt like a son of a bitch, and it had Pavel stumbling backward and clutching his face. He was too stunned to react, and he heard the other cat laughing and jeering at him.

“Stay outta my way, you fuckin’ pussy,” the other cat slurred. Pavel was going to point out to him that, technically, they were both pussies, but his drunken brain couldn’t quite find the words.

-

and then a moment with him and wanda during their first meeting:

-

“You don’t drink?” Pavel asks, nodding to her. The rabbit snorts, shooting him a wry look around the rim of her coffee cup.

“Beer tastes like piss,” she explains with a shrug. “I have better things to do than chug piss while pretending I'm actually having fun.” Despite the tension still coursing through Pavel’s shoulders and the trembling in his hands, he laughs.

The sound is a lot more brittle than he hoped it'd be. She doesn’t call him on it.

He appreciates that.

“So you’re just here to sit on the fire escape and drink coffee while thinking about how much better you are than everyone else here?” He smirks and she rolls her eyes. Pavel nudges her with his elbow. “Why even come, then?”

“I don’t see you drinking either,” she points out instead of answering his question, narrowing her eyes in distaste as she leans away from him. “Or schmoozing.”

“Beer does taste like piss,” he agrees. “And, for your information, the people here love me.” Something flashes in the rabbit’s deep blue eyes and she sneers at him.

“Good for you,” she says. She takes a sip from her coffee cup. “Why don’t you go talk to them, then, and leave me here to wallow? Be a gentleman and respect a lady’s privacy.”

[19catsncounting]

Admittedly, I don’t know very much at all about the Vietnam War, active military, and I’m particularly bad with math. But I Don’t Think I Understand John Winchester’s Military Service And Timeline. (If you do Please Help)

US military involvement with Vietnam ends on March 29th, 1973, the same year that the events of ‘In The Beginning’ takes place. John Winchester is born in April of 1954, he is a month shy of being 19 at the end of the war. The Winchesters apparently clarified that John illegally enlisted while underage, which I can buy up to a point. But military contracts are 4/6/8 year contracts. Additionally, I believe the line in the Winchesters says that he forged his father’s signature specifically, meaning he enlisted with parental approval, which only 17 year olds could do. (He also had a fiance at this time…)

If John is a free man in 1973 after, at best, a four year contract, then a 15 year old John Winchester fooled an admittedly desperate military apparatus and spent his high school years not just in Vietnam, but also at least briefly as a POW. (It did happen, at least one 15 year old was killed in action and five 16 year olds were as well.)

Now, Dean Winchester is born in 1979, so it is understandable that John has to be able to meet Mary before that point. John also has to have at least a 12 month tour in Vietnam, so being deployed at the latest in 1972.

But I’m not sure that John and Mary really need six years of not doing much between the events of In The Beginning and Dean’s birth? Is it just so Mary making the demon deal to save John when she can’t save either of her parents can be a twisted parallel to the biblical ‘leave the house of your parents and cleave unto your husband’ notion of commitment?

As I understand canon, John is born in 1954, at the start of the Vietnam war, Henry Winchester goes missing in 1958, John forges documentation to enlist at 15 in 1969, serves a 4 year contract and is a 19 year old war vet who spent time as a POW buying his first car in ‘In the Beginning.’ And his girlfriend, Mary Winchester, survives her parents being brutally murdered in a single night, and then we check in five years later and John’s a mechanic and Mary is pregnant.

[allebooklover]

For the prompt counting clocks by @flashfictionfridayofficial.

I sort of went with the alternate meaning of clocks - clocking someone in the head, and regular clocks.

Content warnings: violence and child abuse. Character repeatedly remembers violence committed on kids, and daydreams of people getting hit in the head in multiple ways.

Edited to include the words ‘counting clocks’ (hadn’t realised I left it out).

“-the clock in the house is an antique from the Fujiwara’s grandfather’s generation. It symbolises—”

The teacher droned on, a continuous monotone that blurred the words together, until Enn could barely made sense of what he was saying. He could understand Japanese just fine, despite spending the previous few years in Italy, but he couldn’t say the same for Japanese literature. Metaphors, similes, symbolism— none of it made sense to Enn, even with Minase’s efforts. Even after a month, he couldn’t make head or tails of it, and if he was being honest with himself, he never would.

He glanced up at the clock. It was a perfect circle, painted white with crisp black numbers circling the rim. 10.15am, it read. Enn’s shoulders slumped before he could stop them—he forced them back up with a flinch, gaze flickering frantically to the teacher. Thankfully, the teacher was too busy reading the textbook to notice his slip.

It could be wrong, he thought hopefully. The clock could have been wounded wrongly, just like the old square clock they’d had back in the hellhole that ran anywhere between 3 and 8 minutes early. He didn’t have anything to compare it to, but that didn’t matter. Having allies was a wonderful thing, especially in an unknown environment. Carefully, his eyes slid to the side of the classroom. Kazumi was seated three seats aside and down, scribbling into her notebook like her life depended on it, dark shadows under her eyes. Her wrists were bare, and just like the classmates surrounding them, she looked completely focused on what the teacher was saying. A far cry from the silent, wary girl he remembered, who needed to keep everybody in sight at all times and panicked when they weren’t.

He wasn’t sure if he liked that.

Focused as Kazumi was, it was all too easy for her to die. Enn could already see it in his mind’s eye—the classmate seated beside her whirling around and punching once to the face before stabbing a pen into the side of her neck, a tactic they’d learned back when they were in the Nero famiglia’s care. Clutching at her throat, wheezing for air as warm blood slid down her fingers, staining her blouse red—

Kazumi’s eyes shifted towards his. Her brows furrowed into a scowl, eyes flickering back to the whiteboard and back to him. Pay attention, her look said, and Enn slid his gaze back to the front with a sigh.

He glanced up at the clock—10.20am. Enn resisted the urge to smack his head on the table. He peeked to the side instead, gaze shifting to the third seat beside the window.

Minase was looking down at his textbook, bangs falling into his eyes, pen held loosely in hand. There was a watch on his wrist, but the head was facing away from Enn. He gritted his teeth, thinking his options through.

He could ask the other students to pass on the message, but he didn’t trust those students not to narc to the teacher. He could approach or call out himself—Minase rolled with the circumstances like a well oiled ball bearing. He’d give Enn a questioning look but also a honest answer, but that would be against the rules. Obeying the rules was what helped them survive back then, and although the rules were less clearcut, it was helping them survive now.

Adults didn’t like rule breakers. The adults in charge of him back then had made it vehemently clear how much they hated them by kicking rule breakers in the head until their face caved in, pleading be damned. He’d counted forty two kicks, once, for an eight year old who’d stolen a ring. Could still hear the crunch of bone, the horrible hacking coughs as the kid struggled to breath through a swollen tongue and broken teeth. Kazumi was too smart to be caught, but Minase wasn’t, and Enn refused to see them go through the same thing.

He’d kill the teacher before that happened.

He’d seen some squads do it to their handlers. Enn had dreamt of joining in, when things got too much. It had never ended well, but when you were deemed failures by the lab and sent into an underground war between criminals as meat shields and fodder, striking back was worth death. It wouldn’t even be hard—it was clear that the teacher had never killed anyone in his life, unlike the mafiosi. Attention split between twenty kids and the whiteboard, the teacher wouldn’t see Enn coming until it was too late.

He wouldn’t even need a pen—the textbook they were using would do. Enn tightened his grip on his textbook. All he’d would have to do was throw it at the back of the teacher’s head with enough force to break a skull, and if that failed, he’d have his fists. He’d seen kids die of brain damage after getting clocked in the face, and the teacher would die just like they would - crying in pain, vomiting down their fronts, clutching at their heads until they fell limp and still. One strike, two, three; counting clocks to the head just like he had for the rest of the dead.

It’d get him executed by the adults in front of the others to teach them what happened to failures who fought back, but at least that meant no more Japanese literature class. No more struggle to adapt to this weirdly peaceful place, where violence was the exception instead of the rule.

(Kazumi had told him that things had changed. That the people who’d took them in didn’t want to kill them, or for them to kill anyone, or do anything that wasn’t what a regular high school kid would do, whatever that meant. It was clear that they were trying to believe it, but Enn wasn’t sure he was ready to join them just yet.)

Kazumi was looking at him, brows furrowed. Shoving away the memories of blood and violence, Enn shifted his gaze to his notes. Above them, the clock ticked on, slowly and inevitably marching towards the end of the lesson, and the beginning of a new one.

[hersheysmcboom]

(SONIC 3 SPOILERS!)

(Shadow finds out Maria is alive and turned into an assassin by G.U.N)

Shadow: Maria?!

Maria: who the hell is Maria?

[what-have-i-unleashed]

anyway regarding this post i'm having a very funny idea in my head about a scenario with this squad. like, petal after spying on their latest target and then having to go back because apparently their target is at a place where there is no dirt surface for him to pop up to continue tracking. so they have to resort to the old-fashioned method of infiltration.

and they start to argue with each other about who should be the honeytrap to tail and extract info from the guy. silk is the obvious choice since she's the recon expert, but then she might be a bit too intimidating for the guy with her personality. after a bit of back-and-forth, silk finally says "hey, how about the boss?" and everyone just turns to look at dust, who looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

"he's cute. and he looks like a harmless little funny guy with his normal eyelights." silk explains, much to the mortification of dust. "he'll be the perfect person to approach this guy."

"hmm i don't know..." allie squints. "he doesn't look like he has," she gestures at dust, "the factor, if you get what i mean."

"okay petal, where does our guy end up at?" silk asks their little scout.

"uhhh some bar at [insert place here since i'm too lazy to come up with anything]."

"oh perfect! that's a gay bar! he'll definitely looking to score someone!"

allie remains skeptical. "you're sure the commander is his type though?"

"the guy looks sleazy," petal says, completely bored. "he's looking for an easy target for sure."

"and the boss knows how to charm someone off their pants, doesn't he~?" silk croons, all of her eyes fixed upon dust with much glee. "and he's pretty nice-looking too, under all those cumbersome clothes of his~"

"are we really talking about this right now?" dust grits his teeth, hunching into his hood, face clearly burning hot.

everyone else is just silent as they stare at silk, then at dust. finally someone breaks the silence in the background. "i knew it. pay up, motherfucker."

"oh come on!" another grumbles as the sound of jingling coins can be heard. chara can just watch, mouth agape, as this slow train crash continues to go downhill.

really? pyre signs. you, with her? real taste there, commander.

"shut up. i don't want to hear it." dust hides further into his hood.

"yeah, shut up, pyre!" silk crows gleefully. "at least boss likes someone who can give some indications that they enjoy it during the act. he definitely likes me better than you."

"and by 'shut up', i mean you too, silk." dust turns to her, but his fire is just not there. he's too embarrassed to be intimidating right now.

chara is not the only one who notices that dust didn't deny what silk is implying.

"wait..." allie starts. "did you..."

silence. there is no denial coming from dust, and pyre just crosses his arms, his fire crackling in an amused expression.

"damn it..." another voice grumbles in the crowd as the betting money is exchanged again.

"wow," red, who was silent the whole time, finally says, his voice a drawl. "was i really your last option there, dust? i'm wounded, really."

chara's brain is working overtime with all this new information. they look at silk, pyre, red, then dust, trying to connect something with their frayed neurons. "hold on... but they're all... that means..."

"he has a type, kid," silk says, entertained by the little drama she has caused. "i wonder what~"

"should i feel good about myself that i haven't slept with him yet?" allie says, not sounding very impressed.

"oh stars... if i agree to be the honeytrap, can you guys please shut up about my sex life? there's a kid here!" dust says, exasperated by the antics of his subordinates. chara can't help but agree, though they would be lying if they say this drama is not entertaining... somewhat.

"it's not the worst thing they've heard, trust me," red says, quirking a smile. but they move on.

[sometimesraven]

@febuwhump Day 4 - Hivemind

Fandom: The Truth Saga (original work)

POV: 3rd Person

Whumpee: OC

Summary: A scientist and his subjects are not unlike father and child. Or God and Angel, perhaps...

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse & Medical Experimentation, Death/Murder, Child Soldiers, just general Creep Behaviour

AO3 Link

((Truth Saga Taglist: @westenra97 ))

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

He revelled in how close they all were.

Brothers in arms; comrades in torment. Tied together with threads of his own power, intertwined just enough that every failure would punish them all. Ignorant enough to remain under his control; aware enough to feel it like a knife to their skull when another of them failed.

Of course, The Controller wasn't immune to this connection himself. His creations, after all, were as much a part of him as the share of power he had granted them. In the early days, when the soldiers were children barely able to string sentences together, it was difficult to see them cry. To feel their fragile bodies break apart to be remade in his image. Perhaps that was why he named them, after all. Such whimsical combinations of natural power, to give them some form of identity despite their function as a unit. In hindsight, that was a mistake, but he was always a sentimental man.

Even now, he felt their pain as if it were his own. He had grown accustomed to the burning under his skin whenever he disciplined them, learned to enjoy the buzzing behind his eyes when they were pushed to their absolute limits. This discomfort was the price of perfection; the trial and error before the final evolution.

While is was unprofessional to have favourites, Silverheart's fate was certainly the worst. Such a delicate creature, her connection to his power so wild and uncontrolled that it consumed her from the inside. It was a mercy to have them kill her, and yet... Her torment was exquisite, pain in every fibre of her being as she was torn in half. He felt her loss as a shooting pain behind his eyes and, perhaps in a moment of weakness, he pitied her.

When he ordered the demon to bring her back from the dead, he wasn't sure what he expected. The sight of his dark ritual was almost sickening; discomfort once again touching his gut at the sight of something so unnatural. But when the breath returned to Silverheart's body, he felt... relief. Her body had healed, stitched together and scarred like a seam through her entire torso; a mark of his care. His mercy.

He couldn't let her go to waste, nor could he let his other subjects believe their punishments were not severe -- Purpose was forged in hardship, after all. So he kept her at his side, gave her special access to his personal suite. Though she was quite useless to him as a soldier, she was a capable personal assistant (if a mite slow). It helped to keep her busy, keep her mind sharp. It was almost quaint, her company. The way she glowered and groaned and yet her face was still so fair: almost pure.

What had the other children called her... Angel. Yes, she was rather angelic -- more so now she had cheated death. The experience had shocked the follicles of her hair a bright white, patchy at first but soon the entire head was that same, beautiful purity. It was fitting, he supposed, for a God to create such a divine messenger.

Sadly, he still had to return her to the table. No body was primed such as hers was to sacrifice itself to the greater cause; to test his prototypes until he perfected them. The next time she died, he did not waver. The demon's ritual became a beautiful rebirth, over and over.

Did he shed a tear, when he learned of her betrayal; made the decision to leave her behind? No. But for a moment, a tinge of regret ghosted his heart. For all her failures, Silverheart had lived up to the name he gave her.

It was a shame the world did not cater to the pure of heart.

Perhaps he did have favourites, after all.

[cityburns]

[ ⚠︎ COLOR THEORY ] The blinding color from a nuclear blast. The lines of code in your vision. You are yellow, bright and neon; a destroyer. Sabotage. Revenge. Maybe born from rage. Maybe born from duty. Hot, cooking you from the inside. The tight fist of your 'ganic hand, punching the dirt next to the body of the man that spared your life at the cost of his own. You deserve to burn, and so does the world.

Breaking shit. That's all Johnny has ever been good at. Like he's fifteen again, making his voice sound deeper so that the lady at the desk hurries him down the hallway to meet the sergeant. Neck-deep in the trenches, gun shoved in hand. To fight for his country and nothing else ( right? ). What a load of horse shit. Just fluff they say to make you puff your chest up, so that when you watch your brothers in arms get shot between the eyes, you shed a single tear and say it was worth it. So long as America wins, right?

( Now repeat after me: I, Robert John Linder, solemnly swear, ) I, Robert John Linder, solemnly swear, ( to faithfully serve the United States of America ) to faithfully serve the United States of America. ( I vow to uphold the values set forth in the nation's Constitution and represent its government with dignity and due diligence. ) I vow to uphold the values set forth in the nation's Constitution and represent its government with dignity and due diligence. ( I pledge to defend my country against all enemies, foreign or domestic. Should this cause claim my life, so be it. ) I pledge to defend my country against all enemies, foreign or domestic. Should this cause claim my life, so be it.

Words that mean nothing. Just bullshit. Knees to the ground, red on yellow, as the poor guy underneath him gets a beating no man deserves. A knocked out tooth, a bloody nose. He started it, Johnny thinks absentmindedly, the sound of cracking in his knuckles, of metal hitting skin. Broken bones are just the start. Johnny doesn't let up until the begging ceases, leaving just the heaving breaths of his victim. It's not enough ( it's never been enough ) to just beat up one guy. He's sifting around this poor guy's garage for a crowbar and gives the same treatment to the car that has the misfortune of being parked here.

The crowbar takes on the same hue as him, and it spreads across the dented metal and shattered glass of the car ever time he kicks it. The alarm in it blares out loudly, but he doesn't care. The beeping gets quieter with every swing of the crowbar, and long after he's forgotten why he's mad, he keeps swinging. As though it may come alive and take its revenge on him. Not happening, he thinks, fuck off.

And it's still not enough. The burning need to break. The ache for destruction. Complete annihilation. Arasaka was only the start, way back when. Arasaka was just a warning. A big red you're next. Would he have stopped after every corpo was torn to shreds? No. It wouldn't be enough. And it's so much worse here, wherever he is in the back of V's mind, because he's so goddamned powerless in this city. All he has are his bare fists, but that won't stop him. No, he's gonna tear the core of the Earth out just for good measure. What's next on the menu? Smashing the windows out of this place and then setting it on fire. Sounds like a damned good idea.

Each footstep is a trail straight to him. A mix of red and yellow. Paint and blood. He's swiping things off the cabinets, riffling through for canisters of gasoline. No gonk in their right mind would keep enough gasoline to start a house fire, but the small canister he finds may beg to differ. Crowbar in one hand, gasoline in the other. Pouring it all over; on the couch, in the kitchen, over the body. Smashing everything; the lamp, the TV, the windows. Nothing is safe. Nobody is safe. Not from Silverhand. Not from Robert, with so much rage in his heart that he has no other outlet than destruction.

A cigarette. That's enough to set it ablaze, a small trail leading from the front door to his feet. He tosses it in. Still not enough, as the flames reflect in his shades. That gaping hole in his chest is still there. And it only gets wider by the minute.

[fictionkinfessions]

sometimes i look at my kinlist and am like damn bro ur literally childhood trauma incarnate. we got abused and manipulated by an adult, child war veteran x2, grew up with an unpredictably violent brother, tortured by a demon and saw my friends die, severely mistreated child lab experiment, used and tortured by occultists, manipulated and used by a parental figure ............ there is a theme here. and i'm afraid of what that says about me in this life

2

[toitlselfindulgenz]

Idk if i'll be able to finish the whole song but hey this is a fun exercise

[unkindhands]

Once again thinking about that fic where Kars finally returns to Earth from space but it's several thousand years into the future after a climate apocalypse has ended human civilization and Santana is the only sapient life left on Earth and Kars is finally forced to confront his grief at losing Esidisi and Wamuu and how all his machinations turn to ash without them being alive to see it and also he finally opens up emotionally to Santana after all that time

anyways please read it

[blonde-and-cat-suc]

28. three's a crowd

rating: g 

wc: 1.5k 

cw/tw: domestic violence isolation tactics (implied), past physical abuse (implied) 

desc: Glimmer, Bow, and Adora arrive in Bright Moon on a high note, excited to have She-Ra joining the Rebellion. Adora is skeptical of their welcoming attitude. Three friends is one too many to be true... 

(Canon Compliant) 

///

"Adora! Show me how you threw that punch again!"

"Well, alright", Adora agreed easily, a golden dapple of sunlight coming through the trees giving away the pinkish-red of her cheeks. She was clearly the type that liked to show off—Glimmer had been privy from the beginning. The freshly new rebel had proven herself to be an ally to them with a sort of flashy, grandiose act of solidarity...

She-Ra.

Glimmer couldn't help her giddiness.

Yes, She-Ra's defense of Thaymor was awesome—yes, Glimmer loved every second of it. Beneath her initial disbeliefs, Glimmer was beginning to understand that it didn't matter where Adora had come from. Only where she was going.

Presently, Adora was set to go to Bright Moon, sitting on top of the wayward horse they had fled Thaymor with. Adora couldn't have been much younger than Glimmer or Bow, but she had not been out much. Everything amazed Adora in one way or another.

I had no idea that we had this many moons in the sky! Adora exclaimed yesterday, staring into the violet-blue deepness enfolding various moonlight hues. And then, hours later, when the daylight moons had rotated to their positions: Where'd they all go? Why did they leave...? Adora was genuinely regretful. So certain that the moons themselves had moved on from her, specifically, and would not return intentionally, somehow. Bow had to reassure her that the moons would return, (and sometimes they wouldn't, when they got into a New Moon phase). She'd perked up instantly, relieved.

Their first few hours of retreating Thaymor had been spent explaining basic information to Adora that she may not have already known. What Bright Moon was like, the Rebellion, Queen Angella's pitiful alliances across civil Etheria... Adora had no trouble accepting these truths with only the occasional inkling of doubt.

It should have been more obvious before, but Glimmer had only caught on to Adora's true merit when she'd talk back to them with her own insights, pressing them for more information, more analogies, more new philosophies and ideas and morals... and then, more.

Adora was a truthful hero who was also eager to learn and explore the world around her. Glimmer couldn't have asked for a better gift to the Rebellion. She-Ra was going to give the Rebellion the advantage that they had needed all of those years ago when her father...

When the Horde had made their worse offense on Bright Moon to date.

It was all Glimmer could think of when she looked at Adora. Even when they had become comfortable in each other's presence, even when Adora was guiding Glimmer's hands to throw a punch that those calloused, cruel Horde soldiers used—Glimmer knew that Adora herself was ultimately the upper hand the Rebellion needed. With each other's full cooperation, they could protect Etheria from the evil that had grown in its darkest corner. They would burn the Horde back into the ground. Once and for all.

...But for now, the three of them were only lucked-out travelers escaping the Horde's latest brutality. They were all exhausted and each of them had admitted to the group that they were still sore from the day before. Regardless, they kept steady pace, and soon, Glimmer recognized the thinly trekked dirt roads cutting through the trees... They were close to the outskirts of Bright Moon's city. Bow had realized too, flashing a huge smile, "I can't wait to shower and eat and sleep!"

Adora instantly made a skeptical sort of expression. "All at once?"

"Huh? No! But, well... I could definitely try."

"Are you allowed to do that?"

"Probably not", he laughed. "How does anyone shower and eat and sleep? I understand showering and eating—and sleeping and eating. But all three? No, I'm not sure. Sorry, Adora!"

Then, she'd only frowned at him. "You're...joking?"

"Only a little bit", Bow laughed again. "I'm sorry. Really. This is the kind of joke that my dads would tell. It's funny. I haven't been home in a while..."

"Dads", Adora tested the word on her mouth. "Daaaaahds. What is a 'Dads'?"

Wide-eyed and open-minded, Adora absorbed what Bow had to tell her about his family and all of his brothers. She got around to prying him for information on the word "brothers", eventually.

"Do you have 'brothers'?" Adora looked at Glimmer expectantly.

"No, no. I'm an only child."

"Me too. Well... I assume so. I don't have a 'Dads' either."

"It's just a 'Dad'."

"Yeah, it's not such a big deal not having one." Adora smiled. "I turned out okay, I think."

Glimmer didn't bother correcting her anymore after that. The dryness of her mouth and lips was starting to get to her, now that she knew that Bright Moon was close. All she cared about was drinking water, and doing those other things Bow had listed. And of course, recruiting Adora to their cause. Giving her someplace to sleep. Making sure she knew how to take a bath when they found time for that.

When they'd broken out of the wooded trails, Adora had climbed on top of their horse just to get a better view of the sight—Bright Moon Castle, and the Moonstone, opalescent and shimmering gold hues in the daylight. "Wow", Adora sighed under her breath, fingers clutched in the horse's mane.

Glimmer beamed up at her. "Welcome home!"

"Home." Adora seemed to cringe around this word. She examined Glimmer and Bow, and even the horse beneath her. "You guys are sure that you want me to live here? With you?"

"Where else would you go?" Bow asked with an equal amount of sincerity. "I couldn't bring you home."

"Because of your 'Dads'..." Adora nodded to him in understanding. "Right."

"Well, Bright Moon has space for you", Glimmer promised.

"Um", Adora had only looked between them again, frowning. "Are you sure...?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"It's just... Well. Um. I really do want to be friends with you guys."

"We want to be friends with you, too!" Bow reached up and touched the side of her arm, but withdrew as soon as she stiffened, knuckles white, contrasted in the hazel-brown of the horse mane caught in the pressure. If Adora noticed that she'd frightened the horse, she did nothing but gesture it to keep trotting. Bow muttered a quick apology, and Adora accepted it quietly, but it wasn't enough to get them away from the topic.

Not that Adora seemed to want to stop talking about it. She eventually managed to hold Bow's eyes, shoulders rounded, knees pressing into the horse so that it swung its head back and forced her to relax again. Delicately, Adora petted the horse's neck, voice soft but leveled, "I'm not sure that I could be your friend. I mean. Maybe it's a Horde thing. But... there's already two of you..."

"And three's better", Bow said plainly. "You're not in the Horde anymore, Adora. You can do what you want about that, now."

"Oh...? I mean. I heard that—that those kinds of friendships always end up bad. That's why it's sort of banned in the first place. Not totally banned. Just... You get flack for having too many friends... Is that true for the rest of the world?"

"Not at all. If everyone stays very good friends. And talks to each other a lot. The more, the merrier!"

"What does the Horde know about friendships, anyway?" Glimmer shook her head, ready to go into grave detail on why Adora should probably disregard whatever it was that she knew about friendship—and to prepare herself to learn some new things about it—but Glimmer stopped herself. Adora suddenly had a startlingly distant look in her eyes.

"I've only ever had one real friend", Adora told them. "And—I wasn't allowed to have other ones. I-I mean, they were friends. But not friends friends. She used to want to have me to herself all the time. It made sense. Our other friends were opposition to me as her friend. And that's no good for friendship. So, I understand if you guys don't want to be my friend and ruin a perfectly good—"

Bow had stopped the horse with an assertiveness that had Glimmer stopping in her tracks, too. He was silent for all but a moment before he went on with the same tone he had used when he was explaining his Dads to Adora. "This isn't the Horde anymore. You can have as many friends as you want now, Adora! Even if it's not with us."

Glimmer nearly butted in because they kind of needed to be friends with Adora if this was going to work between them all. Maybe not best friends but... something close to it. Maybe Adora was thinking the same way because she'd only nodded at Bow, suddenly unwilling to probe him any further than that.

"Adora, um. I'm sorry about your friend", Glimmer added into the silence.

Adora only gave an uncommitted hum, rubbing the side of her cheek as if recoiling from a strike that never hit. But when she moved her palm and the daylight reached her cheekbones, the rigid, perfect cuts were obvious. Three lines, tapered off down to her jaw. They were long scarred over but... still there. Adora didn't seem to notice it when Glimmer's mouth flattened into a neutral grimace, and she shrugged, lifting a brow, "Nothing to be sorry for. It's just... Uhm. What if we start hurting each other because of that?"

"Hurting each other?" Bow blinked. "Over what?"

"Well... Each other...?"

"We're not going to do that", Glimmer said carefully. "That's... That's a little extreme, no?"

Adora paused. "Do you think it's extreme?"

"Yes", Bow and Glimmer blurted almost together.

Another pause. Adora thumbed at her scarred cheekbone, absentmindedly. "Oh." 

[blog-sliverofjade]

Watching The Bad Batch and constantly getting Psy vibes, which sure, might just be the whole sci-fi aspect, but

Obsession with genetics, even to the point of "disposing of defective" children

Brainwashing

Control implant

Special abilities

Child soldiers

Hell, Tech might as well be Psy with his intellect and focus on logic.

[emberoops]

like i was raised to say 'murder is bad' but i was also raised a child soldier and my divine nature sorta compels me to think that specific murders are kinda cool, actually.

[makiruz]

It's no surprise the guy from episode 9 of Ultraseven is an alien because I don't believe a human can live on Earth to be as old as he appeared and genuinely believe no adult will hurt a child, specially a child with a gun; I'm sorry but child soldiers have been a thing since forever

Heck, some of the 6 year-olds watching the show in 1967 definitively knew it's not true that adults wouldn't hurt children (tragically)