#epilogue 10

[barrenclan]

"The Vaster World"

Well! This is it! The very last epilogue of "Pinepaw and the Forgotten World"!

This epilogue in particular took me awhile to write, because I had to get it exactly how I wanted. Pinewing and Cormorantleaf's relationship is one of the main focuses of the story, and I really felt I needed to explore it the way it deserved. Especially important to me was showing that despite how much they love each other, there's still a ton of baggage and difficulities they needed to work out. I honestly think it would be unrealistic for two characters with so much trauma to just skip off happily together, but I also wanted to emphasize how they could still reconcile in the end. Not all relationships work out, but Pinewing and Cormorantleaf both felt that the other was extremely important to them, and the relationship was something they both wanted. So they were willing to put in the work of building it back up.

I had a ton of fun drawing older Pinewing and Cormorantleaf. I started doodling Pinewing with full facial hair something like a year ago, and I've been so desperate to finally get it into the comic since. It feels so right for him, like his perfect final form. After a life full of pressure and difficulty Pinewing just wants to be a happy old man who gets to kiss his husband every day, and sometimes profesy the future writ flesh. Goodbye, my little blue cat; I'm gonna miss you.

The title of this epilogue comes from "Mimsy Were The Borogoves" by Lewis Padgett: "They would survive, but they would not know how to swim downstream, to the vaster world of the ocean.”

In the end, the whole project wraps up at 64,501 words, 370 pages, and two and a half years of production time. I started this project expecting it to be a minor thing I occasionally drew on the side, something a few people might find interesting. The enormously positive response has absolutely blown me away and continues to do so, and I am forever so grateful that thousands of people can enjoy and meaningfully relate to this story.

Thank you, as always, to everyone who has commented, shared, reblogged, theorized, made fanart, made fanfiction, told their friends, liked it, or just read it at all. Though I won't go into the specific details, PATFW is an extremely personal and cathartic creation of mine, so the fact that many of you have also told me that it connected with you on an emotional level is genuinely heart-touching. I appreciate all your readership through these years. It means a lot.

-Raz

Previous < > You are at the end

[pabustenyuku]

Kinda late, but yesterday (Aug. 12) was Middle Child Day!

[chaikachi]

"If there was anything I wish I could borrow from you Ruby, it would be your certainty..."

[peachversace]

i need him to nut on my face

[cactus-juiceee]

epilogue

[lizzybeeee]

DATV is overly reliant on Supplemental Media - especially if you are a returning player

TL;DR: Supplemental material should not be required reading in order to understand what's going on in the main game -> it's additional material that enhances what we were given. If what we were given is lacking and unable to coherently tell us a story, then the writers and those in charge did not prioritize what was important.

Not a take that's unique to Dragon Age, but one that is very relevant when talking about DATV. I've made a few posts about plot/story points that either make no sense or have been dropped entirely in the lead up from DAI to DATV. Every now and then I get a few comments or messages about how certain points I made were addressed in supplemental material released in the lead up to this games release.

This isn't a call out post, by the way! But it's frustrating, to me, that this games writing is so lacking that my understanding is being inhibited because I can't remember details from a book I read two years ago - not to mention various podcasts, comics, and short stories. My understanding of a video game in a video game series should not be reliant on additional/optional content.

DATV is a weird game in that it is absolutely a 'soft/scorched earth' reboot while also marketing itself as a continuation to what was set up in Inquisition and Trespasser. Personally, I think that if you are up to number 4 in a game series, one with a continuous story-line, it should be expected that new players won't be able to catch up to everything -> it's the game developers job to make the world and story intriguing enough that the new players will go back to previous games in the series and fill in the blanks themselves.

Veilguard, as a sequel, is overly reliant on content that comes from outside the games themselves (including DLC's) if you want to make sense of the world and story. Trespasser left us with an epilogue that set up some plot points for the next game: Solas & the Veil, the Elven Rebellion, and War with the Qun - plot points that have been built up since the time of Origins. But when we get into DATV two of these points have been dropped and resolved, off-screen.

There are more questions, but these are the ones that bothered me the most while playing the game:

What happened to the Agents of Fen'harel/ Elven Rebellion? -> answered in a cursed reddit AMA.

What happened to the Qunari following Trespasser -> addressed in Tevinter Nights, and a codex entry you can pick up (optional).

Why is Skyhold infested with demons? -> mentioned in Tevinter Nights.

How did the Dalish go from worshiping their own pantheon to knowing they are false gods? (specifically those we meet in the Veil Jumpers) -> mentioned in the Missing comic series.

What's up with Nevarra's Royals? -> Tevinter Nights addresses that there is a power struggle in the Pentaghast family and the role of the Mortalitasi in making it worse - though it does not address the whole 'mage puppeting a corpse' issue and all the implications it has.

This is a video game series -> the bulk of the information required for me to understand the story and its relation to previous entries needs to be included in the final game version. I am playing a video game and not attending a uni class - I should not need to have a required reading list in order to understand what the fuck is going on. I should definitely not need to go onto a reddit AMA to understand what happened in-game, either.

What makes this stand out the most is that DAI was very successful in tying in previous games, DLC's, movies, and books! Inquisition did a great job in getting you up to speed on the events of the previous games early on, providing personalization if you played those games, and giving the player the opportunity to inquire into these events.

Hiding away the answers in additional material or a codex entry that may be missed is not good game design or good writing. DAI didn't assume that you had bought and played the Legacy DLC -> it made certain you experienced the conversation with Varric and Hawke if you wanted to proceed in the game. It didn't hide away imperative information in codex entries - it had characters talk about it in scripted scenes and encourage the player to ask more. You would actively need to avoid interacting with characters for you to not experience this information in DAI.

Leliana talks about her role during the Blight, her calling by the Maker, and her relationship with Dorothea/Justinia -> DAO and Leliana's Song DLC.

Cullen talks about his time as a templar at Kinloch & Kirkwall -> DAO and DA2.

Cassandra speaks about her history, investigation into Hawke, and the Seekers -> Dawn of the Seeker movie, DA2, & Asunder novel.

Varric talks about Hawke, Kirkwall, and Corypheous -> DA2 and Legacy DLC.

Cole talks about how he discovered he was a 'demon' - it leads to further conversations about Rhys, Evangeline, and Lord-Seeker Lambert -> Asunder novel.

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts -> the game literally continues what the Masked Empire novel sets up, the Orlesian Civil War. The game does a decent job of telling us about the players (Celene, Gaspard, Briala etc...) and the reasoning behind the conflict through dialogue, the ability to explore the battlefields, quests, ambient dialogue, etc... The book is not required reading - though it greatly adds to the complexity of the characters, motivations, and political intrigue!

I never once, playing DA2 or DAI, felt penalized or like my experience was lacking because I had not engaged with supplemental material or DLC's. I got into Dragon Age when I was in high school, it wasn't until I graduated and began working after that I had the disposable income available for experiencing the extra material. I cannot say that for DATV - If you have played Inquisition and go into DATV straight from that you will, absolutely, be confused about how we got from A to B.

Which is especially strange to me!? Why is it that new players will be less confused than those that are returning players? It's like the game is actively punishing you for playing and caring about previous games in the series.

Supplemental media is bought because the main product has earned your investment, love, or interest. Not everyone has the income available to buy it with their own money - especially if you live outside the US and have to pay additional shipping costs. Not everyone has the ability to buy or 'obtain' the digital versions either. My understanding of the main story of a video game in a video game series should not require additional monetary investment into other mediums.

The game itself should be enough and DATV is not enough.

[kindepilogue]

man, they weren't lying, that unearth really was unreal

[thewritetofreespeech]

Gale x Tav

words: 811

rating: G

summary: basically there are too many things about Gale being 'the perfect husband' and having 'the perfect marriage with him', but even the best couples have bad days and fight.

----------------------------------🟣---------------------------------------

It’s been hours. And the two of you still hadn’t talked.

You pull the covers tighter around your body. Surely a pseudo comforting mechanism to make up for the phantom cold you were feeling. It was an emotional chill, not physical. This might be the first night in a long while that you might go to bed alone, and it’s certainly the first night in a while you aren’t going exactly willingly.

You and Gale had a huge fight. You can’t even remember what started it exactly. It was something small. Simple. Yet it seemed neither one of you were willing to get over your mole hill and now there was a chasm between your two mountains.

Playing the fight over in your mind, you were trying to figure out where you went wrong….

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous!” You snap back at Gale. “Ridiculous. Yes. I’m being ridiculous because I asked you to help out in your own house.”

“And I said I would get to it later!” Gale snapped back. He rubbed his temples with his hand across his eyes. “Gods above, would it kill you to have a little patience from time to time??”

“Perhaps. If we had it your way we’d still be on that beach by the nautiloid for how long your ‘laters’ take.”

Your husband glared at you. “Insulting my character. My, what a fine fall we’ve made for decorum in this house.”

“I’m not insulting your character, Gale. But what about you! You just called me ridiculous and that’s not insulting my character?!”

“It’s not insulting your character if it’s true! And you’re being ridiculous!”

It had all gone downhill from there. More insults. More backbiting. You both said things you didn’t mean, like you saying you should have stayed in the Gate if this was how things were going to be and Gale wishing he still had his orb because it seemed the only way to get out of this conversation.

He had taken off not long after that with an “I’m done” and stalked off to some remote, quite corner of the tower to cool off. You hadn’t seen him since.

Now that the fight was over, and night was closing in, you wished you could talk to apologize. But you didn't want to be the one to go to him. You didn't want to 'lose'. Which you knew was toxic and childish, but you couldn't help the way you felt.

So, that never happened and for the first night in a long while that you go to bed alone. Quiet tears on your pillow.

The next morning you wake up. Face puffy. Eyes red. No real sleep to call your own, so you went downstairs to get coffee.

You find Gale already there. His own cup in his hand. Looking equally disheveled and un-well rested. But, and most importantly, another cup across the counter in front of him. It’s steam wafting up from the mug so you knew it was fresh. Cautiously, you move to the counter and take it. “Are we still fighting?”

“Do you want to keep fighting?” Gale asked back. Not trying to instigate the fight again, but gauge your commitment to continue it.

“No. I don’t.” You sip your coffee carefully. Even though you’re fighting, it was still perfect. “Where did you sleep?”

“In my study.” There is an ornate couch in there. Leather. Expensive. More of an art piece than a comfortable piece of furniture. His lack of sleep may just be from trying to sleep on that rather than the tossing & turning you did last night. “I didn’t think you’d want me.”

“You could have come to bed.”

You probably wouldn’t have talked, and it would still be ‘cold’, but it was still his bed too. “I don’t like it when we fight.”

“It’s not my ideal way to spend an evening either, my love.” Though he said it his ‘my love’ doesn’t have the same warmth in it it normally does. “Look…I’m sorry if I upset you.”

“I’m sorry too.” You apologize back. “I didn’t mean to….”

“We both said things we didn’t mean.”

The two of you sip your respective coffees. Not really sure where to go from here. Yes, you apologized. The fight was over. But apologies weren’t like the incantations Gale threw around all the time. They weren’t actually magic words to make all the hurt you felt a moment ago go away.

“Do you want a hug?”

He didn't say anything, but Gale sat down his coffee and came around the counter to you. You both wrap your arms around each other, but it’s awkward. Stiff. There is love between you in the hug, but that chasm you built last night was making it harder to each one another. It would fill. You both would mend. But for now it was just going to be a little uncomfortable around the house.

The two of you separate and go back to your coffees. Sticking to safe topics like what you would like for breakfast. Hopefully you couldn’t disagree to harshly on that.

[arthursfuckinghat]

There's always the fear of forgetting the faces of loved ones that passed away, but visiting the old camps as John and hearing the echoes of people he knew hurts in a different way.

John may forget parts of his brother, but he'll never forget his voice.

He'll never forget the voices of the people he once saw as a family, for better or for worse, he is haunted by these echoes of the past.

[abysskeeper]

I could talk about how Oscar's entire scene was a direct conversation with Ruby, where he addressed her as having 'left' and not 'died' (a fascinating dichotomy to Nora's 'we buried our friends today' opening). I could talk about the implications of how he lost his certainty and hope when he lost her, and the fact that Oz can't provide him with any substitution in her absence (Oz has no answers for anything, and I think that is the better choice...disregarding what I may have written for fic in the past).

I could even talk about how his mannerisms and vocabulary are mimicking Oz more and more in his own narration (is it similar souls and too much time spent with Oz in his head? Or is it the merge they're both desperately fighting off?)

But what I can't get over is that they really did just have that wide-shot of Oscar backlit by the orange of the rising sun. Orange...his color, not Oz's. And the sun, his half of the dichotomy he's been blatantly sharing with Ruby for a while now. Also, the sunrise, a common rhetoric for new hopes and the promises of better tomorrows (and the other character to share the sunrise in the epilogue being Qrow, who is actively speaking of those things).

And what I really can't get over is that at his lowest point, when the magic hits him again and we transition to Ren? The note is sunrise turns to nighttime. I know part of that is for the visual effect, but also feels symbolic that it really is Oscar's lowest point. A literal dark point, but also the time when he quite literally cannot shine. There is no sunlight at night, and now that he doesn't have his moon at his side, all he can do is fall to the ground.

My point? Rosegarden stays winning in the worst ways possible.

[greenteaandtattoos]

CRWBY really said, "Let's take Oscar's potentially last scene in the entire series and center it around how deeply he misses and admires Ruby" like holy shit we fucking wON

[witchinatree]

was watching the vod of the post season 1 epilogue cast party (on rustyquill's youtube channel btw) and finding out shahan hamza is only on episode 30 of the magnus archives is driving me insane babe your character is literally THERE

he needs to catch up on the lore before the lore catches him i'm crying

[theplottdump]

ＳＩＤＥ ＰＬＯＴＴ - Ｇ Ａ Ｍ ＥＰＬＡＹ ＳＰＡ Ｍ - 𝙶𝚎𝚗 𝟼: 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 ����𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝙺𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝙿𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚝? -

Alright Chuckleheads, time for the Death part of the Life and Death Gameplay. You all know the plan- finish off the Reaper Rewards with a bang and use the Ambrosia to bring back Townie Dave.

Or at least, that's what 𝙄 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 was happening.

Because the thing is- 𝙆𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙤. When our sweet tray townie asked them to resume their romantic relationship- and fulfill their side of the bargain, with a full romance and friendship bar, they said-

I'm sorry Dave. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.

?: So that's it. That's how it ends? Kale: Are you surprised?

Val: It just feels unnaturally cruel. Kale: Really? Coming from you? Alright brother, fine. You can play judge and jury all you want- Val: -but I'm no executioner. Kale: No. I suppose you aren't, are you?

Kale: Dave was sweet. He served a purpose, and I did enjoy pulling one over on the watcher. Val: So why did you do it? Why go to all that trouble? Kale: Some people knit, some people garden. - Some people trick the watcher and feed townies to cowplants. We just have different hobbies.

Kale: But there is something I need to tell you. When I was looking at the Reapers list, there was a name near the top- and I thought you might appreciate the warning. Val: Are you- afraid?

Kale: Do you want the warning or not dickweed? Val: Fine. Yes. 𝘖𝘬𝘢𝘺. What's this list about then? Kale: It's a list of sims that are on the chopping block, like Father Winter's list but you're not naughty or nice, you've just been fated for death. Val: And did you check it twic- Kale: It's 𝘗𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘺. You asshole. Poppy was at the top of the list.

Val: And what exactly am I supposed to do about it? Kale: Something's coming. I don't know what exactly, but it's something big, something final. And I'm guessing you're the only one that's going to have the chance to do anything about it.

So enjoy your unplayed little beach episode while you can-

Kale: - Because when those final hours hit, I'm going to need you to buck up, shut up- and save my sister.

And you already know brother, I make a far better friend than I do an enemy.

Val: Right.

WE DID IT! -ish

I only have a few unfinished quests and honestly ending on the cowplant berry reward feels very poetic.

I've never had a sim trick me before so that was crazy. RIP Townie Dave, you didn't deserve that. I had so much fun, thanks for letting me spam some pure raw gameplay at you!

first | prev | next

[starlightvld]

Bait & Switch, pt. 9

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 >>

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, soapghost // CW: Hurt/Comfort, MWIII spoilers

---

Cool air flows through the dimly lit back of the supply truck, slivers of daylight seeping through the canvas sides as it trundles along toward the RV point. Soap takes a deep breath, thankful for the reprieve from the Mexican heat as he huddles in the darkness between weapon crates.

Laswell insisted on keeping Soap's involvement a secret, but Ghost is... well... Ghost. And he can still read Soap better than anyone: his facial expressions, his nervous ticks, and all the words he leaves unspoken in the wake of his trauma.

In a strange reversal, though, Ghost now speaks enough for both of them — words meant to reassure Soap even without an apparent need for reassurance.

Won't let owt happen to you, Johnny. No matter what.

The words were whispered in Soap's ear not four hours ago as Ghost, Price, Gaz, Rudy, Alejandro, and a host of Vaqueros left for their part of the mission in the wee hours before dawn — all of them once again sporting their anonymizing ghost masks. No one was supposed to know that Soap was heading out on his own mission, but somehow Ghost did.

The knowledge settles deep inside and blooms into hope that he'll succeed and make it out alive. Whatever happens, though, one thing is certain.

Makarov has to die.

The trouble is, they aren't sure they'll know if the person who shows up is actually Makarov — not when he has a serum that could make anyone look like him. And that's where Soap comes in.

The truck downshifts and slows. Three measured thumps vibrate through the wall and into his head as the truck begins to turn, letting him know they've arrived at the lowest switchback on the mountain that edges the sprawling Mexican city where Makarov has agreed to meet them. 

The trapdoor in the truck bed is light under Soap's fingers as he opens it and squirms through the narrow hole. His tac vest and the hard case attached to his back both catch on the sides, but he grabs the specially-placed bars along the bottom of the truck and pulls himself through. The hatch snaps closed behind him as he clings to the bars with his hands and feet, the ground still flying by fast enough to give him pause. He waits until the truck is about to straighten and accelerate down the slope to the city before letting go.

The engine roars as the driver accelerates, leaving him skidding along the road in a cloud of dust. As intended, the case takes the brunt of the damage, and using the dust as cover, he leans to the side and slides off the road into the underbrush. His helmet and armored suit take a beating from the thick brush that catches at his clothes and finally brings him to a halt.

He inhales to double check the filters. To his relief, clean air pours into his lungs, even as the dust billows around him. As the cloud dissipates, he clicks through on comms.

"Watcher-1, this is Snake."

"Snake, this is Watcher-1. Send traffic."

"Successful fall. On the move."

"Roger that. Stay out of sight. And good luck. Out."

Soap glances at his watch. Four hours to go.

He takes a deep breath, ignores the shadows flashing in the corners of his eyes, and begins moving toward the city below.

---

Four hours later, Soap is safely ensconced in his hiding place on top of a six-story building near the warehouse they'd chosen for the confrontation. The modified sniper rifle feels familiar in his hands, though it's strange to have the helmet visor between his eye and the scope. He should be shaking with nerves, but the calm that always comes over him in a sniper's nest is a welcome balm to his nerves, even if shadows still stalk the corners of his eyes.

Laswell asked him to be here as an ace up their sleeve, and he agreed. How could he stay behind when Makarov was involved? Still, he would've said no if not for the hours of target practice with Ghost over the past few days. The repetition took the edge off the latent brainwashing, allowing him to hold a gun without insidious thoughts overwhelming him — exposure therapy at its best. Or worst, depending on how he looks at it. But time spent with Ghost is never a waste in his opinion, even if Soap is fighting his inner demons at the time.

Maybe especially when he's fighting those demons.

And so, here he is. Waiting for someone who probably isn't Makarov to show up.

Sweats slides between his shoulder blades as the late-morning air heats up. He's in a shadowed alcove between ductwork and a massive air handler unit, relying on the contrast with the bright day to hide him from enemy eyes. Movement below catches his attention, and despite his calm, a chill runs down his spine a moment before the comm chatter starts.

"Price to Ghost. Sit rep."

"Ghost 'ere. Nearly in position."

Soap frowns. Ghost isn't supposed to be on overwatch. A Vaquero was tasked with that.

"Alright, everyone. Take positions and stay off comms. Price out."

Soap frantically scans the rooftops for any sign of Ghost, but his search is cut off when a row of armored vehicles pull up outside the warehouse. A small team of ghost operators open a loading bay door to bring out someone with Soap's height and build in a replica of his Agent Zero suit. In return, Makarov is supposed to be providing intel on the dirty Generals and the super soldier program, which they are well aware he won't actually provide.

It's all a little too obviously a trap for someone as clever and conniving as Makarov. Their saving grace is his obsessive personality — they're betting he'll show up in person on the off chance he can get Soap back and stick it to Price and the 141 at the same time. He'll have countermeasures in place, which is why Soap is here.

He's the counter to the countermeasures.

Or he's supposed to be.

Except that when the door to the middle SUV opens and a man exits the vehicle, Soap's entire body freezes.

Makarov.

The shaking he thought he'd avoided slams into him full force. He can't even touch the rifle without the scope shaking too badly to see anything. He curses and forces himself to breathe.

In. Out. In. Out.

The shaking stabilizes enough for him to correct for it, though darker figures dance in his peripheral vision. He inhales a shaking breath as Makarov's face fills the scope.

In. Out. In. Out.

He pulls the trigger.

Makarov slaps a hand to his neck and dives for the car. A gunfight breaks out, but the ghost team is ready for it. They take down the enemy soldiers with a speed that leaves Soap breathless, and Makarov is in their custody by the time he begins to shake from the effects of Soap's dart.

The screams reach Soap even from so far away. Even with ear protection.

And in the midst of the chaos, the shadows in his peripheral vision move in an abnormal way, surrounding him. His chest heaves with all the amped-up panic he's barely keeping at bay.

It's all in his head. The shadows might be deeper, more solid in the Mexican sun, but they're still just shadows. They aren't real. None of it is re—

"And here you are at last. I wondered if your Laswell would be stupid enough to bring you after all."

Soap goes perfectly still. The scene below plays out in silence, Price and Gaz securing the man who once looked like Makarov and now looks like he's melting. But it's all visual noise to Soap.

Because he knows that voice.

"No," he whispers through the clawing, choking panic. "Nononono. Not real. Just a hallucination."

But his hallucinations have never talked to him before. And never in that hated voice.

Hands grasp him. Too many hands. On his arms, his back, his head.

They pull him up from his sniper position and pull him away from the edge. He struggles, his breath coming in panicked gasps.

They try to take the rifle from his hands. 

He fights harder. 

Fights for his fucking life. And for Ghost.

As they turn him around, he elbows the person to his right, lifts the rifle, and shoots. The man with Makarov's face and voice grunts and slaps at his arm.

"Some toxin to counter the serum, I suppose?" 

Makarov's soldiers wrest the gun from his grasp and hold him, one on each side and a third behind him who is already attempting to remove his helmet. Soap's body is in overdrive, heart racing and breaths coming in short gasps as he continues to struggle against both the panic and those holding him. Makarov opens his arms wide and stares at Soap with that awful, smug look on his face.

"Fuck you," Soap yells, his voice guttural and harsh. "I won't go back!"

Makarov drops his hands and tilts his head to the side. "What a shame all that work with the previous serum has gone to waste." He clicks his tongue in a chiding way before his smug grin makes a reappearance. "Good thing I've got an upgraded version just for you. One dose and the results are gloriously permanent. Vitya?"

The soldier behind him tugs on Soap's helmet so hard his whole body bends backward.

A gunshot rings out.

A spray of blood coats Soap's helmet.

The hands on either side of him fall away as the soldiers fall to the ground in a heap — a single, clean shot through both their heads. Makarov and the soldier behind Soap scramble for cover, leaving him to fall backward between the dead bodies.

His back hits the ground, punching all the air from his lungs. Disoriented from the fall and on the verge of a full panic attack, Soap rolls to his hands and knees. 

A feminine voice warbles in his ear, but he can't think. Can't understand. 

He only knows he has to get away.

Away. Away. Away—

Everything stops, including his overwhelmed body and mind, when a gruff voice clicks through the comms.

"Go, Johnny! Get out of here! And stay low."

With his heart about to burst in his chest, Soap looks up and sees an achingly familiar specter leap from behind a row of ductwork to catch the fleeing Makarov. Using the worm's momentum against him, Ghost slams Makarov face first into the air handler. Before he can recover, Ghost grabs Makarov's upper arms and hauls him around to deflect the sudden barrage of bullets from the remaining soldier.

Somehow the bullets miss. Soap meets Makarov's gaze, and that smug smile sends chills down Soap's spine even as his blood boils with rage.

It was a distraction. A fucking distraction. Because Soap can see what Ghost can't with Makarov's back to him—

A syringe in hand.

Fire and ice pouring through abused veins.

Endless, searing, mind-killing pain — this time with no way out.

Permanent.

He won't go back. He won't. But he'll die before he lets Makarov take Ghost instead.

A desperate cry wrenches from Soap's lungs as he launches himself from the ground and into the rain of gunfire.

"Johnny, no!"

Soap ignores Ghost's desperate cry. He leaps just as Makarov lifts the needle to jab into Ghost's neck.

And the burn of all those impacts is worth it for the brief flash of terror in Makarov's eyes.

---

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 >>

[marimeeko]

Do you think 8 years was originally the best amount of time they could make the suit? Or did they give Katsuki a prognosis of like 10+ years before a suit could be ready to replicate Dekus powers? And then, to these prodigy scientists, these experts in the support gear technology, these best of the best, katsuki said:

No, not good enough. MAKE IT FASTER.

And then threw every spare yen he could possibly afford at them.

[lizzybeeee]

"And then it was over."