#my city is on fire. half the city is under full evacuation orders | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starkeristheendgame · 3 years ago

Text

Inspired by 9-1-1 (on Fox), which is my current obsession. I highly recommend checking it out and it’s spin-off series 9-1-1: Lonestar. If you already like 9-1-1 and Buddie (Buck and Eddie) then you should check out my new main account @therogueheart. Liberty has been taken with protocols and practices here, but the land of fiction knows no rules.

Firefighter!Tony x Civilian!Peter.

TW: Age difference | Under-negotiated sexual content | Unrealistic practises

“NYFD! We’re evacuating the block!”

“NYFD, are any residents present?”

Peter jerked awake to loud yelling and incessant pounding on his door, flailing blearily in bed for a moment before he fell off the side of in a heap of limbs and bedding, scrambling to get upright.

He shrugged on a hoodie and tripped into a pair of combat boots, stumbling his way sleepily to the door. He was operating on barely five hours of sleep and felt every hour he was sorely missing - though his midterms were a good enough reason to burn the midnight oil.

He wrenched the door open just as a firefighter on the other side went to swing the breach ram into it, letting out a squeak of panic as it stopped mere inches from his belly. The man wielding it was huge; with short blond hair and shoulders that could fit a person comfortably on either side.

“That was close, I could’ve ruptured your entire torsal cavity and killed you!” the firefighter boomed cheerfully, straightening up with a broad, dazzling smile. Peter let out a faint noise and did his best not to pass out, sagging against the doorframe and gripping it.

He was wide fucking awake now, that was for sure.

“My name is Thor, I’m with the NYPD, Manhattan division. We’re evacuating the block, there’s been a gas leak on the lower and mid levels and there’s risk of combustion,” the man ordered, slinging the ram over his shoulder and gesturing to the hallway. Peter could hear other voices, all similar conversations amidst the yells of NYPD, open up!

“Uh,” was all Peter got out before he was being ushered out of his doorway. Firefighter Thor nudged him several steps forwards before Peter’s brain finally came online and he jerked to a stop.

“Wait! I need my Adderall and my phone! If I don’t call Aunt May she’s gonna kill me and if I don’t take my meds I’m gonna be screwed!”

Thor looked undecided, brows pinching. “You shouldn’t-”

“It’s okay, Thor. Move onto the North quadrant; I’ll stay with this one,” came a voice from behind them and Peter turned, shrinking in on himself a little.

Illuminated in the crappy hallway lighting was a man who looked like he’d stepped straight off a movie billboard. He wasn’t as tall or the same brand of clean-cut Hollywood handsome that Thor was, but he was just as attractive. More so, if Peter was going to acknowledge his tendency to lust after men twice or even thrice his age.

The man had black hair swept into a neat side-leaning quiff, a hint of salt and pepper at his temples. His facial hair had been styled in a way that ought to look ridiculous but only served to give him a unique, sharp look, accentuating the shape of his jaw.

The man winked at him and Peter realised he’d been staring. When he glanced to the side Thor had already moved off out of sight and the firefighter left behind gestured to Peter’s door, which was thankfully still open ajar from where he’d been rushed out.

“Uh, thanks. Thank you...Sir? Officer?” he cringed at his own awkwardness, shuffling past. The man looked amused, quirking a brow and pursing his lips a little, even as something indescribable flashed in his eyes.

“Sir works just fine, if that’s your thing. But for the record - I’m Captain Stark. Pretty boys get to call me Tony, though,” the man winked again, teasing seeping into his voice as Peter flushed and beelined for his bed, grabbing his phone from it’s charger and scooping up his bill box and keys.

He lamented not being able to grab anything else, but he knew better than to put himself (and someone else) at risk by lingering. Tony ushered him out of the door with a hand on the small of his back, guiding him towards the stairwell. Peter could hear noises and voices on the lower levels but realised with surprise that they were the only two left on the topmost floor.

“You were dead to the world, kid. Thor was banging on your door like crazy. We almost gave you up for not in,” Tony voiced, seemingly understanding his realisation. Peter flushed again and mumbled something about studying, hurrying down the stairs as quickly as he could, Tony a close and solid presence at his back.

It wasn’t until the cool, outside air hit his legs that he realised he was still only wearing a thin hoodie and the shorts he’d gone to sleep in. He shivered in dismay, wrapping his arms around himself. He wasn’t the only one who’d clearly been dragged out of bed - there were people milling around in robes and pyjama sets.

One poor man was even shivering in a ratty blanket, suds dripping from his hair and into his eyes.

“What happened?” he asked, doing his best to stop his teeth from chattering.

“Residents on the lower levels reported strong smells of sulphur and gas. We think it’s a line rupture or faulty heater somewhere. Full evac is protocol until we know for sure and can get started on a fix,” the fire Captain answered, steering him a little away from the main crowd and to one of the trucks.

“Take a seat, kid,” Tony offered, gesturing to the step-up of the truck. Peter did, flinching as his bare skin met the icy metal. The man left him there, turning away to resume his role as he barked orders and disappeared off into the fray. Peter busied himself with his phone, only looking up when Tony’s voice boomed out over the crowd sometime later.

“Alright, everybody listen up!” the man yelled, clapping his hands. “We’ve located the source of the gas and the good news is that it’s a relatively easy fix. The bad news is that it’ll take a minimum of four hours. In the name of safety, none of you can return to the building until it’s deemed safe to do so. Your landlord and building technicians will get in contact as soon as they’ve been given the okay for you to return home. In the meantime, I suggest you go visit friends, family, or find a nice coffee shop while you wait!”

An immediate chorus of groans, complaints and angry remarks bubbled up, the firefighters all doing their best to marshal the situation and contain the displeasure. Peter shuffled where he sat, chewing his lower lip in frustration.

Aunt May was half a city away and on shift; Ned was visiting his Grandma and MJ’s girlfriend had stayed the night, meaning if Peter valued his eyes he couldn’t show up at her door.

Which meant he was probably going to spend the next four hours shivering at a Starbucks and studying on his phone.

Great.

“You good, kid?” the voice was joined by a pair of turnout clad legs and Peter looked up, tossing his phone between his hands. Out in the natural light Captain Stark was even more handsome, a strange mix between rugged and polished.

“Um, yeah. Just...Trying to decide which coffee shop I’m gonna move into,” he sighed, offering a weak smile. The Captain looked thoughtful.

“Little thing like you, Mom and Dad weren’t just out getting milk?” his tone was teasing but curious. Peter shook his head.

“Uh, no. I don’t...I did live with my Aunt. But I graduated highschool early and got a scholarship for the Manhattan Institute of Advanced Sciences. That shitty little studio is all mine,” he rattled the keys in his pocket and shifted. His butt had warmed the step some, but it still wasn’t exactly comfortable.

As if sensing his discomfort the man shifted, peeling himself out of the huge, heavy turnout jacket. “Here, sit up a little,” the man coaxed, crouching down. Peter found himself enveloped in the jacket as Captain Stark wrapped it around him and tucked it under his ass and thighs, pulling it shut so it cocooned him in the heat.

It smelt of soap and aftershave and maybe a little bit of sweat, and Peter found himself relaxing immediately, giving a hum of pleased satisfaction.

Tony was smiling at him when he opened his eyes again and he flushed, saved from embarrassment by a tall, lithe man approaching.

“Cap, we got ‘em all squared. Company is on the way for the fix. The one-five-nine offered to stay and play babysitter. We’re clear to move out.” The man had a purple band-aid on his right brow and did a double-take when he looked down at Peter. “We get a new recruit, Cap?”

Captain Stark looked thoughtfully between Peter and the man, fingers curling around his waistband.

“Alright. Barton, round up the others, call to move out. Have the one-five-nine use radio line six if they need us. We’re bringing back a station puppy.”

‘Barton’ glanced at Peter again, eyes raking over him before he did something between a smile and a smirk. “Copy that,” he confirmed, spinning on his heel and jogging off.

“Huh?” was all Peter could think to say.

“You’ve got nowhere better to go and you’ll freeze without getting changed. I’ve got some spare clothes at the station and you can hole up on the couch until we get the go-ahead to send you home. Rogers can cook, so let’s see if we can’t put a good breakfast in that belly,” Tony responded, nudging him up and out of the way so he could open the truck door.

And that was how Peter found himself wedged into the truck with Clint Barton, Thor Odinson and Steve Rogers. They crammed a spare headset on him and grilled him on student life as they drove, Captain Stark chiming in from the front of the truck.

The station they pulled into was huge, newly renovated and vast. Firefighter Thor set two hands on his hips, lifting him out of the truck easily and setting him down on the floor, ruffling his hair before dogpiling onto Steve, both of them stumbling and grappling away, arguing in snippets about door breaches.

A little dazed, he startled when a hand fell to his back again and turned, flushing when Captain Stark smirked at him and nudged him towards the locker room. The others were already there, stripping out of their turnouts and talking animatedly.

Peter was divested of the jacket but was given a thicker, warmer hoodie emblazoned with ‘NYPD’ and ‘Stark’, the older man rooting around in a locker for a moment before producing a pair of sweats.

They were baggy but he double-tied them and rolled up the ankles and found them more than comfortable, shyly thanking the man. Tony was watching him, eyes dark again with that hidden thought, before he seemingly shook himself out of it and herded Peter towards a set of steps.

Upstairs was a kitchen space and a small common area with two couches and a TV. Barton immediately handed him a steaming mug of herbal tea and Captain Stark ushered him to the table and after several minutes of sitting in their midst and listening to firefighting stories, Steve placed a plate of toast, beans, bacon and eggs under his nose.

“Eat it before Barton mauls you for it,” Steve advised with a grin, sinking into the seat opposite him and stretching out, one arm slung around the back of Thor’s chair. Peter took the warning and dug in, shamelessly moaning at the taste. The eggs had been seasoned and there was something in the butter on the toast that made it rich and almost a little salty.

“Better than sex, huh kid?” Tony teased from his side and Clint gasped, throwing his hands over Peter’s ears.

“He doesn’t know what that is yet!”

After breakfast he was bundled onto the couch, handed a mug of tea to keep his hands warm and the remote to the TV as the others stomped down the staircase, citing organising their gear.

The alarm blared out as he was watching a nature documentary and he leaned over the balcony rail just in time to watch them leaping into the truck, flushing as the Captain shot him a wink before shutting the truck door, it’s sirens wailing and lights flashing as it pulled out of the bay.

They weren’t gone that long, but when the truck pulled back into the bay it was covered in dust and dirt.

He padded down the staircase, pulling on the sleeves of his hoodie as he watched them all descend from the vehicle. They looked a little dusty and grimy, but otherwise unharmed.

“Winch rescue up on the hiking trails,” Clint informed him as he jogged past, beelining for a room just past the lockers. “I’ve got dust in places it doesn't belong!”

The worst of them all was Steve, who’d apparently tripped over the winch line and gone tumbling down the hillside. He was largely unhurt, but he was also the last one out of the showers thanks to needing some extra scrubbing.

“C’mon, kid. Time to earn your keep,” Tony teased once they were clean and dressed in LAFD shorts and shirts. They were filling buckets and bringing out plastic boxes full of soaps and polish, and he almost whimpered when he realised they were going to clean the truck.

He was practically living a piece of fanfiction.

Or torture. Either one was applicable.

It took exactly ten minutes for someone to lose their shirt. Peter didn’t know if it was fortunate or unfortunate that it was Steve, who flexed his pecs with a wink when he caught Peter staring. As if not to be outdone, Thor immediately tugged his shirt over his head, baring an even bigger, beefier torso that fed the red flames burning up Peter’s cheeks.

“Alright, show offs. Stop preening and get cleaning,” Tony barked at them good-naturedly, rolling his eyes as he handed Peter a sponge and flicked suds at the two taller blonds, who pulled faces but dove into the work with vigor.

In an attempt to cool down his embarrassment he turned his attention to the truck, scrubbing gently in broad circles to match what the others were doing. He’d never realised just how big firetrucks were and he wondered idly how often they had to do this.

“Hey, shortstack, you wanna be on top?”

“Excuse me?” Peter squeaked, rounding on Captain Stark, who smirked at him and gestured to the roof of the truck and the little side ladder.

“On the roof. Tends to get gritty up there,” the man drawled, eyeing him in thinly veiled amusement. It had to be on purpose, Peter realised. Especially when he moved to the side ladder and a set of rough hands wrapped around his hips, boosting him up several rungs.

He settled down to scrub, listening to the soundtrack of the station and the men below, peering over the edge now and then to watch them or to join in the conversation. It was dizzying - having them all grinning up at him, sunny and sparkling and half-naked.

Mercifully, there wasn’t too much more teasing as they scrubbed and buffed and wiped. He wasn’t sure his cheeks could take getting any hotter - but then, where safer to combust but in the middle of a firehouse?

Captain Stark helped him down from the roof again with the same hold around his hips, thumbs rubbing brief circles along the ridges of the bones before the man stepped aside with a quirked smile.

“Hungry, kid?”

“If I don’t get fed soon I might start chewing off my own foot,” he harrumphed with a grin, ducking his head when Clint barked a laugh and ruffled his hair.

“Kid after my own stomach,” the man drawled, taking the steps three at a time in a way that Peter and his short legs watched enviously.

Lunch was buffet bits like potato chips and little sponge-cake fingers and fruit, which Peter didn’t mind at all. He threw grapes into Clint’s mouth and arm-wrestled Steve and deliberately paid no attention at all to where Captain Stark’s leg pressed against his own under the table.

In the grand five hour total that he was there they got called out twice more, once for a tree rescue (a man who’d tried to save money by cutting his own yard tree, not a cat, much to Peter’s disappointment) and a small kitchen fire that left them bitching for a full hour afterwards about how people needed to stop trying to be Gordon Ramsey when they could barely cook packet ramen.

And then, just when the others were beginning to get shift about nearing their time to come off rotation, Peter’s phone rang.

It was his landlord, sounding gruff and disinterested as he informed Peter the apartment had been deemed safe to re-enter, although all aparts were going to be required to keep their gas appliances off for the night and their windows open.

The others had stopped milling around in the locker room and listened in with thinly concealed interest, offering nods and smiles when it was revealed Peter was safe to hit home.

“Just on time, huh?” Steve beamed at him, ruffling his hair.

“Aw, man. Do we have to give him back?” Clint whined in protest, swooping down to wrap himself around Peter like a clingy mink shrug. Peter giggled, tucking himself into the hold and putting on a pretend pout.

Truthfully; he didn’t want to leave. At first he’d been apprehensive about being stuck in a building with a bunch of strange men, but over the course of the day he’d come to cherish their family dynamic and the easy, comfortable companionship.

“You knew he was on loan, you layabouts,” Tony chastised them fondly, rolling his eyes. When his crew had been bullied into resuming their prep to leave, Captain Stark sank onto the bench next to Peter.

“You want a ride back, kid? I live past that area anyway and it’s my fault you’re so far out from home,” he noted with a warm smile, tugging on a boot and stooping to lace it.

Peter bit at his lower lip. Technically; he should say no. He didn’t actually know this man, and being a firefighter meant nothing for how trustworthy he was.

But…

“You don’t mind?” he asked lightly.

“It would be Captain’s honor,” Thor assured him with a wink. And that was that, the others finished dressed and they moved out to the parking lot as a herd, Peter trailing awkwardly along behind Tony towards a sleek, red and gold Audi.

He was hugged and ruffled and treated to a sizable farewell from the others, each of them pointedly telling him not to be a stranger as they piled into their vehicles and drove off in a cloud of muted music and squealing tyres.

When he turned around Tony had slipped over to the car and stood with the passenger door open, stooped into a half bow.

The interior was crisp and clean and smelt like fresh linen when he sank into the seat, tucking his legs in carefully. Tony slid into the driver’s side like he lived to be behind the wheel of a flashy car, slipping on a dark pair of shades and letting his window slide down.

Tony switched radio on to a smooth rock station and Peter let himself relax in the seat, phone still clutched carefully in hand just in case, but thoroughly enjoying the rumble of the car and the way Tony looked behind the wheel.

They didn’t speak much on the way but Peter snuck several glances at the other man, shivering through a bolt of unsteady heat each time Tony caught the motion and tipped his head, smirking at him from behind those shaded lenses.

The apartment building loomed up on them far too soon, signalling the end of a day Peter was confident he’d keep in his memories right up until his last breath.

(And if it tempted him to maybe one day set fire to his kitchen a little bit, well.)

Tony pulled the car to a stop in the parking lot, leaning casually back in his seat.

“Maybe you should, um, check my apartment?”

It took Peter a moment to realise he was the one who’d spoken, mortified as Tony pushed down his shades to peer at him over the rims with an arched brow.

“To, uh, um…” Peter squirmed on his seat, doing his best not to think about how it was the other man’s clothes he was wearing. “Make sure it’s safe. I mean, I’ve built up a little trust. With you. Who knows if the other guys missed something?”

And what he wouldn’t give for a sinkhole to just swallow him up right then.

But to his surprise Captain Stark just peered at him for another moment, then smiled. “Sure thing, kid. The other’s’d never forgive me anyway if I let you die off in the night.”

With cheeks hot enough to sear a steak, Peter slipped out of the car and practically ran for the building, hyper aware of Tony’s presence beside him as they ascended the steps. God, he was so fucking stupid. Tony was probably going to poke around the apartment a little, open the window then skip on back home and tell his wife all about the strange kid he’d had to babysit all day.

His hands were shaking as he unlocked his door but if the man noticed he said nothing, stepping in behind him and pushing the door gently shut. Peter toed off his boots by the door and turned, watching the man roam the apartment, sniffing here and there and opening the window in the kitchenette.

“Hey, come here,” Tony’s voice called when he was plugging his phone in. Jamming the cord into the device, he bounced out of the room and slid to a halt next to Tony, who held a hand out to steady him. “Do you feel that?”

“What?” Peter asked in confusion, head tilting.

“Sexual tension,” Tony grinned at him, winking terribly.

“Wha-- Oh,” Peter rocked back on his heels, cheeks blazing.

“You’re not subtle, kid. I got ribbed the whole day out over it,” Tony teased him, reaching out to ever so gently tuck one of Peter’s mahogany curls behind his ear.

“Sorry?” Peter tried, fingers curling around the cuffs of his - Tony’s - hoodie.

“I know a way you can make it up to me,” the only man purred, leaning in a little closer. And then all at once he softened, head tilting a little. “Only, of course, if you want to.”

“Aren’t you… Married?” Peter asked hesitantly, even as his heart kicked up a notch and heat gave a lazy spark between his lips. Tony’s brows shot towards his hairline.

“Not since I last checked, no,” Tony answered, sounding terribly amused. “Where did you get that thought?”

And oh, no. The last thing Peter was going to do was tell Tony he thought the man was so attractive it was feasibly impossible for him to not be taken. His ego would get so big he’d float off to space and then where would Peter be?

Instead of answering he shifted, bracing his hands on Tony’s chest and rising onto his tiptoes so he could press a chaste kiss to Tony’s mouth, the man’s stubble tickling the corner of his mouth before he pulled away, shrinking in on himself and rubbing at his lower lip.

Tony blinked down at him for a moment. Then he shifted, leaning down to wrap his hands around Peter’s thigh and hip, lifting him up with a flex of work-honed muscles. Peter clutched at his shoulders, legs automatically wrapping around Tony’s waist.

It was a new kind of novelty; to feel thick, corded muscle beneath his palms, to feel the cut of it between his thighs, to feel the scrape of stubble over his jaw and his mouth. All of Peter’s other partners had been close to his own age and relatively close in terms of build and body.

A few strides had Peter’s back pressed against the wall where he let his head fall back with a thump, mouth falling open on a whine.

“Look at you having your five minutes of bravery,” Tony teased him, shifting one leg so his thigh helped to hold Peter’s weight, fingers flexing against his skin. “What happened to the quiet little kid who burnt up anytime he looked my way?”

Peter had nothing to say, shivering through a hiccupped sound when something thick and hard rode the crease of his thigh and hip, hot between the layers of fabric that separated them. Instead of answering he pawed at the man’s shirt, desperately wanting to see the carved flesh beneath it.

“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll give you what you want,” Tony soothed him, adjusting them both before he helped to tug on the fabric, muscles shifting and bunching as he worked it over his head and threw it off somewhere to the side.

“Oh,” Peter choked, setting his palms down on the plane of Tony’s stomach. He was beautiful; tanned skin marred with a smattering of scars that stood out pink and pale. He knew better than to focus on them but he couldn’t help running his thumb over a half-moon scar at the bottom of Tony’s pectoral.

“Emergency field incision,” Tony murmured, nipple peaking at the close touch. “Had to mesh-wall my heart.”

Peter had no words for that, either. In all the fun of the firehouse he’d almost forgotten the reality of such a dangerous job. He ran his thumb gently over it again, as if to kiss it, and tightened his legs to bring Tony into him again.

It made them press together in a delicious, warm friction, Tony’s pupils dilating further when Peter tried to stifle the noise the touch prompted. He was squeezed back into the wall as Tony leaned down, catching his mouth in a slick, gentle kiss.

“Hey, kid,” Tony murmured against his mouth, leaning back just enough to speak, teeth scraping over his swollen lower lip.

“Hm?” Peter whimpered, trying to tilt his head to reach him again.

“You wanna see why they call me Captain Firehose?”

Peter’s lashes fluttered as he looked up, mouth dropping open for a moment of pure, unadulterated suspense.

“That was awful,” he groaned with a giggle, tickled by the cheesy line and rendered pink-cheeked by the soft, fond look at Tony fixed him with.

“Made you smile, though,” Tony purred, adjusting his hold as he ducked down to press a kiss to Peter’s cheek, lips trailing over the warm skin before he pulled back and away, muscles flexing as he held Peter up without the support of the wall.

Blushing harder, Peter wound his arms around the man’s neck. “Okay, Captain. Show me how to handle your hose,” he whispered, yelping and laughing when Tony spun them around towards the bedroom with a grin.

153 notes · View notes

darkelfshadow · 3 years ago

Text

Session Summary - 110

AKA “Escape From Phlan”

Adventures in Taggriell

Session 110 (Date: 28th May 2021)

Players Present:

- Bob (Known as “Sir Krondor) Dwarf Male.

- Paul (Known as “Labarett”) Elf Male.

- Travis (Known as “Trenchant”) Human Male.

- Arthur (Known as “Gim”) Dwarf Male.

Absent Players

- John (Known as “Ragnar”) Dwarf Male. <Played by Bob>

- Rob (Known as “Varis”) Elf Male. <Played by Paul>

NPC

- (Known as “Naillae”) Elf Female. <Controlled by Travis>

Summary

- Moonday, 8th Sarenith in the year 815 (Second Era). Late Summer.

- The party begin this session, still underground the captured city of Phlan.

- Captain Greycastle shows the party the secret exit to the Valhingen Graveyards and then goes back to retrieve the refugees to get ready for their evacuation, hoping the party can make a clear way ahead before Vorgansharax destroys the city.

- The party enter one of the secret doors and follow a long passageway that goes under the river to eventually exit out via a set of stone steps into the Valhingen Graveyard; the muddy footsteps of the Black Knight visible the whole way. Exiting to the outside and sneaking through the Graveyard, the party ignore the set of muddy footprints left by the Black Knight and instead proceed towards a pair of metal gates in the tall metal fence that the party will need to breach for the refugees to escape.

- As they are sneaking through the silent graveyard, a creature appears from an open mausoleum. Its grey skin barely conceals bones as an ancient faded robe drapes over it. The red intelligent eyes lock onto the party with malice, “More intruders I shall have to deal with.”

- Before the Crypt Thing can do more, Ragnar raises his holy symbol of Truesilver and commands the undead creature back. Rays of light shine forth from the symbol and the Crypt Thing is forced back.

- The party push their advantage against the now cowering Crypt Thing but their situation becomes dire when hordes of undead Cursed Skeletons start running towards them from two entrances on a nearby Funeral Building.

- The party are forcing their way their through to one of the closed fence gates but the appearance of a group of Mummies from a cluster of small mausoleums throw the party’s plans into chaos. The gaze of Mummies is strong and eventually Varis is paralysed by Mummy Fear.

- The Crypt Thing, unable to overcome the power of Ragnar’s Turning is brought down and dispatched by the party.

- The Skeleton horde does not relent and the party are becoming desperate for what to do. Sir Krondor yells at Sir Zern to follow him and protect his back, whilst the Dwarf Knight runs towards a pair of Crypt Buildings that the muddy footprints of the Black Knight lead to.

- Trenchant yells at the Knight to come back and hold the line, but Sir Krondor is intent on getting to those buildings and finding out why the Black Knight went there. He knocks aside a pair of Skeletons in his way, as Sir Zern batters away a Skeleton coming from the side.

- The party are in peril. Varis is unable to move, paralysed with fear. Gim is wounded badly and fighting single handedly against a group of Skeletons and Mummies intent on bringing him down. Trenchant is firing arrows into the Horde from afar, perched a top one of the mausoleums. Ragnar is firing spells and cleaving with his Sun Blade whilst he calls down upon his God for assistance, turning some of the Mummies away. Naillae is sneaking into the battle, ducking in and out of buildings, trying to pick off foes one by one. Labarett is slowly striking down enemies but his longsword “Anarchic” is unable to deliver its full potential, the undead foes resisting the necrotic damage.

- Sir Krondor and Sir Zern leave the sounds of the frantic battle behind them as they enter into one Crypt Buildings trying to figure out how to block off the entrances the Skeletons are using. Sir Zern looks inside an open coffin, where the muddy footprints lead up to, and sees a glowing Pendant of Sarenrae, Goddess of The Eternal Light and the Healing Flame. The Half-Orc Knight picks up the pendant and a voice like clear crystal fills his head, “Strike forth my champion, bring forth the light!”

- This must have been what the Black Knight used to get through the Graveyard.

- Sir Zern places the pendant around his neck and then moves over to an adjacent room with a similar but closed coffin and begins to open it. After Sir Krondor fails to close a metal portcullis with a rusty and broken lever, the Dwarf Knight runs and leaps up to the portcullis and forces it downward with a slam as a group of Skeletons runs towards the now closed gate, bony fingers clawing at the metal bars. One of the ways for the Skeletal Horde is now closed.

- Sir Zern shouts to Sir Krondor, “My Banner Lord, catch, I found another pendant!”

- Sir Krondor grabs hold of the pendant of Sarenrae in the air and also hears the same voice, “Strike forth my champion, bring forth the light!”

- The two Knights start running back towards the party, now each glowing with a radiant light. The undead all shy away from the pair, unable to stand the light. The Knights begin carving down foes with ease. Sir Krondor yells out, “Someone needs to close the other door or else all is lost!”

- As Gim begins to falter, surrounded by a mass of Undead, he yells out to Naillae, “Get to the other door now!”

- Naillae bolts out from her hiding spot, tumbles past a pair of Skeletons and dives into the entrance of the front of the other Crypt Building. She looks at an inner open archway and can hear Skeletons running her way. She pulls the lever next to the archway but it breaks off. She can see the Skeletons now, running towards her. She pulls out her Thieves tools with deft and skilled hands, and begins to pry and cut behind the lever, manipulating the mechanism. Just before the Skeletons reach her, with a click, she activates the portcullis on this archway and it falls down hard with a loud bang.

- Both entries are now closed and no further Skeletons can arrive. With no further undead reinforcements coming, and the two Knights now wielding glowing weapons blessed by Sarenrae, the battle is finally won.

- The party see the city behind them begin to collapse as the magic thicket around it starts to crush it. Vorgansharax is flying above the city in circles howling in anger. The Black Knight must have succeeded in killing her two foes. Captain Greycastle runs out from the stone stairs, a mass of scared people behind her, shouting “We need to get these people out now!”

- Naillae runs up to one of the external fence gates and prepares to pick a rusty lock, when Sir Krondor walks past her and strikes the padlock with his climbing hook, smashing it apart. The gate swings open as the refugees of Phlan begin to run out to the open grasslands outside of the city.

- The magic thicket is ripping buildings apart and the weight of the rubble is starting to collapse down into some areas underneath the city.

- Eventually Vorgansharax turns and flies to the west, and as the Dragon does so, the thicket dissolves into dust. Phlan is badly damaged, most of the buildings are destroyed, except for the larger ones that are somewhat in tact.

- The two thousand refugees are glad to have survived and plan to restart and rebuild Phlan, as has happened before. The people of Phlan are a resilient and capable lot, and used to tragedy.

- The party leave with Madame Freona, Captain Greycastle and the Lord Sage and three days later arrive at the Frostskimmr where it is anchored further south down the coast.

- After reuniting with the relived crew, Captain Lerustah orders the ship to set sail back to Crescent Moon.

- The six day voyage is uneventful except for Madame Freona taking over the ship’s galley. She now insists on cooking all the meals for the heroes that saved her and she joins the ship’s crew. After eating her meals, no one complains.

- Wealday, 17th Sarenith in the year 815 (Second Era). Late Summer.

- The party arrive back at Crescent Moon, unloading the Lord Sage and Captain Greycastle. Not wishing to waste any time, the party head directly to the Royal Palace and speak to one of the Council members, Marshall Ulder Ravengard, of the Halfling Golden Regiment Army of Singbury.

- The Marshall advises the party a force of about one hundred Cultists comprising Enforcers, Red Wizards and mercenaries, was spotted headed towards the Halfling village of Xonthal nearly two months ago. The Marshall was organising sending his soldiers to liberate the village, until a letter was received that changed things. The message is written by someone called Iskander and claims that he is with the Cult but has now had a change of heart. A group of Cultists and Wizards has the Blue Dragon Mask and is examining it at Xonthal’s Tower, an ancient Wizard’s tower hidden and protected by an arcane hedge maze near the village of Xonthal. Iskander claims he wants to defect and give the mask over to the Alliance. Along with the letter was a half pendant, that Iskander stated the party would know it is him, as he holds the other half. The Marshall believes an incursion by a small well skilled force, such as the party, will have the best chance of obtaining the Mask before the Cult can fly it away.

- The party speak to another Council member, the Archmage Tallous, to learn what they can about Xonthal Tower and the hedge maze. The Wizard Xonthal has not been seen for many centuries and no one knows what happened to him. He was researching and exploring conjuration and elemental evocation, so he had many elementals and genies around for company. The arcane hedge maze is very powerful, designed to keep people away from Xonthal’s Tower.

- The party immediately leave Crescent Moon, transported as passengers on the Wyverns of the Royal Scouts of Crescent Moon, lead by Captain Zahes who saved the party after they crashed Skyreach Castle into the ground. The start their eight day flight towards the Hafling Kingdom of Sinbury and the village of Tealeaf, the nearest settlement to Xonthal.

- Oathday, 4th Erastus in the year 815 (Second Era). Late Summer.

- The party arrive at the heavily defended Halfling village of Tealeaf. With a population of around a thousand, and with a Golden Regiment Military Post here of around two hundred soldiers, the village has many services.

- Captain Ricric Longbarrel, the Officer In Charge that the party were advised to contact, is not here but out on remote inspections of the forward boundary Watch Towers in the region and is not due back for five or six days. When the party complain about his absence they are reminded that the message was sent to the Council two months ago.

- Instead the party speak to Sergeant Tarwan, the Second In Charge. Whilst speaking to him, the party notice the Halfling soldiers on the defence walls and towers watching intently with spy glasses towards the north east. Sergeant Tarwan will not reveal what they are looking for, except two important people they have been requested to assist in anyway with their travels. When the Sergeant won’t speak further of the matter, as he insists it has nothing to do with the party’s current mission, Trenchant uses a Detect Thoughts spell to read the Sergeant’s mind, to learn that he does not know who these two people are either, as he is only following the orders given to him by the Captain, to pay very high respect to two well dressed Human strangers, and give them any assistance with gear or transport to help them on their way to the Halfling Capital.

- The party also speak to the local Cleric, Samia Lightwater Cleric of Yondalla, and purchase some magic scrolls from her.

- Gim drinks in the local, the Wayfarer’s Inn, and learns some information from the female Halfling Innkeeper, Paeni Havenbluff. She overheard the Captain say something about two special people will be coming through Tealeaf, royalty or something.

- The party commission some riding ponies and small carts, and a young Halfling stable boy, Esme, to look after feeding and caring for the ponies.

XP Allocation

Group - Combined (This is equally divided by the number of players who were involved)

Quests (Only quests that are completed or rendered undoable, during this session, are shown here)

- “From The Ashes” - Free The Refugees Of Phlan = 5000 XP

- Quest Milestone - Commence Quest Capture The Blue Dragon Mask = 500 XP

Creatures Overcome

> XP Allocated (Note: Sir Zern now as a Follower does not count towards XP)

- Crypt Thing = 700 XP

- Mummies = 4200 XP

- Cursed Skeletons = 3400 XP

Individual (This is only given to that person and is not divided amongst all players)

Special Bonus (Outstanding Role Playing)

Nil

XP Levels and Player Allocations

Player : Start + Received = Total (Notes)

Rob : 155883 + 1478 = 157361

Arthur : 125846 +1971 = 127817

John : 120086 + 1478 = 121564

Travis : 142689 + 1971 = 144660

Paul : 132172 + 2464 = 134636

Bob : 145707 + 2464 = 148171

NPC (Naillae) : + (986)

#D&D #DnD #5th #5e #ROT

6 notes · View notes

arrows-and-cigars · 4 years ago

Text

Fragmented Hopes

Hours flew by as quickly as their arrows soared, the pair of rangers exhausting a full quiver, each with no end to the scourge advance in sight. The barricade defenses had splintered, the soldiers buckling beneath the undead as the relentless assault took its toll. Nearly half the forces lay dead from ghouls who slipped by or were carried off by the gargoyles. Aside from Damerrek and Belevea, only three marksmen remained, and skill alone would not hold this position.

"We can't keep this up," the elven ranger pointed out. "Five of us can't keep this many at bay for long."

"I know," Damerrek sighed. "We'll fall back to the city when we're at a quarter quiver each."

Belevea's lips flattened in disapproval, but she voiced no concern, holding her position behind the neighboring tree and picking off the larger wights and ghouls. She paused briefly as the hooves thundered against the earth in approach. This wasn't the first in the last hour. "Got another civ, watch your fire."

"I see them," he promptly responded, glancing towards the incoming equine. "Shit. I know this one."

"Of course you do..." The elf quipped.

The horse and its rider were both soaked in sweat and blood and appeared to be worn after the hard ride to escape the scourge. The woman had dismounted before her steed stopped entirely, and she was ushered behind the barricade by two of the soldiers. Frantically she inquired on the city's state from the guards as she wiped her hand off her thighs.

"Aislynne!?" Damerrek shouted towards her as another arrow was let loose. "The hell you doing here?"

Her head snapped to the ranger, and relief washed over her face. "Darkshire!" She called out, making her way over as fast as she could to throw her arms over him in a tight hug. One Damerrek was not expecting, caught off guard as his bow pressed against the tree and one arm returned the hug.

"I'm glad to see you alive! When did this—" Aislynne peeled herself away to meet Damerrek's gaze. "I was in Lakeshire when this started. Is it everywhere?"

"You're lucky to be alive," he stated with a weak smile, sounding exhausted. "From the looks of it, this originated out at the edges of the Kingdom. We," a thumb jerked over his shoulder to the Quel'dorei behind him, "were at Three Corners to start. Eventually, we were overrun and had to fall back here."

Damerrek eyed the blood upon Aislynne's leathers, focusing on the soiled bandage wrapping the left arm. "Are you alright?"

"No bites," she nodded. "I went through some glass. The rest... isn't mine." Aislynne frowned and moved her hand to her hip, bumping the engineered communication device that hung from the belt.

"I haven't been able to get through to anyone. I went from the lake to Darkshire. Stayed too long. It's— " Grimacing, she cut the thought short, able only to shake her head.

"I can imagine..." Damerrek trailed off, letting another arrow fly into the forest. "Goldshire is a deserted tinderbox at the moment, and as much as I'd like to think we can hold out here—" His eyes widened as a ghoul slipped by the footmen and came up behind Aislynne. "Down!"

She listened partially, having spun to the side as her hands rested upon her dagger hilts. But Damerrek was faster, having already nocked and fired an arrow into the ghoul's skull.

"Only a matter of time!" Belevea insistently reminded him

With a nod, Aislynne acknowledged the Quel'dorei's concern and looked them both over quickly. "Are you alright? Physically at least."

"I've had a lot worse," Damerrek evades.

"He's not going to answer honestly." The elf chirped, changing her position as she fired again.

Damerrek rolled his eyes with a huff, nocking another arrow as he admitted, "a few bruises and scrapes, that's all."

"Alright, good." Aislynne flashed a smile to the elven ranger, letting it fade with a sigh as she scanned the forest and the scourge within. "Do you know what exactly is happening? I only got a little information about the sky in Northrend before this and nothing since. Just what I've seen, and it all looks like pure chaos to me."

Damerrek and Belevea shared a glance toward one another then, a mutual look of concern as Aislynne mentioned the northern glacier. "You know about as much as we do then," he shrugged and aimed, another arrow plunging into a distant wight.

"I'm thinking chaos in a bit of an understatement."

Soon after he finished the statement, a rider from Stormwind approached, delivering the terrible news that the city was flooded with zombies, the infection spreading from within. Aislynne and Belevea frowned at the information; Damerrek went expressionless and began firing arrows hastily.

"I have to get to the orphanage," Aislynne stated. "Hopefully, they've been evacuated, but I need to find out!"

"Are you crazy?" Damerrek's brows pushed together the moment Aislynne spoke. "There's no telling how bad it may be right now, let alone that it will only get worse by the minute!"

He glanced over to the side as the barricade soldiers were ordered to fall back to the city. "Those narrow streets and dead ends, it'll be like fish in a barrel. The children were likely the first to be evacuated."

"He's right," Belevea reassured. "The orphanage is next to the cathedral. Surely they're safe."

With a sound that neared a growl, Aislynne dragged her hands down her face. "They better have been. I've been in two cities under attack before; I know how it's supposed to go, and I know how it actually goes."

With a curled fist, she drew a deep breath, holding it in as she paced a few steps. In a slow exhale, she stood and faced the rangers once more. "Alright. I can fight here just fine."

"The three of us will do little to stop or slow the bulk of the scourge." Damerrek pointed out, shaking his head.

"We should circle back around, quickly." The elven ranger promptly added as she fired another arrow.

The group of soldiers falling back to Stormwind were abruptly split as another wave of ghouls erupted from the forest. With no news from Westfall, this ground was likely pushed north from the Westbrook garrison. Chaos followed as the squadron was overrun, and several of the undead fiends began to pursue the three of them. The horse Aislynne rode in on fled into the forest out of fear.

"We staying here to become scourge chow, or what?" Belevea asked impatiently, and perhaps a bit panicked as an arrow was hastily released.

"I'm not looking to sacrifice myself today. Let's go." Aislynne frowned. "I really wish I could throw fire right now," she muttered.

A stifled chuckled rumbled in Damerrek's throat as they began their retreat. "You know what they say; the grass is always greener."

Aislynne smirked. "I may have to speak with some mages soon." Her attention then shifted past him and to the elf. "Aislynne, by the way."

"Belevea," the elven ranger nodded. "I'd say it was a pleasure but, given the circumstances."

Damerrek let another arrow loose into the pack that followed them. "We can make small talk later. Right now, we need to find something with four walls and a roof."

"I couldn't agree more. Unfortunately, my place is in the heart of the city, and I don't think we'll be getting there any time soon!" Aislynne's accent thickened under the growing stress. Her hands began to move in faint patterns before she pushed outward, releasing a typhoon of air to knock two zombies in their path to the ground.

She grits her teeth as if pained. "I can blow a few more aside, but I won't be able to do it for long!"

Damerrek nodded, a bit surprised at the display. "We'll find something in the forest, come on!"

"Most places have been abandoned out here," Belevea adds as she drives an arrow into each of the downed zombies. "Even a cave would be better than out in the open."

"I think there are a few places that way," Aislynne waved a hand toward the east, "not too far off!"

A sound to the left caught her attention, and she shot forward, weaving something different in her fingers, calling a blast of moonfire down upon the ghoul who sought to spring out from the brush.

The three fled deeper into the forest, conserving ammunition and energy, they avoided larger hordes and attacked only those that pursued them. A little over a quarter-mile in, and a cabin was in sight. Belevea reached the door first, throwing her single leather pouldron into the wooden surface, crashing through to the other side. The small building was abandoned, its previous residence having left in a hurry as drawers were left hanging open.

Quickly they barricaded the door and covered the three windows after fighting off the last of the ghoul pack which followed them. It wasn't long before the shambling shuffles of more were moving beyond the cabin walls. With only a dozen arrows left between Damerrek and Belevea, the three sat in silence for the night, sharing their rations with Aislynne as they waited out the scourge advancement.

[ @aislynnemara ]

[pt.I] [pt.II] [pt.III] [pt.IV] [pt.V]

#ic #pre-patch #| Undead-Bloodshed |#| Forests & Fires |

6 notes · View notes

unabashedrebel · 4 years ago

Note

What part, if any, did your character play in the most recent war? How does he feel about the side he chose, or does he regret not taking a side in the conflict?

That’s a good question! I actually wrote a whole series (<---master post, all links below are also there) but I’ll give a summary too.

Actually Kirollis was pretty well removed from the events of BfA, however, that doesn’t mean it didn’t effect him. It ended up weighing on him pretty heavily from the one intense event that I sort of wrote about.

So for a brief recap he’s a fairly high up intelligence officer in the military, more so hooked in through Quel’thalas’ blah blah blah. So when the War of the Thorns started he was tapped in as the leader of an advanced scouting party that was sent to Darkshore! I think we all know how that story goes so I’ll skip, but essentially he was actually in Darnassus when it went up in flames. Watched it all with a front row seat. Now, on the way the team of six, minus his one, also died in the conflict on the way there. Like lets be real they came to THEIR forest, the Night Elves were fierce. So he was already pretty emotionally charged. But yeah he was actually up in the tree monitoring the city when the order was given to burn it down.

To be fair here it’s a bit tropey- but the bleeding heart he is?- he realized what was going on, the clear and present full on assault of civilians, went to actually help out with the evacuation. After his last remaining squad member died (A reoccurring thing for him is squads dying under his command and the weight he feels as a leader about that specifically) he was just sort of done with it all. He literally just tried to save people until eventually he collapsed due to smoke inhalation. It was a decision he lived to regret, as a druid he had interacted with during the chaos saw him passed out but alive, and because he was helping? Dragged him out of the fire.

BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE

So obviously the Alliance was like ‘okay kudos dude you helped the city your people just burned down. Cool motive still a war crime’ and they threw him in the stockade (Instead of outright executing him) along with a number of other prisoners they had secured from Darkshore.

Kirollis spent 6 months in the Stocks where he got to face the fact that he was incredibly reckless with his life despite the fact he promised his daughter he would be around for a while. He literally couldn’t face her. That was the biggest thing on his mind but, but, in no small part was his faith rocked in the Horde. Joining the military was legit one of the few times he felt he made a good decision. It’s easy to feel like a hero when you’re fighting invading Orcs from Draenor, or Garrosh, or Old Gods, or skirmishing over land disputes decades old. Whatever, he felt like an actual good guy being a soldier. Teldrassil? What happened? It was also a very harsh reminder that concepts like good and bad aren’t actually a thing, and that he should have trusted his gut in thinking bum rushing the tree was a good idea in the first place (From a tactical and moral standpoint). So he literally had a crisis of faith about that.

After that 6 months and no small amount of self-pity, the rogue did what he does best- he busted out of jail.

I’m not gonna link them but there’s some pretty good Kiro & Sori posts in the master one if you’re interested in the aspect of the plot.

It ended with Kirollis still unsure of what he wanted to do. He was put on administrative leave thanks to being a POW for half a year, and when they started telling him he needed to go back he started ducking out on the mandatory therapy (Which he abhors anyways). They gave him some sympathy because of the POW situation and well... the leadership shake ups with the Horde made his small administrative thing not really a... you know, thing.

Long story short? Those crisis’ of faith, both about himself as a father and as himself as a good person who fights for good things? Those were kind of shattered and haven’t fully recovered. He hasn’t gone to therapy -still-, and he’s no longer listed in active duty. He may also have played a part in why those documents of his pointing to these things have mysteriously been misplaced.

So yeah, my boi got some new trauma!

Thanks @lymeinanovara !

#lol remember when i wrote stuff

10 notes · View notes

lesdemonium · 5 years ago

Note

Okay so I know this is not your usual content but your tags about the end of frozen 2? I have been feeling frustrated about the cop out ending since I saw it and I really want the full version of that rant

oh my god anon bless you

Fair warning to anyone about to read this: I’m going spoilers-heavy into Frozen 2, which I feel should be obvious because I’m talking about the ending. It’s also extremely long. I put it under a cut to try to be mindful, but I also know Tumblr is a dumpster fire, so for that I am sorry.

Okay, so when I say that Frozen 2 had a cop-out ending, what I’m referring to is the complete and utter lack of consequences. The entire movie we’re building to Arendelle having growth and facing consequences for the actions of their colonization and attempt to strip the Northuldra of their resources. This build up includes Elsa sacrificing her life to “drown” in the River Ahtohallan in order to see the truth and, more importantly, show Anna the truth. This build up includes Olaf being another sacrifice that Elsa made, that also spurns Anna on to make the hard choice. The hard choice is destroying Arendelle in order to right the wrongs of her grandfather.

Only, none of that happens, and the build up is for nothing. Due to magical Deus Ex Machina (literally defined as “an unexpected power or event saving a seemingly hopeless situation, especially as a contrived plot device in a play or novel.” which could not be more apt here), Elsa wakes up, jumps on a magical water horse, and saves Arendelle at the last second. Then, for good measure, recreates Olaf and, because “water has memory,” Olaf is exactly the same Olaf he was before, rather than Olaf the third or whatever.

From a storytelling perspective, this is cheap. Elsa and Anna’s sacrifices meant nothing. At the end, everything was tied up with a neat little bow, even though it didn’t make sense narratively-speaking for that to happen. And I do get it, from a capitalistic perspective. Elsa and Olaf carry this movie for the vast majority of their audience (even though, let’s be real, Kristoff stole the show in this one, and who wasn’t a little [a lot] into Anna being the smartest person in the room?). They can’t just “kill off” Elsa and Olaf. When writing this I was even thinking “Oh, but it would be interesting if the third movie was about them trying to save Elsa” but, honestly, that wouldn’t be a very long third movie and these characters are too much of a cash-cow for them to end a movie without them.

But by not destroying Arendelle, despite leading up to that for literally the entire movie (I mean, they evacuated the town in the first, like, 15 min! Come on!), the ending just feels cheap. There are no consequences to any of the actions, which makes it feel like they weren’t even sacrifices. “Oh, but the character’s didn’t know that, Zoe!” Dramatic irony only gets you so far; it shouldn’t be the basis of your entire plot and ruin re-viewing. Elsa’s sacrifice didn’t matter. Something magical swooped in and saved the day at the last second, which means she didn’t actually have to give up anything except a few hours. As a viewer, how am I supposed to trust a movie series after this? It’s the same reason why, after a while, the Marvel movies started feeling cheap and pointless: if no one is ever actually dead, then why should I care when they die? Where is the emotional payoff? They’re just going to come back, and maybe not even act like it happened.

From a child development standpoint, this becomes even worse. Movies are an extremely good way to practice emotions for kiddos. In movies, kids can practice seeing, feeling, and expressing any number of emotions, which if you’ve ever tried to explain emotions to kids, is very difficult (thank you, Inside Out, you revolutionized child therapy). And certain movies are better for this than others. For example, basically anything by Don Bluth is amazing. Movies that deal with heavy concepts such as death, abandonment, loneliness, grief, etc etc etc, but then have a happy ending are amazing for young children to watch and practice those feelings before they have to experience them at all (or to deal with what they already have experienced).

What I particularly like about Don Bluth films? The most devastating moments, they aren’t fixed. Littlefoot’s mom doesn’t come back to life. Charlie’s watch stops saving Anna Marie. But in all of those movies, they find happiness and peace, and it shows kids that even if bad things happen, things will be okay. Okay just has to look different now. That doesn’t mean it stops hurting, but the bad things that happened won’t feel as big for your entire life. Life will continue on and you will find new happiness and love.

Hell, that’s something we, as adults, need to be reminded of every once in a while.

Frozen 2 didn’t do this. Instead of finding a cathartic ending, they just fixed everything. But where, in real life, is a magic woman going to freeze over a flood to stop your city from being destroyed? “But, Zoe, this movie has a talking snowman, no one is looking at it looking for realism.” Five year olds are. For five year olds, fiction and reality do blur. They don’t want to just be like Elsa and Anna, they want to actually be them. This is not to say that kids are stupid--if you know me at all, you know that I think kids are some of the most brilliant confused little beings there are. They do the best with the information and the knowledge of the world they have. They know that talking snowmen aren’t real, but with young enough kids, when you read “The Old Woman Who Swallowed the Fly,” you have to say something like “but not really” after every page so they don’t think she’ll actually die and become distressed part-way through the book. Literally. We read a Thanksgiving-version of this to preschoolers once and the teacher said “But not really” every time, so that the kids didn’t go home afraid of their Thanksgiving dinner because of a book they read at school.

It’s because of this difficulty with parsing fiction from reality that makes movies and other media so important for practicing emotions. For that hour and a half that they’re watching the movie, it is real, and parts of it will carry on into their everyday life (and I don’t just mean singing “Let It Go” for five hours straight, I mean little girls seeing a black woman in a wedding gown and thinking she’s literally the princess from one of their favorite books, and paying kindness forward with their joy).

So with that in mind, wouldn’t it have been more beneficial to show Arendelle being destroyed? And showing the fallout with that? And how this is really sad, and we’re all really scared, but thank goodness we have each other and everyone was already out of the city. Thank goodness we are able to rebuild and take this opportunity to right our past wrongs, bring back the people we lost, and replace all the material items that were destroyed, because we have the people that matter most to us. Things will always be different, but, to quote Olaf, “We’re calling this controlling what you can when things feel out of control.” Let’s focus on what we can control, so we feel less hopeless. That line made me think that Disney was actually going to go through with this. But instead, because everything was fixed in some unrealistic way, Olaf’s words feel just as cheap as Elsa’s “death.” There was no follow-through, there was no hope for the children who have survived a flood, who will survive a flood, or any other sort of disaster. I mean, hell, we’re in the middle of a global pandemic. As a child educator, I would have loved to be able to point at Frozen 2 and go “You know how Arendelle was destroyed and everyone was really sad and scared for the future? But it was okay, because they still had the people they loved around them? That’s what this quarantine is like. Things are going to be different, and that’s really scary, but we will be okay, just like Anna and Elsa and Olaf are.”

And, honestly, I didn’t hate the movie. I did hate Frozen 1, but I think this movie did have a lot of strengths. But the ending was not, at all, one of them. They were building up to a really cathartic ending, and instead they cheated their viewers. Not to get too nebulous, because this is a related but technically different discussion, but helicopter parents are detrimental to kids for the same reason. If we spend all of our time trying to condescend to children that everything is wonderful and perfect all the time, nothing bad happens, and negative emotions are bad, then we are creating is kids that do not trust us (because they know better) and are ill-prepared for when bad things do happen in their lives.

#frozen #frozen 2 #please don't kill me #i still enjoyed the movie #i just think the ending was bad #hope this was what you were looking for anon!!#Anonymous

6 notes · View notes

catchandelier · 4 years ago

Text

We’re staying at a hotel tonight, or so has been the repeated line from higher perches than mine, as I don’t have the money in this relationship and I don’t drive either. In the normal course of life- even the abnormal course of life under quarantine- my lack of driving was no great hardship. I have legs and I am glad of their use; and before the quarantine, I had a rather good grasp of the public transport system. At the very least, I could get where I meant to when I meant to, and back home again in a reasonable time.

I wonder: will the bus stops still be there? The train stations? The bank isn’t, after all.

Some of the graffiti down lake street as we headed out: No Justice, No Peace; Fuck 12; George Floyd Presente!; Make Being Black Legal; Mama I Can’t Breathe. These are also the slogans that stuck. The only one I requested explanation of is the significance of 12, and thus why it should get fucked; 12 references an outdated police code for drugs, or perhaps a segment officers tasked with the apprehension of those selling drugs.

On our way out, I saw murals untouched by violence of any kind, unmarred by spray paint; I saw ordinary people, in their long sleeves and masks and gloves, with trash bags and brooms and a will to help; I saw the empty burned out husk of a store I shopped in last year; I saw USPS mail cars being loaded onto a truck of their own in preparation for evacuation; I saw police cars hiding behind concrete dividers, kin or kind to those seen during highway construction. It strikes me now that the police in that car perhaps think the concrete will protect them. It won’t; but they will still be surprised when it doesn’t.

I am outside the city now, and from the window of my room I can see the airport (instantly obsolete the day it opened, poor thing) and no planes fly from it, and now under curfew there are no cars, or at least very few, passing by in the night. This of course means there is very little interfering noise from here back and back to the heart- I can hear all the sirens downtown from all the way at the airport. I can hear it through the glass window. I can hear it through eight stories of air and a wide parking lot and fifteen-twenty-half an hour of highway. It is faded and distorted by distance, but I Know; faded enough that I almost thought the sound was ringing only in my head. It isn’t; and I was still surprised that it isn’t.

I am thankful I can’t hear the pop of teargas. It sounds like gunfire; which is to say, it sounds like a small firecracker, or a champagne popper with depth. The movies are for entertainment; they don’t have to show you, or let you hear, the truth if a bit of film-flam makes for the better story. I can say now, I prefer the story. Would that all guns were just heavy toys to make it easier to pretend.

Friday morning from behind our front window; a building about a block away was on fire, the flames licked and danced above the blocking roof of the bank, which also (eventually) burned; and it was a very strange and poignant moment, when brown smoke smeared the sky grey to the left of my position viewing the fire, and to the right, the clear blue sky dazzled with clean white clouds I’ve come to expect this time of year. In the windowsill, our noisy and bold cat, who is quite small in size- such that I sometimes forget she only weighs eight pounds when I haven’t picked her up in a while. On the couch, below the window, our other cat, nervous and desiring only to be at someone, anyones, side. He, I think, ate a brick when no one was watching; perhaps it is his slight personality that makes his dense body such a shock. The small one doesn’t care if you hold her; the large one wants to be put down, now, after a measured count of eight.

The foul smoke that rose from this conflagration- and the others that dotted the city- so nauseated me that day, I did not eat until half past noon, when my head ached with hunger. The miasma of tear gas diluted in the air was so thick on the Wednesday before the Thursday before that day, I couldn’t help getting a pernicious sinus headache that I woke with, and went to sleep with, and could not escape even in filtered air.

The poison was already inside me, you see.

I was reminded that day of this: although people have their squabbles and ruinations, the greater whole of nature doesn’t give a shit. The cat in the windowsill slept; the cat on the couch was no more nervous than he always is. Somehow, I find it heartening. The world goes on. The poison is cleared; and if damage remains, so what? I am alive to be damaged, and heal.

As we left, I saw there were people sweeping the streets of broken glass-front shops and a building that was only a little bit still on fire, mostly on the roof, or so I heard; I couldn’t actually see it from my spot in the car. There was a dollar store burned to rubble, smoke still rising from its leech colored soot-blacked bones; the liquor store, the bank, the targets, and more still, looted and burned. And more people coming to see and join and fight; my friend Hannah who went out today- yes, this very day- and stood in protest at the capital, which is St Paul. My friend Hannah, who is brave, and white, and this day in such terrible danger I felt as if time would not move until I heard she was safe again. She is safe, just to gut that small moment of tension for you.

(I will thank you not to conflate Minneapolis with St Paul. The Twin Cities have different counties, and were built in different eras of urban design; one is Catholic and one is Protestant; one is moneyed and the other classed; one has a garbage disposal service that works, and the other has ruined their alleys with mercenary action. Prince came from Minneapolis, not St. Paul. I quite like Minneapolis and Minnesota, for all its warts and horrors, and I will get snippy about this little thing. The big things, I think, are well past snips.)

South Minneapolis is home to a number of anarchists, and to them I give thanks- for it is they who had a whole entire fire hose- a real one- and perhaps a wrench, and it was our block’s community that wrangled the thrashing thing in place long enough to douse the bank. My father, and my stepmom’s sisters husband, were among that community. They are also quite brave, I think.

My personal notes on the escape and subsequent confinement inherent in fleeing riots and rioters and flames and other such insurrections:

Bring a book. Bring your game system- Switch, Xbox, gameboy etc. You might think it’s just a digitized version of cocaine or opium, but oh what a blessing to be able to not think and worry about things you have no power to change; to escape somewhere the world can not touch but in such and such prescribed way, and that you can change in any way you’d like.

Animal Crossing is a very good game.

You will stay longer than a night, pack for longer than one night; you will get tired of food rationed from what you can order. You will not get tired of not having to do dishes, but you will get tired of not having a full sized trash can or any replacement trash bags.

You will get bored, and miss your homely comforts, the weight of your bedding and the mess of your things. You will miss your pets and your projects and your games you left at home because they were too heavy to take with you.

You will miss your laundry room. Bring laundry detergent, and dryer sheets, and that pouch of coins you never use because why would you.

You will not miss the noise; but the new uncertainty, laid atop your back (which aches from the weight of plague’s uncertainty) like a fine sharp knife, will steal sleep from your eyes and thin your last nerve to the very edge of breaking. Even with the silence, and perhaps the privacy.

You will want to start fights and be rude and cruel for no reason other than you know how, and can, and are bored, and you can only really control yourself at this point. You won’t actually do these things because you’re still a person, for now, and you’d like to still be a person at the end of all this.

You will continue to hope for an end, and ignore the news as best you can because it’s all lurid and terrible and you really just want a breakfast where you don’t have to aggressively find reasons the world isn’t a terrible place.

(The world is not a terrible place, for clarity’s sake. I’m just a little tired of the weather and cnn at free breakfast when all I want is an omelette and some juice.)

You’ll find ways to cope, again; you’ll find ways to resolve yourself to waiting, again. You’ll start a new book, or a different project, or take a nap. You’ll make a new schedule, to stave off boredom, again.

You will and should and can do all of those things; I give you permission. But.

Under absolutely no circumstances can you allow yourself to believe that the deprivation and calamity we are experiencing right now is in any way normal. Let no one, not even yourself, convince you that this- this state of the world, the quarantine, the too-closeness of your family and the distance from your friends, your skin crawling over itself with restless unending boredom- is normal. Revolution is necessary; it is not normal. Quarantine is necessary; it is not normal.

Aim for acceptable. But don’t accept it.

Oh, and if you’re up to it, do try and take more than two nearly good photos of a total five- human memory has an unfortunate habit of failure. Scars and memories fade away; but photographic glory is forever.

[To gut some more of that dramatic tension for you, we’re all safe and at home now. But the rebellion rages on.]

#RiotZone #show them what rebellion means #rise up #godspeed rebels

2 notes · View notes

kaesaaurelia · 5 years ago

Text

up and running

For @whumptober2019 day 22: hallucination.

A continuation of/conclusion to day 2′s fic here.

This is a fic about an OC (Vehuel, Principality of Chicago) during the Great Chicago Fire. There’s also a lot of Michael, and Heaven being a generally toxic work environment.

Content warning for FIRE EVERYWHERE, major destructive disasters, and (not medically realistic -- these are angels) traumatic brain injury + treatment of same.

Vehuel made her way northward slowly, trying to help all she could without being burnt up herself, gently pushing people westward if she could. Now that she knew Michael was here she was less worried about having her miracles cut off, but the fire was spreading so quickly and there were so many people. She pushed through the crowd, keeping children with their parents, healing burns and cuts, and plaguing pickpockets with sudden fits of conscience.

People were starting to run into the lake, and Vehuel hesitated as to what to do about them, but then Michigan Avenue caught fire and there was nothing for it but to leave them there. She realized suddenly that the fire was a few blocks from North Avenue, and here she was, nowhere near the church, so she ran west, praying (in an informal way, knowing that she couldn't answer such a prayer herself) that she wasn't leaving the people in the lake to drown or boil. She remembered the crowds at the docks in Lisbon, and reminded herself that no great wave would come out of Lake Michigan. Or at least, probably not.

Michael was standing on the roof, looking out over the city in a resigned sort of way. The flames were only a block away now.

"I'm here!" Vehuel called from the ground, feeling like she was absolutely ridiculous not to be able to fly.

Michael flitted down to meet her, though. "Quite a fire," she said, and frowned. "I don't think my miracle is going to hold it off."

Vehuel, soot-stained and exhausted, could not imagine what she could possibly say to this. "But how?" she asked; those were the only two coherent words she could come up with.

Michael was silent for a few moments. "Have you heard of Peshtigo?" she asked, finally.

Vehuel shook her head.

"It was a town, but it burned down yesterday. The whole town. Two thousand people are dead."

This was not at all helping Vehuel's urge to cry. "I'm sorry."

"Well, it's obviously not your fault," said Michael, frowning at her.

It wasn't obvious to her. She should have known this would happen, it was one of her towns so of course it was going to be destroyed; she should've influenced the city government for better fire safety, or slowed building, or something.

She remembered, queasily, all those building projects she'd helped along for the sheer delight of showing up Cerviel, that smug asshole, who had a New York-centric view of the solar system. How close was Peshtigo? Should she have been checking up on that instead of indulging her stupid competitiveness?

"There've been a few other fires today," said Michael. "Near here, geographically. This is the only place of any real significance, of course, but..." Michael continued talking, but Vehuel had a hard time listening, because a town of two thousand people was of real significance to those people, and now they were all dead, and they weren't even Vehuel's people, but really, all people were Her people, so they were significant, weren't they? But Michael hadn't meant that like it sounded, of course. Michael was brusque by necessity, and very important and busy and probably shouldn't even be here, and certainly didn't have time for Vehuel's philosophizing, and she was the only person in Heaven who'd ever listened to Vehuel so really, Vehuel owed her everything. "...to hunt up any evidence of a demonic firebug. What do you think?"

"Ah." Vehuel did not panic. "I think -- that -- maybe? But it hasn't rained for a long time, and it is prairie and forest up here. Could just be natural."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Michael, and she sounded like she actually would. The fire was almost upon them, and people trailed past. Many carried belongings -- hopefully their own, but Vehuel had seen looting on her way here. "And I think it's time to evacuate this church. Go in and hold the walls, Vehuel; I'll get the people out."

Vehuel walked straight through the wall of the church, and found an out-of-the-way place in the aisles to stand and keep the walls up. She watched Michael, unseen by humans, nudging them into greater efficiency, reminding them of things they'd forgotten, keeping people from being trampled underfoot. Vehuel was good at that kind of thing, but it was a relief not to have to think just now. No quick calculations about how fast someone could run, no moral conundrums about which person to save, no care to be taken to avoid startling the horses or the humans. Just bricks to protect.

And she cried, finally, wiping tears off her face and got soot in her eyes, which made the crying worse, of course. She let down the miracle that made her seem unremarkable to human eyes anywhere she went, and put everything into the walls. A few people stared openly at her; at a guess, this mostly-German congregation did not contain many colored women who dressed in men's suits. (Eventually, a man approached her and offered her a handkerchief, which she waved off.)

The church emptied out, and Vehuel could feel flames licking at the walls. She pushed back against them, leaned into them, but it was no use, because

the church was burning and everything was on fire, everyone was on fire in their All Souls' Day finery. The ground kept shaking and the flames rushed up over the pews, and it was all Vehuel could do to save a few people from being trampled as they fled. She tried to calm the ground, foolishly, but she couldn't stop an earthquake once it had hit, and it had hit hard. Flying over the town, she saw that there were fires springing up everywhere, walls coming down, people pouring out of churches, headed to the docks -- good. They would be safe by the water, away from walls, she was certain. She tried to keep the church from falling down around them, but it was too much to ask of reality, to ignore the ground buckling beneath, and the walls came down

right on top of her, and her whole left side was -- on fire? Was that fire? She couldn't even tell anymore.

"Why didn't you leave?" someone asked her, and she didn't know what to say. There were people inside! There was an earthquake! she wanted to say, but -- but -- everything hurt so badly she couldn't think. Someone was pulling her out from under the rubble -- someone was telling her she should have run -- someone was being, frankly, very annoying, and she tried to tell them to shut up but she couldn't seem to move anything.

She decided, to preserve whatever sanity she had left, that she didn't really need to be conscious for whatever was happening now. Either she would be discorporated or she wouldn't. It was in God's hands now.

"Oh, no, you don't want to go in there," said the Archangel Michael. "That's the infinite frictionless surface, we'll never get you out of there. Looks fun, though, doesn't it? Come along, my office is this way." She smiled, and led Vehuel further into the central offices of Heaven. She caught a brief glimpse of several angels skidding across a blindingly white floor, using their wings to balance.

There were so many other angels here, and so much light; it was strange and amazing and terrifying, and so unlike her posting in the far reaches of space. Everything looked so perfect, so correct. But it also hurt her eyes, so she closed most of them.

Michael sat down behind her desk, and Vehuel tried not to fidget, sitting in the seat across from it. She stared at the nameplate. Who is like God? Definitely not me, she thought. That was the point, probably. "You had some concerns about the behavior of light?"

This was it. She could say what she'd actually come here to say, or she could talk about the wave-particle glitch. She took a breath. "Actually. It's about my supervisor? Lucifer. He's...

There was too much light, and Vehuel tried to keep her eyes closed, but somebody was standing above her, telling her to do something she couldn't quite make out.

She felt the prickle of a medical miracle settle over her, and suddenly the jibberish resolved into "Vehuel, wake up, please?"

Everything hurt like Hell and she absolutely did not want to be awake right now. Still, an order was an order. She opened her eyes, or tried to. Something was wrong. Her left eye wouldn't open. "I'm awake," she muttered. She tried to focus. Was that Raphael? Possibly. She didn't entirely remember what Raphael looked like. Honestly, it could be anyone with a face.

"Good, good," said possibly-Raphael, although she could barely hear him. "You need to be awake for a while, I have to rebuild some parts of your brain."

"Are you Raphael?" she asked. "I can't tell. He has a face, you have a face, so I'm thinking... probably?"

The angel gave her a tight, worried smile. "Yes. We've met. You're in here every few centuries."

They probably had, but Vehuel was having trouble recalling specifics. "I feel really calm about this," she said. It seemed unusual, that she should be calm.

"That tracks," said Raphael, grimacing.

"I don't remember being calm about anything, ever," she said. "I think maybe I was calm once in 1450 BC, and then my island exploded. Should I be concerned? That doesn't seem like a good calmness result."

"You might be experiencing some memory issues," said Raphael, who was looking kind of upset now. "It's probably because you're missing half of your brain because somebody let an entire church that was on fire fall on you." He sounded a little hysterical.

"Oh, don't be dramatic, Raphael, it was just one wall," said somebody on the other side of her. "And it's not half of her brain. A third at most."

Raphael glowered at whoever-it-was. "Michael, this is ridiculous, we can't just send her back," he snapped. "She needs a full recorporation, or at least -- at least let me get her out of this body while I fix it. Send her somewhere nice on holiday! This is Heaven, there's got to be somewhere nice. Damned if I've been there, though."

"Don't even joke about that," said Michael, darkly. "How long would it take to fix the body without her in it?"

"About a year to do it properly. Maybe six months if I push the miracles to their limits. Got to do testing, see that all the connections connect up right; it's easier with her in it but it's harder on her."

"We don't have time for that," said Michael. "We need the city up and running, so we need her up and running."

"You seem really upset about this," Vehuel told Raphael. "I think, I think probably if I'm going to have a doctor they should be more calm about it than I am. Maybe you should take a break?"

"You stay out of this!" Raphael snapped. "Michael, how long do we have?"

Michael sighed. "I'd like to get her back in a few hours. This wasn't supposed to happen."

"Well, obviously it did, so on some level it was," said Raphael. "A few hours, are you -- you know what, never mind, I'll just -- I'll see what I can do. Get out of here, Michael." Presumably, Michael left. "Some people," Raphael muttered, "could use a full brain replacement."

"Is this going to hurt?" Vehuel asked.

"It's going to be... it's going to be odd," said Raphael. "I'm sorry, we don't usually do these with the inhabitant still in the body the whole time. For reasons I will not go into, because if you had your whole brain they would probably worry you."

It wasn't like she had anything better to do. "Okay."

"And you won't be able to speak or understand things for a while," said Raphael. "See, if I could take you out of this body it'd be fine but -- never mind. A few hours? A few hours! I can't believe..." And then the medical miracle fell away and he was speaking gibberish again.

It was definitely very, very uncomfortable. Vehuel had had worse deaths, but none of them had ever felt as itchy and invasive as an archangel remaking her brain. Intermixed with the discomfort, though, were strange little fragments of sensation. She heard a song that had been inescapably, obnoxiously popular one year in Pompeii, so much so that somebody had rewritten it to be about his campaign for city council. (He had not won.) She tasted, vividly, the food at the best uttapam place in all of Vijayanagara, a weird little hole in the wall she used to go to after wrestling matches, and then, centuries and oceans apart, felt the press and the sound of the crowd at a chunkey match in Cahokia. She saw the brilliant lights of the central bulge of the Milky Way galaxy, and the terrible darkness forming in the center, and thought, Oh fuck, what are we gonna tell Lucifer?

"Vehuel?" It was Raphael. "Vehuel, can you understand me?"

"Yeah?" She remembered where she was. She remembered what had happened. "Shit shit shit I have to go, why can't I move? Is it over? Am I done? I need to get back down there, there's a fire."

"Ah. Yes, you're definitely back," Raphael said. "Don't try to move, I still have to put your skull back on. And your arm. And your wings." He sighed.

"Okay but I have to -- the city's on fire, the whole thing is --"

"That's exactly what I thought you'd say," said Raphael, unhappily. "I think it would be best for both of us if you were asleep for the rest of this."

"But --"

Raphael waved his hand over her.

"You will have to make him trust you," said Michael. Vehuel nodded. "You will have to..." She paused, as if feeling out what words she might use. "You will have to say things that aren't true. Can you do that?"

Vehuel didn't think she was very good at making people trust her. She was good with fire and gravity and dust; other angels were more difficult. But she had some experience with untruths. Which she probably shouldn't admit to. "I think so," she said.

"Good," said Michael.

"Um. What if -- what if he -- what if he finds out early?" Michael looked at her sharply. "I mean! I mean I wasn't planning to fail, but what if I do?"

She'd expected a bland reassurance; she wasn't meant to fail, so she wouldn't. Michael did not give her that. Michael manifested, from out of nowhere, an infinitely thin line with an arrow at the top. "This is something called a weapon." She handed it to Vehuel, or tried to.

Vehuel looked at it skeptically. "That looks like a ray. Like on your diagrams." She gestured to the scratchpad in front of Michael. "Or a line of force."

"Well." Michael paused, looking a bit embarrassed. "Well, it is a line of force, really, but it's -- it's pointy, see?" She jabbed the weapon into the wall, where it stuck. "It should hurt him."

"Hurt him?"

"An unpleasant feeling. He won't want to keep having it. You'll be able to hold him off and get back here. But I'd like the rest of them here too, if at all possible. And once they're all here, I'll see to them personally."

Vehuel took the weapon, and turned it over in her hands. "Well. All right." That sounded fair. Michael would yell at Lucifer and everyone else, and they'd stop making terrible, frightening plans, and everything would be good again.

"Heaven is counting on you, Vehuel," said Michael.

She nodded. "I -- I actually did have a problem to report about the light waves, though?"

"I'm sorry, I think I've got a meeting to go to," said Michael. She made a face. "I think it's about ions. So fiddly! Later, you can tell me what's wrong with the light waves." She smiled, and showed Vehuel out.

Vehuel opened her eyes. All of them. All of them. She closed thirteen of them. Way too bright.

She remembered about the fire again, and sat up, and nearly overbalanced and fell to the floor. "The fire!" she said, not that that would help anything. She looked around, and saw Haniel, Michael, and Raphael watching her.

"Don't worry, we sent some rain," said Haniel, looking very concerned. "I'm sure that'll help! Don't you think? Anyway, you can relax. You don't have to go back right away. You can rest." She patted Vehuel's shoulder.

"She's needed for the rebuilding," said Michael. "She's very good at rebuilding," she added.

"I am, I really am! Let me go back!" said Vehuel.

Haniel glared -- actually glared -- at Michael. Haniel had never glared in her life. "I'm sure the humans can manage for a month or so, Michael, they're not idiots. Well, they're not complete idiots, anyway."

"That's true," said Michael, considering. "We could have Cerviel check in on Chicago from time to time --"

"No!" said Vehuel. "No, no, absolutely not." Cerviel was not touching her city. He'd probably forget to add alleys when they rebuilt.

"No, definitely not Cerviel, he's very busy," said Haniel. "What about... we have someone in Los Angeles, don't we? Can't we send them?"

Michael frowned at this. "It's a long way to travel, though. Do you remember who we have there?" she asked Haniel.

Haniel frowned. "I..."

Vehuel decided to cut that line of thought short before it got anywhere worrisome. "No, no, Michael's right, LA's too far to travel," said Vehuel, "and it'd be cruel to him to make him deal with Chicago weather. I have to go back. Just for a few years. Come on, I've been through worse."

Haniel looked unhappy. "That doesn't mean --"

"Well, I'm glad that's settled," said Michael. She turned to Vehuel. "Good luck with the rebuilding! I know you can handle it." Then she left.

"I still think this is a terrible idea," said Raphael.

Haniel shrugged at him. "Apparently she's made up her mind." She turned to Vehuel. "Really, though, if you need some time..." She looked hopeful.

"No, no, I -- I can't let Michael down," said Vehuel.

"Vehuel..." Raphael sighed. "The day you let Michael down I will shake your hand and get you a box or a basket or a bottle of whatever weird disgusting human thing you like best, all right?"

Vehuel blinked at him. "Thanks? I guess. But look, I really have to go." She got up to leave. "But thanks!"

The surviving population of Chicago clustered raggedly in a few places along the lakefront and on the prairie north of the city. They were drenched and burnt both, and many of them had lost everything; even if not, many of them had lost family.

Vehuel went from cluster to cluster, shepherding lost children back to their parents when she could, and healing burns -- except on pickpockets, because she was so tired of pickpockets by now -- and miracling up food. The ruins of the city were so hot she could barely stand to fly over them, even at a great height, but she did, once.

And she remembered -- but did not see -- the population of Thera, saved by too many miracles and still homeless and terrified but alive. She recalled Lisbon after the earthquake and fire and tsunami, and the reprimand she'd earned from Gabriel when she'd allowed the prime minister to have the corpses burned rather than backing the church to make sure they were buried -- she'd seen Pestilence lurking in the ruins and would give him no foothold. She'd earned that reprimand, and she was proud of it.

She remembered guiding that idiot Aeneas for a while. Not her proudest achievement, but she'd managed to get him where he was supposed to be. (And promptly gotten lost again for several years on her way back to Troy. What had been wrong with the Aegean sea back then?)

Looking over the ruins of Chicago was difficult, and looking at the ruins of its citizens was even harder, in some ways. But it was still a city. It was just a city without a lot of buildings, for now. And she was going to have to do her best with it.

#whumptober2019 #no.22 #cw: fire #cw: injury #cw: brain injury #cw: surgery #text #fiction #kaesa op #my ocs #good omens #michael good omens

5 notes · View notes

unholyhelbig · 6 years ago

Note

Mitchsen Prompt: “I’m trying to make macaroni but I’ve burnt 3 pans and set off the fire alarm and I heard the lady above us say you were a chef please help” AU - where Aubrey can't cook

[A/N: Wow, I miss writing Mitchsen! Sorry this took so long.]

Beca didn’t’ want to open the door, she really didn’t’. Not with the way her body ached, and the taste of alcohol still stung on her lips. She hadn’t even gulped down half of her beer before there was a timid knock at her door. Too soft to be a late-night delivery boy with the veggie lover’s pizza she ordered.

And she smelt the burning pile of food before she even opened the door. The scent soaked through the hallway of their apartment building and made her wrinkle up her nose in some form of disgust. It brought her lungs back to her first week in culinary school. The way she had tried to melt chocolate chips into a fine sauce in the microwave instead of over a salted pot of boiling water.

So that’s why she opened the door. Because she was pretty sure the woman in the hallway was going to set off the fire alarms and the last thing she ever wanted was to be evacuated into the cold and snowy streets of New York in the dead of winter. She had barely let the snow melt from her jacket in the first place.

She looked disheveled, to say the least. Her hair was in a loose bun that allowed a few strands of straw hair to frame her face. There was an array of different stains against the purple fabric of her t-shirt, the color standing out against unripe eyes. She was out of breath and Beca couldn’t’ tell if she had walked far or if she had struggled against the pot of smoking food in her palm, being held with a holder that looked like it had little roosters on it. Endearing.

“Hi,” She panted “I’m so sorry to bother you. But the woman above us said that you were a chef and I have tried to make this pasta for three hours.”

Beca parted her lips and shifted to the side. She couldn’t’ say she wasn’t a chef, not with the way her unbuttoned coat that had an embroidered DeStefano’s on the right breast was left unbuttoned against a simple black shirt. The way the words Head Chef shown above that damned her even more. So Beca settled on the next best thing.

“That’s pasta?”

“I… Yes. Well, it’s supposed to be, you know? My boss is coming over in a few hours to discuss this stupid proposal and I said that I would cook dinner. But I can’t cook. Not in the slightest. Is there anyway can you help me salvage this?”

She looked at Beca with those eyes. The type that was past desperate and had gone straight into begging. She found it endearing, her neighbor clearly not a whizz in the kitchen, nor in the act of pretending that she was calm.

“Was it Kraft?”

“Mmhm”

“Oh, dear God.”

Beca widened her own eyes and stepped to the side to allow the woman into her apartment. It wasn’t much, barely decorated. She had been here for two and a half months and there were still boxes stacked against the hardwood floor. She had a single blanket over a leather couch and a television that was barely used. That was never a problem though, everything she needed was in the kitchen. The kitchen that had sold her on this place when she first got offered the job at the steak house in the center of the city.

“Your first mistake was making food from the same company who invented cheese in a can.” Beca closed the door behind them.

“Like you’ve never eaten craft Mac and Cheese?”

“Oh, I have, but like… when I was blackout drunk in college and only had access to a microwave. How big is this boss of yours? Is he sirloin level?”

Beca walked flicked the lights to the kitchen on. She never got tired of the way the granite bounced off the cherrywood cabinets. The way the flattop stove heated at the single flick of a nob. The way she admittedly never used this place as much as she wanted to. Not after spending her days in a bigger scale kitchen with ten cooks under her.

“He’s a lawyer, prosecution. The second best in the city.”

“Oh wow, so I’ll take that as a yes?” Beca let out a small laugh as she grasped the pan carefully from the woman who stood at the edge of her kitchen. She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, staring with heated cheeks down at the smoking lava rock. The chef placed the pan in the sink and turned on a cooling blast of water- quelling the heat. “And the first?”

“Me,” She lifted an eyebrow “Aubrey Posen, from Posen and Crawford.”

Beca made a little ‘O’ shape with her mouth. She hadn’t been here long, but both of those names sounded familiar to her. They didn’t have to call months ahead for reservations, and the man in charge would always choke on his ego the second they walked through the door. Now one of them, a spawn of one maybe, was standing in her kitchen with a fire hazard in a non-stick pot.

“Beca Mitchell, of… this apartment.” She shut the water off and reached for the nearest hand towel. “I’m not sure how much I have off hand. I could probably whip up some parmesan risotto if you’re willing to help out in the kitchen?”

“You could- I mean,” Aubrey stuttered, all but composed as she cupped the back of her neck “Yeah, yes. Anything you need.”

“Good,” Beca gave her a half smile and started to pull the ingredients from the shelves and the fridge. Aubrey watched her work like clock: the rice, the chicken stock, a dry wine that both of them could down in a fail swoop. Everything was suddenly in front of them and looked way more appealing than boxed macaroni.

Beca filled the cleaned pot with a layer of chicken stock and set it on a burner to boil before pulling out a wooden cutting board and a sharpened blade. She pulled an onion onto the surface, passing off the knife to Aubrey who stared at it silently with a raised brow.

“Have you ever chopped anything before?”

“Peppers, once.”

“Okay, that’s a start.” She moved out of the way softly, Aubrey falling into place next to her as she gripped the knife, holding it over the middle of the layered vegetable. “The easiest part is cutting off the ends.”

Aubrey nodded and performed the task easily, Beca instructing her to dice it up as best she could while she blocked a slab of butter into even spaces. Aubrey’s tongue poked out of the side of her mouth as she focused and Beca found herself wondering if she did the exact same thing in the courtroom. She furrowed her brow too, staring at the onion with intent.

“It’s uh,” Beca looked up “when you dice, you’re supposed to bring the blade all the way down. Don’t be afraid to really get in there- can I show you?”

“Sure,” Aubrey said in a bit of a whisper.

It was cliché, all terribly cliché, but Beca slid in behind the woman, adjusting her touch on the blade and her stance against the counter. Her front was placed so evenly against Aubrey’s back. It was warm and dominating and she smelled so clearly of vanilla that it made Beca’s mind swirl. All the while she guided the lawyer, taking a small step back once she got the hang of it.

“This isn’t so bad,” Aubrey smiled to herself and Beca thought it was brilliant.

She was usually thrust into a kitchen with people who thought they should have her position. She would puff up her chest and bare her teeth like a wolf on the hunt. Show them who was in charge before they got the upper hand. People who had all the experience in the world but none of the leadership. Aubrey had a wonder to her that made Beca’s heart swell as she took the freshly diced onions and put them in the pan, letting them sizzle with apt heat.

“Right, so, if you ever tell anyone that I’m about to put rice in the microwave I’ll hunt you down myself,” Bec said, not looking up as she tore a slit into the top of the bag of uncle bens. She was a victim of heating up a pouch every once in a while and eating it with a kitchen spoon straight from the package.

“Cross my heart. You know, I’m not usually this bad in the kitchen? I get nervous.”

“You’re a hotshot lawyer. I can’t imagine you giving into nerves.”

“It’s different there.” Aubrey let out a soft breath as Beca set the timer and finally turned to the woman. They had a few minutes to kill while the pouch heated up. They stood against the counter and Beca wished she had grabbed a few glasses for that cooking wine. Maybe the alcohol would make her feel less fuzzy in a more ironic way. “The courtroom is like an expertly crafted game. You can’t say or do anything that’s damming. I would hate to fall on my own sword, but it just comes naturally to me. Kind of like how cooking comes naturally to you…”

Beca didn’t’ want to bring up the fact that when she worked at Medieval times when she was a teenager she almost literally fell onto her sword. Or the way that she had burns littering her arms where oil splashed, or she got too close to a grill. Because Aubrey had this sparkle in her eyes, one that Beca understood wholly.

“I get that,” Beca said softly. “You just seem so confident when you’re there.”

Aubrey raised a slight eyebrow. “I didn’t take you as someone who would watch a murder trial on daytime television.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

Truthfully, she wasn’t one to do that at all, but she had flicked on the television for white noise the other week and had been enamored by the woman she saw in front of her. It took her a bit to notice with the smoke in the air and the way she had been wrapped up with cooking, but it was the same woman. The same person she found herself rooting for.

Aubrey’s emerald eyes flicked down to Beca’s lips and she prayed she wasn’t imagining it. The way her iris’s darkened tenfold. The way she leaned in slightly against the island and again, Beca was hit with that vanilla scent. It was so subtle and dizzying.

The tiny chef found herself leaning in, not far, but enough for Aubrey to give a timid smile and breath out. She could feel it against her cheek, crave that warmth even more as the two of them began to close the distance that could have been intensified by a magazine. A high school dance and a shop teacher with a god complex.

A sharp and cutting beep of the microwave jolted them back, Beca stumbling tactfully as she drew in a heaping of breath “The rice is-“

“Yeah, yup. Ricotta.”

“Risotto,” Beca snorted, shaking her head “Your boss is going to love it.”

#Beca Mitchell #Aubrey Posen #Mitchsen #pitch perfect #fanfiction #request

44 notes · View notes

loretranscripts · 6 years ago

Text

Lore Episode 21: Adrift (Transcript) - 16th November 2015

tw: death, drowning, ghosts Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

I have a confession to make. Keep in mind, I write about frightening things for a living. I haven’t read a horror novel yet that’s managed to freak me out, and yet, I’m deathly afraid of open water. There, I said it – I hate being on boats. I’m not even sure why, to be honest, I just… am. Perhaps it’s the idea that thousands of feet of cold darkness wait right beneath my feet. Maybe it’s the mystery of it all, of what creatures (both known and unknown) might be waiting for me, just beyond the reach of what little sunlight passes through the surface of the waves. Now, I live near the coast, and I’ve been on boats before, so my fear comes from experience, but it’s not the cold, deep darkness beneath the ship that worries me the most. No, what really makes my skin crawl is the thought that, at any moment, the ship could sink. Maybe we can blame movies like Titanic or The Poseidon Adventure for showing us how horrific a shipwreck can be, but there are far more true stories of tragedy at sea than there are fictional ones, and it’s in these real life experiences, these maritime disasters that dot the map of history like an ocean full of macabre buoys, that we come face to face with the real dangers that await us in open water. The ocean takes much from us, but in rare moments, scattered across the pages of history, we’ve heard darker stories: stories of ships that come back, of sailors returned from the dead, and of loved ones who never stop searching the land. Sometimes our greatest fears refuse to stay beneath the waves. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.

Shipwrecks aren’t a modern notion – as far back as we can go, there are records of ships lost at sea. In The Odyssey by Homer, one of the oldest and most widely read stories ever told, we meet Odysseus shortly before he experiences a shipwreck at the hands of Poseidon, God of the Sea. Even further back in time, we have the Egyptian tale of the shipwrecked sailor, dating to at least the 18th century BC. The truth is, though, for as long as humans have been building sea-faring vessels and setting sail into unknown waters, there have been shipwrecks. It’s a universal motif in the literatures of the world, and that’s most likely because of the raw, basic risk that a shipwreck poses to the sailors on the ships, but it’s not just the personal risk. Shipwrecks have been a threat to culture itself for thousands of years. The loss of a sailing vessel could mean the end to an expedition to discover new territory or turn the tide of a naval battle. Imagine the result if Admiral Nelson had failed in his mission off the coast of Spain in 1805, or how differently Russia’s history might have played out had Tsar Nicholas II’s fleet actually defeated the Japanese in the Battle of Tsushima. The advancement of cultures has hinged for thousands of years, in part, on whether or not their ships could return to port safely, but in those instances where ancient cultures have faded into the background of history, it is often through their shipwrecks that we get information about who they were. Just last year, an ancient Phoenician shipwreck was discovered in the Mediterranean Sea near the island of Malta. It’s thought to be at least 2700 years old and contains some of the oldest Phoenician artefacts ever uncovered. For archaeologists and historians who study these ancient people, the shipwreck has offered new information and ideas. The ocean takes much from us, and upon occasion, it also gives back. Sometimes, though, what it gives us is something less inspiring. Sometimes, it literally gives us back our dead.

One such example comes from 1775. The legend speaks of a whaling vessel, discovered off the western coast of Greenland in October of that year. Now, this is a story with tricky provenance, so the details will vary depending on where you read about it. The ship’s name might have been the Octavius, or possibly the Gloriana, and from what I can tell, the earliest telling of this tale can be traced back to a newspaper article in 1828. The story tells of how one Captain Warren discovered the whaler drifting through a narrow passage in the ice off the coast of Greenland. After hailing the vessel and receiving no reply, their own ship was brought near, and the crew boarded the mysterious vessel. Inside, though, they discovered a horrible sight. Throughout the ship, the entire crew was frozen to death where they sat. When they explored further and found the captain’s quarters, the scene inside was even more eerie. There in the cabin were more bodies: a frozen woman, holding a dead infant in her arms; a sailor holding a tinder box, as if trying to manufacture some source of warmth; and there, at the desk, sat the ship’s captain. One account tells of how his face and eyes were covered in a green, wet mould. In one hand, the man held a fountain pen, and the ship’s log was open in front of him. Captain Warren leaned over and read the final entry, dated November 11th, 1762, 13 years prior to the ship’s discovery. “We have been enclosed in the ice 70 days”, it said. “The fire went out yesterday and our master has been trying ever since to kindle it again, but without success. His wife died this morning. There is no relief”. Captain Warren and his crew were so frightened by the encounter that they grabbed the ship’s log and retreated as fast as they could back to their own ship. The Octavius, if indeed that was the ship’s name, was never seen again.

The mid-1800s saw the rise of the steel industry in America. It was the beginning of an empire that would rule the economy for over a century, and like all empires, there were capitals: St. Louis, Baltimore, Buffalo, Philadelphia. All of these cities played host to some of the largest steel works in the country, and for those that were close to the ocean, this created the opportunity for the perfect partnership – the shipyard. Steel could be manufactured and delivered locally and then used to construct the ocean-going steamers that were the lifeblood of late-19th century life. The flood of immigration through Ellis Island, for example, wouldn’t have been possible without these steamers. My own family made that journey. One such steamer to roll out of Philadelphia in 1885 was the S. S. Valencia. She was 252ft long and weighed in at nearly 1600 tonnes. The Valencia was built before complex bulkheads and hull compartments, and she wasn’t the fastest ship on the water, but she was dependable. She spent the first decade and a half running passengers between New York City and Karakas, Venezuela. In 1897, while in the waters near Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, the Valencia was attacked by a Spanish cruiser. The next year, she was sold and moved to the west coast, where she served in the Spanish-American war as a troop ship between the US and the Philippines. After the war, the Valencia was sold to a company that used the ship to sail between California and Alaska, but in 1906, she filled in for another ship that was under repair, and her new route became San Francisco to Seattle. They gave the ship a check-up in January of that year, and everything checked out good. For a 24-year-old vessel, the Valencia was in perfect working order.

She set sail on the 20th of January 1906, leaving sunny California and heading north. The ship was crewed by nine officers, 56 crew members and played host to over 100 passengers. Somewhere near Cape Mendocino off the coast of northern California, though, the weather turned sour. Visibility dropped, and the winds kicked up. When you’re on a ship at night, even a slow one, losing the ability to see is a very bad thing. Typically, without visual navigation a captain might fall back on the celestial method, using the stars in the same way sailors did centuries ago, but even that option was off the table for Captain Oscar Johnson, and so he used the only tool he had left: dead reckoning. The name alone should hint at the efficacy of the method. Using last known navigational points as a reference, Captain Johnson essentially guessed at the Valencia’s current location. But guessing can be deadly, and so instead of pointing the ship at the Strait of Juan de Fuca, between Vancouver Island and Washington State, he unknowingly aimed it at the island itself. Blinded by the weather and faulty guesswork, the Valencia struck a reef just 50ft from the shore near Pachena Point on the south-west side of Vancouver Island. They say the sound of the metal ripping apart on the rocks sounded like the screams of dozens of people. It came without warning, and the crew did what they could to react by immediately reversing the engines, backing off the rocks. Damage control reported the hull had been torn wide open, water was pouring in at a rapid pace, and there was no hope of repairing the ship. It lacked the hull compartments that later ships would include for just such occasions, and the captain knew that all hope was lost, so he reversed the engines again and drove the ship back onto the rocks. He wasn’t trying to destroy the Valencia completely, but to ground her, hoping that would keep her from sinking as rapidly as she might at sea. That’s when all hell broke loose. Before Captain Johnson could organise an evacuation, six of the seven life boats were lowered over the side. Three of those flipped over on the way down, dumping out the people inside. Two more capsized after hitting the water, and the sixth boat simply vanished. In the end, only one boat made it safely away.

Frank Lehn was one of the few survivors of the shipwreck. He later described the scene in all its horrific detail: “Screams of women and children mingled in an awful chorus with the shrieking of the wind, the dash of rain, and the roar of the breakers. As the passengers rushed on deck they were carried away in bunches by the huge waves that seemed as high as the ship's mastheads. The ship began to break up almost at once and the women and children were lashed to the rigging above the reach of the sea. It was a pitiful sight to see frail women, wearing only night dresses, with bare feet on the freezing ratlines, trying to shield children in their arms from the icy wind and rain”. About that same time, the last life boat made it safely away under the control of the ship’s boatswain, Officer Timothy McCarthy. According to him, the last thing he saw after leaving the ship was, and I quote, “the brave faces looking at us over the broken rail of a wreck, and of the echo of a great hymn sung by the women through the fog and mist and flying spray”. The situation was desperate. Attempts were made by the ship’s remaining crew to fire a rescue line from the lyle gun into the trees at the top of the nearby cliff. If someone could simply reach the line and anchor it, the rest of the passengers would be saved. The first line they fired became tangled and snapped clean, but the second successfully reached the cliff above. A small group of men even managed to make it to shore. There were nine of them, led by a school teacher named Frank Bunker, but when they reached the top of the cliff, they discovered the path forked to the left and the right; Bunker picked the left. Had he instead turned right, the men would have come across the second lyle line within minutes and possibly saved all the remaining passengers. Instead, he led the men along a telegraph line path for over two hours before finally managing to get a message out to authorities about the accident, making a desperate plea for help - and help was sent, but even though the three separate ships that raced to the site of the wreck tried to offer assistance, the rough weather and choppy seas prevented them from getting close enough to do any good. Even still, the sight of the ships nearby gave a false sense of hope to those remaining on the wreckage, so when the few survivors onshore offered help, they declined. There were no more lifeboats, no more lifelines to throw, and no ships brave enough to get closer. The women and children stranded on the ship clung to the riggings and rails against the cold Pacific waters, but when a large wave washed the wounded ship off the rocks and into deep water, everyone was lost. All told, 137 of the 165 lives aboard the ship were lost that cold, early January morning. If that area of the coastline had yet to earn its modern nickname of “the graveyard of the Pacific”, this was the moment that cemented it.

The wreck of the Valencia was clearly the result of a series of unfortunate accidents, but officials still went looking for someone to blame. In the aftermath of the tragedy, the Canadian government took steps to ensure lifesaving measures along the coast that could help with future shipwrecks. A lighthouse was constructed near Pachena Point and a coastal trail was laid out that would eventually become known as the West Coast Trail, but the story of Valencia was far from over. Keep in mind there have been scores of shipwrecks, tragedies that span centuries, in that very same region of water, and like most areas with a concentrated number of tragic deaths, unusual activity has been reported by those who visit. Just five months after the Valencia sank, a local fisherman reported an amazing discovery. While exploring seaside caves on the south-western coast of Vancouver Island, he described how he stumbled upon one of the lifeboats within the cave. In the boat, he claimed, were eight human skeletons. The cave was said to be blocked by a large rock, and the interior was at least 200ft deep. Experts found it hard to explain how the boat could have made it from the water outside into the space within, but theories speculated that an unusually high tide could possibly have lifted the boat up and over. A search party was sent out to investigate the rumour, but it was found that the boat was unrecoverable, due to the depth of the cave and the rocks blocking the entrance. In 1910, the Seattle Times ran a story with reports of unusual sightings in the area of the wreck. According to a number of sailors, a ship resembling the Valencia had been witnessed off the coast. The mystery ship could have been any local steamer, except for one small detail: the ship was already floundering on the rocks, half submerged. Clinging to the wreckage, they say, were human figures, holding on against the wind and the waves.

Humans have had a love affair with the ocean for thousands of years. Across those dark and mysterious waters lay all manner of possibility: new lands, new riches, new cultures to meet and trade with. Setting sail has always been something akin to the start of an adventure, whether that destination was the northern passage or just up the coast, but an adventure at sea always comes with great risk; we understand this in our core. It makes us cautious, it turns our stomachs, it fills us with equal parts dread and hope, because there on the waves of the ocean, everything can go according to plan, or it can all fail tragically. Maybe this is why the ocean is so often used as a metaphor for the fleeting, temporary nature of life. Time, like waves, eventually wear us all down. Our lives can be washed away in an instant, no matter how strong or high we build them. Time takes much from us, just like the ocean. Waters off the coast of Vancouver Island are a perfect example of that cruelty and risk. They can be harsh, even brutal, toward vessels that pass through them. The cold winters and sharp rocks leave ships with little chance of survival, and with over 70 shipwrecks to date, the graveyard of the Pacific certainly lives up to its reputation. For years after the tragedy of 1906, fishermen and locals on the island told stories of a ghostly ship that patrolled the waters just off the coast. It’s said it was crewed by skeletons of the Valencia sailors who lost their lives there. It would float into view and then disappear, like a spirit, before anyone could reach it. In 1933, in the waters just north of the 27-year-old wreck of the Valencia, a shape floated out of the fog. When a local approached it, the shape became recognisable; it was a lifeboat. It looked as if it had just been launched moments before and yet there, on the side of the boat, were pale letters that spelled out a single word: Valencia.

[Closing statements]

#lore podcast #podcasts #aaron mahnke #shipwrecks #the odyssey #the octavius #s. s. valencia #at sea #greenland #canada #phildelphia #hauntings #transcripts #21

4 notes · View notes

stained-carmine · 6 years ago

Text

‘Come on, it’ll be fun!’

‘W-well, I’m not so sure...’

‘Trust me!’

...

‘Admittedly, I’m a little scared...but, if you’re by my side, then I don’t need to be afraid.’

‘Something like that...being a part of it? It’s like we’re pioneers in a new chapter of history...isn’t that exciting?’

‘As long as you’re here with me, holding my hand, I have the courage to face anything.’

“...ey”

‘Today’s the day! Are you ready to change the world?’

‘I-I won’t lie, I’m a little nervous...my heart won’t stop pounding...I’m afraid it might burst...but...I’m also excited, it’s so overwhelming...’

“Hey...”

‘Wait...Something doesn’t feel right...What’s going—’

‘AAAAAAAAH—’

‘It hurts...It hurts so much...I don’t want to die...! I’m scared! Where are you? I can’t...see you...anymore......Where are you...?! Please...don’t leave me....Don’t let me die here...Please...!’

‘BLAIRE!’

“Hey!”

A sudden touch brought you back to the present, and away from the nightmares of your past. You looked up to the individual who had shaken you from your trance. Before you stood the bartender, gazing at you with concern.

“Are you alright there?”

You stared at him blankly for a moment, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, then it dawned on you that he has asked you a question.

“Ah....N-no, I’m fine.“ You responded sheepishly.

The bartender frowned at you, unconvinced, but let out a sigh as he shook his head. “If you say so...” And with that he sauntered off, seeing to the needs of the other patrons.

As the man walked away, you lowered your gaze to the glass of whiskey you’d been nursing for the past hour or so. The ice cubes had all but melted away by now, leaving you with a mix of alcohol and water. It’s not as if you had your heart set on drinking the whole thing, but it was a little disheartening nonetheless.

Letting out a soft sigh, you pushed the glass aside. You thoughts wandered back to earlier that day, when you had told told Marcel you were leaving. Of course, he objected to it, saying you hadn’t full healed yet and that he could do more to help you recover—to help return you to your former self—at least physically.

You glanced down to your right arm, which was resting on the bar. The right side of your body had suffered quite a bit of damage from the fire, with scars extending from your neck, all the way to your ankles. While Marcel had told you that with skin grafts, you would be able to reduce the amount of scar tissue that covered your body, letting you return to the way you looked before, you weren’t ready for that. You weren’t ready to let go of the past, to forget what happened, to move on from your loss...

It was then that you heard something that caught your attention. The television in the corner of the room, anchored to the ceiling, had been set to a new broadcast since you entered the bar. It had mostly been local news, recent events and crimes, nothing of interest to you really—until now that is.

“It’s been six months since the tragedy that claimed the lives of over a hundred people in Hycasal, yet authorities are still no closer to finding the perpetrator.” On the screen were the remnants of a burned building, half collapsed in on itself, like someone had detonated a bomb in the building. “The man responsible for the disaster is Shin Kiromura, age 25, the former head of research and development at Alistarias Pharmaceuticals.” A photo of a man is brought up on the screen as the newscaster gives a verbal description of his appearance. A hateful glare replaces your sorrowful visage as you lay eyes upon that man, clenching your teeth as you scowled at his likeness. “He was conducting research into the effects of a drug his team was developing. Kiromura failed to report the possible dangers of a compound used in the creation of the drug to his supervisors, ignoring the risks and possible dangers this could pose to human health. With government funding, a clinical trial was carried out late summer of last year under the Caristalian Military’s watch. During clinical testing, an explosion occurred at the military facility located on the edge of Hycasal, causing a fire to break out in the lab. All 30 participants in the clinical trial died during the explosion along with 10 researchers who were in the lab monitoring the vitals of the participants. During the evacuation, the structural integrity of the building became compromised and the building collapsed, killing 73 more people, 16 of which were first responders. Eye witness reports from a survivor state that Kiromura fled the scene with the remainder of the highly volatile compound used in the manufacturing process of the drug. Authorities issued a warrant for his arrest and began a manhunt following the disaster, but have been unable to locate him.”

The screen displayed a series of shots, focusing on the building and the surrounding area, one of which caught your eye. At the main entrance to the building, a memorial had been erected in order to honor all the lives lost that day. You bit your lip slightly as you felt a twinge of pain in your heart. So many dead...and all for what? Some scientist’s hubris? A man who thought himself above the risks? Who didn’t care about how his choices would affect others? And to think that the police hadn’t caught him. For such a man to be free, to go unpunished for his heinous crimes, to still be out there with that reactive material, allowing him to create yet another tragedy if he so desired. It was infuriating.

“Kiromura is wanted for 113 counts of second degree murder, criminal negligence, and terrorism. This man is believed to be highly dangerous, and in possession of high explosives. If you see this man, contact authorities immediately, do not approach him. If you have any information regarding this man’s whereabouts, please contact—”

“Terrible, isn’t it?”

You flinched at the sudden voice coming from behind you, causing you to spin around swiftly. A man had sat down next to you at the bar, waving the bartender over to order his drink. You eyed the man with suspicion, ready to fight back should he have malicious intent, but he just gave you a friendly smile in return. “You seemed really focused on that broadcast, did you lose someone in that disaster?” He asked, raising the beer he had ordered to his lips.

You were hesitant to answer him. You didn’t know this man, you couldn’t tell if he had ulterior motives behind this idle conversation. Giving him another once over with your eyes, you didn’t see anything that would indicate he was armed. He also didn’t look like an officer, either of the police force or the military. Everything about him seemed ordinary, from the clothes he wore, to the way he carried himself. With a lingering doubt in your mind, you opened your mouth to answer him.

“...Yeah, yeah I did...” You replied, turning your gaze from him and lowering your head.

“Sorry to hear that...” The man’s smile faded, replaced with a concerned frown. “Can’t believe they haven’t caught the guy yet. You figure finding one man would be easy when his face is on every news station in the country.” The stranger took another swig from his glass before turning towards you. “You know, I heard that the military are offering a reward for his capture. Those meatheads and gun nuts can’t stand to have their pride sullied. Way I figure, they think if they can catch the guy, they can earn back the trust of the people. Like we could ever trust that shady general after that though. The military was supposed to be overseeing that trial right? How could they have missed that psycho hiding right under their noses?”

You had to mentally reel yourself in to stop yourself from snapping back at the man. Keeping a calm facade, you responded. “Is that so? How much are they offering?”

The man shrugged, downing the rest of what was in his glass before calling the bartender over for a refill. “Mm, not sure myself. Only heard about it from a friend you see. Don’t even know if it’s true.” Thanking the bartender, he raised the glass to his lips before pausing. “Though if it is, they’re awfully desperate. You’d figure they’d start by interrogating all the survivors first before offering rewards to the public.”

“They probably did already. Usually that’s the first thing they do in an investigation. Question witnesses, bring in the people that knew the culprit.” You had to catch yourself so as to not give away your former occupation. “...Or at least that’s what they do in police dramas.” If they hadn’t caught that man by now, interrogations probably turned up no leads. You felt your heart sink a bit. If you were going to go through with this plan of yours, that would have been your first course of action. You scowled slightly from beneath your hood, you might need to rethink your plan at this rate.

“My cousin’s friend was employed at the facility, and was in the building that day.” The voice came from across the bar, from the bartender who seemed to have overheard our conversation. After serving up some mixed drinks to a group a friends who had come into the bar to celebrate, the bartender wandered back over to the two of us. “Said the guy had been in a coma ever since.” Noticing the drink I had sat aside with no intention of finishing, the bartender took the glass and poured it out, washing and rinsing the glass out for a future customer to use. “Just the other day I heard the guy had just woke up for the first time in six months. My cousin was ecstatic. He was actually going to go visit him today actually.”

A spark lit up in your mind as this opportunity presented itself. “That’s great. Will your cousin be coming here to celebrate after?”

The bartender laughed in response. “You kidding me? He wouldn’t be caught dead in here. Too shabby of a place for him. If anything, he’d probably hit up one of the bars in the city.”

“Ah, your cousin is one of those guys. Too good for a small place like this. Needs one of those fancy restaurants where you buy a whole bottle of wine to go with your meal.”

“Well, I can’t deny that but still...” The bartender frowned at the man who had just finished his second beer, and was now demanding a third, garnering an eye roll from the man behind the counter. With a sigh he took the man’s glass and began to pour him another. “What about you? Did you want another drink?”

“Ah no, I’ve spent long enough sitting here, it’s about time I left. I have things to take care of.” You said, rising from you seat and waving the notion off.

“Is that right? Well, take care then. Thanks for the patronage.” The bartender said as he handed the man his third beer.

With a nod and a slight wave, you departed, making your way out of the building. One outside, the friendly smile you were wearing vanished, replaced by a stern frown.

With resolve in your heart, you stepped forward, away from all that tied you to this small town to the east of Hycasal. Taking what would be the first steps in a long journey, you pressed on, with goal in mind and a drive in your soul.

That broadcast, there was something off about it. The details didn’t add up. Memories of brief interactions with that man, with Shin Kiromura, flashed in your mind. He had seemed like a rather hopeful individual to you...so why would he suddenly sabotage his own experiment? It didn’t make sense.

You wanted answers—no, you needed them. If there was any hope of you being able to move forward, to accept the death of your dear friend and overcome the tragedy that befell you that day, you had to know why it all happened.

That was another thing the news had wrong, that no participants had survived that catastrophe. No, there was one participant that did survive.

You.

The burns that marred your flesh, the haunting memories of that day, and that feeling you had felt in the moments before the blast. All proof that you were there. That you survived. Against all the odds, you, and only you, had made it out of that room alive.

Out of the fires of hell you rose. Determined to get answers. And if one thing was for sure.

You weren’t going to stop until you found them.

#Notes of a Mysterious Researcher #Narrative #World Building #Original Story #Fiction #Original Fiction #The Game #500th Post #tw; death #tw; arson #tw; terrorism #tw; alcohol #The Phoenix

3 notes · View notes

newstfionline · 6 years ago

Text

California wildfires rage, killing at least nine and putting tens of thousands at risk

By Joel Achenbach, Katie Mettler, E. Aaron Williams and Lindsey Bever, Washington Post, November 10, 2018

THOUSAND OAKS, Calif.--California is on fire again, north and south, the flames deadly and swift, fanned by ferocious Santa Ana winds and fueled by dry tinder. The fires have killed at least nine people, immolated a mountain town and jangled the nerves of many tens of thousands of residents forced to evacuate their homes.

The fires have thus far proved to be unstoppable, operating at flash-flood velocity. The big wildfire here in Southern California, known as the Woolsey Fire, quadrupled in size Friday, covering more than 22 square miles, with no containment. It easily jumped eight-lane Highway 101 and rambled over the Santa Monica Mountains to posh Malibu, where it torched homes and cars. The wildfire then finally ran into its only match so far: the Pacific Ocean.

The bulletins from the northern part of the state were even worse. At least nine people died in or near their homes or vehicles as they tried to outrace the Camp Fire, which devastated the mountain town of Paradise, about 90 miles north of the state capital, Sacramento.

Paradise was anything but, with block after block of destruction, downed power lines, charred cars in the middle of roads, utility poles still smoldering and spot fires around the town, though there wasn’t much vegetation left to burn. Random buildings still stand in the town of 27,000, but for every edifice that survived, dozens that did not.

Marc Kessler, 55, a science teacher at one of Paradise’s middle schools, said the smoke was rising from the Sierra Nevada foothills when he arrived at work Thursday.

“The sky turned black; you couldn’t tell it was daytime,” he said. “It was raining black pieces of soot, coming down like a black snowstorm and starting fires everywhere. Within minutes, the town was engulfed.”

Kessler said authorities told teachers to forget seat belt laws and start piling the 200 or so students who showed up for class Thursday morning into the teachers’ personal vehicles. Some frantic parents showed up to get their children, he said, and bus drivers drove through flames to help save children’s lives.

Kessler said one of the students in his car said, “Oh, look at the moon!”

“I said, ‘That’s not the moon. That’s the sun,’ “ he recalled, his voice breaking. “There were times when there were flames near the vehicles. There were times when you couldn’t see through the smoke. Some of our teachers didn’t think they’d survive.”

About 23.4 million Californians were under red-flag warnings into Friday, and officials warned that flames could reach the city of Chico, a college town of more than 90,000 about six miles from Paradise. People scrambled to evacuate.

The Camp Fire had covered 110 square miles and was just 5 percent contained as of Friday, state officials said, warning that there might be additional deaths that they cannot confirm until they can safely enter smoldering neighborhoods. It is a terrifying situation for family members of residents who were last heard from when the town and others nearby were ordered evacuated.

“We didn’t have much time; it came too fast,” said Cory Nichols, a barber who fled his home in Paradise. “We were going to sell the house. Don’t have to now.”

California has experienced debilitating fires of unprecedented regularity in the past few years, many of them encroaching on towns and cities built up to the edges of forests in areas prone to wildfires. In August, the Mendocino Complex Fire became the largest wildfire ever recorded in the state, burning more than 400,000 acres. The previous record was set less than a year before, when the Thomas Fire burned through more than 280,000 acres in Ventura and Santa Barbara counties. In October 2017, some 21 wildfires burned nearly 95,000 acres and 7,000 buildings in Sonoma and Napa counties in the heart of California’s wine country, killing 40 people.

The California fire season normally begins in late spring and lasts through summer. But hot, dry weather has persisted this year well into autumn, and the winter rains have yet to arrive. The Santa Ana winds, which blow out of the Sierra Nevadas and toward the western coastline, are building into howling gales that dry the vegetation and the soil, creating potentially explosive fire conditions.

In Thousand Oaks, 40 miles from downtown Los Angeles, residents have endured a brutal week.

This city, cherished by its residents for clean air and low crime, already was in mourning after Wednesday night’s mass shooting at a country music bar. At a vigil downtown Thursday night, people had lit candles and pondered an unspeakable crime. Just hours later, the same area was choked in smoke and imperiled by the Woolsey Fire.

In the pre-dawn darkness, a gusty wind whipped American flags flying at half-staff in honor of the shooting victims. An orange glow could be seen throughout the city, sometimes leaping into bright flares along the ridgelines. Emergency bulletins buzzed cellphones in the middle of the night, sometimes urging evacuations.

“It’s dangerous to sleep all night,” said Sergio Figueroa, 34, who was dropping his wife off at a hotel where she works on Friday. Late Thursday and into the early hours Friday, he watched television, knowing his home was in the “voluntary” evacuation zone. He said he allowed himself one hour of shut-eye--but not actual sleep.

“You just close your eyes and stay alert,” he said.

At 3 a.m., streets normally empty at that hour were filled with parents, children and pets evacuating as the orange glow crept closer.

“Don’t wait too long. Get out when they tell you to get out,” said Uber driver Brent Young, 52, who was about to take a client from Thousand Oaks to the Los Angeles International Airport through a roundabout route that would circumvent closed freeways and dangerous conditions.

The problem was figuring out which way to go. There were fires in many places. Even before the Woolsey Fire kicked up, another wildfire, the Hill Fire, threatened homes west of town. Highway 101 was closed in both directions at various times for two different fires. The only thing inhibiting the Hill Fire was that it ran into the footprint of a 2013 fire and lacked fuel, officials said.

Longtime resident Peggy Smith, 64, was filling her gas tank at 4 a.m. Friday at a Mobil station in an area under voluntary evacuation. She said people began flocking to Thousand Oaks in the 1960s after airline pilots on the flight path into Los Angeles noticed that there was no smog here. The pilots moved in, and then police officers, and firefighters.

She was ready for the fire. She needed only 10 minutes to load her car with her favorite family photos, important documents, clothes and food.

“My son’s a fireman. I was married to a fireman. I’m not scared,” Smith said. “I have full faith in our fire departments.”

They were busy. The trucks rolled through neighborhoods and zoomed down Highway 101. People had fled, power was out, and the only light came from the fires.

“This is crazy,” said Paige Gordon, a real estate agent who was checking on a friend’s multimillion-dollar house in Westlake Village as flames devoured the parched brush. “We have all aspects of Ventura County on fire.”

As he turned on sprinklers in his friend’s backyard, an eruption of flame on the hillside caught his attention: “There’s the fire right there!”

Smoke loomed over Thousand Oaks like a thunderhead, the black cloud slowly advancing toward the sea as it crossed hills covered in blackened stubble.

In Malibu, film and television producer Ben Rosenblatt, 35, took one look at the approaching fire and knew he had to get out fast. He had just enough time to walk the dog first. There aren’t many ways in and out of Malibu, with the roads that wind up through the canyons impassable because of fire. That left the Pacific Coast Highway, where traffic moved at a crawl. The drive to Santa Monica should have taken him 35 minutes, but the navigation app on his phone said it would be 2 hours 35 minutes.

“It’s like a slow-motion race with massive fire clouds behind you and bumper-to-bumper traffic in front,” Rosenblatt said. “Think of any disaster movie you’ve seen where you’re trying to outrun the storm but it’s happening so slowly.”

Back in Thousand Oaks, the smoke would recede and then billow up again as a spot fire flared anew. At a teen center, set up as an evacuation site for those fleeing the fires, people became nervous when they saw flames on a nearby hillside.

In the parking lot, people slept in their cars beside their cats and dogs, their belongings packed in the back.

Mary Leighton, 57, of West Lake, had just gone to bed Thursday night when her brother heard on the news that they needed to evacuate.

“You think, ‘What do you take?’ “ She said. “My mind went blank.”

Five minutes later, carrying her husband’s ashes and her cat, Pumpkin, she and her family were gone. They slept in a shelter overnight and woke Friday morning to news that homes in their neighborhood had burned. Leighton didn’t know whether her home survived.

#California #California wildfires #Woolsey Fire #Camp Fire

2 notes · View notes

padfootagain · 7 years ago

Text

Compass (III)

Part 3 : Battle Scars

And here is the last part of my Soulmate!AU for Poe Dameron!! Time to bring an end to this fic that was supposed to be a one-shot, but I'm unable to control myself when it comes to writing, clearly!

Let's see if Poe is still alive, shall we?

I've put so much energy and time and passion in this fic, I really hope you like it.

Thank you so much to @furmicl fo the beautiful piece of art she did for this story, thank you!!!

Word Count : 5600

"I still don't get why you didn't tell him..."

You heaved a sigh, rolling your tired eyes.

"Could we talk about that later, Jess? Please?"

"It's stupid..."

"On the moment, trust me, it didn't seem stupid at all. It seemed to be the safest option."

"And now for sure, we're in a safe position..."

"I thought you wanted to get him back too."

"Of course I want to bring him back, Y/N. Poe is not just my Commander, he's my friend. He would have done the same for us."

You nodded.

"I know. He would have done it for me too."

"So, the plan is simple," Jess repeated for the fifth time, but you were too nervous not to listen once more. "We fly low, don't try to intercept anything and play the hero. I'll get us close to the crash, you'll get us to Poe. Okay?"

You nodded, letting silence fill up the cockpit.

When Jess spoke again, her voice was uncertain.

"Do you... I mean... if you're his soulmate, perhaps you can feel this kind of things... Do you think that there's a chance for him to be still alive?"

You fiercely bit your lower lip.

"I hope so, Jess. But in all honesty... I don't know."

The pilot next to you nodded slowly, and the two of you remained silent while Jess guided the ship inside the atmosphere of the planet.

Eight hours had passed since the evacuation, and if the city was now occupied by the First Order, it was too soon for the whole planet to be protected yet. The skillful pilot had thus no difficulty in entering the atmosphere without being noticed. She guided the ship towards the wreckage, remaining hidden from sight by flying in the canyons.

Only a few minutes were needed for you to finally catch sight of it. The wreckage. Of Poe graceful X-Wing was merely left a pile of distorted and melted metal, a little cloud of grey smoke still escaping from the carcass. You felt tears blurring your vision, turning the rests of the ship into a mist of grey, black and orange, your eyes stinging from too much crying...

"I'll land next to the ship, then it's your turn to get to work, Y/N."

You nodded, chasing the tears away with the back of your shaking hand, waiting for Jess to land. Before walking out of the ship, she handed you a blaster and a comlink.

"Just in case we're separated and meet the wrong people," she said, and you nodded, thanking her and taking the devices she handed you.

You took a deep breath before following Jess outside. Each step felt like an unbearable effort, as if your feet were suddenly made of lead. Your heartbeat was speeding up a bit more at every step that you took.

What if Poe was really dead?

When your eyes met the wreckage, you couldn't hold back your tears. The smell of burning oil and melted metal was stinging your nostrils, the stinking scent of iron so pronounced in the air around you, it left a bitter taste on your tongue. Jess was already looking at the debris, while you slowly walked towards the pile of metal. You recognized the front of the ship, the broken and burnt cockpit, one wing was completely missing...

"BB-8 is not inside!"

You quickened your pace to reach Jess, as she pointed at the hole where the rests of the droid should have been.

Half of the ship was completely distorted, which allowed you to see the inside of the hole meant for droids. Your heart leapt into your chest.

It was empty. Burnt, yes. Melted, yes. But it was also undoubtedly empty.

"I doubt that BB-8 would have left this ship without Poe," you breathed, Jess and you exchanging a glance suddenly full of a crazy hope.

You both sprinted towards the cockpit. You were expecting to meet a burnt skeleton, a corpse so damaged by the crash and the explosion that it would be unrecognizable. But the seat was empty...

Jess and you exchanged another glance, a smile forming on your two faces, and you saw the same tears that wetted your eyes in hers too : happy, salty tears full of hope.

"He got out before it burnt," Jess breathed, her voice hoarse.

You hurried to free your forearm from your sleeve, your eyes searching for this little compass tattooed on your skin...

It was pointing away from the wreckage, down the canyon...

"This way," you indicated the right direction you and Jess had to follow.

You hurried down the narrow passage that soon appeared on your right, following the arrow on your arm, not really paying attention to your surroundings or to the pilot behind you. Your mind was filled with one thought : find Poe...

"Y/N..."

The fear in Jess's voice made you turn to her, and you looked down at the orange earth at her feet, following her glance...

You recognized the dark stains in the blink of an eye. It was dry blood...

"He's hurt, we need to hurry," Jess urged you, and you merely gave her a quick nod before resuming your walk through the passage. Actually, you picked up to a run...

You guessed that the passage was just large enough for BB-8 to fit, and indeed, a few feet away, you found a little touch of white paint on a rock. You guessed that the droid had collided with the cliff in its hurry.

When you emerged from the passage, you fell into another large canyon, orange rocks set through the gap as if they had fallen from the cliff. You walked to one of them, your eyes caught by a red mark upon it. And when you came closer, you recognized the shape of a handprint made of dry blood against the orange and dusty rock...

You pushed away this thought, forcing your eyes to leave the mark and to focus on your forearm again. You turned to face the right direction, and noticed that the arrow was pointing at some sort of cavern carved in the cliff.

"In there!" you pointed at the cave, and Jess nodded, taking her blaster.

You hurried towards the cave, taking a little lamp from your pocket. The inside of the cave was too dark for you to see anything, although you noticed little droplets of dry blood at your feet, right before the entrance.

"Poe?" you called, taking a step inside.

You were met only by your own voice echoing through the cave, bouncing upon the rocky walls and coming back to you slightly distorted.

You walked further in, the shy light shed by the lamp in your hand barely enough for you to distinguish anything in this ocean of darkness.

"Poe!" you raised your voice, desperation oozing from your voice, your skin, from every part of your body, but you didn't care.

You could feel that he was in there, wounded, waiting for help...

"POE!"

Finally another sound than the one of your voice reached your ears. And you could have recognized these beeps anywhere...

"BB-8?!"

The droid suddenly appeared, turning on some light as well, and you knelt down to hug it.

"Beebee!" you breathed, holding the round droid against you.

It smelled like fire and ashes, its paint had disappeared on some parts of its round body, but it seemed functional.

"Where is Poe?" you asked in a shaking whisper.

BB-8 emitted several worried beeps, before rolling away, inviting you to follow it.

You walked further inside the cave, hearing the footsteps of Jess behind you, but the truth was, your heart was beating too fast for you to pay attention to anything that surrounded you. You were following the little droid before you, but your feet were carrying you in its path without your mind noticing it, your thoughts blank, too much preoccupied by your fear and worry...

Until your eyes fell upon his form...

He was sitting there, on the ground, his back resting against the wall of the cavern. His head was falling, his chin set against his chest... there was a small puddle of blood next to him...

You hurried by his side, letting yourself fall on your knees next to him. You delicately took his face between your hands, raising his head to rest against the wall of the cave again.

He had a bad bruise on his head, and a large cut across his chin and jaw. His skin was covered with a thin layer of dark oil and ashes, his dirty cheeks coloured in black and grey. His dark curls were stained with ashes as well. His eyes were closed...

"Poe? Can you hear me?" you called for him.

But he didn't react.

"Poe!"

Again, his eyelids remained closed.

You approached your ear from his parted lips, closing your eyes, praying in silence...

...if there was really a Force through this Galaxy, might it be with him...

You let out a relieved sob as you felt his warm breath tickling your earlobe.

"He's breathing," you told your two companions.

You started to look at the rest of his body, and it didn't take long for you to notice the source of his pouring blood...

There was a rather large piece of metal piercing his side.

His hand was resting on his leg right under the piece of metal that was planted in his abdomen, and you guessed that the pain had pushed him into unconsciousness when he tried to pull the piece out of his torso.

"Do we take that out here or in the ship?" you asked Jess.

You had only limited training in medicine, just the minimum everyone in the Resistance had to have.

Jess shook her head, worry painted all over her features.

"If they find the ship, we're all dead. We don't have enough time, Y/N. We'll take care of him while we're flying away from this piece of rock."

You nodded, and Jess helped you carrying Poe's motionless form out of the cave. The sound of his boots stroking the dusty ground made your heart ache. He was heavier than you thought he would be, and you couldn't refrain a little smile as the remark crossed your mind.

But there was another sound that was making your heart stumble into your chest, turning your regular heartbeat into something erratic and messy : the thud noise of droplets of blood falling to the ground.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap...

"The ship is right next to the rests of Poe's X-Wing, BB-8," Jess breathed, struggling to catch her breath under Poe's weight. "You go first, be careful."

The droid beeped approvingly, and rolled a few feet away from the two of you, opening the way.

"Do you think that they have found the ship?" you asked Jess.

"Let's hope that they didn't send a patrol in this area yet..."

The two of you fell silent for the rest of the walk to your little cargo ship. You were both relieved to find no stormtrooper next to your ship.

You carried him inside, setting him on the little mattress you had brought for him.

"I'll tie him up to the ship, you go start the engines," you told Jess, who merely nodded, walking towards the cockpit.

You fastened the belts you had set to attach him, making sure he wouldn't be too shaken when Jess would take off.

You didn't have time to take care of his wound for now, Jess needing your help to leave the planet, but you hated the hoarse sound of his irregular breathing, the sound hissing from time to time... so you placed a mask upon his nose and mouth to bring more oxygen to his craving lungs.

And before you would rise, you bent down to drop a sweet kiss upon his dirty brow.

You were about to stagger back to your feet, when the feeling of Poe's fingers encircling your wrist made you freeze...

Your heart made a frantic leap against your ribs when your eyes met Poe's brown orbs...

You had thought you would never see these brown eyes ever again...

"Poe..."

You heard him clearing his dry throat.

"Am I dead?" he whispered, his voice distorted by the mask before his mouth, and the sound made raspy by his sore throat.

You shook your head, tears escaping your eyes despite how strong your will to refrain them was.

"No... you're going to be okay," you whispered, running a soothing hand through his messy and dirty hair. "Jess and I came back to help you. We're taking you back on D'Qar."

He let out a heavy breath, a tear rolling down his cheek and creating a long line as it carried the dirt away from his skin.

"Thank you," he whispered.

You merely answered with a tender smile, kissing his cheekbone, right above his mask. You heard him taking a sharp intake of breath.

"Y/N! We need to get out of here!"

Jess's voice cut the air, and you stood up, reluctantly freeing your hand from Poe's soft touch.

"I need to go help Jess to take off," you told him, and even if he didn't speak, you could read in his dark brown eyes that he understood.

He heard you walking away. The sounds then slowly grew quieter, although he knew it was just his mind getting out of focus again. He was just too tired to keep his eyes open, too tired to listen to the noises around him, too tired to raise his chest and breathe...

... it didn't matter anymore, he had seen you one last time...

He felt the ship shaking under him as it left the ground, and recognized the sound of blasters firing. Jess's voice was loud enough to shake the air again.

"Y/N! Take care of the canons, I fly!"

"I've never used one of those!"

Your voice sounded scared, so scared...

He struggled to lift his eyelids once more. He wanted to help you, to make sure this fear would never shake your voice ever again...

The ship was violently shaken all of a sudden, and Poe knew that it wasn't because of Jess's maneuver...

A shot had hit the ship...

He turned his head just enough to see you running out of the cockpit, but the ship shook again, and you staggered, tripping and falling to the ground with a shriek. Your hands were too slow to fly up to protect your face, and your forehead hit the metallic ground hard. You let out a groan, not moving for a few seconds, your head suddenly spinning as you felt something sticky and warm slowly flood down your forehead and down the side of your face.

Poe's heart rushed at the sight of your motionless frame lying on the ground.

"Y/N!" he called, gathering all his strength to force his voice to become louder than a whisper.

"I'm fine, Poe," you mumbled, getting on all fours and looking up at him. "You?"

He nodded, too tired to speak again.

You tried to get back on your feet, but were too disoriented still. Poe extended his hand to you, and you held his fingers in yours.

"On the left to switch between canons and missiles, on the right to aim, triggers to fire," he breathed the commands for you to defend the ship. "You can do this."

You gave him a tender smile, nodding, before finally getting back on your feet.

Even wounded, probably dying, he was still able to reassure you...

You disappeared from his sight as you walked in the adjacent tiny room to shoot the TIEs that were now flying behind your ship. Poe held tightly the mattress under him as Jess spun the ship around to avoid the TIEs shots...

The rush of adrenaline brought by the sight of you was waning through Poe's veins though. He was struggling more and more to keep his eyes open again...

He heard an explosion, feeling the ship aiming upwards.

"NICE SHOT Y/N," he heard Jess shouting through the ship, as his eyelids fluttered shut.

"THERE ARE TOO MANY OF THEM!" you replied, your voice shaking still.

"TAKE THE ONE ON THE RIGHT DOWN, Y/N! ON THE RIGHT!"

The ship was shaken again, but Poe felt no explosion...

The sounds started to be shushed once more.

"I SEE IT!"

He knew you had shouted, but your voice sounded like a whisper...

He didn't hear the other TIE that you had hit and that exploded near the ship. He didn't feel the blast of the explosion shaking the ship. Now, just breathing was an unbearable effort...

Breathing...

He focused, fighting to control the rhythm...

In...

Out...

In...

Out...

In...

He felt something against his skin, but he didn't know what had touched his hand. Somehow, he knew that it was warm and reassuring, but that was all.

Out...

In...

Out...

In...

Out...

But his mind was too fuzzy, and the effort was too much, and the pain too vivid. He wanted to give up. For the first time in his life, he wanted to give up and let Death win...

What was the point, he would never have you...

In...

Out...

In...

He wasn't your soulmate. You weren't his soulmate. You would be happy with someone else, you didn't need him the way he needed you. You didn't need him, he could go...

...

Out...

All went dark again...

----------------------------------------------------

First it was the sensation of sheets. Soft sheets. Then the way everything was numb. From head to toes, the muscles were like asleep, except through the torso. A sharp pain, but not that strong, as if it was shushed... it felt far away. The feeling of skin against skin... a warm hand on a cold one. Then voices. Shushed at first, then louder, loud enough to decipher words.

"I think he's waking up."

It was Jess's voice.

"Yeah, I think so too."

L'Ulo's.

"I hope he'll be alright."

Karé.

"He would have been if I had listened to Jess and gone down to pick him up before leaving this bloody planet! I was certain that he was dead!"

Snap.

"It's not your fault. You were right, if we had gone down to look for him, we would have all died out there. There were too many of them."

Finally Poe gathered enough strength to lift up his eyelids. He had to blink a few times to turn the blur forms around him into the faces of his friends though.

"Hey!" Jess welcomed him with a smile, and he noticed that she was the one holding his hand. "How do you feel, Commander?"

Poe cleared his throat.

"Better than ever," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

They all laughed.

"His humour is still here, he'll be fine!" Snap laughed.

He patted Poe's shoulder.

"I'm sorry I didn't come back for you," Snap said more softly, a sad expression now drowning his eyes with tears and regret. "I thought you were dead. When I saw your ship burning, I was sure that you were gone, and the others were waiting for me to take a decision."

But Poe nodded reassuringly.

"You brought them all back here," Poe whispered. "That's all I wanted you to do. You were right to leave without me. I thought I was dead too."

Snap chuckled, sniffing, but holding back his tears.

"The children?" Poe asked softly.

"All safe and sounds," Karé smiled.

Poe nodded and looked around, apparently looking for something...

... or someone.

"Where's Y/N?" he asked.

His fellow pilots exchanged a glance.

"She's resting," L'Ulo answered. "She stayed with you all night long, but she needed to sleep, so we convinced her to take a few hours of rest while we were keeping an eye on you."

"Is she okay? She... hit her head..."

"She's fine," Jess reassured him.

Poe nodded again, and they all noticed that his breathing was less regular all of a sudden.

He pushed the sheets away from his torso, feeling the pain in his abdomen growing sharper.

"Poe, you're okay, son?" L'Ulo asked, trying to stop his leader to push away the blankets.

"It hurts," Poe complained in a breath.

"I'll go look for a doctor," Karé said, walking away from Poe's bed.

His eyes finally rested on the bandages that surrounded his chest. He noticed one covering his left arm as well, and he could feel another encircling his head.

He heaved a sigh, resting his head upon his pillow again.

"When she's awake, can you tell Y/N that I want to see her?"

Jess nodded slowly.

"I'll tell her."

And again, Poe nodded.

"Thank you. I want to see her. I hope she will soon come..."

-----------------------------------------------------------

You didn't come. He waited for you that day, but you didn't come. He thought that maybe you were still asleep, perhaps you needed a lot of rest. But you didn't come the next day. Nor the day after...

As long as he was lying in this bed, you didn't come.

After a week, he stopped asking his friends to call for you. It was useless, clearly.

He couldn't understand why though. Why were you avoiding him? His thirst for this answer pushed him to heal faster. When the doctors imposed him exercises, he worked harder than any of their patients had worked before. When they advised him to rest, he merely shook his head, repeating the gestures they had recommended for his muscles to find back their strength.

He spent three weeks under the careful watch of the doctors, before being allowed to go back to his quarters. He would have to be checked once a week for the coming months, but his side was now healed enough for him to stand and walk normally. The cut on his left arm was almost healed as well : a long, red line remained, but that was all. The scratches and cuts and bruises on his face were forgotten by now.

He was to go directly to his quarters, but he couldn't. How could he have lied down in his cold bed when he ignored the reason for your disappearance?

He walked through the base slowly, resting his shoulder against a wall from time to time to make sure that he would make no effort. He didn't want to be forced to get back into a bed before he could have a chance to see you.

He walked to your quarters and knocked on your door. It was still early, right before dawn. He reckoned that you were probably not ready to go to work yet. He hoped so...

"Yes, come in," you called through the door, the sound of your voice making his heart jump.

He took a deep breath, before pushing the door open.

His heart stopped at the sight of you.

He hadn't seen you in three weeks. Three long weeks, and he couldn't help but realize that three weeks had felt like eternity. He took in the sight of you as you stood there, your back to him, the shy light of dawn bathing your frame. He smiled as you attached your hair into a ponytail. He loved it when you tied up your hair like that...

"What can I do for you?"

You spun around, but froze as your eyes were caught by Poe's stare.

You both remained there, standing, motionless, staring at each other for a moment.

"Hey," Poe finally breathed, breaking the heavy silence, unable to control the dreamy smile that had formed on his face.

"Poe, what... what are you doing here? You didn't run away from your doctors, right?"

He chuckled.

"They've let me go today."

"Oh..."

"But... I'm supposed to rest a lot, but I wanted to see you first as you... you didn't come to see me in weeks. Actually, you didn't come to see me at all since we got back."

He took a step towards you, entering your room, and he let the door close behind him.

"I don't understand why you're avoiding me," he went on, walking closer to you again. "Did I do something wrong?"

He kept on walking towards you, but you were motionless. Your entire frame was frozen, only your eyes moved to remain fixed upon his. You let him approach, until he was close enough to notice the shining piece of metal around your neck...

His eyes widened at the sight of his mother's ring resting upon your heart. His eyes travelled up to meet your stare again, before falling onto the ring once more. His dark brown orbs travelled back and forth between your eyes and the ring on your heart...

Until the realization struck him and he looked at you with horrified eyes.

"You listened to my message... right?"

His voice was just a shaking whisper. You opened your mouth to answer, but he winced, speaking again before any word could pass your lips.

"Don't hate me," he begged you. "I... I recorded this speech in case I wouldn't come back. But I'm not expecting anything from you. So... please, don't stop talking to me. I know you don't feel the same, and I know that you've found your soulmate, and you can trust me for being only supportive about that aspect of your life. I'm happy for you, really I am..."

"Poe," you tried to interrupt him, but he shushed.

"No, let me talk. You see... that's why I didn't tell you, I was scared you could be mad at me, or even slap my stupid face..."

"Poe!"

You had raised your voice, and he immediately fell silent, a scared expression on his face.

You gave him a reassuring smile.

"I'm not mad at you," you replied, your tone soothing. "But we need to talk. And I thought that it was best to wait until you felt better. That's why I didn't come to see you these past few weeks, because we need to talk about all this, it's the first thing we need to do. And we couldn't do it while you were still in need of rest and calm. But I'm not mad, Poe."

He nodded, relaxing, although he still seemed worried. He massaged his own palm, obvious sign that he was nervous.

"I don't want you to change the way you act around me because of what you heard in this recording," he said earnestly. "I would never try anything knowing that another man is meant to make you happy."

You shook your head, taking a step towards him, before changing your mind, and nodding towards your bed.

"We should sit down, Poe. It's not good for you to remain standing for too long."

But he shook his head.

"I've been lying on a bed for three weeks, really, I don't want to sit down," he smiled.

He struggled to swallow back the lump that had started to climb up his throat.

"You don't hate me, right?" he asked softly.

"Of course I don't hate you."

You took his hands in yours, looking down at your intertwined fingers for a few seconds.

"Poe... you should look at this compass of yours."

He frowned hard.

"Why?"

"Just do it."

"I don't want to do it," he said bitterly.

What was the point, he knew the little arrow would not be pointing at the woman he longed to have in his arms...

But the look you gave him left him no choice but to comply.

"Poe. Trust me, and look at this compass."

He couldn't understand why you suddenly insisted, but there was something in your eyes that forced him to pull up his sleeve, and finally look at down at this arrow he had avoided for years, right next to the long line his wounds had left and that would undoubtedly remain carved in his skin as a scar...

...And his eyes grew wide in shock.

He turned around, but the arrow spun to follow his movements, so that the tip kept on pointing at you...

Slowly, he turned back towards you, the same shock still painted over his features.

"I thought you would be disappointed," you said, your throat dangerously tightening, tears threatening to run down your face. "So I didn't tell you when I learnt about it. And then... time passed and we became so close, and I was so scared that you would be disappointed and would hate me for not being good enough and... I just... I hoped you would notice it and talk about it first..."

"You're my soulmate..." he breathed, his tone somewhere between an affirmation and a question.

You nodded.

"Yeah, I'm your soulmate, Poe. I'm sorry, we've lost so much time... and I want you... this... all of it... I want it all so badly now. I thought you would be disappointed and that you would push me away, but now I know I was wrong. I should have told you, I should have trusted fate, it was guiding me to you after all."

You raised your sleeve as well, revealing your own compass to his eyes.

And the little arrow was pointing at him...

"I'm your soulmate..." he whispered.

But before you could answer, he had strode to you, closing the space between your bodies and crushed his lips against yours.

He kept on walking until your back hit the wall behind you, his hands lost in your hair, his thumbs stroking tenderly your cheeks while he deepened the kiss.

And there was no other words to describe this feeling than 'perfect'.

It felt like you were suddenly whole when you had struggled in the search of a part of you during your entire life. And Poe felt this same feeling that everything was suddenly right, all the pieces fitting in harmony.

The feelings that were shaking your two souls could have never been described with words. Butterflies, shivers, fireworks... all were an understatement of this feeling that was making every muscle of your body burning with happiness and shiver through electricity.

It felt right, kissing him, being trapped in his arms, feeling his skin under your fingertips.

You were home...

Eventually, you had to break away to finally breathe a gulp of air. But you were both unable to open your eyes for a moment, too much lost in your feelings, reality staying away for a few more instants, as you both struggled to catch your breaths. He rested his forehead against yours.

"Since when do you know?" he asked in a shaking whisper.

He dropped sweet pecks on your brow and temples, having longed for so long to finally kiss your skin that now he couldn't find a way to tear his lips away from you.

"Since we met," you whispered, biting down your lip.

"You should have told me..." he breathed, but you interrupted him.

"I didn't know how to tell you by then, and we didn't know each other, and I was certain that you would be disappointed and... I couldn't... What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, hi again... I'm your soulmate, by the way'?"

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you to hold you even closer to him.

"Something like that would have been perfect," he mocked, kissing the tip of your nose.

He heaved a sigh, resting his forehead on your shoulder.

"I'm the one who messed up. I shouldn't have been so scared, I should have looked at this compass ages ago..."

"I should have told you..."

But he shushed you, pressing another tender kiss upon your lips.

"It doesn't matter," he stated. "It doesn't matter at all, none of this matters. It's just the past. We both did a huge mistake, let's just forget about it."

A grin formed on his lips, while tears appeared in his eyes.

"I'm so happy it's you," he whispered. "I wanted it to be you so much... I wanted you for soulmate."

"And you do have me, Poe."

He kissed all your face and neck, all piece of skin he could reach, and you did the same, pouring all your love upon him.

You rested your hand on his ring after a while.

"Do you want it back?"

But he shook his head.

"I was to give it to my soulmate. Around your neck is the place where it belongs. My mother would want you to have it. Keep it. I want you to keep it forever, just like my heart."

You tenderly stroked his cheek.

"I love you, Poe Dameron," you whispered.

He took your hands in his, your enlaced fingers resting between the two of you, as he rested his forehead against yours again, and you both closed your eyes in unison.

"I love you too, Y/N. I love you with all my heart."

You remained standing there, grinning, enjoying the nearness of the other for a very long while, knowing that this love that you shared would last even when all the stars would have grown dark, too strong to be diminished in any way buy time or sorrow. You both knew that nothing could ever separate you. Even in a world of darkness, you knew this love would be your light...

And between the two of you, the compasses on your skins were turned towards each other, fate controlling their direction, as it had always done, and would always do.

And your compass was pointing towards him.

And his compass was pointing towards you.

***************

Tag list : @wearetalkingtoyou, @that-bwitch, @mxrihollxnd, @nessoverjoyed, @zestygingergirl, @ynnep, @morphoportis, @mrsdaamneron, @poedameronandothertrash, @weirdhangrypotato, @arrowswithwifi, @donkeysblog

305 notes · View notes

thedrag0nking · 3 years ago

Text

Flying into the skies through the vultures the Yukarisaur cocked the mount machine gun in front of her holding it steadily waiting for the moment to provide air support while Maquis corp troops talked through the COM on how the city has been siege for the last hour and other things.

" This city's been under Siege for the last hour and thought we got them terrorists by the balls until their vijokas and heavy armored forces showed up. Hell we all got orders to evacuate, guess Michael fon't like getting the job half done. "

" This is evac transport delta 15 dispatch, ready to go! "

" Evac dispatch 56 here, copy that proceed with your discretion! "

" Ahh shit delta 15 here we're being hit I need covering fire! I'm gonna have to settle down! "

The Yukarisaur flying by both Maquis and the lunarian remnants fighting eachother had jist got started firing the machine gun mowing down on enemy targets from the sky as their limbs being torn off from the sheer firepower all the while assisting the troops giving them and mowing down more of them with no hesitation. They didn't even stand a chance against the air support until one of the rescue Evac pilots frantically need airborne pick up now.

" This is Corvin 67 we need to get off this rock, we got families and the wounded on board I GOTTA GET AIRBORNE NOW! "

" Easy there Corvin 67 Yukarisaur's gonna clear those skies over. "

Getting closer to her destination now the vulture passed by the large rescue ship that carries many civilians off the city that takes off until one of the assault Vijokas landed a direct hit into the ship causing it to crash down along with the civillians. Bhaar Taagh watched in horror that the atrocities these lunarian terrorists are doing to the civillians human, yokai, and even their own people alike as the ship pilot calls through the COMs that they're going down.

" MAYDAY! MAYDAY! I'VE BEEN, HIT I'VE BEEN HIT ! "

" Steady now! Steady! "

" NEGATIVE WE'RE GOING DOWN!!! "

The entire ship crashes down into the ocean and all they can do is watch. All those people inside that ship drove the Yukarisaur to tears and in rage for all the people in that ship that died like sheep by the terrorists the tooth and claw empire deem them as genocidal monsters. She gritted her teeth fueling her hatred for them even more, she's glad that she is here, she wants them to remember all these people they murdered in cold blood.

With nothing left they can do they continue on with their mission in saving the city and the survivors as they finally appearing into their destination the Yukarisaur mows down on the lunarian remnants that are attacking the Maquis who hide behind the barriers tearing them all to shreds. Once that died down sergeant Gates looks up from the vulture and instructs her to turn on those missiles and fire at both the assault vijokas and the big one that's appearing this way.

" Yukarisaur, Seargent Major gates let's keep this from getting things worst huh? Terrorists are all over thr missile batteries and I got seven thousand civillians bed wing on the passage tower.

I want you to turn on those missile batteries and set the terminal back on the grid understood? Doc's been a pain in my ass for too damn long, take that chaingun and give it hell Yukarisaur! "

Bhaar Taagh jumped down from the vulture getting back to business as usual as she now grabs the MGL 35 chaingun off the ground and rushes into the battlefield eviscerating the lunarian terrorists that stands in her way as she marches through the firefight getting near the first missile battery. Once she clears out the terrorists away she turns on the first battery, now it's time to go to the second one but it's full of high ranking lunarian soldiers that had also join in to fight back and assist the yukarisaur into battle. Together she and Toyohime's lunarian troops eliminated the threat as she activated the second one. Now it's time to fire those missiles.

" this is Toyohime speaking thank you for all of this, now turn on the missiles. It's now or never please we cannot allow them to succeed it's now or never! "

Bhaar Taagh immediately rushed up the stairs to the other district still with the chaingun in her hands, she breeze through the hordes of the terrorists and killed the last one that is preventing the missiles to launch which he's been easily killed by the Yukarisaur, now for the finale she pressed the red button launching all missiles homing straight into the giant lunarian mech from the sky destroying it in the process all along with the assault vijokas finally providing the rescue evacs a chance to safely fly into the skies.

" Thank you, Yukarisaur... "

Toyohime disconnect the COMs as everyone cheered and celebrated that their invasion had failed yet again this all thanks with the assistance of the Yukarisaur Bhaar taagh as the evac ships set sail into the skies while they thank her for a job well done.

" THIS IS DELTA 29 EVAC IS READY TO GO ON ALL COURSE! "

" Affirmative Delta 29! Have a nice day, you save A LOT of lives today Yukarisaur! Thank you! "

The Yukarisaur had done it she saved so many lives today as she watched everything going down, the lunarian terrorists retreated but she didn't care suprisingly. She sat down on the ground, doing her part and waited for nature to take her course but then she.. she had a call by Khruto Kahn, she heard about what happen with both her pack and the city being saved.

" Onee-chan! Are you okay!? "

" Yes, I'm fine... "

" I heard about what happen to you are you okay? Is it true...? "

" My pack's dead, my children they all died.... "

" I'm sorry. At least now they know that you done a good thing today.. "

" Take me home, far away from this damn city... "

" Okie doki ! "

The Yukarisaur pulled out a flare taken from the Maquis troops when they're not looking and sets it on the ground. Now she sits and waits for Khruto Kahn's koishi raptor pack to pick her up. She's tired yet not weakened from all of this. She earned a nice rest for today.

#muse: Bhaar Taagh #||| The Koi Fish |||#now or never

1 note · View note

secretlystephaniebrown · 7 years ago

Text

I’ll See You in the Drift

Michael Caboose's world fell apart when his partner Church was lost in the drift. But when Caboose turns out to be drift-compatible with Tucker, he might have a second chance to fix what once went wrong.

Hey! What's up, it's my first posting for the RvB Reverse Big Bang!

I had the absolute pleasure of working with @captainkonot on this project! You can find the comic they drew here, it's absolutely gorgeous and it was such a delight working with them! Check out the rest of their work if you haven’t already, its all fantastic.

Pacific Rim AUs are my JAM so I had a blast writing this; I hope to come back to this AU again, because I think there's a lot of potential and so much story still to tell! I hope you guys enjoy it!

Thanks to my dear friend @sroloc--elbisivni for beta-ing this for me!

Also on Ao3

Outside of Sheila, the storm crashed and howled. The waves were nearly up to Sheila’s shoulders, each one roaring as it moved around the jaeger and its enemy. The kaiju they were fighting was huge; bigger than any of the ones that Caboose had seen before. Bigger than the one that Caboose and Church had killed last month, surely. Had Dr. Grey said what kind it was before they had gone out? Caboose couldn’t remember.

Church’s mind was twined with Caboose’s, comforting and present in a way that helped slow down his racing heart.

<Focus,> Church whispered in his mind, and Caboose’s concerns melted away, replaced by the laser precision that happened when he drifted with Church. <We can do this.>

Caboose nodded, and the acknowledgement carried through the drift to Church, even though he wasn’t looking at Caboose. They stepped forward in unison, and Sheila moved with them, plowing through the turbulent sea like it was nothing but bathwater.

Church pulled his arm back for an attack. Caboose couldn’t see it, but he felt it, like Church was pulling his arm back too.

Sheila hummed beneath them as she moved, the power from her core filling Caboose with that familiar reassurance.

They were in the drift, in their jaeger. It was all going to be fine.

<Caboose!>

Caboose blinked and moved quickly, raising his own arm to block the jaeger’s blow. The force made his knees buckle, but he didn’t falter. People were depending on him. He was a jaeger pilot, and there was responsibility there.

<Come on, buddy,> Church said, and Caboose could feel his fondness through the drift. <Let’s kick his ass.>

Caboose smiled, and brought up one of his legs, striking out just like Sarge had taught him. Sheila’s leg made a connection with the kaiju, sending it stumbling backwards. For a moment its head ducked beneath the surging waves, but it resurfaced quickly. Church let out a shout, vocally instead of through the drift, and Caboose felt a wave of joy flow through their connection, although he wasn’t sure if it had originated from .

And then everything went wrong.

The kaiju rushed forward, and before they could react, it was on top of them. It was faster than they had expected, recovering quickly from the blow that Caboose had dealt it. Caboose and Church struggled to regain their balance and fight back, but there was no time as claws raked against Sheila’s armor, filling the air with the awful sound of ripping metal.

“Church!”

Caboose was thrown backwards. Blood trickled down his face.

“Caboose!” Church grabbed him, physically by the arm. The drift was full of fear and hurt and Caboose couldn’t make out Church’s face very well, but he also looked bad.

The kaiju screamed outside, and Caboose screamed as the claws sunk into the wall right in front of them, tearing through the armor like it was nothing.

For a moment, Caboose saw a face with too many teeth, too many eyes, too many everything.

The next thing he knew, Church had thrown him down, and then—

Pain.

White hot pain flooded Caboose as Church was ripped out of the drift. Caboose was screaming for both of them, screaming louder and harder than he ever had before, because his brain was on fire, because everything hurt, because Church was hurting and so Caboose was hurting and—

Nothing.

The connection had been severed.

Caboose stood up on shaky legs. He was all alone in his head, feeling raw and hurt and empty.

“You killed Church!” he heard himself screaming. Tears were streaming down his face and he could taste blood.

Caboose didn’t control the sword. That was not his job. That was Church’s job. But when he moved his arm, the sword moved with him.

Church was not here. Sheila was around him, and she felt heavy. She felt so, so heavy.

Caboose felt like he was heavy too. His head hurt a lot, and every single movement was an agony, but he kept going, and going, and...

The monster had stopped screaming. It was cold and wet and dark, and Caboose was alone in the dark. He didn’t like the dark. He didn’t like any of this. There was water around him, and metal. He couldn’t see anything.

He fell to the ground, curling up on his side. The water was by his feet, moving slightly. The storm seemed to be over, but Caboose didn’t care. Everything hurt, it hurt a lot, and he didn’t know what to do now. He closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep.

<Caboose, don’t fall asleep, don’t you dare! Stay awake, you hear me?>

<Church?> He was tired, he was so, so tired, why wouldn’t Church let him sleep?

<Don’t you dare die on me, okay, don’t you dare—>

“We found him!”

Sunlight flooded the room, and Sarge was there. His suit was red, like he always liked it to be, because—Caboose couldn’t remember why. But the red was important. Just like blue was important to him.

“Caboose! You’re alive! And you killed the kaiju, attaboy, now where’s your partner, let’s get you out of here—” Arms surrounded Caboose, helping him to his feet. He shook as someone else took his other side, helping him stand up. It was someone in a pink suit, who was saying lots of things very fast.

“He’s—” Caboose turned his head. He had just heard Church’s voice, he should be right there.

But there was no one else in the jaeger. There was a hole in the front, where a kaiju’s claws had ripped it open.

Church’s helmet, cracked and bloody, was lying on the ground.

Tucker really had been just a kid when the kaiju had arrived. Things had been... different then. There’d been high school and girls and sometimes guys. When he’d thought about his future, he’d talked about college, not the Jaeger Academy or the Pan Pacific Defense Corps.

Detroit was pretty far from the coast. It wasn’t great, it wasn’t perfect, but it was home at the very least. They were pretty far removed from everything when the kaiju hit San Francisco, but Tucker still remembered it vividly. Every moment had been staring at the televisions, at phones, watching as the world as they’d known it fell apart.

That very first kaiju attack was six days of pure terror, with people constantly wondering if they even could kill the damn thing. Three whole cities, evacuated and destroyed, as the creature stormed up and down the coast.

And when it finally was killed, more of them followed. There was attack after attack, and the whole world seemed to realize, for the first time, that they really couldn’t fix this problem.

Suddenly, the coast became a lot cheaper to live on, even the East Coast, where no kaiju had come through. No one wanted to be near the water. But everyone wanted to live inland, far away from the kaiju. And suddenly, places like Detroit became a lot more desirable to the kind of people who had a lot of money.

Tucker’s family held on as long as they could, but slowly but surely, they and the rest of their neighborhood were inched out. And out. Until one day Tucker knew they were one move away from being able to see the ocean, and he decided that if he was going to die in a kaiju attack someday, he wanted to go down fighting.

He signed up for the Jaeger Academy a few days later.

When he’d signed up, he’d have thought that if he passed, everything would be great. Everyone saw jaeger pilots on the news. They were celebrities, rock stars, and they got to fight the good fight. Punching aliens and getting laid for it seemed like there would be no downsides.

That was at least, until he realized where he was being assigned.

Blood Gulch Dome was the worst of the worst. It was up north, far away from most of the main kaiju attacks, so there was less money and fewer jaegers to go around.

They had exactly one kill to their name when Tucker arrived. And about a month into his orientation, things started going from bad to worse.

Battle Scorpion, the only jaeger Blood Gulch had, went down hard in a fight. It took out the kaiju in the process, but it was pretty badly damaged.

But it had killed half of the team, and hurt the other pretty badly.

Shit was... well, it was pretty fucked from the start. But there were other bases on standby, ready to help if there was a kaiju spotting, while Sarge stepped up their recruitment efforts and tried to get more money to try to fix Battle Scorpion, or better yet, money for a new jaeger.

But even with that going wrong, Tucker wasn’t too pessimistic. The jaeger would be fixed or replaced soon, and the other bases were winning their own fights.

Plus, the people here weren’t all that bad.

There was Sarge, who ran the dome. He’d been a pilot once, Tucker could remember seeing him on the news. A pilot and an engineer, who’d helped design jaegers as well as pilot them. Now, he was old, but he still ran around, acting like he was a hotshot pilot, ordering everyone around and trying to keep things under control.

Kai was the other rookie, like Tucker. They were supposed to be drift-compatible, but... things hadn’t quite worked out that way. And they weren’t drift-compatible with anyone else on base either, which worried both of them more than they liked to admit. If they weren’t even drift-compatible, what were they supposed to do when Battle Scorpion was finished and they needed a team?

Simmons was their expert on the Breach. A kaiju attack had injured him pretty badly a few years back, but his mechanical limbs didn’t slow him down much, even if they were pretty eye catching.

Grey was his counterpart, their local kaiju expert. She spent a lot of time in the lab, digging through the corpses of fallen kaiju, trying to figure out how they worked better. Budget cuts meant that she was also their doctor, which Tucker was never quite sure how he felt about. She was a good doctor and all, but after one too many times of walking in on her standing in a hollowed out cranial cavity, it was pretty hard to think of her as someone who was qualified to give him cold medicine.

Donut was their mechanic who’s basically only job at that time was to try to fix the one jaeger the program had. It had been ripped up pretty badly in the kaiju attack which had killed one of the pilots and injured the other so bad that they didn’t think he’d ever drift again. He had Lopez for help, most of the time at least.

Lopez was a robot. Apparently he was Sarge’s creation when Sarge had tried to prove that robots could drift with humans. He’d obviously failed, and the robot was mostly just a machine which spouted Spanish phrases and helped Donut fix things, but sometimes...

Well.

Sometimes Tucker thought that Lopez was a little more human than he let on.

Grif was Kai’s brother. He did odd jobs around the base, napping whenever he could, and generally trying to stay out of everyone’s way.

But he and Tucker still drank beer together on Thursday nights. It was pretty good.

The word on everyone’s lips was Freelancer, the wealthy, swanky program right in the heart of things. Tons of kills and multiple pilots with their own jaegers. Freelancer was a beacon of hope for so long that Tucker almost forgot the first thing he’d learned in program.

Attracting too much attention was always dangerous.

No one really knew when things really started to go downhill. One day, things were fine. But then...

They started to lose.

Not just the Freelancers, but everyone. All over, the jaegers started losing. The kaiju were getting bigger and bigger, but also faster and smarter and quicker.

The day that Tucker knew things were only going to get worse was when O’Malley, one of the most successful jaegers ever, went down in a fight.

Because, the thing was, Tucker knew one of the pilots.

And if Tex was gone, well.

The rest of the world didn’t stand a chance.

There was a lot of buzz, filling the dome during that time. Apparently Sarge had known Tex too, during the start of things, before he’d been moved out to Blood Gulch to waste his days away in obscurity. Politics, Sarge would scream whenever people asked. Politics.

And politics were only getting worse. There was talk about ending the jaeger program, redirecting the funds. Some dumbasses wanted to build walls, hoping to keep the kaijus out.

Tucker didn’t really think the kaijus would ever really stop though.

At least not until the last of the Freelancer jaegers Memory Cliffs, had a malfunction and took out half of the dome, killing most of the administrative staff in the process.

The survivors were brought to Blood Gulch. All three of them.

Tex, as it turned out, had survived. But her partner had died in the drift, and she’d been comatose ever since. They weren’t sure if she was ever going to wake up.

Carolina and Washington had survived too, which would have been awesome news, except that whatever the fuck had happened to them during those last few days meant they couldn’t drift again.

And the Pan Pacific Defense Corps was due to vote on defunding the Jaeger Program at the end of the year.

Basically, everything was pretty damn fucked.

But... life went on. Just like it did after the first kaiju.

Tucker rolled out of bed, still tired. Ever since Sarge had let Wash and Carolina take over the training, he pretty much felt like he’d been pelted with rocks every time he woke up in the morning. Tucker was pretty sure that Wash and Carolina took way too much enjoyment out of making him and the other recruits sweat and suffer.

Wash and Carolina were going to put him through his paces all morning, working him until his calves ached and his arms felt like jelly. He had sparring this afternoon; Sarge kept finding all sorts of people for Tucker and Kai to try to be compatible with.

Before lunch though, Tucker made a quick stop at the infirmary.

Tex was exactly where she’d been the last time he’d visited her. Her hair was starting to get long, and all he could think about was how much she’d hate that. She liked to keep it short, buzzed on the back and sides, with only her bangs long. Now, it fell almost to her shoulders, a testament to how long it had been since she’d been able to hold a pair of clippers. He sat down next to her.

“Hey Tex,” he said. She didn’t move; pretty typical for a coma patient. But still, he made sure to leave a gap in his talking so that if she ever decided to stop lying around, she could respond. “Training again today. Your friend Carolina is seriously riding my ass, and not in the fun way, y’know? Too bad, she’s hot. Wash is hot too—is that like, a requirement of your program?” He carefully stayed in punching range, but she didn’t so much as twitch. “I hope you wake up soon,” he said. “We could—we could use you. A lot.”

Tucker shoved his hands in his pockets and left, hoping to avoid Grey. If he stuck around too long she’d talk to him about kaiju until his ears wanted to shrivel up and die. He was just here to help people, and maybe pick up some hot, interested people, not figure out why the kaiju from Seattle had three stomachs.

Lunch with Grif was followed by more training. After he made his way to the room, He picked up his staff and spun it around idly.

“Oh!”

Tucker looked up, and frowned. He recognized the guy by sight, if not by name. It was the janitor for the base. He was wearing a big blue jumpsuit, and was staring at the staff in Tucker’s hands like it was the greatest thing he’d ever seen. “I know how to use one of those! Can I play?”

Tucker glanced at the clock; there was fifteen minutes before training officially started. “Sure,” he said. He jerked his head towards the rack. “Help yourself!”

The janitor picked up one that was meant for his height; and held it delicately for a moment before becoming more sure, adjusting his grip. As he fell into position, facing Tucker, something seemed to shift in his body. Suddenly, Tucker realized that the guy was really tall, and pretty sturdily built.

“What’s your name?” he asked, falling into position too.

“I am Caboose! And you are Tucker,” Caboose grinned at him. There was something disarming about that smile. It threw Tucker off balance for a moment, not sure of what to make of it or the man wearing it, before Caboose suddenly started the drill.

And it was a drill, there was no mistaking it for anything else. Caboose had done this before; at least a thousand more times than Tucker had, that was for sure. Every blow of his staff had confidence and power behind it, shaking Tucker’s arms as he moved to block each strike.

But there was a rhythm to it that was almost hypnotic, one that Tucker found himself being drawn into. Strike, block, strike again, spin, turn, strike, block, jump. Swish, swish, thud. The world was slowing down, the rest of the room fading away, until all that was left was Caboose’s dopey grin, and the sound of their staffs.

Tucker had never felt anything like it before. He never wanted it to end. There was a rightness, seeping into his skin. He felt a connection with this guy; this random janitor who he’d been seeing around the base for as long as he could remember. Tucker didn’t have words for it, as he ducked low to avoid Caboose’s staff, adrenaline rushing through his veins. All he knew was that this, this was what had been missing, and he’d found it.

Finally, they stumbled apart, and Tucker stared at him, breathing heavily. “That was fucking badass,” he said. A wide grin was splitting his own face, mirroring the one on Caboose’s. They were both streaked in sweat, standing close to each other, leaning against their staffs. “Holy shit!”

A loud, single clap sounded from the other side of the room. Tucker spun around, and saw Carolina there. She was watching them, her bright green eyes glinting, and there was a knowing smile on her face. “Got to say,” she said, sounding satisfied with herself. “I was starting to think we’d run out of people on base before we found your drift partner.”

“Drift partner?” Tucker turned back to Caboose, incredulous. “Holy shit, did you—?”

But no one was there. The staff lay on the floor, abandoned, and Caboose was nowhere to be seen.

Caboose didn’t remember much about what happened after Church left.

Things were fuzzy, and Caboose just missed Church and so he stopped paying attention for a while. It was easier. Mister Sergeant said he could go to a hospital far away or he could stay but he’d have to make himself useful because those were the rules. He’d sounded sad as he said them, but he’d carefully held placed a hand on Caboose’s shoulder as he had explained things until he was sure Caboose had understood.

Caboose chose to stay. If he left, Church wouldn’t be able to find him when he came back. He couldn’t be a pilot anymore though, Doctor Grey explained to him when Caboose had gone to talk to her. Because Church had left, he couldn’t go in the drift right now, and Caboose had been hurt in the fight so she wasn’t sure it would be safe. Sheila was all broken too, but Donut said that he would make things better. Sometimes he let Caboose watch him fix her, spending long hours sitting on the ground by Donut while he worked.

So instead of being a pilot and fighting monsters with Church, Caboose cleaned things. He mopped floors and dusted rooms and changed light bulbs. Sometimes Grif helped, and that was nice, because Grif didn’t yell at Caboose or ask him what had happened with Church. Instead he napped or ate snacks, and sometimes he shared his food with Caboose if Caboose was having a really bad day.

Caboose didn’t mind the cleaning. Sometimes people were rude to him, but most people weren’t. And it was good to keep busy, until Church came back.

“How are you doing buddy?” Washington was in the room that Caboose was cleaning now, and that was nice. Caboose liked Washington.

“Hello Pilot Washington,” Caboose said. “I am doing good! I do not have a headache today!”

Washington smiled at him. “That’s great, Caboose. Do you have another appointment with Doctor Grey soon?”

Caboose shrugged. “She will come and find me if I do,” he said.

It was true. Doctor Grey was always worrying about him; his headaches and his shoulder and his scars and his brain. She made him get in the metal tube a lot so she could make sure that his brain was okay, but Caboose didn’t mind too much. His headaches were happening less now, and Doctor Grey said that was a good sign.

“He’s clear, Wash,” Carolina said from behind Caboose. “I just checked with her.” She smiled at Caboose, and Caboose smiled back, because Carolina was Church’s sister even though he was not supposed to know about that because it was a secret, and so he liked her a lot. She wasn’t as good as Church, but she looked like him, and that was nice. She missed Church too, and that was also nice. Not enough people missed Church for Church. Most of them missed Church the pilot, not Church the friend.

“Hello Pilot Carolina!” He said.

“Hi Caboose,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, you know how we do those exercises sometimes to make sure your shoulder is healing properly?”

“Yes! I lifted up Simmons and he screamed! Like Washington’s cat did when I gave her a bath!”

Carolina made her quiet happy noise. “Yes. Do you want to go to the sparring room today? I’ve got a new exercise I’d like you to try.”

“Okay!” Caboose said, nodding eagerly. Exercising with Carolina was always fun.

“Alright,” she said. “Meet me there after lunch, okay?”

It had been a while since he had been to the sparring room. Grif usually cleaned it instead of him, because it made Caboose sad sometimes because he had spent a lot of time here with Church. But today he didn’t feel sad, just... drifty. He missed Church, but in a different way.

There was someone there, holding one of the staffs. Tucker, that was his name, names were important. He was friends with Texas and visited her a lot. That was nice of him. Caboose couldn’t visit Texas much because he got sad and tried to wake her up and that was against the rules. But it was nice that Tucker visited. Tex would probably get lonely, otherwise.

“I know how to use one of those! Can I play?”

They played the hitting game, just like Caboose had used to play with Church. It was different, but it was still fun. Tucker was stronger than Church, and maybe faster, but obviously Church was still better at it, and Caboose was stronger than Tucker.

But it made Caboose feel good, getting to play the game, getting to go through all of the old tricks that he’d learned. And Tucker had some ones which Caboose hadn’t seen before, and he wanted to try them for himself. It was fun.

It wasn’t until Carolina said “drift partner” that Caboose realized what the hitting game meant. He’d forgotten that part; it had just been a fun thing to do for a long time, a thing that he had done with Church, long after they’d been assigned together. But they wanted him to be partners with Tucker and to drive Sheila with Tucker, and Caboose didn’t like that.

So he left, because he didn’t need a new drift partner, he already had one, and it was Church. Church would come back soon and then he wouldn’t need Stupid Tucker and his staff.

And Church would come back, no matter what the others said. Because he had to.

“Caboose,” Carolina had found him very quickly. He wondered if Grif had told her his favorite hiding spots. The one Caboose had picked this time was under one of the walkways with the metal grates over it. She carefully shifted the grate so that she could climb down and join him.

“Hello Carolina,” he said. His face was wet and his nose was running, so she gave him a tissue. He blew his nose and then dropped it on the floor. He’d pick it up later, once he was less sad.

“I’m sorry Caboose,” she said, sitting down next to him. “I didn’t realize you’d be upset.”

“I have a partner,” he said, crossing his arms. “And Church will come back soon.”

Carolina wouldn’t look at him. “No Caboose,” she said, very quietly. “He’s not. He’s lost in the drift, remember?”

“I heard him,” Caboose insisted. “He was still there.” None of them had ever believed him when he talked about that part. Doctor Grey had kept talking about hallucinations and Carolina had tried to talk to him about the rabbit, but Caboose knew better.

“Caboose...” She pressed a hand against his arm. “Church wouldn’t want you to not pilot forever. You love being a pilot, Caboose.”

“That is true,” Caboose admitted. He thought about the beautiful jaeger waiting in the docking bay, unused for a long time, and added loyally, “Especially Sheila.”

Carolina smiled at him. “Why don’t you try it? Maybe it will help.”

Caboose considered it carefully. If he said yes, maybe he’d get to spend time with Sheila, even though it probably wouldn’t work.

Because there was no way he could be drift-compatible with Tucker. He was already compatible with Church.

“Okay,” he said, almost feeling bad for Carolina because she really thought that this would work. “I will try.”

“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Tucker told Wash. “The guy fucking ran away when he realized we were drift-compatible.”

“Caboose hasn’t drifted with anyone in a while,” Wash said patiently. They were walking through the hallways of the base, heading towards the docking station. They were going to do a dry-run of the drifting, just to make sure that they were right and they were actually drift-compatible. “Carolina just had to talk him down a bit.”

“That’s not exactly encouraging,” Tucker said, scowling a little to himself.

“Tucker...”

“I’m not backing out! I’m just saying the guy clearly doesn’t like me!”

“Caboose likes everyone, Tucker. I’m sure you two will get along just great.” Wash placed a hand on his shoulder. “Look. I know it’s hard for you. But Caboose has had a hard time too. Just... be easy on him, okay?”

“Whatever,” Tucker said, shrugging off Wash’s hand and striding forward, into the docking bay.

“Heeeey Tucker!” Donut bounded up to greet them, beaming widely. “I hope you’re ready to see how well you can handle my pride and joy!”

“Don’t worry dude, I’ll take good care of it,” Tucker said automatically, waggling his eyebrows. Donut laughed.

Battle Scorpion was still kind of beat up looking, but she was the most beautiful thing Tucker had ever seen. Donut had done a fantastic job repairing her, and upgrading her while he was at it.

“Impressive,” Wash said. “You did a good job, Donut.”

Donut waved his hand. “Oh Wash! That’s so sweet, I know it’s not nearly as big as yours, but it’s how you use it that really counts!”

“Oh god, don’t encourage him,” Grif said, walking up to them. Simmons was rushing up behind him. Between the two of them they had a bunch of weird looking equipment that probably measured the brainwaves or something.

“Caboose is already inside,” Simmons said. “You should go too; I think he’s nervous.”

Tucker laughed. “Well that makes two of us.” He walked down the stairs to the entrance of Battle Scorpion. He was already wearing his suit, which made him look like a total badass. Blood Gulch didn’t have a great budget for custom suits like some of the other programs, but even the standard ones looked pretty great. Besides, Grif had told him he knew where to get some teal paint to spruce it up later.

Caboose was sitting on the entrance ramp. His helmet was off, and he was looking at the ground.

“Uh... hi?” Tucker said. He had no idea what to do. It wasn’t like he’d ever talked to the guy before. Things had been so hectic that Tucker had barely realized he’d existed.

Caboose looked up at him. The skin under his eyes was read and puffy, and Tucker suddenly felt kind of like shit. Wash clearly hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said that Caboose had a hard time with all this shit.

“Are you okay?”

“I am fine,” Caboose insisted. “I’m just... missing Church.”

The name was familiar. He frowned, trying to remember. “Uh... that was your old partner?” He hazarded a guess. Then something clicked into place. Oh god. If Caboose had been a pilot before, and had lost a partner...

He was Battle Scorpion’s old pilot. The one who had piloted the jaeger alone and killed a kajiu, even after his partner had been killed. Tucker hadn’t realized the guy was still on base; there were all sorts of fancy hospitals inland for pilots who had been injured or lost a partner. That kind of shit was damaging, he couldn’t believe that Sarge had let him stay.

And yet... the guy seemed to be doing okay, all things considered.

“Yes,” Caboose said. “He was my best friend.” He said that so simply, so cleanly. Like, there was no other words needed, like those words wrapped up every single thing about this guy. He was Caboose’s best friend.

Tucker wondered what kind of person he was, to have earned that title, that adoration.

“I’m... sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It is okay,” Caboose said. “It’s not your fault that he is gone.”

“Right. Good. Okay,” Tucker said, having no idea where to go with this. This guy was about to be in his head in a moment, and he had no fucking clue about him. “Do you... want to go inside?”

Caboose looked up, and over his shoulder. “That would be a good idea,” he said. “I have missed her.”

Tucker offered Caboose a hand, and Caboose pulled himself up. Tucker let out a sharp exhale—Caboose was heavier than he looked—and then the two of them walked into their jaeger, side by side.

Donut had fixed Sheila up until she was all pretty. The inside was familiar, and Caboose got into his old place, while Tucker got into Church’s old place. Caboose tried not to be mad at him for that.

“Alright,” Simmons’ voice said over the loudspeaker. He sounded very nervous. It had been a long time since he had to do this. Caboose frowned, trying to count the days in his head, but so many of those days, especially at the start, were blurred together. “Let’s... commencing neural drift!”

Tucker turned to him, and smiled. He had a nice smile. “Ready?”

“Yes!” Caboose said, and he meant it. Even if Church wasn’t here, he had always liked drifting. It was nice.

Caboose felt it begin. It was nice and slow as his awareness seeped into Tucker’s. The world began to shift as his mind settled, the familiar feeling sinking into his bones until he was comfortable and happy and—

<“Who the hell is this, what the fuck!”>

“Church?”

<“... you can hear me? Fuck Caboose, no, don’t come after me—”>

“Caboose? Caboose!”

Caboose reached out without thinking, trying to grab at Church, because he was right there, he had to be. There was the loud noise of crashing metal, as Sheila moved with him.

“Tucker, he’s chasing the rabbit!”

“Caboose!”

Caboose suddenly felt the drift go away. And Church was gone too.

“I... I am fine,” he said. He was lying.

Church was in the drift, Church was in the drift.

If Caboose could go back into the drift, he could get Church back, and then everything would be okay again.

After Caboose had nearly trashed the docking bay, they were told to take a break. They needed to talk things over, to figure out if it was still a good idea for them to go out.

Caboose had been very quiet, the whole time. He’d stuck near Tucker, which was... a good sign, right? That he wanted to be near him?

That night, Tucker had gone to sleep early, trying to figure out what was going to happen next.

He woke up, only a few hours later, to see Caboose at the foot of his bed.

“Tucker!”

“Ca—Caboose? What the fuck!” Tucker struggled to sit up, rubbing at his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I am a janitor! I have all the keys,” Caboose said patiently. “Quick! We need to go to Sheila!”

“What is it?” Tucker suddenly felt more awake. “Is it a kaiju?”

“No,” Caboose shook his head. “We need to go! Church is in the drift, and we need to get him out!”

“What?” Tucker felt dumbfounded, trying to put those words together in a way that made sense. “Your old partner? What’s he got to do with any of this?”

“Church was hurt, when we last drifted,” Caboose said. Each word was said very carefully. He’d told people about this before, Tucker realized. He’d rehearsed this, over and over again, until the story came perfectly and clearly. “He disappeared. But he’s not dead. I heard him! He talked to me. And then he talked to me again! Just now, when we were drifting! And if we go back into the drift, we can get him back!” He dumped Tucker’s armor onto his bed. Sometime during the night, Caboose had found teal paint, and decorated his armor so that it matched his. Or had Grif done that? Tucker had no idea.

“Why do you need me?”

Caboose gave him a look that said a thousand words.

Tucker sighed. “Alright, fine.” They were going to get in trouble for this. They were going to get into so much trouble.

But...

Caboose had this wide-eyed, desperate look. He needed this, Tucker realized. And... it wasn’t like anyone was going to get hurt. They weren’t going to take the jaeger anywhere, just... drift for a bit.

He got out of bed, and got changed into his armor, only barely remembering to kick Caboose out of his room to do so.

He followed Caboose through the base to the Battle Scorpion. This went against everything he knew, everything he’d been taught. He finally had a chance to be a pilot, finally had found someone he could drift with, and the fucking guy didn’t even want to drift with him. He just wanted his help getting his other partner back.

He wanted to be bitter, but he’d read the reports. He knew how much damage it could do to someone, to lose a drift partner, especially while someone was drifting.

Maybe Caboose just needed... closure, or something. So he could stop chasing the rabbit, and learn to be Tucker’s partner.

Caboose was talking the whole time, softly when they were passing through the barracks, and more loudly as they entered the other part of the base. He talked about how he knew that they could find his friend, about how important it was that they save him and get him back, and about how they would all be best friends forever when that happened.

“Look!” Caboose finally said, as they got to the Battle Scorpion. “Sheila!”

“It’s the Battle Scorpion,” Tucker grumbled. “What kind of a name is Sheila?”

Caboose didn’t even pause to listen, charging right into the heart of their jaeger to get things ready.

Tucker felt his heart racing in his chest as he got back into position for the second time in twenty-four hours.

“Let's just hurry and find your dumb friend in th—”

“His name is Church!” Caboose interrupted, his eyes wide and eager. God, Tucker wanted to hate him for this.

“Whatever—in the drift and then get out before they catch us.” Sarge was going to kill them for this. Especially Tucker.

There weren’t enough words for Tucker to describe the drift. People had tried before him; one of the people in one of the other programs had been a bit of a poet and had written some lines about the way that souls united, the way hearts raced until the rhythms stopped being separate things and became one. The way that two pilots became one jaeger.

None of them really did it justice, not in Tucker’s limited experience at least.

And as they entered the drift fully, Tucker heard Caboose cry out.

“Church!”

There was something warm and sticky on Caboose’s face but he didn’t care, didn’t notice. The world was fuzzy around the edges, but it didn’t matter, because Church was there.

He looked bad. Like, really bad. He was smeared in red and was slumped where he was standing. Caboose knew what happened next; the jaeger ripped open and there was screaming and everything was bad. He reached out towards Church, trying to reach him.

Suddenly, Church looked up. He looked tired. He looked very, very tired. But his eyes were looking right at Caboose. “Hey buddy.”

“Church, are you oka—” Caboose was still trying to reach him. But Church wasn’t moving to reach back.

“Shut up,” Church said, and he sounded tired too, “you're drifting.”

Caboose knew that. Of course they were drifting. They were in the jaeger together, that was how this worked.

“What the fu—” Tucker said. But Tucker couldn’t be there. Because Caboose had not met Tucker yet. Because Tucker only came to Blood Gulch Base after Church had—

Tucker could not be here.

“You’re in the memory of how I died,” Church said,and he was calm. He wasn’t yelling. That was wrong. Church always yelled. “Calm down and wake up.”

“Th—the monster, Church I—”

“Holy shit, he was right,” Tucker said, sounding awed. But Tucker shouldn’t be there. Because he didn’t know Tucker. Tucker hadn’t come to Blood Gulch yet. “You're sentient. Nothing in the drift is supposed to be sentie—”

“Hey!” Oh! Church was yelling again. Maybe things were going to be okay after all. “You his new partner? He needs to know he’s drifting.”

The monster was coming, and then Church would be gone again, and everything would be very sad and lonely and nothing would be okay.

“Church, we can still make it,” Caboose said. Something dripped into his eye. “I'll fight it for both of us. I'll get us back...” Back home, back to where they’d be safe and okay and everyone would be so happy to see them.

Suddenly everything was bright and hurting and sharp. Just like it had been last time, after Church had been ripped out of the jaeger. He couldn’t feel Church. He was alone. He was piloting the jaeger alone and everyone said he wasn’t supposed to do that, that this would hurt him, but he had to, he had to hold on, because the monster was still out there, Church was still out there…

Someone grabbed him, and Caboose yelled, his concentration flagging. “Caboose! Look at me! This is a memory!”

He looked down, and stared. Someone was there, in the jaeger, wearing normal people clothes instead of armor, and he was staring up at Caboose.

“Tucker...?” Yes that was it. It was stupid Tucker. He was new. He had...

“Yeah, and you're the shitty janitor I'm drift-compatible with!”

Janitor? Caboose wasn’t a…

He remembered now.

Holding a mop and staring at the floor, head aching and arm aching like they always did. Visiting Tex in the hospital, telling her stories until he got frustrated at her not responding and tried to shake her awake, and then the doctors told him he had to go.

Meeting Tucker. Sparring Tucker. Drifting with Tucker.

Tucker was smiling at him, but Tucker’s mouth kept moving, the corners of it trembling, as if he was scared.

“Remember? You met me AFTER all of this. Come on you asshole.”

Caboose did remember. He remembered begging Tucker, pleading with Tucker, to do this. To come here.

“Tucker...I brought you...to find...” Suddenly, the world changed. The warm and sticky stuff vanished from his face. Blood. It had been blood. He had been covered with blood, just like he had been when... “—Church,” Caboose finished. He felt tired and sad.

The world was white. Stark and white and empty. Caboose felt very small, just standing there with Tucker. Small, and tired, and lonely, even though Tucker was right there.

A hand suddenly came down on Caboose’s shoulder, and he looked.

“You idiot,” Church said heavily. “I told you not to come looking for me.”

“Church!” Caboose stumbled forward and wrapped the guy up in his arms, lifting him up off the ground. “You’re alive!”

Church closed his eyes, and Tucker saw the wince. “No buddy. I’m not.”

Caboose put him down carefully, frowning. “But you are here.”

“I’m stuck, Caboose,” Church said. “My body’s gone. I’m here. In the drift.”

“Who says you even need a body?” Tucker blurted out. Holy shit, he had not meant to speak up. But here he was, crossing his arms, staring at the guy.

He hadn’t thought Caboose had been right. Things in the drift weren’t real, everybody knew that. They were memories and things like that, they certainly weren’t sentient former jaeger pilots with bright green eyes and a scowl.

“Of course I need a body,” Church scoffed.

“Why? I mean, look at ghosts!” Tucker said. He was liking this idea more and more; it felt right, somehow, like he was onto something. Like it had felt the first time he had entered the drift with Caboose. It was like something had just slotted into place, and now he just needed to follow this through.

“Ghosts are dead!” Church sounded very offended.

“Look dude, you’re the one saying you’re dead and without a body, you’re already halfway there!” Tucker threw out his arms. “We’ve just got to... get you out of the drift I guess.”

“And how the fuck am I supposed to do that?”

“Well...” Tucker floundered, trying to think of an answer. “Ghosts in movies can possess people, right? So possess me or Caboose, and when we leave the drift, maybe you’ll come with us!”

“You can’t possess people, Tucker,” Caboose said solemnly. “That’s not very nice.”

“It’s worth a shot, though!” Tucker said. “Then Caboose can have his best friend back, and stop talking about how much he misses you all the time!”

Church looked at Caboose a very long time. Caboose smiled at him widely.

“... fine,” he said. “We’ll give it a shot.”

He slowly faded out of sight, moving forward towards Caboose. Caboose spasmed suddenly, and Tucker reached out without thinking.

“Caboose!”

The white room faded away, and suddenly Tucker inhaled sharply as they broke out of the drift.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Simmons’ voice screeched from the radio. “Were you drifting? My readings are everywhere, why were you two even in a jaeger—?”

Tucker staggered forward. He felt like he’d just ran a marathon. Every inch of him was soaked in sweat, and his breathing was harsh and short. “Caboose?” He said, feeling sluggish and slow. Leaving the drift hadn’t been like this last time, but now everything hurts.

“He’s fine.”

Tucker fell to the ground, staring, as a blue, floating, transparent version of the guy he’d just been talking to in the drift stood in front of him.

“Church!” Caboose yelled happily, leaping forward as if to hug him. But, apparently Church didn’t have, y’know, substance or a body, and so instead he fell on top of Tucker.

“Caboose!” Tucker protested, groaning.

“What the hell—Grif did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Grif sounded very tired. Perhaps he had been napping before Simmons had spoken to him. Grif napped a lot, and it was very late at night.

“You two get out here right now!” Sarge ordered through the loudspeaker. “I want you down here on the double! No, triple! Quintuple!”

“Sir, you skipped quadruple—”

The loudspeaker went dead.

Tucker pushed Caboose off him and got to his feet. He helped Caboose up, then turned to look at Church. “So,” he said conversationally. “Ready to meet everyone again?”

“Yeah, sure, why not?” Church said, but he was already heading for the exit. “Not like I have anything better to do.”

Everybody was very happy to see Church again, once they were done yelling about it, and once Grif had made Simmons wake up again, and once Caboose had explained what had happened, and once Mister Sergeant had made Tucker explain as well, just in case.

Donut had said that Church being alive again was like a birthday, and so they needed to have a birthday party for him. Donut was very good at parties; there was a banner and cake and even a tiny hat, which Caboose had decided to put on Sheila instead of on himself.

Church was talking with Carolina a lot, but Caboose knew sisters are important, so he did not mind too much. Caboose wondered if anyone had told Church about Tex yet. Church would not be happy about Tex being asleep still. But maybe Tex would wake up soon, now that Church was back. It could be like the movie! Church would kiss her and she would wake up again, and everything would be fine!

Happy with this train of thought, Caboose decided that he should go get more of the punch that Doc was serving.

Tucker was waiting for him at the table, looking very tired. Caboose was kind of tired too, but he did not care, because Church was back. But, Caboose guessed that Tucker didn’t know Church, so it was okay that he was not quite as excited as Caboose was, even though Church coming back was the best thing ever.

“Hey Caboose,” Tucker said.

“Tucker!” Caboose said. “Church is back!”

“Yeah,” he made a face. “Sorry I didn’t believe you.”

“It is okay,” Caboose said. “You don’t really understand the drift. But I will teach you!”

Tucker stared at him. “You still want to drift with me?” He paused. “You still want to pilot Sheila with me?”

Caboose scoffed. “Well duh, Tucker,” he said. “Doctor Grey says Church can’t drift because he doesn’t have a brain, and then Church said no that was me, and she said it wasn't very nice, but I should be able to drift with you. And Church might be able to come with us!”

Tucker started grinning. It started out as a small smile, but it grew bigger and bigger. “That’s great, Caboose,” he said. “We’re going to kick ass together.”

“Yes!” Caboose agreed. “We will, and Grif and Simmons will help us once they get married and get a jaeger!”

“Wait, what?” Simmons yelped. He’d been standing very close to them, and so it was very loud. But Caboose didn’t mind loudness right now; his head didn’t hurt at all.

“He’s saying we’re drift-compatible, dumbass,” Grif said, mouth full of cake.

“What? We’re what?”

Caboose wondered if Simmons hadn’t known that he was drift-compatible with Grif. It was obvious, wasn’t it? They moved like each other, just like he and Church had used to, before Church had become smaller and learned to levitate.

“Hmmm,” Mister Sergeant said, stroking his chin. “I think you might be onto something there, Caboose!”

“Of course I am,” Caboose said patiently. “It is the ground. It’s nice!” He tapped the ground with his foot to prove his point, smiling.

“Sorry to interrupt the celebrations,” a clear, loud voice said, breaking through everything else. They all turned around to stare at the woman, who was standing in the doorway. “I’m sorry to barge in on this, but we’re rather short on time.”

“Who are you then?” Sarge demanded, taking a step forward. Caboose tried to hide Church behind Tucker, but it was hard when he couldn’t touch Church. They would need to work on this.

She gave him a smile. It wasn’t a polite smile, it was the smile that Carolina got when she won a fight, or when she was still fighting and she having fun.

“My name is Vanessa Kimball, and I want to talk to you about saving the world.”

#RvB Reverse Big Bang #Michael J Caboose #Lavernius Tucker #Leonard Church #Steph Writes #Pacific Rim AU #captainkonut

128 notes · View notes