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adobe-outdesign · 3 years ago

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If you haven't already covered them, I'd like to know your opinion on the Galar fossils.

I, somewhat appropriately, have very mixed feelings on these guys.

Because on the one hand, the idea of fusing fossils together incorrectly is a great idea. Mostly because it does happen from time to time, mostly back in the 1800s or earlier. Check out this totally not fake unicorn from 1600s Germany:

It's also just a fun concept, and gives these Pokemon a unique hook compared to other, more standard fossils.

BUT ON THE OTHER HAND, these also just don't really do it for me. I think, like a lot of gen 8 mons, it's a case of having a great idea but a somewhat questionable execution. I feel bad, because I want to like them, but like, there’s A Lot going on here.

First, the elephant in the room: These things legit make me uncomfortable because they seem like they’re in A Lot of Pain, All the Time. They’re like the imbred pugs of the Pokemon world, but worse. It’s weird, too, because it goes against most of the morals Pokemon has set up previously. The creators of genetically-altered Pokemon like Mewtwo and Type: Null are always the villains, and get their asses beat for doing it. But here? Not only is Cara not arrested (as she should be), but you have to help make these things. Like, what? So preforming questionable genetic experiments is a-okay as long as you’re doing it?

The thing is that I wouldn’t even care that much if it was established that they were enjoying their new forms (IE maybe Dracovish is thrilled to be able to run around on land now), but instead the dex makes it pretty clear they’re barely functional. Granted, the dex entries also seem to be written by Cara and don’t make any sense (claiming Dracovish can’t breathe out of water even though it very clearly can, along with acting like they just Looked Like This), but the series hasn’t done much to disprove the idea or anything, and the animations seem to reinforce it. Which once again, makes me feel way too sorry for these guys to want to use them in any capacity.

“But Adobe!” you might be saying, “I thought you liked fucked-up bastard Pokemon!” Which is true. But even with parasitic Pokemon like Paras, Runerigus, G. Slowking, ect., they’re naturally occurring. The Pokemon exist regardless of whether or not you do anything, so might as well catch them and give them a good life. Plus the hosts seem to be unaware while the parasites are doing great, so they’re not suffering or anything. And with Pokemon like Type: Null, Genesect, or Mewtwo, they’re just emo, not suffering, which is a big difference. Like, maybe I’m just being overly sensitive, but I’ve seen other people have this issue as well so I don’t think it’s just me.

I feel like there were a few ways to fix this. In addition to dex entries that put a more positive spin on things, it would’ve made a great post-game if Cara got replaced with a competent scientist who could help restore the fossiles properly. Or heck, even better, make it so you can mix-and-match the fossils in more ways and any way you like, including the correct way. You can make your abomination if you’re into that, but you’d have the option to make a normal, healthy Pokemon. And that would play into the theme even more, so it’s a win-win all around.

I also feel like that would’ve made more sense from a worldbuilding standpoint, as right now these guys don’t make much sense in-universe. There’s no scientists in Galar that know how to revive a fossil correctly, and each combo always comes out the same? Why are these so common place (relatively speaking) if it’s just one asshole making them? Whereas if you had the option to make them correctly from the get-go, that would fix all of those problems and overall work better in-universe.

Getting into the actual designs, another thing I don’t like about these guys is how exaggerated they are. Part of me says it’s a good thing, as it wouldn’t work as well if the contrast wasn’t so obvious, but I think Dracozolt here is too extreme. I think part of it is that, biologically speaking, these things cannot function as-is; like, their internal organs don’t line up. Pokemon may be fantasy creatures, but they generally obey the basic laws of biology unless they’re not biological in nature at all. I think I remember some interviews with the devs saying they threw out designs that didn’t make sense from a functional standpoint, which I think is a standard that really needed to be upheld here.

Aside from that, the colors on Dracozolt are also a hot mess. They’re all massively over-saturated, and none of them actually go together that well, not to mention that there’s just entirely too many of them. I know they’re supposed to be mis-matched, but were the red accents on the dino half needed, instead of just using a darker green? Or heck, make the dino parts a neutral brown. Just something that feels less like it’s assaulting my eyes.

This part is less important, but I really hate that weird slab of meat in the middle. Why does it have no organs, why the swirls (which are adding another color to an already busy pallet). I know Pokemon obviously isn’t going to show anatomically-accurate organs, but then why show them at all? Not to mention that it feels weird to have it so cleanly bisected like that anyway.

On the plus side, the little raptor half is cute, and could’ve made for a good design in and of itself.

Strictly speaking Dracovish is probably the most fucked up of these, but for some reason it’s also one of the better ones. I think it’s just because the dex entries are easier to dismiss as bullshit (given that it clearly isn’t suffocating) and there’s an interesting kind of logic to the bones here. With Dracozolt, those bones are all different sizes, but here they just messed up the ends of the vertebrae, which if I recall one racist scientist actually did once by accident. If I don’t think about what I’m seeing too hard, I can kind of buy that this guy makes anatomical sense.

Also, I really like the dunkleosteus part of this; it has a nice pallet, the eyes are great, and the markings are interesting. It’s just a shame it’s bogged down by the way-too-busy body. Once again, a brown would’ve worked better here, and did you even need all those red accents everywhere? The sliced meat look also could’ve been avoided here by making it solid green and round, which would make more sense anyway (given that it shouldn’t just have exposed meat everywhere).

Arctozolt has the same problems as Dracozolt, though slightly better as it doesn’t have as much raw meat (I like how the snow bridges the gap), and the colors are more unified. However, the way the limbs and head work relatively to the body doesn’t sit right with me. I think the torso just needed to be longer, and then thin out at least a little as it got towards the head?

Arctovish gets points for almost making sense until you realize its head is upside-down. I mostly just appreciate that this thing looks at least somewhat organic and functional despite its deformities, and the body and head almost look like they match. I almost would’ve liked to see more contrast here, maybe the dunk head could’ve been plain grey, but overall it’s probably the best of the bunch.

So in short, points for creativity! Other than that though, this ain’t it chief.

Side note, in terms of fixing these guys after release, one idea I’ve heard tossed around that I really like is to add evolutions to them wherein the two halves kind of adapt to each other. They could still retain some incorrectly proportioned elements, but maybe the palettes could be unified and they’d be more thoroughly fused (so Dracozolt would have powerful, overly-big hind legs, and the spines and stripes running all the way up the body or something?) If you design them correctly you could still keep the charm of these guys, but make it much more ethical to have them seeing as you’d have the ability to help them get better. At the very least, it would make me happy!

#this is entirely too long and rambly but I hope you enjoy anyway #dracozolt #dracovish #arctozolt #arctovish #pokemon #pokemon reviews

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sfb123 · 3 years ago

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The Confrontation - A Final Goodbye One Shot

Book: The Royal Romance, Book 2

Pairing: Liam x Riley

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Description: In a slight canon divergence from book 2, Riley reaches her breaking point with the engagement tour and decides to restart her life when the court gets to NYC. Can the rest of the group clear her name, and convince her to come back before it’s too late?

The Final Goodbye Masterlist

Rating: PG-13 (Discussion of adult situations and some adult language)

Word Count: 924

A/N: I know, a one shot of a mini-series, I’m a psycho. Sorry guys. After last week’s chapter, I had a lot of people saying they wanted to see Liam confront Madeleine about making Riley pick up the wedding ring, so I decided to write it. It’s a quick one, and it takes place during the events of chapter 2, after Madeleine and Liam get into the elevator.

All the love and thank yous to my fandom soulmate, @jessiembruno for reading this and helping me get Liam just the right amount of angry.

Tags: Listed below. If you’d like to be added or removed, just let me know!

Liam and Madeleine walked down the hall arm in arm. As they reached the bay of elevators, one of the doors opened to reveal Maxwell. He paused when he exited, meeting Liam’s eyes as they exchanged sad looks. Maxwell continued on his way, and Liam and Madeleine entered the newly vacant elevator car. As soon as the doors closed, Liam distanced himself from Madeleine and selected the button to take them to the lobby.

“You know Liam, if you plan to continue this arrangement after the wedding, we are really going to need to come up with some ground rules, possibly a schedule.” Madeleine snickered breaking the silence. Liam’s jaw immediately tensed.

His body moved before his brain could process what was happening, his hand went back to the buttons on the wall, slamming his finger on the bright red button labeled ‘STOP’. His hand quickly formed into a fist and fell to his side as he turned to face Madeleine. “Enough.”

The sound of his booming voice in the small space startled Madeleine, who had been keeping her focus forward. She tried to keep her composure, smoothing her hands over the front of her dress before turning to address the king. “Liam, we’re going to be la...”

“Did you send Riley to pick up your wedding band yesterday?” Liam cut her off. He knew the answer, he just needed to hear her admit it.

“Yes, if she is going to remain at court, she needs to earn her keep, people need to see her value. She can’t just be your on-call plaything.”

“Her value is exponentially more than yours, and everyone in this damn court sees it.”

“If they see it, Liam, then why isn’t she the one on your arm, wearing your ring?” She paused, pretending to think of an answer she already had prepared. “Oh, that��s right, because her value plummeted the second those pictures were released.” She smirked at him, waiting for his response.

“Her value?” He scoffed. “Have you forgotten that this is your second engagement? Your second attempt at being queen? You can’t honestly believe that nobody is talking about how you were jilted by one crown prince and moved on to the other.”

“I’ve been preparing my whole life to become the queen. I will be remembered for the work I do to serve my country, not how many times I was engaged. Riley will always be known as common trash that tried to sleep her way through court to make something of herself.”

He opened his mouth, about to respond, but he stopped himself. Yes, they were close to clearing her name, which would make Madeleine’s argument null and void. But he couldn’t use that as a defense. He had to continue to keep the investigation to himself, everyone had worked too hard to start showing his hand now.

Madeleine continued to stare at him with an arched eyebrow, waiting for his response. He took a deep breath, calming himself before he said something he would regret. “Madeleine, a good ruler does not let personal feelings and vendettas get in the way of their decisions. They are unbiased and fair to everyone. As someone who openly brags about preparing their whole life to be queen, I would think you’d understand this concept.”

She flinched slightly at the passive aggressive dig, hoping he didn’t notice. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he got to her. “And a good member of the court does not let their personal feelings get in the way of the orders given to them by those above their station.” She folded her arms across her chest and stood a bit taller to show Liam he could not intimidate her. “Don’t forget, queen or not, I will always be above her. She will always have to yield to me.” Madeleine brushed past Liam, moving to the panel on the wall and restarting the carts decent to the lobby. She returned to her original spot and faced forward, Liam stood in silence, fuming at her words.

When the doors opened, Madeleine stepped forward to exit, but Liam grabbed her arm, pulling her close. When she felt his hand on her, she looked back, shocked by the unmistakable look of rage on the king’s face. He leaned in close to her, speaking soft enough for only her to hear, anger clear in his tone. “And don’t you forget that I am the king by blood, so I will always be above you, and you will always have to yield to me. Make no mistake I could end this, end you at any time. Come for Riley again, and I will take it as a personal attack. A good ruler may not let personal feelings and vendettas get in the way of their decisions, but a man in love has no control over his actions when he is defending the woman that holds his heart. Understood?” Madeleine recoiled at the intensity of Liam’s stare, unable to maintain eye contact. Liam spoke his next words very slowly and deliberately, “Do I make myself clear, Countess?”

Madeleine nodded slowly, still not making eye contact with him. Liam was not satisfied with her response. “Is that how a subject addresses their king?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

Liam nodded, accepting his response. He took a deep breath and scrubbed his hand across his face. As his arm lowered to his side, his stoic expression returned as if nothing had happened. He offered Madeleine his arm. “Shall we, darling.”

Permatag:

@anjanettexcordonia @athena-penrose @chemist-ana @choicesficwriterscreations @choiceskatie @cordonia-gothqueen @cordoniaqueensworld @emkay512 @gabesmommie1130 @gkittylove99 @hopelessromanticmonie @iaminlovewithtrr @jessiembruno @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @kingliam2019 @lucy-268 @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @mile9213 @mom2000aggie @pixie88 @queenrileyrose @secretaryunpaid @sweatyrysconnoisseur @tessa-liam @theroyalheirshadowhunter @twinkleallnight @txemrn

One Shots:

@bebepac @darley1101

The Final Goodbye:

@ao719 @burnsoslow @busywoman @itsjustwinter @ladyangel70 @mainstreetreader @shanzay44

Liam x Riley:

@jared2612

Liam:

@amandablink

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creepy-spooghetti · 4 years ago

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The “Ark” Theory

OKAY, so there are a lot of theories out there about Marble Hornets, and I likely haven’t even seen half of them before. But one of the main questions around it is, what exactly is the Ark? There have been speculations that the Ark is Alex, that it’s the “Own Zone” as Joseph called it, or even that it’s a certain mental state that you have to put yourself in.

But what if it’s none of those? What if the Ark isn’t even physical at all? Here’s a theory; there have been many instances when totheark talked about the Ark, one of their more known quotes is, “He will lead me to you. Lead me to death. Lead me to the Ark.”

And so I was thinking, when you die you can either go to heaven or to hell, and if they were talking about one of these places you could only get to them if you did, indeed, die. Now we know that totheark is searching for something, and this “something” is the Ark. It’s unsure who exactly they’re talking to several times; it could be Jay, it could be Alex, it could even be Tim. But maybe it’s none of them. Maybe they’re trying to reach out to someone else for answers, maybe they’re looking for guidance from someone that they’re unable to find.

Here’s where we get into the theory.

What if the “Ark” in question is Jesus? Or rather, salvation? Considering the fact that the Operator is obviously an otherworldly, sinister being, it takes people who die to the Own Zone, which is the other world. Its other world. Remember when Tim got teleported there during Entry #65 and he saw the man Alex had killed with the rock? All the surroundings were dark. You couldn’t see past the corpse.

What does the KJV Bible say about hell? “And the angels which kept not their first estate, but left their own habitation, he hath reserved in everlasting chains under darkness unto the judgment of the great day.” -Jude 6. Hell is a dark place. But at the same time, it’s filled with flame.

“And whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire.” -Revelation 20:50. What do we know about Tim? He smokes. We also know that his old hospital was burned down. Most don’t know that Tim himself was the reason it burned down, though. That quick shot of the melting grill, along with the fire as Tim gets teleported back to his room in Entry #83? The fire started in his room.

So maybe that’s why the Operator latched on so tightly to Tim before it found Alex. It was attracted to fire. We know that the devil is associated with fire, not because he’s from hell but because he’s going to be thrown into hell.

So in this case, let’s say that the Operator represents Satan, the other dimension represents hell, and Jesus is the Ark. Then let’s say that, in terms of Noah’s Ark, that “hell” is the flood. It’s the place nobody wants to be taken to, the place of eternal darkness, flame, and suffering. And totheark doesn’t want to be caught in the flood.

So then what would the Operator be? I thought about this a bit and came to the conclusion that it’s sin. Or rather, the influence of sin. It affects everybody it manages to get its hands on, and Alex is a great example. Then Alex would be the people, the sinners that needed to be wiped off the face of the earth. The only way to get away from the flood would be to find the Ark, which in this case, would be Jesus.

So the Own Zone is the flood, the Operator is sin, Alex is the sinners, and Jesus is the Ark. The only way to escape the flood, ultimate death, would be to find the Ark. But totheark says “lead me to death”. So maybe they want to die, but they don’t want to be taken to hell, which we’ve seen is the Operator’s dimension that it takes victims to.

It took the man that Alex killed, we can assume it took Jay, and it took Alex. I would say it took Jessica, but since she’s alive and well maybe it only brought her out of danger because she is its new puppet, its ‘people’ that it manipulates. She’s the new sinner.

In the end, maybe totheark wanted one thing besides getting revenge on Alex, and maybe that one thing was salvation. They wanted safety, they wanted to be sure they would be okay in the end. They wanted the Ark.

Did they get it? Well, we don’t know what happened to Seth, but after Hoody died and was revealed to be Brian, did the Operator take him? No. Even days after being dead, his corpse was still there. We know for a fact that whoever dies due to Alex, or anyone else that had been affected by the Operator, is taken almost immediately after death. That didn’t happen for Brian.

I like to think that he did get what he was looking for in the end. Remember totheark’s video “Null”? It was their last upload, and in it, the person behind the camera, who we now know was Brian, seemed almost... peaceful. There was a sad kind of feeling to the video, but the way he speaks in it sounds like he has peace of mind. Like he knows he has nothing to fear, because maybe he doesn’t anymore. It’s clear that he knew it would be his last upload, that he knew he would have a showdown with Tim.

He didn’t care if he died in the end or not, why? Because he knew he would be okay, whether he lived or whether he died. He had nothing to be afraid of anymore. He found Jesus, he found the Ark, and he boarded it. And he knew he was on his way to heaven, away from the flood. Away from the clutches of the Operator.

As for Tim? Some speculate that he killed Jessica and then himself, as before Alex died he said that it wasn’t over. He would have to keep killing the infected, and then himself. That it was the only way to stop the ‘spread’.

Some think that he continued being controlled by the Operator, and that would be a reasonable thing to believe because, as you may remember, in the last entry Tim suffered a major coughing fit, with Jessica bending down to ask if he was okay. The video then cuts to Tim driving in a car, seemingly composed a bit.

The camera stays on him for while before he grabs his pill bottle, continues to stare ahead, and looks moments away from bursting into tears before he swirls the camera around so us, the viewers, are facing the direction that the car is being driven. The screen then goes black and the letters displayed on the screen is but three simple words; “Everything is fine.”

IS everything really fine, Tim? No. No, it is not. At least, that’s what I got from it. Tim’s known to lie, and it wouldn’t be a surprise that his last words to viewers would be a reassuring sentence to try and convince him that he’s okay. But I don’t think he’s okay.

At best, I think he continued to live a life with nightmares, hallucinations, and random blackouts that may or may not lead to him having a broken leg. At worst, he found a nice, quiet place to overdose because he didn’t want to suffer anymore. Except he will suffer. He will suffer for eternity.

But yes, this is my theory behind the meaning of the “Ark” and the basis for the series. Has this been done before? Idk, I’ve never seen it before. I can promise you that I’m not stealing someone else’s theory, at least not on purpose. I feel like this makes a lot of sense, and it gives totheark a good motivation as to what they’re after and why they’re after it.

It’s a nice thought that at least somebody finally got what they were after, that they finally got peace after everything that happened to them. I have no proof that Jay did or did not find the Ark. I suppose that his corpse was still physical, I mean, it was still in the real world. But it had clearly been teleported, and he was sitting on a bunch of pages that Alex had drawn.

They were nowhere near Tim’s house at the college, which is where he died at. And when Tim finally goes back to his house, Jay isn’t there, the pages aren’t there, “Your fault” isn’t written on the mirror a dozen times. So we can assume that really, he wasn’t in the real world. He was in another dimension, likely the Own Zone. We’ve seen Tim go into that place before, but I don’t recall Jay ever going. So Tim can be teleported into that dimension while he’s still alive, and Brian is also there too. But only for a moment. This is also before he died.

So I don’t know. I think Jay was taken to the Operator’s world, like Alex and the poor rock victim. What do you think?

Even if this theory is utter nonsense it was fun writing. It’s an interesting concept and I definitely enjoyed it. I’ve been literally breathing Marble Hornets for the past few weeks so I couldn’t stop a theory from popping into my mind and then make me think, ‘hey, what if?’

Actually, I’ve been thinking about making a separate blog solely dedicated to Marble Hornets. Should I? I probably will - after all, this blog I have right now is more about Creepypasta rather than Marble Hornets. And I’m a huge Marble Hornets fan so I want something dedicated to it. Also, it’ll give me the opportunity to talk about my unending love for Brian without seeming sudden and obsessed xD

So... yeah. That’s me done. Happy Valentine’s day, btw! I am very lonely, as I assume a lot of you are, so it’s the perfect excuse to write CP fluff and act as if I won’t end up alone with thirty cats. I already have four of ‘em, guess I’m well on my way. That isn’t a bad thing though. Cats are awesome. Prove me wrong.

So yes, I will be sure to get some Valentine’s day content out for you beautiful people tomorrow unless I find myself totally unmotivated. Fingers crossed, right?

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novantinuum · 4 years ago

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Tides of Renewal (SU one-shot)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (Mild TW for vague allusions to past suicidal thoughts.)

Words: 2500~

Summary: Now twenty years old and living on the other side of the country, Steven spends his morning relaxing on the beach, musing about his past, and having a chat with his dad.

Hi folks! This is actually my two-months-late “Happy Birthday, Steven” fic, ahah- amusingly, posted two months late to the day. I’m quite happy with how this short turned out.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

Tides of Renewal

Steven rises alongside the sun, but not by choice.

As he abruptly stirs, jerking onto his side under his tangled blanket, he soon realizes that he has little lingering memory of the nightmare that shook him from his slumber. Nevertheless, his heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s hanging in his throat. There’s feelings, faint impressions— someone’s blood (his, or hers?), Connie’s screams, a bubble of terror boiling from within— but that’s all he’s left with. The young man clutches at his sheets, struggling to catch his breath as is the norm most mornings. Dim light sneaks in between the edges of the curtains, offering a rough estimate of the time.

Once it’s clear his chances of sleeping in have become null and void, he entices himself out of bed with the promise of buying himself a muffin at the local coffee shop later today, a birthday treat. His routine is sluggish, but precise. He uses the bathroom, throws on his swim trunks and a thin cotton shirt, downs the pills he forgot to take last night with a quick swig of water, carefully runs his fingers through his long curls to work out the tangles, and slips his feet into the flip flops he always leaves lying right at the foot of his bed.

The young adult only takes his guitar, phone, and keys with him as he walks the mile distance from his humble studio apartment to the public beach. Around him, the world is at peace. The only sound intermingling with the gentle ebb and flow of the Pacific at this hour of the morning is the chattering of puffins that nest on the large rock outcroppings in the tide pools nearby. The edge of his lip quirks up when he finally crosses that sacred boundary— the sidewalk meeting the shore— and removes his sandals, reveling in the satisfying, grainy texture of sand squishing between his toes. Hah... the beach. Funny, that. All his traveling these past years, from mountains, to prairies, to sprawling suburbs to wooded forest towns, and it only succeeded in deepening his childhood love for the familiarity of saltwater air and tourist-filled boardwalks. Still, the secluded, rustic charm of Haystack Cove is a far cry from the Beach City he grew up in. Different people, different sights, different types of seafood sold at the markets. This place feels like a home all his own, appropriately distant from the Gem influenced settlement he’d left behind.

He crosses the fine grained sands towards his favorite sitting spot, a hefty stone jutting out from the ground, its surface buffed to a glossy finish over the years by the high tides. The water’s still distant this early in the morning, glimmers of sunlight sparkling off of the foam and spray. Yawning, he plops himself down on the stone and lifts his guitar into his lap. He strums a few random chords as a warm-up before settling into an experimental melodic sequence.

As he plays, the early morning breeze teases at the ends of his shoulder-length hair, untied and let free in all its curly splendor. It’s still quite chilly, but with the sun peaking over the horizon behind him and not a cloud in sight, the air’s bound to heat up in no time. Steven inhales deeply, soaking in the salt and light and pushing away the shadows lurking at the periphery of his mind, that twitching, exhausting anxiety that never quite seems to leave him alone these days. Unfortunately, functional does not mean carefree. While far fewer in number then when he was a teen, he still runs into plenty of moments where he’s struck blind by particularly painful reminders of his past, his gem snapping into overdrive in an instant. He’s a bit better at coping in these moments now, and walking himself down from panic attacks, but deep-rooted traumas don’t simply melt away. With that in mind, at this point he suspects he’ll likely have to deal with a mixture of therapy and meds for the rest of his life. That’s fine, though. If that’s what it takes to be at peace. He’s thankfully reached a point in his recovery where he’s more than willing to work for it.

Startling him out of his roaming thoughts, his phone chimes to life, touting the same cheery ring tone he had as a kid. He gently sets his guitar down in the sand and fishes his cell phone out of his pocket, a silent bet as to who’s calling rising within his mind. Sure enough, his dad’s contact photo proudly greets him. Hah— he called it. Steven stifles a giggle as he hits accept and lifts the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Dad!”

“Hey, Schtu-ball!” his father chimes from the other side of the country, three hours ahead. He hears a faint shuffle over the line, and then the beginnings of guitar accompaniment as the man begins to sing:

“Happy birthday to you~!”

Dad ends the line with a resounding vibrato, and a few extra jazzy chords for good measure.

“Heh heh, thanks,” he says, bashfully blushing at the attention, and gazing across the loose sands as if ensuring the secret of his birth hasn’t swelled into a nauseatingly public affair like half of his birthdays had since the start of Era 3. “Gotta say, the impromptu guitar solo pushed that to a whole new level. You just get up?”

“Yep! Bright and early. Garnet said you’d probably be awake by now, so I figured I’d call and give ya’ a good greeting to start the day. Lemme guess, you’re down there at the beach already? I think I heard waves.”

Steven’s glance lifts to admire the slowly rising tides, and the promise of each tomorrow that lies beyond. “Hah, you know me,” he says softly, taking a deep lungful of that precious salt-touched air he’s always adored. “I live for the water. Might force myself to go for a swim later before all of you come. Not sure yet,” he says, shrugging as he turns and squints in the wake of the steadily rising sun. “But my therapist said I should probably keep as active as po—“

“It’s your birthday. You do whatever makes you happy, bud,” his dad promptly reminds him, slight concern sticking to his voice. And yes, it’s practically a father’s job to worry, but his chest tightens with lingering guilt for pressing that upon him anyways. Ugh, this is because he said ‘force myself,’ isn’t it?

“Doing my best to,” he lamely offers, hoping it’ll at least end that segment of conversation. He twirls a stray strand of hair around his finger as he scours his memory for something new to offer. Thankfully, his mind quickly lands on the exciting email he received last night. He grins, knowing for sure his dad’ll love this. “Oh, uh- topic change, but I got that last job I applied for, by the way.”

“Oh? The taffy shop one?”

“Yeah! I start on Tuesday.”

“Wow, that’s- that’s awesome! They responded fast, then.”

“Yup,” Steven nods, popping the ‘p.’ “Honestly, it’s nothing much, just stocking and working the register, but it’ll give me some cash to work with.”

Some cash to finally pay for his own food instead of continuously bumming money off his dad. There’s no way he can handle full month’s rent on his own with this minimum wage job, (who on Earth could in this economy), but it might be enough to cover the smaller things. Groceries, electricity, internet. That sorta stuff. Fidgeting on the edge of the stone outcropping, his bare toes dig narrow lines in the sand. He hasn’t really had this discussion with Dad yet, but the mere concept of being wholly reliant on other people steers his mind uncomfortably close to the I’m a Burden Zone. He’d far prefer to feel like he has a stake in the game.

“I know you said you don’t mind supporting me,” he continues in a hesitant tone, twirling his finger through one of his curls, “but I still feel kinda bad—“

“Don’t. I’d rather you not have to stress yourself to the bone about money like I did when I was your age.”

The line shakes for a second. He’s pretty sure he hears the faint clink of a bowl meeting the counter from his dad’s side.

“Dad...?”

“Sorry, bud. Just putting ya’ on speaker. Figured I’d make myself some instant oatmeal,” he says, his voice sounding a bit further away from the microphone. “Goodness, though. Twenty years. That still boggles the mind.”

He gives a soft laugh. “You’re telling me. Could’ve sworn I was twelve just yesterday. And to be honest, it’s... it’s kinda weird sometimes, you know?”

“What is?”

“Being another year older. ‘Cause... well, uh...”

Steven grits his teeth, searching for the most delicate manner in which he can discuss these emotions. The feelings of his past are a really hard topic to dwell on sometimes, even in therapy, and even though he and his dad have long since had scattered discussions about what a poor mental state he was in then, he doesn’t wanna upset him too much.

“There were definitely days I assumed I wouldn’t have a future, or didn’t want one to begin with,” he continues, throat thick. “Back during all the conflict, before Homeworld reformed. And even after that, when I was... you know. And things are better, now, they’re definitely a lot better. But the idea of a ‘future’... even if I’ve got a job, a home, a girlfriend... it’s still weird to think about, I guess.“

There’s a brief silence on the line as this vulnerable admission sinks in.

“Yeah,” Dad replies eventually, clear sorrow in his voice despite how careful he thought he was in phrasing these matters. “I hear ya’.”

With a quick nervous laugh, he scratches at the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing against the thin, wispy strands of hair growing back there. “Geeze, sorry for bringing the mood down so quick. Didn’t even know I had all that on my mind until it spilled right out.”

“No, no! No need for apologies, I’m always here to listen. And in any case, I’m glad you’re in a better place now.”

Steven nods his head to himself in full agreement (momentarily forgetting that his dad isn’t actually here in the flesh to see this response). Sixteen and seventeen really, really weren’t good years for him. And even though he’s put lot of work into himself since then, he can’t help but constantly fear the possibility of relapse. His therapist told him a few sessions ago when he expressed this worry that... relapses into old thinking patterns can be common for people living with C-PSTD, and that it’s important for him to be cognizant of any unusual changes in his patterns and routines so he can quickly intervene with his box of healthy coping tactics, but... geeze. The dark, traumatic destinations his wandering thoughts end up stagnating in when the concept of relapse brushes his mind aren’t fun to acknowledge. It makes him yearn with deafening hunger for a simple switch he could flip, some magic cure-all for his brain that would stop him from having to deal with any of this awful shit in the first place— but of course, cruel universe this can be at times, those don’t exist.

“Speaking of that,” Dad speaks up again after clearing his throat, “how are those new meds treating you? You said last call your doctor was gonna change them, yes?”

“Nah, not change. There’s no need to change types,” he shrugs. “It’s just a dosage shift. And it’s fine, I think. I’ve been on ‘em for a few days, and there’s no problems so far. Brain's been treating me a little better.”

Nightmares aren’t quite as bad.

His energy isn’t totally zapped by noon.

The whirling, panicked trajectory of his thought patterns is a little easier to wrest control of.

All in all, nothing’s perfect, but he certainly feels a good deal more stable than before. Now, if only he can remember to consistently take his meds before he goes to bed like he’s supposed to instead of totally forgetting like he did last night and having to scarf it down when he sees that forsaken capsule in his pill box the next morning. Tsk, tsk.

“That’s real good to hear,” his dad responds to his news.

He flexes his knuckles against his lap, gaze reflexively drifting back towards the welcomed distraction of the tides. “Yeah.”

“Anyways, I, uh...”

“So, party logistics,” he cuts in with an overly cheery tone, changing the topic from his boring mental health crap entirely. “We should probably hash this out now. I know Connie’s planning on dropping around about noon. What’s your guys’ plan? She can probably send Lion to you after she gets here, if you want.”

“Yeah, that’d be best. Pearl said there weren’t any convenient warps nearby. Well, there’s one- but apparently it empties out into an active lava tube. And that’s not exactly Dad-friendly.”

“Aww, you mean you’re not filled with the intense desire to dip your hand into molten lava and shlorp it up like it’s soup?” Steven retorts, only barely holding back his laughter as he thinks of this absurd text thread he had going with Connie a few weeks back, wherein she sent him a video of some volcanic flows and told him, verbatim, that 'despite all logic and reason sometimes I can’t help but look at super viscous lava and think... forbidden s o u p, mmmm.’

“Not particularly, no,” his dad says, sounding thoroughly confused. “I’m- why are you laughing? Is this some sort of weird internet thing I’m not familiar with again?”

He wipes tears from his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. “You, ah- you kinda had to be there, sorry. Anyways, yeah. I’ll have Connie send Lion. I’ll text you right before, how’s that?”

“Sounds great! Can’t wait to see ya’, bud. I’m gonna let you go, now, okay? I can talk your ears off later. Go enjoy your morning. Love you.”

“Love you too, Dad,” he says, grinning. “Bye.”

“Buh-bye.”

Once his dad hangs up he sets his phone beside him on the rock and takes a deep, steady breath, trying to capture the full nuance of each diverse scent in the air. He may just be imagining it, but he swears he’s able to pick out the faint scent of taffy intermingling with the ocean saltiness and the hint of cedar from the nearby state forest. In the end though, whether it’s real or not it’s a welcomed reminder of all the possibility the future holds for him.

He’s twenty now. It’s a brand new decade of life. He’s got a new job lined up, a stable and loving relationship, a supportive family, and plenty of courage in facing the shadows of his past. Sure, so maybe he’ll never know with certainty what will happen— maybe he’ll relapse a little, maybe he’ll still have some bad days sprinkled amongst the good ones— but as he watches the tides flow in to greet him, he smiles... and resolves to just take this year as a renewal of his vow to care for himself as best he can.

#su #su future #steven universe #greg universe #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

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detroitbydark · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Tell Me That Your Soul Lies Now

Relationship: Sev/OC/Scorch

Warnings: Mention of blood and needles used in medical care

Summary: A Stowaway complicated what should be an easy night.

A/N: Based on a HC that Sev and Scorch both end up at Kyrimorut and adopted to Walon Vau. Love, Family, and the ties that bind come into play. I hope you enjoy!

The Midnight Duke was an unassuming Corellian life class transport, a pre Clone Wars relic retrofitted to meet clan Vau's very particular, discerning tastes.

Quick, fast, and armed to the teeth it got the job done ferrying Walon Vau’s adopted sons from one bounty to the next. The sons themselves were more than competent to take it from there with efficiency and expertise bred from a jar on Kamino and a lifetime of training by one of the most ruthless Mandalorians to ever exist.

Dust settles in a thick layer over the Duke’s matte black hull. Its exit from the outer rim asteroid belt had been… dicey and it would need a new coat of paint in the coming days.

It had a lot of things, typically a dead body in storage wasn’t one of them.

“Fek!”

“Wha-“ Scorch barely misses his brother’s arm as he snaps back a step, exposing the open cargo hatch for inspection with a put-upon indignation only he was capable of. There’s a duffle of ordinance, kit and-

“What is this?” Sev’s growl reverberates through his buyce accusingly. Scorch eyes the curled up figure draped in a thick layer of clothes reminiscent of the mining colony they’d just left.

“People-cicle.” What the hell did he expect him to say? He hadn’t stored a body away. He was in charge of the bounties. The heads of the two marks had been in the bounty bag which was now very empty and in need of laundering because A. Trandoshan blood stank to malachor and B. Human blood was just messy.

“Maker if I know.”

The sun over Kyrimorut was quickly beginning to sink down into the mountainous waste to their north and with it went the warmth of the late season day. They just needed to finish post mission once-over and they could take the speeders the five kliks from the airfield to the warmth of the karyai and a hot meal.

“Maker,” Sev growls again, “Buir is not going to be happy about this”

Buir. It still felt wrong to call the Sarge anything but Sarge. Scorch was sure he’d get used to it eventually. Sev had, oddly enough, but Scorch didn’t really question his vod’s rush to accept their former trainer as his father. The sullen commando had always sought Walon Vau’s approval. It was no worse than the vode of Skirata’s clan and their hero worship of their Kal’buir.

“We’ll dump it off and be done with it,” Scorch offers, “Animals will take care of it and that’ll be- wait.” A quick blink through his HUD menu brings up an advanced heat scan.

Sev toes at the body with his boot. “What am I waiting on?”

“They're still alive. I got a vital readout. It’s not much but-“ The two clones stand shoulder to shoulder staring at the prone sentient.

“I slot ‘em and we pretend we never saw a thing?”

“The old man’s gonna know either way. Not sure what gets us in more trouble.”

At his side, Sev grunts. Wal’buir knew things. It was uncanny and downright terrifying. As cadets they’d never been able to get one by the old Mando - not that Sev had ever tried - but Scorch had plenty and had more than a few scars to prove he’d been caught.

“Kriff.” Sev lets out an uncharacteristic laugh. “Bring it back and Skirata will probably adopt it.”

Scorch can’t help the grin that spreads across his face, “or marry it off.”

“I’m not gonna carry it.”

The argument that he’d saved both their shebs earlier is about to leave his mouth when a small feminine whine rises from the half frozen sentient. “Well that settles it”

“Marriage,” they both agree in unison.

It’s been a while since he’s been around a woman not already wed or destined to be wed to one of his extended family. Suddenly the idea of carrying the unfamiliar being doesn’t seem so off-putting.

At least it wasn’t the bounty bag.

———

Buir was going to let them have it. Sev could handle the dressing down from Kal Skirata but he wasn’t sure he could handle it from Vau.

His stomach twists in knots. The early signs of panic, the ones he was intimately familiar with - brought about by the only father figure he’d ever known - were beginning to make themselves known. He can feel his heart rate picking up. The thick nerf hide sticks to each finger as his palms begin to sweat in his gloves.

He wouldn’t have been able to get away with slotting the grubby stowaway and dumping the body, of that he is sure, there was no good way to keep it clean. Either the Duke or he were going to be covered in it and the water pumps at the strip had gone out a week before. They’d brought the replacement back but it would take one of Kal’s boys to plumb it up.

“Ordo’s going to have kittens.” Scorch’s voice rings clear through his comms.

“Yeah, Bes is pregnant with what...” He rattles off the names of the clans ad in his head and begins assigning them to parents. “Number three?”

“Yeah, he’s always got a kad up his shebs when she’s carrying. This is going to royally piss him off.”

Sev watches as Scorch readjusts the woman in front of him. She’d started shivering after they’d yoinked her from her spot in storage. Still hadn’t woken but It was a good sign. Her body seemed to actively be trying to warm up. They figured they’d help it along and wrapped her snugly in a thermal sheet from the emergency kit. Before Sev had at least been able to see her nose, a set of dark brows and fluttery lashes, nothing too unlike those some of his sister-in-laws had, now it was only the closed lids of her eyes visible. For all intents and purposes she looked like a bantha wrap he’d gotten from a food cart last time they’d been on Coruscant.

Per the limited data from their HUDs she probably wasn’t in much better shape. She seemed stable, but it wasn’t guaranteed even with the vheh’yaims medical center and the clan’s skills she’d survive the long haul. They’d spent two days in hyperspace and she spent that time in a minimally heated interior storage compartment. The bloody marks along the hatch’s interior showed that she hadn’t had as comfortable a ride as they had. It was another thing they’d need to clean up but it could wait a day or two.

There were no ration wrappers, no canteens of water in the hold with her. They’d looked.

Hypothermia was her biggest issue but dehydration wasn’t far behind, and the ease with which Scorch had lifted her left him to believe that malnutrition had been an ongoing issue. The bulk of her was the thick rough clothes the miners had worn.

“We take her to Wal’buir before Skirata gets his turn. Let buir decide what to do.” The speeders rumble to life as they take off from the small airfield and head in the direction of home.

It takes less time then he remembered to cover the distance from the airstrip to the sprawling compound they called home.

“Look,” Scorch notes merrily, “they left the lights on for us.”

By the time they’re pulling up to the vheh’yaim Sev feels his breath coming rapidly.

“Maybe the old man’s having some ti’haar with the neighbors?” Scorch sounds hopeful as he pulls his buyce off one handed and clips it to his belt. “We get her into medical and then have to explain our fek up. Mij should still be here.” He hopes aloud that the family doctor was still rotating through before heading back to Enceri.

Mij Gilamar was a good a doctor as any clone commando, null, or trooper could ever hope for. If their guest made it through the next few days she’d do good to thank Gil.

Sev throws his leg over the speeder and grabs for his kit and the bounty bag while his brother jostles the woman into a better hold. The lights shine through the low windows peering into Skirata clan’s karyai and Sev can imagine his buir sitting by the warm fire drinking the potent Mandalorian liquor and busting Kal Skirata’s gett’se about something.

“Su cuygar Ad’ike.”

Or not.

Both men snap to. Instead of “Sir” an acknowledgement of “Buir” is barked. If Vau notices the near comical response he doesn’t let on. His golden eyes are narrowed firmly on the package in Scorch’s arms.

Sev isn’t sure he’s ever seen his brother lost for words and Scorch must decide today wasn't going to be the day.

“We brought a present. Heard Kal’buir is trying to settle Mereel down. Think this will work?”

Vau, emotionless stony Vau, stands for a moment before the hint of a sly smile flashes at the corner of his mouth. Sev’s heart jumps. The smile falls away with such quickness that had the man himself not trained him to be the best, Sev would have questioned if it had ever been present to begin with.

“Shall we get our guest set up? Maybe you boys can explain how you managed to bring home a stray while we do?”

Yeah they we’re in trouble. He can hear Scorch gulp through his comms as Vau turns away and heads towards the main entrance of their home.

Growing up with so many brothers, child soldiers who were destined to grow up too soon, Sev had never been privy to concepts like privacy. It shouldn’t irk him that eyes follow them as they enter the vheh’yaim, following their father through the one of the many different spokes off the main karyai toward medical. The low flicker of fire light catches on the rich golden plates of Mij Gilamar’s beskar’gam.

Without much more than a tired sigh, the silver haired Mando finishes his drink and rises from his spot near the fire to follow.

Sev finds himself thankful that even amongst the faces like his own, Ordo Skirata’s was not present. He wasn’t in the mood to hear what Kal Skirata’s golden child would have to say. He’d have to hear it eventually but he hoped he could at least grab a shower and hot meal before he had to deal with the Null.

Scorch elbows him in the side and Sev casts him a questioning glance. “In your head again, vod?”

“Just worrying about Ord’ika.”

“I would be less concerned about Ordo,” Vau remarks casually, “and more about me.”

To their left, Mij Gilamar huffs out a laugh as he motions for Scorch to lay the patient out. “Let’s worry about the aruetii first shall we? Where’d you pick this one up?” the doctor asks as Scorch begins to help him liberate her from the thermal blanket and then layer after layer of thick and dusty fabric.

“New asteroid mining station in the outer rim, Kappa Black,” Sev offers, “and we didn’t know we even had her on ship.”

It takes gett’se to openly admit that in front of his training Sergeant but Vau says nothing.

Scorch picks up where Sev leaves off as the last layer of outer clothes is tossed aside. Sev had been right. There really wasn’t much to the woman underneath the bulk of gear.

“We picked off the bounties. Cake walk.” The demolitions expert chirps happily but Sev can hear the well hidden undertone of anxiety in his voice. “We got in. We got out. Didn’t stop to sight see.”

Vau looks down his nose, glancing slowly from one to the other and then to the girl being hooked up to tubes and monitors. “It appears you didn’t stop to check your ship over either.”

“We had to leave in a hurry. She’d tucked herself behind gear,” Sev explains, knowing it wouldn’t be good enough, “We-“

A cry rises up from the bed as the woman’s eyes shoot open. He knows panic when he sees it.

“Fierfek!” Mij curses as his recently placed central line is caught along the bed and yanked from her neck. Fluids flow freely, mixing with a steady stream of blood as the doctor grabs for gauze and fights to press it against the puncture.

“Some kriffing help would be good,” he grunts as he manages to dodge a fist.

Sev steps in. He manages to grab both wrists in a single movement, pressing them to the bed as her lower body twists and her legs kick out. He tries to judge his own strength, his hands swallow her wrists.

“Restraints are in the drawer.” He hears Mij but his eyes are focused on the woman under him. “No! The other drawer.”

“Sorry Doc, gotta lot of drawers here.”

Sev ignores his brother as a leg swings wildly his way, its knee connecting with solid beskar along his back. She doesn’t even flinch. Sev positions his body over hers, swinging a leg over her hip and looping his feet over her thighs. She doesn’t stop fighting.

“Stop!” He snarls down into her face, voice coming out gruff and modulated through his buyce. Stark blue eyes focus in on him as she suddenly goes deathly still. They stand out against the warm tan of her skin, only a shade lighter than his own. Her hair is a tangle of unkempt curls and knots. She looks feral and wild, bears her white teeth like an animal. Sev adjusts his grip as she begins her fight again, thrashing and bucking under him.

“I said stop!” He snarls again, and something changes in her eyes. Fear flashes. Her snarl turns into a frightened “o” of surprise before he feels her muscles begin to go slack underneath him. He glances to his side in time to see his buir remove the hypo from her arm.

Mij grunts. A bead of sweat glistens at his grey temple. “Always prepared, right Walon? I hope you took into account her body mass because I don’t feel like dealing with a heart that doesn’t want to beat.”

Vau smiles, holding up the still half full syringe and flicking it lightly with a well manicured nail. “This isn’t my first time. Now Sev’ika, please climb off our guest and let’s try this again,” the black armored Mando says calmly.

———

“I don’t like it. It’s too convenient.”

Scorch rolls his eyes behind the mirrored visor of his buyce. Ordo Skirata has made himself known shortly after Mij had gotten their little stowaway stabilized. She’d be sleeping off the worst of her hyperspace sickness. If she did decide to wake again they could all be secure in the fact that Scorch himself had tightened down her restraints.

The hot brand Doc found behind her left ear had answered more than a few questions she wouldn’t be able to answer for a while. A slavers mark denoting property of the Mining Guild. Between that and her poor condition, Scorch couldn’t blame her for hopping the first ship off the asteroid belt she could find.

It did make them thieves technically, but he had strong feelings about people being property and it really hadn’t been the first time they’d creatively acquired something. He’d tried to ask Sev his opinion but he didn’t seem much for banter after they’d found the brand. Even Wal’buir had seemed a bit more disgusted than usual.

Then Kal Skirata showed up at the med bay door with his eldest in tow and a few of Omega’s commandos, Niner and Fi, trailing behind.

And now the adults were talking and it was his job to shut up .

“It doesn’t matter if you like it or not at this point,” Mij was saying firmly, “I’m not about to put a sick girl out.” His eyes flash challengingly to the Skirata clan head. “There’s nothing you can do to change my mind about it either, Kal.”

For his part, Kal Skirata has been fairly quiet, standing to Ordo’s side with his arms crossed loosely over his chest and a contemplative look on his face. Every now and then Scorch would catch old Kal’buir trying to sneak a peek at their acquisition. Scorch also noted both he and Sev had placed themselves between the other men and the bed. He could think of a star cruiser worth of smart things to say, but not one could account for the near-defensive position Sev was taking or Scorch’s own flanking of his brother.

“Besany’s pregnant-“

“Oh really?” Scorch can’t help himself. The words just come out because kriff, was Bes never not pregnant? “I wasn’t aware.”

Sev snorts to his side as does Niner hovering behind the Null. Fi barely manages a suppressed smile as Ordo’s eyes narrow. Scorch rolls his shoulders, loosening the stiff joints up. It was always about Kal’s boys. It was always cowing down to Nulls. It got old fast. Next to him Sev’s neck pops as he rolls it.

“You got an issue, Scorch?”

“And if he does?” Sev’s voice cuts in.

It had been awhile since there’d been a good family tussle. It might be time to take it outside and fix that.

“Scorch. Sev.” Walon Vau’s crisp, aristocratic voice cuts through the tension and posturing “Stand down. It’s late and I’m tired.”

Kal tips his head to his Null son. “You too Ord’ika. Everyone is concerned for the safety of the women and children, but if I know your wife she would no sooner have us dispose of an escaped slave as she would one of your deserter vode.”

“We’ve had squads do worse to get here,” Niner adds levelly.

“True, ad’ika,” Skirata agrees pleasantly, taking a step toward the bed. Sev’s sudden step forward seems to reignite the tension as he blocks Kal’s line of sight. The older man casts an appraising look at the Commando and Scorch feels every muscle in his body coil in anticipation. Kal Skirata could play the good natured ba’buir all he wanted, but below the surface he was anything but. He was as cold blooded as it came before you got his family involved, but once you crossed one of his boys Scorch wasn’t sure there was a star system you could hide in that the old Mando merc wouldn’t find you in.

Scorch wasn’t sure where he and Sev placed in the family tree but he wouldn’t be caught unawares if it was time to find out.

“She’ll be our charge,” Vau says cooly, stepping between the two Delta commandos.

“And if she’s brought trouble with her, what then?”

“We let Sev slot ‘er and Mird will have a nice treat,” Scorch offers as if they were speaking of troublesome roba. The mention of Mird is enough to get a shudder from both Niner and Ordo and a wet sound of agreement from the creature itself as it slinks in between Fi’s legs.

The strill circles around its master’s feet before giving Sev and Scorch a cursory sniff.

“Walon,” Mij Gilamar’s voice is low with warning.

“Lord Mirdalan is an excellent judge of character.” The golden furred creature leaps to the bed with predatory grace. Scorch watches the strill stare expectantly at the sedated woman before turning twice and curling up on her legs. “See?”

Fi, who’d been quietly observing - for once - speaks up after a moment. “It may just be me, but I’m not sure Mird’s approval is necessarily a good thing.”

#delta squad #republic commando #star wars #clone commando sev #clone commando scorch #polyamory #no clonecest

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origingened · 4 years ago

Text

GIANT CHALLENGE

the last thing they remember was chasing a butterfly through a bush in the park.

---

the first thing they become aware of is the uncomfortable sensation that their ears are filled with liquid. they instinctively want to shake their head to clear it, but they can't quite locate the muscles they need to do so. their body feels vague, like a collection of dull sensory inputs floating without form around their consciousness.

thinking is hard too. they're beginning to realize a few things (wet, under water? heavy water, can't move), but the realizations come sluggishly and take effort to bring into focus.

they've had enough of this, they decide. they attempt to pull their senses together with some success - they can tell they're curled up in a ball, suspended in some kind of fluid. it's not like anything they've ever felt before. they've taken long naps before and this is almost like that, but they can't stretch out their body to the sun and yawn and shake it out like they're supposed to. it barely feels like they exist as a concept, let alone a living creature.

but they don't give up. they draw in closer, finally shaping their awareness into their body as it should be. their eyes are still closed, their muscles too heavy to force them open, but they can begin to make out sounds beyond their own heartbeat vibrating through the surrounding liquid. high pitched tones, bubbling fluid, air rushing through a narrow passage.

the click of footsteps on a hard floor.

mew still doesn't know where they are, but a minute shiver of discomfort ripples through their body.

someone begins to speak. it's impossible to make out any words, but there are two distinct voices - one calm, one agitated.

---

the woman scribbles something on her clipboard, circling the containment pod with a scrutinizing eye.

"we still need to run a few more tests before we can begin the trial."

the second scientist, a young man with early grey hair, lets out a nervous scoff as he follows closely behind.

"we'll be lucky if it doesn't breach containment first. you didn't see the footage of the fight it put up when they found it."

"it may be capable of catastrophic damage, but we're well equipped to keep it under control. you need to focus on the task at hand."

amidst their words, the steady beep of a monitor begins to pick up speed.

"... it's becoming agitated. administer more of the serum and get back to work."

---

hours pass. days? weeks? months, maybe? time is passing by in a blur, one brief moment of consciousness bleeding into the next.

they know a few things for certain now. they've been captured by humans - team rocket? NULL? maybe. they don't remember a confrontation.

they're inside a fluid-filled machine, unable to move or even breathe, with tubes hooked up to their body that inject them with unknown substances. their psychic powers are dulled to the point of near-uselessness. occasionally, they'll feel a chill run down their spine or a strange tingle in their head as the scientists run some sort of test.

they're preparing them for something. they can't tell what it is.

the possibility of being captured had occurred to them before, but they'd never spent much time contemplating it. now, during their moments of lonely lucidity, they wonder - what will become of them?

they're… afraid. what if they don't get to play in the snow anymore, or swim at top speed and scatter a school of finneon, or…

no. it's no good thinking about bad stuff like that. they'll just have to escape, that's all.

---

the tingles in their brain become more frequent and more pronounced, intensifying to a sharp numbness like a limb falling asleep.

they know what the scientists are trying to do now - they intend to destroy their will, leaving behind nothing more than an obedient weapon. they've been trying to subjugate them for some time now, but their mental fortitude has withstood everything they've thrown at them so far.

so far.

they must've collected a lot of data by now. from what they could piece together from hazy conversations, the scientists are getting close to a breakthrough.

they don't think they have a lot of time left to figure this out. they'd better get out of here fast. but it'll be okay. if they just focus, if they just make one big push to escape -

"brainwaves are spiking. administer the serum."

if they just…

"another dose. this one's not going down easy."

just…

"there it goes."

---

one day, they wearily wonder how long they've been here.

not in this pod, but in this world. it's been some millions of years, right? they've seen the planet itself being shaped by new, primal forces of nature. civilizations have risen and collapsed. wars have ravaged the land only to be paved over and forgotten.

they've watched pokemon and humans live and die together. once in a while, they would make a friend, only to forget their faces and voices after a few short years….

they hear their monitor's beeping spike again. though they have no intention of wasting energy trying to escape, they know the scientists will sedate them soon.

they're right.

---

they haven't thought of fear in a while, but the undercurrent feeling of something bad that fills their thoughts is getting harder to ignore.

they're afraid, of course. they don't want to lose themselves, to become a tool of destruction for humans. they're not ashamed to admit that they're afraid of that.

but the unpleasant something doesn't go away when they acknowledge it. if anything, thinking it makes them feel worse. it feels like tiny creatures are crawling all over their skin, their stomach hurting with no way to relieve it.

their waves are beginning to spike. they're probably gonna lose consciousness soon, but they don't want their last feeling before they fall asleep again to be this.

… what if it is their last feeling?

what if they don't wake up this time? what if their final moments are these, filled with dread and uncertainty?

the fog begins to creep in, steady and oppressive.

they're… scared.

they don't want to die.

the beeping is drowned out by the sound of their own heartbeat quickening.

their husk will be used to hurt people. they don't want to hurt people - is that not why they were so lonely? to stay away, to keep the world from getting hurt?

they didn't want these powers. they didn't want to be scared of being used. they never wanted to be filled with undying light, coveted by humans who sought to harness it. they didn't - didn't want to be like this.

they didn't want to be this way.

they never asked to be made.

"if we push any more, we might cause permanent brain damage!"

"do it now!"

to live an empty life, only to have it stolen from them by the humans they tried to protect…

no.

"the pod-!"

"get back!"

they deserved better.

"get the boss on the phone!"

"but-"

"go, now!"

they didn't ask for this life, but it is theirs.

they refuse to give it up.

they open their eyes wide, and the pod explodes in a shower of glass.

the scientists foolish enough to remain in the room cower and hide behind their machines, shouting in alarm. mew coughs up the fluid in their lungs and takes their first breath, then lets out a scream of defiance.

the panels and machines of the lab begin to crunch together, contorting into unnatural shapes by the force of their telekinesis. suppressed for so long, it springs forth like a broken dam, crushing bones and metal alike.

smoke is beginning to fill the room - a broken machine must've sparked something and set off a fire. alarms flare to life, and a robotic voice calls out something about a security system. mew pays it no heed, darting under a fallen beam in a mad dash for the door.

something pierces their chest.

then another in the stomach, the leg, the nape of their neck. the security system has activated. bullets fly from the turrets mounted in the wall, locked onto their signature.

they ignore the white-hot pain as long as they can, but they don't make it out of the room before they succumb.

they crash to the ground before the new corpse of a scientist, their white lab coat torn and in flames. the fire reflects in mew's wide, desperate eyes.

not like this. not like this.

they make one last effort to pick themselves off the ground, but collapse back into the growing puddle of blood beneath them.

their vision is fading. more than the pain of the heat or their wounds, their eyes sting from the smoke and tears flowing freely from them. even when they close them, they still burn.

alone, covered in soot and blood, they go still. they don't see when the laboratory fades out of existence, leaving them in the grass half-obscured by a bush.

their last breath comes not long after their first.

#isola drabble #rank up #long post /#hmm.#how should i tag this.#animal death tw /#(sorta? they're. not an animal. but it might be uncomfortable)#guns tw /#experimentation tw /#nothing worse than what happens in pokemon canon lol

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gale-gentlepenguin · 4 years ago

Text

Ml: The Gale Cut: N̵u̴l̵l̵

-In the end of season 4, with the guardians and Zodiac orders clashing in the final battle in Paris. The evil Grandmaster tries to destroy Paris. But the miraculous heroes were able to save the day... but all of the miraculous shattered.

-The Kwami noticed an incredible boost in their own power, now that they are longer restricted by the Miraculous.

-But the Eldest Guardian felt a chill go down his spine.

-”This.... this is an omen of the end.”

-Confused, Marinette and Adrien with their Kwami talk with the old man.

-He looks through the book (the one the guardians had all the stuff in, going to the last few pages which were blank (this is mentioned earlier on) Suddenly the pages start showing writing.

-On the top of the Page appears the word ‘N̵u̴l̵l̵’

-”Null?”

-Tikki and Plagg both stop cold.

-”Oh no.”

-”Tikki?”

-”Plagg”

-The two kwami take a deep breath.

-The kwami explain that each Kwami is given life and made to embody a concept, Tikki explains that she is creation while Plagg is destruction. Each Kwami is a concept that keeps the universe in balance.

-But there is an entity that exists, a being that predates their creation. The concept of Nothing, the Null.

-”For there was once nothing, and from nothing we shall be.” Tikki answered.

-”The one that made the miraculous used it to suppress our power, to hide us from The Null. But now that there are no miraculous.... It will find us.”

-”So your saying its an evil being of destruction?” Adrien asks.

-”Hurtful. No, that THING isnt destruction. Null is the embodiment of nothing. In order create, there must exist destruction, and for there to be destruction, there must be creation. Null will stop things from existing. There will be nothing.”

-Adrien and Marinette were now sufficiently freaked, as well as the guardian with them.

-”But since we are at full power, we will handle Null.” Tikki explained. “We can fight back now.”

-”Thanks for everything kid.” Plagg says good bye.

-The kwami leave their chosen and fly off to go confront Null who is out somewhere.

-Null arrives on earth, and when it does. It knows that the Kwami will resist, and it will end with simply another big bang, which will force it to recover and heal and confront them again.

-Null does something different, Null gets a host. (I have a few ideas, one was Lila, another was Emilie reborn, one was felix, and another was just Mr.Ramier which seemed really funny to me.)

-The kwami realize what Null was doing and arrive back on earth, The kwami fight Null and Null just wipes the floor with them. Since Null had become more powerful merging with the host.

-So Kwami Human fusion are necessary to fight him.

-Updated, cooler and more epic transformations

-No power limitations.

-Cue epic fight.

#ml #the null #the gale cut #ml the gale cut #season 5 stuff if we ever get there #ml au #the gale cut ml #miraculous ladybug

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wftc141 · 4 years ago

Text

Blackwatch Chapter 9: The Everlasting Spark

8:20 AM, Local Time

Rome, Italy

Embassy of the United States

November, 2018

Whenever he had free time, Genji would use that chance to meditate. Find a spare room in the Embassy and sit on the carpet floor to immerse himself away from the noise. He needed to pinpoint the very spot to be in the full state of calm. Silence was also vital and he was glad the rooms were also soundproof and privacy screens were provided.

During the previous months, Blackwatch had been dormant for some time and no missions were assigned. NATO had been managing their duties using their alternative and they've been making progress so far. So far, no new attacks were reported since the Null Sector siege in Rome.

Genji had been meditating for a long time as a way to cope in hopes of ensuring his past doesn't catch up to him. It was hard for him back then as a SAT officer after that defining moment years ago. Genji's eyes were shut, shrouded by the shadow of his hood. His breathing movement eased to follow the rhythm of his heartbeat. Genji tried to clear his mind of negative thoughts and painful memories pierced into his brain. Everything around him was dark and silence surrounded him, leaving him immersed in his own void. He felt alone. Shunned. Isolated to the point where the concept of humanity doesn't exist.

Suddenly, Genji heard a rumble from beside him and his eyes opened in a flash. He turned around and noticed his phone on the floor vibrating towards him. Lowering his breathing rate, Genji reached over to his phone and tapped the dial without checking the ID.

"Hello?" He answered

"Hey, Genji. It's me."

Genji's head perked up and he straightened up. He recognized that voice.

"Angela?" He said. Suddenly, his words were stuck in his throat. "Hi. How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks for asking. Just wanted to let you know that I've just landed in Italy."

Genji cocked his head.

"You're in Rome?" He said.

"Yep," Angela replied. Genji could hear her smile through her voice. "Me and my team are getting stationed here with Fareeha's unit for a couple of weeks and since I'm not booked as of right now, I was wondering if we could have lunch together? I've found a nice place where we could grab some Italian cuisine."

Usually, Angela doesn't ask anybody out for lunch while on her days off, instead retreating to her office to have some overdue coffee and a paid meal to keep her up. Genji was one of the few people to witness it, apart from her other friends.

"Where's this coming from?" Genji asked.

"Oh it's just that we haven't seen each other in person for a while and I thought maybe we could do some catching up while we're at it."

Was it normal for good friends of the opposite sex to invite each other to have a meal together, Genji thought. Even as a former Yakuza, he never had any experience with dating women of his type and most were merely escorts for his fellow Yakuza. Friends were never in his dictionary and Angela happened to be the only female friend he had in his life thanks to her intervention and he owed her for it. Her sudden lunch proposal was definitely odd but it wasn't a bad thing.

"If you're busy, then we can try tomo-"

"I would be more than glad to join you today." Genji said.

"Excellent! How's 12 at noon?"

"I'll be there."

"Great! I'll send you the address later. Looking forward to seeing you, Genji!"

The call ended and left Genji back to his own silence. Genji simply sighed and as he got up, he wondered what to wear on his day out.

________________________________________

9:00 AM, Local Time

Rome, Italy

Via Margutta

Another day has passed during Ray's time off and it has been tedious for most of the occasion. Ray stared at the ceiling of his bedroom with the pale light blocked off by the curtains. It has been two months since their last Blackwatch operation and there has been nothing new for them for quite some time. Everybody else was either out throwing a vacation or visiting friends. He wasn't the type to relax elsewhere since he was more set on working on the battlefield.

Ray missed the taste of beer after drinking with Marvel a few days before he left to see a friend of his in London. His mouth was dry and he had just woken up a few hours later than he usually does. Ray let out a grunt as he heaved himself out of the sheets and stepped onto the wooden floorboards, aiming for the bathroom.

Once inside, Ray turned his sink on and began brushing his teeth. After finishing up with his mouth, Ray splashed the cold water onto his face and rubbed his nose. The ice cold sensation felt nostalgic. Finishing up, Ray leaned onto the basin and glanced up at the mirror, facing his reflection. His reflection's eyes were dead straight into Ray's. Some drops of water streamed down the mirror, one sliding past his right eye.

Then the visions flashed before him. The sounds of gunfire and the looming closing of mortars and rockets. Sand and blood coating him as the screams of his teammates from afar and nearby filled his ears.

By the time the visions blinked away, Ray found himself breathing heavily and alone with the tap still running down the sink and the drops fading away.

________________________________________

11:40 AM, Local Time

Rome, Italy

Before stepping towards the door, Genji took one last look at himself in the mirror. The scars that practically cover his face were in full view. The particular ones running across the bridge of his nose and his left eye were also exposed now that he ditched the hoodie in favor of a grey coat over his dress shirt. He checked his watch poking from his sleeve: 11:40. Should be enough time for Genji to find the address of the restaurant Angela sent him. Genji slipped on his shoes and left the apartment.

Now on the streets, Genji made his way through the walkway past the shops and cafes nearby. The leaves on the road slid and swept off as the cold breeze blew past him. As he reached the main road, Genji found himself getting looks from others. Most were either disgusted or intimidated by him because of his scars. He couldn't say he blamed them. Anyone would reel back from seeing Genji's scars in public and it wasn't a first for him. Genji paid no attention to the glares and continued his walk.

Shortly, he arrived at the restaurant near the river where the crowds flowed from left to right as well as the sight of the river in front. The restaurant itself felt like it was revisiting the past while also showing its own twist in the modern time. Genji went inside and looked around the crowded tables before noticing the distinct platinum blonde hair on the other side.

Genji approached the table where Angela was. She was still just as pretty as the last time they met in person. Angela's lean arms were laid crossed on the table near the menu which she hasn't opened yet. Her coat was draped behind her over the chair. The blue shirt she was wearing tucked into her skinny jeans goes well with her, if not, makes her look professional.

Once Genji closed in on her table, Angela's corner of her eye caught him and her smile grew as she stood up from her chair to approach him. Genji couldn't help but smile too after noticing hers.

"Genji! So glad to see you!" Angela said as she pulled Genji into a hug.

"You too, Angela," he replied, returning her hug. The scent of perfume filled his nostrils. "Thanks for inviting me."

The two broke off the hug and both looked up at each other. Genji noticed something different about Angela's hair.

"I see you've cut your hair." He said.

"Yes, I did," Angela replied, touching the ends of her shortened hair. Her side bangs swept to her right eye were kept. "Figured I wanted to go for something fresh and practical. You like it?"

"It fits you."

Her smile remained as she fiddled with the locks. "Thanks."

Genji wasn't aware he was staring at her for quite some time before the two realized they were still standing and took their seats hastily. To be precise, Genji wasn't the only one staring.

"Anyways," Angela said as she sat down. Genji removed his coat and hung it behind his chair. "I haven't ordered anything yet apart from some coffee since I haven't had my morning caffeine today and I wanted to wait for you before we figure out what we wanna eat."

"That's really considerate of you. I appreciate that." Genji replied.

"You're welcome. Speaking of consideration," Angela handed him a second menu, similar to the one she was reading from. "I hear this place has some really delicious food."

Genji opened the leather folder and inside were the list of foods with photos beside it and quite a list. There was also an English translation next to the Italian words. Glancing up from the menu, Genji looked at Angela as she continued on about Italian cuisine before chuckling mid-sentence over a bad joke she made.

There was something sweet about the way Angela laughed, especially whenever she made jokes that normal people wouldn't laugh except for Genji. Her angelic-like presence and the way she expressed herself would turn Genji into a different person. A normal person.

Maybe it was because he owed her for saving him from his death that day.

________________________________________

11:52 AM, Local Time

Paris, France

The sound of leaves rustling from above to the wind and the fountain splashing into the river fill the uninterrupted silence.

Amélie Lacroix watched over the river floating to the side as streams of water from the fountain tap clashed with the quintess river pelted with dry leaves. The air was cold so she opted for a wool cashmere coat over her black turtleneck with a skirt and boots accompanied by tights and sunglasses and leather gloves as final touches.

She watched as a handful of couples from a distance passed her eyes, holding hands and talking among each other. She missed the feeling of a warm hand and the steps they took in every walk. Amélie couldn't forget her memories with Gérard Lacroix, her late husband.

He was killed here two years ago in a bombing attack at the facility that used to be Blackwatch's headquarters where he was stationed while Amélie was on a mission. Every year, she would come to Paris to see his burial grave and visit this very park where she found her purpose. The place where she and Gérard met as an assassin.

"I knew I would find you here."

Amélie turned to her left where the voice came from and noticed Gabriel approaching her before stopping a few feet away from her. Like her, he was in winter clothes with a puffer coat over his sport fleece zipped up to his neck and a beanie to brace the cold. Amélie didn't react and looked away from Gabriel.

"You're here because we have a job?" Amélie asked.

Gabriel shook his head. "Just checking in to see how you were doing because of what today is. Mind if I sit with you?"

"I don't see why I should."

Gabriel reached the bench and sat beside Amélie. He let out an exhale and icy air puffed out from his mouth.

"And here I thought you would be in LA to talk things out with your family." Amélie guessed.

Gabriel scoffed. "No, it's a waste of energy."

"How are the others?"

Gabriel slumped back onto the bench, sighing. Another cloud of air streamed out of his lips. "Far as I know, they're doing alright. Genji, Moira and Ray are still in Rome with Jack, Marvel just left for London to see a pilot friend of his, Fio's in the Bahamas, Sombra and McCree… I have no idea where those two are."

Amélie said nothing and looked ahead. Gabriel glanced at her before looking away. Even when her sunglasses conceal her emotion, Gabriel could tell that she was still in mourning.

"Still thinking about Gérard?" He said without looking at her.

Amélie's silence and her frown answered Gabriel's question.

"I miss him too," Gabriel's eyes fell onto the ground. "He was a good friend of mine. And a damn good leader too."

Amélie's willingful commitment to staying silent was telling Gabriel everything she couldn't tell him with her words.

"You know what happened to Gérard wasn't your fault, right?" He said. "I don't understand why you keep carrying that weight around."

A pause filled their gap. Shortly, Amélie lifted her hand to remove her sunglasses. Gabriel took one look at her eyes and he recognized it immediately. It was the eyes of sorrow and guilt.

"I brought him into my life and he died because of what I was," Amélie said, softly. "I could've said that I was a ballet dancer or just… never met him. Gérard would've still been alive if it wasn't for me."

"That's bullshit and you know it." Gabriel said firmly as he faced Amélie. His eyes were showing anger but not at her. "You didn't kill Gérard; Antonio Bartalotti did. We lost our staff to the bombing thanks to that bastard and he's out there as an innocent man, running his business while smuggling weapons and terrorists across Europe under our noses. And because of his connections with the government, we can't go after him."

"You know I find the idea of revenge pointless."

"I don't see why when he's the one who killed your husband."

"And I know killing him won't bring him back," Amélie fired back. "The second I kill Antonio, my husband is still dead. The only person who saw me as a human being rather than a killing machine is gone. Nothing will change that."

Gabriel went silent. Amélie was right and he knew it. She never felt the desire of remorse when she learned of who killed her husband. She only felt guilt and thought this was her past catching up to her, refusing to let her go. The concept of someone going after the person who killed their loved ones felt unsatisfying, let alone useless. Gabriel sighed in defeat and leaned forward.

"Amélie, I'm just asking you to stop beating yourself up," Gabriel said. "You gotta stop carrying that burden of yours, otherwise it's gonna manifest into something you can't control and the effect isn't gonna be pretty. I've seen it before and it's been haunting me ever since."

Amélie didn't respond but Gabriel could see her understanding his point silently. Gabriel looked away from her and faced forward. The two didn't speak for a while and watched over the park as people continued to pass by their sight.

"I can see why you like this park." Gabriel said.

Amélie nodded without glancing back at him. Silence. Gabriel took his beanie off to scratch his scalp. The cold wind blew at his head as the warmth from the beanie dissolved.

"Gabe?"

Gabriel heard Amélie call his name as he put his beanie on and glanced at her. Although she was still staring forward, a faint smile grew from her face.

"Thanks. For that pep talk." She said.

Gabriel simply smiled and looked away.

"You're welcome." Gabriel replied.

The two stayed seated and basked in the cold yet bright sunlight, overlooking the breeze over the winter trees below.

________________________________________

12:15 PM, Local Time

Rome, Italy

It has been a while since they received the food they've ordered and so far, Genji's lunch with Angela has been eventful and enjoyable. The two have been talking for a while and it was clear they get each other. Angela would talk about work and often add in some personal moments outside of work, such as her strange encounter at a cafe while on a coffee run with her Chinese nurse friend.

Genji would sometimes laugh at the unfortunate moments and feel bad at the same time but those were the moments where he would get the chance to smile and act like a normal person, especially with someone he felt comfortable with.

Then, Angela would get into the serious and sensitive parts about her job as a field doctor handling heavily wounded patients and balancing some sense of levity, especially about the air strikes the US keeps sending in. Angela herself wasn't into the nature of war as much as any normal person was, considering she was a pacifist and most of the time, she could get critical about how President Trump and his office handled the war.

She would often apologise for going too much in depth about her job and Genji would assure her he was fine. He always appreciated how concerned she felt whenever she believed she stepped out of the line when talking about her job.

"Anyways," Angela said, after finishing her story about a patient hit by an air strike. She rested her crossed arms on the table after twirling the locks of her hair, leaning in front of the table. "We're getting shipped off in a few weeks. Don't know where but it's probably gonna be in another war-torn country. On the bright side, Dr. Winston Hayward is joining the team."

Genji's head perked up after hearing a familiar name.

"Winston Hayward? You mean the scientist who used to work for DARPA? I never thought he would get involved in humanitarian work."

Angela nodded. "It was a surprise for me too. He served as a medic in the army before DARPA picked him up. He was interested in my work for a while and offered the team a helping hand."

Genji nodded as he took a sip from his glass of water.

"How about you, Genji?" Angela asked. "How's work going for you?"

Genji's smile faltered. He wasn't sure how to answer that. He told her he was working for NATO but he didn't tell her he was working as a covert operative taking part in possibly illegal missions. Genji wasn't sure how she would feel if he told her he maimed a crime lord with his own karambit. He set his glass on the table and sighed, looking away from her.

"I'm alright," Genji said. "There were good days and bad days."

Angela didn't prod him any further about his work. Part of Genji was thankful but the other half lamented that he couldn't confide in her about what he really does. Angela then noticed a few people staring at Genji, with some whispering to each other. She was quick to pick up on the fact that they were staring at him because of the scars on his face. Genji was also trying his best to ignore the judging looks. Angela couldn't help but feel pity for him.

"I-I'm sorry, Genji. I should have picked a more private place." She said softly, feeling guilty.

"It's okay," he assured. "I feel more comfortable showing my face like this when I'm with you because...you don't see me as a monster like others do."

"That's because you're not. I know it's difficult but the scars you have does not define who you are."

"I know. But what happened still haunts me to this day. I can't outrun it."

Angela looked at him, recognizing that look and the voice. The same as the one he had when he was in the middle of recovery.

"Are the nightmares coming back?" She asked.

Genji looked up at Angela, who gave him an assuring look. He took a deep sigh as he held his hands.

"Every time I look in the mirror," Genji said. "I see my brother instead of myself. Every time I try to sleep, I see the Shimada elders order my brother to kill me. Every night, I would wake up, drenched in cold sweat and I would sit on the floor in the dark making sure the clan doesn't go after me because of what I've become."

"Are you still meditating?" Angela asked.

A weak nod came from Genji. "Always, but it's not enough to push those nightmares back. I couldn't remember how long I fought but I remember every cut my brother gave all over me and every hit I made until my limbs gave up. I still remember how it felt too."

Genji wasn't aware his hands were balled into trembling fists. This wasn't the first time he told Angela about his condition but any time he talked about, it would trigger the trauma in his mental state. Then, Genji felt contact with one of his fists. He glanced up and noticed Angela's hand holding his right fist and the shaking stopped.

"I know how painful it is to carry that trauma for a long time, Genji," she said. "I understand how you feel. I carried a lot of pain when I was a kid and it was agonizing for me to face the reality. But I made it through and I want to help people like me. That's why I became a doctor for a reason."

Genji's fists began to unroll and laid flat on the table as Angela's hands held his.

"I know you'll make it through this, Genji. I've been with you for a long time to know that you're strong. But if you ever need help and you can't find someone you feel comfortable with, I'm here for you and I'll help you in any way possible."

Genji looked up at her. Her soothing voice bordered on the lines of angelic. Genji felt a sense of relief and calm being able to talk out his deep issues with his first and close friend. He smiled in return of her assuring words.

"I'll keep that in mind," Genji softly said, looking back at his hands. "Thanks."

"You're more than welcome." Angela replied, smiling back.

The two didn't move for a brief moment as the idle chatter around them drowned out their thoughts. Genji then looked down to his plate and noticed something.

"You know," he said. "We've been talking for quite a while and not once have we touched our food."

Angela blinked before looking down and realizing what he meant.

"Oh my, you're right about that." She said.

Genji couldn't help but chuckle. "Didn't expect that we would talk more than we've eaten."

They both laughed, easing any sense of tension between one another before they got back to eating their meal. They still talked as much as they ate but they drifted towards a more lighthearted path. Angela still had more tales to tell and Genji's smile never faltered since then.

________________________________________

12:46 PM, Local Time

Rome, Italy

Embassy of the United States

Jack Morrison took a sip of his coffee as he read over the mission reports from Blackwatch as well as the dossiers of their operatives. He had just finished reading Genji's dossier and moved on to Ray's. Some of the operatives' backgrounds involved their former lives as career criminals before getting hired by NATO. Others were former military and conducted significant operations early on. Jack didn't expect Gabriel to even consider hiring criminals to work under his hand. Not that he ever played by the rules.

A sudden knock from his office door cut through his thoughts.

"Come in." Jack said.

He heard the door open and footsteps follow through. Jack looked up from the dossiers and noticed it was the team leader of the Valorant Protocol, Brimstone. His Valorant tag hung in front of his sky blue shirt hugging his shoulders. His right hand was also holding a Manila folder.

Jack set the files aside and drank his coffee. "I take it Chechnya was a success?"

Brimstone placed the folder next to Jack's among the pile. "Like a walk in the park. No one suspected we were there, no bodies were dropped and the CIA have the American terrorist in their custody."

Jack grunted in approval as he placed his mug on the desk. "Good job as always, Brimstone. Get you and your team some rest. You all deserve it."

With that said, Jack went back to continuing his reading on Ray's dossier. As he read the file, the footsteps in front of him stopped.

"I got something to ask, Jack," Brimstone said. "Do you trust Blackwatch?"

Jack stopped reading. He knew there was going to be a time where Brimstone would inquire about Blackwatch. Brimstone was not just the team leader - he co-founded this unit with Jack and he was well aware of Blackwatch's existence for a while. Sighing, the commander set his hands on the desk, interlocking his fingers.

"Yes. I do. But the thing is… I believe Blackwatch should not be operational anymore."

"Why's that?" Brimstone asked.

"The world is changing and trustworthy allies are the key to stabilizing a nation. We're making significant progress for NATO and the UN with the Valorant Protocol and we've managed to earn trust from other countries. Blackwatch however… could be a compromise to our goal."

"So we're their replacement?"

"Precisely. The higher ups may need Blackwatch but I want to prove to them that it should be shut down. We've been solving most of NATO and the UN's problems diplomatically and I don't want a black ops kill unit ruining our chances in bringing peace to all nations if they can't trust us."

Brimstone had nothing else to say about Blackwatch and turned away for the door. As he heard the door close, Jack looked back down to the files before going for another sip of his black coffee. Truth be, as much as he believed in Blackwatch's cause, Jack found their methods risky and the risks they make would only drive other countries apart should they ever find out about what they've been doing. He could only hope for Gabriel to understand that but it would take a miracle to convince him.

________________________________________

11:00 PM, Local Time

Zambia

The convoy of trucks drove through the terrain over the tracks engraved between the trees. The headlights shone down the road as the only light source in the desolate forest of Zambia. A Talon strike team was deployed into the country to meet a potential partner for their organization. For air support, an Mi-24 Hind was sent in to accompany them as their eyes in the skies.

Inside the trucks stamped with the signature 'T' insignia on the side, Talon soldiers glued to the seats bobbed up and down as the truck went through uneven terrain. They were all sporting Talon-issued uniforms under their plate carriers and pads covering most of their vital areas, as well as M50 gas masks fitted under their helmets with NODs attached.

Everybody else wore the same masks except for Captain Cuerva, the strike team's commanding officer in the leading truck. Apart from his uniform and gear, he had a red beret bearing the 'T' flash and a jet black neck gaiter. He was as merciless as people say and a force to be reckoned with whenever he led his team during his missions, especially with Mauga, the squad's titan. This was also a rare occasion for Cuerva to get in the field to personally oversee the operation whenever there were complications.

Shortly, the trucks arrived at the riverside village where the gate was guarded by AK47-wielding militants. Because they were expecting them, the militants opened the gate and silently let the trucks in while the Hind hovered above them. As the trucks drove down the path, they were met with glares from several militants from outposts and on the sidewalk. Most of the locals were nowhere to be seen with empty markets and shops.

Once the trucks reached the plaza next to the main hut, the trucks came to a complete stop and shortly, Talon soldiers hopped out one by one and landed on the pale mud. There, the soldiers gathered into their positions and faced the militants while several turned to the hut where their partner would be in. Mauga stood in front of his men, knowing his size and weapon would ensure support and maximum damage. Cuerva was the last to get out and without a word, he headed up the stairs leading to the hut and signaled for both Mazzei and Doubleday to escort him.

As he ignored the condescending glares from the militants, Cuerva and his men went inside and found the office of the militant's leader. Inside the office accompanied by a straw backdrop, the successor of the Macaba militia Kwame Macaba glared at the Captain, knowing who he was. His guards watched with caution running in their eyes as Cuerva stood by the doorway with his escorts. Their begrudging glares reflected onto the unnerving visors of their gas masks. Cuerva paid no attention to them and sat down on the couch across Kwame's before pulling down his neck gaiter.

"Sorry for the sudden visit, Mr. Macaba," Cuerva said. "I understand that you're still dealing with the loss of your brothers but we have a proposal that you may find beneficial to your operations."

Cuerva stared at the man of Talon's interest. Youngest brother of the family, forced to take control of the militia after the death of his brothers a few months back. Knowing him, his family would be hiding upstairs.

"Our leader received a call from you saying that you do not wish to be part of our cause or accept our money that we offered you." Cuerva continued.

"We will not be accepting your blood money or an alliance with you." Kwame growled.

Cuerva chuckled. "Seems like we haven't convinced you well enough. First off, we're not here to negotiate money. We're more than that. Consider us partners looking to help spread your influence across Africa and strengthen your army because you will need it."

"You best leave now if you know what's good for you."

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen. And you might as well watch what you say or there will be consequences for you and your family. Wouldn't want to end up like your brothers, yes?"

Tensions were raised. Kwame's hand clenched into a fist as he glared at Cuerva, clearly taking offence to what he said. Mazzei and Doubleday remained cautious as they eyed the militants, knowing they could open fire at any minute. A smirk curved from the corner of his lip.

"I've read that your brothers were killed trying to take control of Africa and the first thing they did was going after the people running the country," Cuerva said. "That was a bold and ambitious move - a naive one if you get my gist."

Kwame was itching to lunge at him at any moment but he would've done so by now if it weren't for the Talon soldiers watching him.

"And I also found it funny about how your brothers died. Dede Macaba went out of his way to use a child as a bargaining chip before the military shot him dead. I mean, talk about being a 'warrior' who'd rather die a coward than fight as a man. And Arno? Let's just say he failed before he even started."

Kwame gritted his teeth as his fists shook and Cuerva was more than glad to see his face contort into hate.

"You dare speak ill of my family's sacrifices?!" Kwame hissed.

"Oh I dare because I'm the one holding you and your people's lives in my hands," Cuerva said smugly. "I'm just trying to negotiate peacefully here and you're making this very difficult. All Talon wants is an alliance with you and your militia. You see, we believe humanity can only evolve through everlasting conflict. We're gathering organisations who are willing to contribute in making sure the human race grows stronger through war and terror."

Kwame's expression doesn't change, still glaring at the Captain.

"Talon can make you the most powerful man in Africa," Cuerva continued. "We'll provide your militia with better weapons, gear, training and materials for your operations. We can give you all of that with just a flick of a pen and with all the funding from us, you could achieve everything your brothers had been longing for. All you have to do is shake my hand and we can cut you a deal."

Cuerva then outstretched his hand to Kwame. Without a second thought, Kwame smacked it away as if it was a fly. Cuerva was unfazed by his rude gesture.

"The reason why I refused in the first place was because you and Talon are not soldiers, not warriors… you are terrorists who kill for money and sport. My people will never be part of that."

Cuerva stared at him for a moment before sighing and leaning back.

"Very well then," He then reached for his comms. "Negotiations failed. Prepare to clean house."

Shortly, gunfire erupted from outside surprising Kwame and his guards. Talon soldiers posted outside were under orders from HQ to kill the militia whenever the negotiation didn't work out. Kwame was quick to realize what Cuerva ordered and attempted to reach for his holster. Cuerva beat him to it and he shot the leader in the head before he could even touch the gun. Blood sprayed onto the floor and as soon as Kwame went limp, Mazzei and Doubleday took out the guards with ease and smooth synchronization.

Glancing at the stream of smoke oozing from the suppressor, Cuervo got up from the couch and approached Kwame's body. He stared at the dead leader with eyes of disappointment.

"Such a shame, Mr. Macaba," Cuerva said. "We would've had potential working together. Oh well, only fools would go for someone who's useless."

Cuerva then turned away to the doorway.

"Take care of the family." He ordered as he walked off.

"Yes, sir." Both Mazzei and Doubleday complied.

The two went past Cuerva and headed the opposite direction of him to find the rest of Kwame's family, checking their mags as they moved out. As the heavy footsteps faded out, Cuerva walked down the corridor and for the front entrance.

"Akuma 1, you are cleared hot," Cuerva said. "Send those bastards a message."

The sounds of the MG outside raining down from above accompanied the melody of the gunfire below. Walking out of the hut, Cuerva watched as his men moved from several spots in the dark hunting down the militants.

He already noticed several bodies of the militants in front of him as well as several buildings and markets left on fire. The rockets from the chopper then hit the village with immense velocity and obliterated almost everything in sight to ensure no survivors while also avoiding Cuerva's smell of burnt wood and straws filled his nostrils as he watched the flames light up the dark sky and burning wood melt into the river. Screams from afar filled the air of silence, drowned by the gunfire slowly catching up to them.

The Captain simply pulled out a cigar from his pocket, lit it with a match and watched the village burn to the ground. The embers before him sparked brighter like fireworks, making Talon's mark on their steps to the glory of never-ending conflict.

#blackwatch #blackwatch au #overwatch #overwatch fanfic #overwatch fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfictions #fanfic #fanfics #my fanfic #my fanfics #my fanfiction #my fanfictions #wftc141's fanfic #wftc141's fanfiction #wftc141's fanfictions #black ops au

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k3agn · 5 years ago

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I haven’t written a post in awhile, so to prove I’m not actually dead but simply dead inside, let’s tackle Homestuck Mythological Roles again.

Classes (Active/Passive)

In Homestuck, we are told that the classes the players/characters have are classified as either active (-) or passive (+) , and are paired together. We know that the male exclusive Lord is the most active class, and that the female exclusive Muse is the most passive. Of the 12 standard classes, only two pairings are known:

Prince/Bard (Destroy)

Thief/Rogue (Steal)

Their placements on the class spectrum are not known; really none besides the master classes are. Hussie has given clues along the way: the most active class being female, and the two most passive being male, classes shade slightly towards male/active, the Witch is a highly active class, Seers are passive, etc.

To the point: I’m not a fan of the idea that active means a class benefits itself and passive means it benefits others. This idea was initially set by Calliope to explain Thieves and Rogues, and while it can be expanded to other classes it narrows the scope way to much, and so many things fall out of view because of it. The understanding falls apart with instances like John as the Heir of Breath having displays of his powers that both benefit him and others, or sometimes only benefit him, or Aranea as a Sylph of Light healing people for her own agenda, or suggesting that Witches and Maids of Life healing goons is for their benefit rather than who they’re helping. To me, who benefits is less important than what happens, how it happens, and why.

To this end, I subscribe to Calliope’s later explanation with the Prince/Bard class, in a somewhat adapted manner: Active classes use their aspects to their will, whole passive classes seem to act by the will of the aspect. To put it another way, active classes wield their aspect, while passive classes are conduits for their aspects, OR active classes use their aspect more concretely, while passive classes seem to be more open ended. I won’t be covering aspects that much in this post, but if that’s something people are interested in I might do it at a later time.

Many different people subscribe to different orderings, but this is the spectrum/pairings that I subscribe to, with paired classes being equidistant from each other:

Lord (-7)

Maid (-6)

Prince (-5)

Witch (-4)

Mage (-3)

Thief (-2)

Knight (-1)

——————

Page (+1)

Rogue (+2)

Seer (+3)

Sylph (+4)

Bard (+5)

Heir (+6)

Muse (+7)

Placement is somewhat arbitrary while still following the hints Hussie laid out back in the day. Most people put Mage/Seer in the center, but we haven’t seen a lot of Mage action, and we know from Doc Scratch that Seers are supposed to be more like tacticians/commanders waiving their batons rather than warriors in the battle, so I figured they’d be slightly more on the passive side. Really the pairs between |1| and |4| have about as much arguments for them being in any given configuration as any other, but I light Knights/Pages being in the center because it supports the spectrum shading slightly male/active, the great emphasis put on Knights and Pages in their sessions, and the two classes tendencies to (from viewer standpoints) shift between active/passive behaviors. To this end I like to think they’re almost neutral/null; Knights have a lot of innate skill with their aspect, and Pages have a lot of potential.

And that line of thought was when it hit me: active classes tend to be more concrete, passive classes tend to have more potential. Thieves steal their aspect, Rogues seem to steal from/using their aspect. Knights powers seem more defined (exploit as a weapon) compared to the Page’s open ended abilities. Maids do a very specific thing very well whereas Heirs seem to have a lot of flexibility.

Class pairs also seem to share ideas. I’m not going to go into too much depth because this is already a long post, but here’s the concepts I think they encompass:

Lord/Muse: Creation

Maid/Heir: Control

Prince/Bard: Destruction

Witch/Sylph: Transmutation/Restoration

Mage/Seer: Divination

Thief/Rogue: Stealing/Liberation

Knight/Page: Exploitation

Beyond that, it’s up to players, their aspects, and what these ideas mean to them to determine how they use their powers.

If you wanna see more stuff like this, let me know. This was a bit all over the place, but I might do more in depth analyses on the class pairs and aspects moving forward.

#homestuck #class #classpect #lord #maid #prince #bard #witch #sylph #mage #seer #thief #rogue #knight #page #classpect theories #homestuck theories #homestuck theory #god tier

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lovedsammy · 5 years ago

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show me hope again; jack hurt/comfort [commission for wickedwithwings]

This was a commission for @wickedwithwings. The request was for a jack hurt/comfort with Sam & Jack and/or Sam, Jack & Cas, so I tried to do all of those. The premise was Jack gets sent back to Earth from the Empty, Chuck senses it and captures Jack, convincing him that no one wants Jack back and he isn’t loved anymore. Sam and Cas find him, and convince him otherwise.

If we’re going off somewhat canon events, this could take place after 15.08, lol.

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Jack remembers dying.

He remembers being blinded -- literally and figuratively -- by pain, screaming so loudly that even in death, he could feel the rawness of his throat. And then there’d been nothing, almost like he’d fallen into an endless, dreamless sleep. Every single concept of existence ceased to be. The process of death was simple. Like a candle, the flame of life burned for only a short period. And then it was snuffed out, sometimes before the wick even burned dry. Death had no regard for time or how long someone’s flame should burn. It just took. Awareness comes back to him almost instantly, or what he thinks is instantly. He opens his eyes anew, his vision intact once more, and he finds that he’s engulfed in blackness, in pure nothing. He’s in the Empty, he realizes with a start. This was the place where creatures like him, with no humanity or a soul, went when they died. This was where Castiel had been, before Jack had awoken him.

He glimpses a figure emerging from the shadows, and the boy sits up, squinting. He somehow recognizes it, the entity; it’s the host for the Empty. Jack feels his body, or what he perceives as his body, tensing up, and suddenly wishes he’d never awoken at all. He stares up at the faceless being with trepidation, waiting, for what he knows will be unimaginable torture. He’d defied it, and so had Cas, back in Heaven. There was no way it was going to let him remain awake without some kind of revenge. But The Empty just stands before him, using a finger to draw a smile on its nonexistent features. It calms Jack, although he knows it shouldn’t.

But maybe… maybe there was a chance that it meant him no harm. Cas’s deal -- was it considered null now, with his death? Cas, who had offered himself up for Jack instead, for Jack’s life to be spared, only for it to be taken by God. What did that amount to now?

“What’s happening?” Jack asks, not really expecting an answer, but to his surprise, he gets one.

“Yeah, about that,” A cool voice sounds from behind him, and he turns confused eyes onto a woman, dressed all in black with a large scythe in her hand. Billie. Death herself. He knew of her from Sam and Dean, knew that she had power in the Empty, which was probably how he was awake now. But why? Why was he awake? “We should talk,” Billie says, and Jack can only stare at her numbly.

“Talk about… about what?”

Billie regards him carefully. “Fortunately for you, your story is not over yet, young Nephilim. God may have prematurely sent you here, but I have the power to send you back.” She approaches, and kneels down in front of him. Jack’s apprehension fades when she smiles at him. It’s not exactly a friendly smile, but it’s warm enough that it lowers all of his barriers. He has nothing to fear from her. “I have a job for you. A job that only you can do. How would you like to save the world that your Grandfather has so desperately doomed?”

At Jack’s perplexed expression, she raises two fingers and presses them against the boy’s forehead. And Jack sees. He sees himself, writhing on the ground with light streaming from his eyes as they’re burned out of his skull. He sees Cas trying and failing to heal the damage. He sees Sam, gun in hand, yelling at Chuck. He sees Sam pulls the trigger, the bullet becoming a double-edged sword that lodges into both Sam and Chuck’s shoulders, creating mirroring wounds. He sees the scope of Chuck’s anger, feels his wrath, and watches as their almighty creator ushers in what he calls, ‘the end.’ He sees the released souls from Hell inhabit the bodies of the dead, watches his fathers as they try to fight them off. He watches the planet die, little by little. He sees the end of everything.

Billie pulls back at Jack’s fearful shout, watching the boy expectantly. Once he gets a hold of himself, Jack looks at her, really looks at her. She looks sad, he thinks. She doesn’t like what God has done. It went against Death’s very rule. What was happening now… wasn’t how things were supposed to be.

And Jack knows, suddenly, what he has to do. He nods.

“I want to save it. I want to save them.”

Sam, Cas, and even Dean… they were everything to him. He couldn’t bear to see them suffer.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Billie says. Jack thinks he sees fondness in her expression. “Good luck. Tell the Winchesters I’ll be seeing them soon.”

It feels like a warning, as much as it is a message. Before Jack can ask her what she means, fingers meet his forehead again, and everything goes black.

Jack breathes his first third gasp of life -- how many times would he experience that? Dying, just to be born again? -- and his eyes snap open again. It’s a cloudless day, is the first thing he notices. He’s staring up at a blue sky. Then his other senses kick in. His nostrils fill with the strong scent of earth., and he inhales it in, the smell making his nose itch, but not minding it. Allergies be damned. He lets himself absorb the feeling of the grass beneath him, damp from the morning mildew. He listens to the sounds, the rustling of the leaves and the rush of water from the river. He enjoys the gentle breeze wind swiping his hair. The sun is warm on his face. He loves this world, this amazing world that he never was supposed to be a part of in the first place, but had been born into. He loves humanity, with and without its flaws. He loves Sam, and Dean, and Castiel.

His family.

His family, that had included Mary, too.

His heart gives a painful clench when he thinks of her, and it feels different than the last time he was alive, when he’d had no soul. Had Billie somehow restored it? Or had he managed to live with it, as Cas had told him he would, and learned to love even without it? He didn’t know. It didn’t matter now, not really. The state of his soul was the least of his concerns.

Jack carefully rises to his feet, assessing himself. He’s wearing the same clothes that he’d died in. One of the laces of his shoes is untied. His jacket and jeans have grass stains. He reaches up to touch his face and feels unblemished skin. Satisfied, he looks at his surroundings. He’s in the middle of a field in an area that he doesn’t recognize. He hopes he’s somewhere in Lebanon. Billie wouldn’t have sent him back too far from home, would she? Jack reaches down to tie his shoes, and sets off. The first order of business was to find out where he’d ended up. And then he’d go find his family.

If they even want you back after what you did, his mind reminds him, and he swallows down that anxiety. Dean hadn’t gone through with killing him. Sam and tried to stop him, and had even shot God to try and save him. And Cas…. Cas had loved him unconditionally, no matter what. Of course they’d want him back.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” A voice remarks, and it’s one that he’s regrettably burned into his memory. Jack jumps, turning wild-eyed and afraid to find Chuck -- God -- leaning against a tree, hands in his pockets as he watches the Nephilim with a smirk. Was this some sick joke? Had he come back just to die again? “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you. Again. Not yet,” Chuck says, slowly approaching the boy. Despite himself, Jack backs up. “You’re too weak to fight me right now, and I could always use you as some incentive against the Winchesters and Castiel. You could be helpful to me. Well, your powers, anyway.”

“I’ll never help you,” Jack snarls. He tries to reach inward, to try and sense his powers. They’re there, but it’s as Chuck said -- they’re drained. It would take time to power back up. Right now, he’s practically as useless as he was when he was human. Jack bites his lip, unsure of what to do. He could fight in the way that Bobby trained him to, all raised fists and well-aimed kicks. But his puny human body wouldn’t stand a chance against God himself. Still, he has to do something. As Chuck continues toward him, he wrestles with his fight or flight response. Flight wins out, and he makes a beeline for the trees.

Chuck sighs, loud and exasperated. “Jack. Really? Come on. I created everything. There’s nowhere that you can go that I’ll never be able to find you. All you’re doing is prolonging things. You’re just going to wear yourself out.”

Jack ignores him, running as fast as he can towards the highway. Maybe he could hitchhike. Sam always said that was dangerous, but if it got him home, to them, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He needed to get away from Chuck. Chuck, who he can still hear as loud as if he were directly next to him, despite the distance that there should be between them.

“I mean, are Sam and Dean going to even want to see you? You killed their Mom.”

He knows that Chuck is just goading him, trying to break him down. And Jack, unfortunately, rises to the bait. “You made me!” He snaps. “The voice, the sound I heard that day, when Mary was talking to me! That was you!”

“Yeah, but it was your hands that killed her, Jack. Your powers. It was still you, too, even if I was guiding your hand. Not that it matters anymore, though. What happened to Mary Winchester is over. Her sons and their angel are the only ones who matter now. Well, and you. Especially you.”

Jack’s lungs wheeze from how fast he’s running, but he can’t slow down. He’s close, so very close to the highway, thinks he can even see it now, and recognizes it as he edges closer. He’s been on this highway countless times before, had driven down it with Dean. He was only about ten minutes from the Bunker.

If only he could --

There’s a stab of pain as he trips over something, and Jack shouts as he tries to catch himself, falling on his hands. He groans, and forces himself to sit up. There’s a hole in his jeans at the bottom of the pants leg, and a steady flow of blood from where the jagged piece of rock had cut into him. It doesn’t look that deep, but it would slow him down.

Jack whimpers as he tries to get up and fails, vision swimming, feeling every bit like the helpless kid he is. “Cas,” He calls out. He doesn’t know if his angel father can hear him. “Castiel…. Sam, please.”

He can’t move. All he can do is lie there and hope and pray that someone, somewhere, can help him. That Cas can hear him, that Sam will --

“Ohhh… kid, that looks like it hurts.”

Jack raises his head to see Chuck leaning over him. “Hello again, Grandson. It’s about time we actually spent some quality time together, don’t you think?”

The days are long and miserable.

Honestly, Jack begins to consider that being dead may be less of a torture than this. Chuck doesn’t even have to hurt him physically. It’s the mental pain that God inflicts the most, and enjoys. He makes Jack remember Mary’s death, over and over. The countless other people that Jack’s hurt or killed since he was born. He makes Jack remember his mom.

Chuck shows him things, too.

Sam and Dean, locking him in the Malach box. Dean, with his gun trained on him, ready to execute him. Both of them, calling Jack a monster. Castiel, agreeing, turning away when Jack begs him for help while the brothers torture him.

Jack knows it’s not real. God is like Michael in how he tortures him. It hadn’t been real, then, either. But this time, God has Jack’s insecurities and regrets to use against him, his doubts and fears. And he uses them. He breaks Jack over and over until the boy cries and begs to die. And then, eventually, Jack stops crying. He becomes numb, feeling almost hollow. Not soulless -- he’s quite certain that he’s not soulless anymore, if he’d honestly ever been -- but hollow in the way that only pure torture can make you.

Jack had seen it in Sam, when Sam was around Lucifer. He’s only now really understanding the depths of the fear Sam had toward his father, and why. Jack wishes he could tell Sam he understands, and that he’s sorry.

In the beginning, when Jack’s resolve was still stronger, he’d fought against Chuck’s mind games as much as he could. Chuck would play a game where he’d ask Jack where he’d go if he ever got free. Jack would tell him. And when Chuck would say that Jack didn’t belong somewhere, Jack had another answer lined up.

And on and on it went, until there were no answers left.

“Sam and Dean won’t want you, Jack. You killed their Mom.”

“Cas --”

“If Cas cared, he’d be here. He can hear you pray, remember? He just isn’t listening.”

“Heaven.”

“You think anyone would let you upstairs? Come on, kid. Yeah, you made new angels, but I’m back. You think for a second they’d take you over me if I told them not to?”

“Hell, then.”

“The demons? They want Lucifer, they wouldn’t want you. Even if you’re his son, they know your affiliation with the Winchesters. Why would they want the boy who rejected his father and chose humans? Face it, there’s no one out there waiting for you, Jack. I’m all you’ve got.”

After a while, he’d started to believe it.

“Why don’t you just kill me?” He asks Chuck one day when the man comes down to visit him in his cage from whatever establishment he has upstairs. A bar or something, Jack recalls Chuck telling him once. Even God needed breaks.

Chuck just laughs around his glass of tequila. “Where’s the fun in that? Billie would just keep sending you back, and then we’d have to start all over. At least this way I know you’re not going anywhere. You’re contained, and no one’s the wiser.”

But it makes Jack realize the true reason why he’s doing this. Chuck is afraid of him. He’s afraid of Jack’s powers. And Jack could tell that Chuck was getting weaker by the day, while he was growing stronger. Contained, but stronger. His power was on par with that of God. The thought makes him nauseous instead of confident. Because if God could do what he’d done to the world, then what damage could Jack do?

I wouldn’t, he tells himself. I wouldn’t do what he’s done.

He’s unsure if he believes it.

He falls asleep at night dreaming of Sam, of his kind smile and gentle hands.

He prays to Castiel every day.

And every day, he thinks he breaks a little more. Because Chuck was right. If Castiel or Sam or even Dean… if any of them truly cared, they would’ve been here by now. Cas would have answered his prayers. Which meant that he didn’t want to hear him. And Sam…. Sam would never come find him, not after what he’d done, not after he’d taken Sam’s mother from him. Sam, who never got to really know his mom, who had lost her as a baby like he’d had his.

Sam had more reason to hate him than anyone.

Jack curls in on himself, and falls into a restless slumber.

Even if he got out, Chuck was right. There was no one and nothing to go back to.

He wasn’t wanted anywhere.

With his powers failing, it takes Castiel a little while to pinpoint the source of the cry being directed to him for well over a month. And when he does, it hits him like a freight train. He and Sam are researching in the Bunker when Cas feels it again, stronger than before. It’s like knives in his head, the intensity of the misery, and Cas gives a pained shout, grimacing.

“Cas?” Sam asks worriedly, the books forgotten. “You all right? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Jack,” Cas answers after a beat. “Sam… Jack’s alive.”

The hope that enters Sam’s eyes is something that Castiel never wants to see taken from him again. It’d happened far too much already.

“What?” Sam asks, breathless. “Are you sure? Cas…”

“He’s calling for help,” Cas confirms, getting to his feet. He’s able to hone in on Jack’s presence now, can feel his state of being. “He’s been crying out for me, for us. He’s showing me… Chuck. Chuck has him. There’s enochian sigils and other forms of warding on the cage he’s in, I… he needs help.”

Sam leaps to his feet without hesitation. He hasn’t looked this alive in months. “Then let’s go get him, Cas. Let’s get him and bring him home.”

Jack is awoken, at some point, by a commotion upstairs. He opens an eye, squinting, focusing. Chuck usually had his fair share of parties and things happening -- it was a bar, after all. He listens for the familiar shriek of girls, the game machines blaring, the loud music… but none of it ever comes. It’s silent except for loud thudding, and hushed voices. This isn’t Chuck. Something’s different.

“Hello?” He calls out, heart pounding in his throat. “Is someone there?” He moves around a little, managing what he can in his little cage. It clunks every time he remanuvers.

He waits.

More talking.

“Hello?” He repeats, trying to make his voice louder.

He tries to see up the stairs to where the light from the room is coming from behind the door, but from the angle he’s at, he can’t see who it is. He’s still too far away. Luckily, whoever it was up there seemed to know there was someone downstairs, and open the door, hurriedly descending the staircase, flashlight in hand. Cops, then.

Jack doesn’t understand why they’re here, of all places. From what he knew, there wasn’t any illegal activity taking place. Chuck would want to keep the establishment under the authorities’ radar, lest the Winchesters discovered it. Jack had honestly thought there was no chance of rescue, that no one at all would be coming for him. Maybe they still weren’t, but the possibility of freedom has Jack reworking things. He would take anything.

He didn’t know where he would go, or who could possibly ever want him. But he’d give anything to be out of this cage, and out of Chuck’s grasp. Anything for the days of torture to be over.

“Hello?” A voice calls. “Is someone down here?”

Jack knows that voice. He knows it, because it’s the first voice he’d ever heard.

“Sam?” He croaks, mouth dry. Was he just imagining things? Was this just another of Chuck’s mind games, making him see what he so desperately craved? But then Sam is standing in front of him. Even with the limited light, he can see how pale Sam is, see the absolute shock on his face.

“Jack?” Sam gasps. “Jack, you’re alive, you’re…. Oh my God. Cas! Cas, get down here! I’ve got him!”

Sam pushes himself down to his knees, and reaches out to the boy immediately, still locked in the cage. He engulfs Jack’s small hand with his much larger one. The sensation of the touch takes Jack aback, and he shakes his head. Was this really happening?

“I don’t believe it,” Sam says wetly. “You’re really here… I need to get you…” Sam looks around for something he can use to pry the cage open. He settles for a crowbar, prying and shoving at the lock. It comes undone after a long moment, and Sam wrenches the door open, pulling Jack out and into his arms. He cradles the boy close to him, his large frame trembling.

He is soft and warm in the way that Jack remembers, and not even his dreams had been able to replicate the safe feeling he associated with the man.

“Sam,” Jack realizes. This isn’t a trick, isn’t some form of distorted reality that Chuck had cooked up. This was real. Choking, tears running down his face, Jack clings to Sam with everything he has. He lets himself relax for the first time in weeks against Sam’s body. Sam was here. Sam was really here, and he was free, and…

“Sam --”

Cas.

Jack and Sam pull apart at his arrival, and Jack raises his head to meet Castiel’s eyes. “Cas,” He sniffles.

“Jack…”

The angel looks thunderstruck, like he’s seconds away from falling over. Instead, he surges forward and envelops both Sam and Jack to him in a tight embrace. His fingers card through Jack’s hair, and the boy closes his eyes in pure relief. Somehow, he was still wanted. He was still loved. His fathers had come for him. Chuck had been wrong.

“It’s all right now, Jack,” Cas says. “You’re safe. We’re going to take you home.”

But Jack shakes his head. “I can’t. Dean. He’s going to kill me, he's ...”

“No, he isn’t going to kill you, Jack,” Sam promises, hugging the boy close. “He’s missed you, too. I won’t let anything happen to you ever again. Neither will Cas. None of us will. I promise. I know this is late, but… I love you too, Jack. I love you so much, and I’m so sorry I failed you.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Jack cries, his tears coating Sam’s neck. “I’m sorry about Mary. I’m sorry for all of it.”

Sam and Cas shush him, whispering nothing but comfort and assurance, holding him close.

They stay huddled on the floor for a long, long time.

#wickedwithwings #jack kline #commissions #samjack #casjack #sam winchester #castiel #spn #supernatural #chuck shurley #*mine

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imagine-loki · 5 years ago

Text

Pride and Prejudice

TITLE: Pride and Prejudice CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 15 AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths. RATING: Mature NOTES/WARNINGS: Forced Marriage, not all fun and games. My first real step back into the Loki scene in over a year.

Tags - @skulliebythesea @asimovethroughthisworld @blackcherry26-blog

Loki stood in front of his father, his advisors and the Allfather. He waited with bated breathe to see what the Allfather said. He knew of Ella’s pleas to her father. He had heard her beg for the Casket to remain, her fight was entirely for the betterment of the people of Jotunheim, they were her concern. He had been so wrong. He thought her to be her father’s spy, his eyes and ears on the Ice Realm, that the agreement to have her wed him was solely to have his children on two thrones, to have them both rule, not simply to have his son rule on Asgard, but he was wrong. He was entirely wrong. About the Ella, about the Aesir way of life, even in some manners about the Allfather and he ruined everything with his error. He never considered that perhaps they were not as he had thought, that the daughter of the tyrant he always loathed was not her father’s daughter, that she could possibly care for the people of Jotunheim, that she was willing to suffer for Jotunheim.

“I have deliberated with my daughter, who has argued valiantly against removing the Casket from Jotunheim. Even after everything she has endured, she wishes to protect the realm from the actions of a few on it.” Odin glared at Loki as he spoke. “She will return to Asgard with me this evening, the pact will be nulled, the marriage will be deemed void, this farce will be like it never happened and my daughter will be deemed to have attempted to fulfil her duties as a wife, so not to besmirch her honour. She should not be deemed unfit to be well wed as a result of this farce.”

Loki bit the inside of his cheeks. He was not yet deemed to no longer be wed to her yet there was talk of another marriage. He could not comprehend such a manner of living. He felt guilty, all he felt was guilt when he thought of the Aesir he was forced to wed. He thought of the attempts to create a child, her lack of experience, her virtue. It clearly meant something to her to keep it until she was wed, and even now, it’s maintenance seemed to be of more importance than anything. According to Arden, the reference to the marriage as void had to be proven with more difficulty due to her virtue being taken, it could not simply be annulled.

“Yes, Allfather.” Loki could not look at his father as he spoke to the Aesir king. “We will not contest such. I only ask one thing.”

“You have no right asking anything.” Odin snarled.

“I merely wish to show her those flowers I referenced, if it is permitted,” Laufey explained.

Odin deliberated for a moment. “I will see if she is willing.”

“Thank you, Allfather.”

“Have you anything to say?”

Loki looked at Odin. “Would you listen if I did?”

“Not likely.”

“Then, I have nothing to say, I only have an apology.”

“Your apology means nothing to me.” Odin scoffed.

“It is not to you that I apologise, Allfather, so your opinion on it matters little.”

“You will not go near her again, you have done enough damage.”

Loki gave a slight smirk and looked to Arden before nodding slightly. “I gathered you would say such, so instead, I have written something to her.” Arden gave the folded piece of paper to the Allfather.

Odin looked at Loki for a moment before unfolding it and scanning the few words and huffing a small laugh. “It took you long enough to realise it. If you had spent even the briefest of times trying to get to know her, you would have realised that.”

“I learnt the hard way, but I learned.” Loki looked him in the eye as he spoke.

Odin nodded slightly. “You may not send this realm to ruin yet if you do so quicker with the next woman you take. Try not to have her suffer as you did my daughter.”

Loki said nothing. He did not trust himself to speak for fear he would make things worse. He bowed slightly and left the room.

Though she was still tired, Ella asked to be allowed to see the flowers that Laufey had referenced. Her progress was slow through the deep snow, but she made her way to the area they were in, looking sadly around her as she did.

“You appear as though you will miss it here, Princess?” Laufey commented.

“I will. I feel very much like this is more to my nature.” She stated, looking at the ice columns around her. “Asgard can get very warm.”

Laufey chuckled. “Aye, it can.”

“I prefer wearing furs and being warm here in the crisp air, and I will deeply miss many of the foods, especially since the fauna has grown once more.”

“It has become far more interesting to eat these past weeks.” He agreed.

When he showed her the flowers in question, Ella smiled brightly. “Oh, my Gods.” She walked over to them and knelt down, looking at them closely. “I...they are the most beautiful things I have ever seen.”

“They are as delicate as thin ice,” Laufey explained. “They crumble if touched by any but the coldest of beings.”

“So I do not get the honour of their touch. A pity.” Ella looked at the flowers. “Thank you, My King, for showing me this.”

“I am no longer your king, Princess.”

Ella looked down sadly. “I tried.”

“I know, we all know.” He placated.

“If I had been stronger, if my seidr had not…”

“Princess, this was not your doing.”

“But I was not strong enough, I failed.”

“You failed no one.”

“Loki…”

“My son is the one to have failed. He failed to see that the prejudices he held…”

“Valid enough prejudices,” Ella pointed out.

“Even if they held validity to begin with, Princess, he did not see fit to see if they were accurate,” Laufey interjected. “He failed to accept that he was wrong, he failed to acknowledge that the differences in culture required both of you to learn and make sacrifices, he merely expected you to mould to us and him to have to do nothing in return.”

“Does it worry you that he will do such when he is King also?” She asked curiously.

“No, for in that role, he accepts that change is required, he does not respect that marriage is similar.”

“Marriage is not a concept here though, perhaps it was too foreign for him.”

“Even with our version of such, with our manner of mates instead of wives, we need to create a bond with them, to work together to create a pair, a solid unit in which to raise our young. We need to learn our mates, and when you are of higher standing, you often have more and you must learn to work with them, to be able to manoeuvre the relationships between themselves and your own self. It has no ribbon tying, no ceremony, but it is the same living, a mate is the same as a wife and she requires the same care. Even if nothing else, he knows how to treat a mate, he could simply have applied such practise to you.”

“But mates are a meeting of some aspect of a being, mind, body or other, we never had such.” Ella felt a painful pang at that. “I was never who he wished for.”

Laufey looked at her studiously. “‘Who he wished for’, not what?”

“That too.” She felt a presence close by and looked around, unsurprised to see her father’s most powerful and decorated Einherjar mere meters away. “I take it that this is my call to return.” She rose to her feet again. “It has been an honour to be on your realm, My King. I thank you for your wise counsel, your great company and for the welcome that you bestowed on me. So many would not have shown such grace or kindness, especially when my father was the man to put you and your realm into such a position. I can never express my gratitude enough to you. I hope that Jotunheim continues to flourish.”

“I thank you, Princess, for your grace, your open mind, your respect and your sense of duty to do what you could for our realm, so many would have shown us contempt. Your kindness and valiant fight for us to have our Casket remain when so many would so easily have demanded it be removed again in retaliation for how you suffered here.”

“I could never do such a thing.”

“You are a better being than most any I have ever met. I had hoped my grandchildren would have shared your good nature. I thought you would be more actively involved in the future of Jotunheim. Your contribution will never be matched, but I had hoped you would have been here for it.”

“I wish I was. Know that though I leave today, I wish I did not have to.” She bowed slightly. “Thank you, My King.”

“I am not your King, Princess.” He reminded her.

“Not officially.” She smiled in return, walking to her father’s guards.

Laufey, unable to watch her leave when he had grown fond of her, stayed looking at the flowers, Nal’s favourites when she lived. She only ever could touch them without breaking them whilst she carried Loki. It had made them all the more special to her while she did. Where once he looked at them in happiness, now all they brought the old king were painful reminders of what happiness had been possible.

Ella walked towards the area where the Bifrost would collect them. She noticed Loki standing in a doorway with Helbindi by his side, both watching her. With an order to her father’s guards to remain and knowing that her father could not see her, she walked over to the Jotnar princes. “Prince Helbindi, if I may be so bold as to ask for a moment of privacy with Prince Loki?”

Helbindi looked at Loki for a moment before looking at her again. “And were I to decline?”

“Then that is your given right. I can only make the request in hope of a favourable answer.” She smiled politely.

Helbindi nodded slightly before jumping down from the doorway and walking off, Ella giving her thanks as he did. Loki, however, remained in the doorway, looking down at her.

“Thank you for your note.”

“Thank you for speaking to the Allfather and convincing him to allow the Casket to remain.”

“I could not allow for Jotunheim to suffer, not for this.” She looked around slightly. “I wish I could have seen it return to its former manner. I have little doubt that it will be anything other than glorious.”

“It will be.”

“Rule it well.” He frowned at her. “In court, you were fair and just, it would do well for you to remain such. It will make you a good king.”

“You think this?”

“I have six-hundred years of court experience, I like to think I have a slight knowledge of such things.”

“I thought it was only five and a half centuries you were there.”

“That my father knows of, I snuck in long before I was caught.” She smiled proudly. “I only was ever caught because Bjorr found me whilst looking to covet Tyr’s wife.” Loki’s brow raised at that. “I wish you every good fortune going forward, Prince Loki.”

“I thought you would not be so kind worded, considering.”

“I hold no ill against you, you never pretended to like me or wish to be stuck with me. You never lied and declared to care for me or other such things.” She shrugged. “I was not in the vision you had of how you wished for your life to be, hopefully now you will be able to have the one you yearned for.”

“How…?”

“Do I know of her? Put simply, the second-ever time we attempted for a child, you groaned her name in my ear as you entered me. Her father is of your father’s court. She glared at me every time she looked at me. You stared longingly at her the few times she was present. It was not too difficult to place the being to the name.” She explained.

“I…”

“You need say nothing, I understand.” She smiled sadly. “I am sorry I was not what you wished for. I had thought to try and be a better wife but hearing you say her name caused me to realise no matter if I simply just continued to lay there or make an effort, you would not care. I am sorry I made it unpleasant for you. I cannot imagine it to be appealing to attempt to feel interested in one like a corpse, as you put it, but I just...it felt wrong to do anything, knowing you were thinking of her. There was no point trying to build something with someone who was not available to build it with.”

Loki felt his throat feel tight, as well as pulsing in it. He had not realised that she knew, both of Angrboða and his thoughts of her abilities. “How…?”

“You told me the night we consummated the marriage that we needed to go to breakfast, I returned to the rooms but you were with your brothers when I entered your rooms speaking of it.”

Loki felt terrible. The guilt from before magnified exponentially as a result of everything. The look in her eyes, the hurt he saw when he entered her company, the manner in which she simply lay there expectantly was all because she was aware of her duty, but also of his severe lack of interest in even trying to make a marriage with her. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” She turned to leave. “Thank you, for what knowledge you have bestowed on me, for showing me my faults, know that I will endeavour to work on them moving forward.”

“Your only fault was bestowing fate in those unworthy of it.” They both turned to see Laufey standing closeby. “Come, your father is waiting for you, Princess.”

Ella walked towards away from Loki and past his father, Laufey glaring angrily at Loki as she did, telling him that he had heard some, if not all, of their interaction, and of how he had failed his duties in even more manners than he had previously been aware of.

#loki #others #Submitted fic #submission #chapter 15 #pride and prejudice #wolfpawn

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wolfpawn · 5 years ago

Text

Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 15

Story Summary - Based on an idea I had that I submitted to Imagine Loki. Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths.

Chapter Summary - The decision is made for Ella to return to Asgard with Odin but Laufey has one last request before she goes. When it comes time to say goodbye, Loki realises how much Ella knew all along.

Previous Chapter

Tags - @peppermint-j @damalseer @perpetual-fangirl @tinchentitri @inspired-snowflace @raphaelaisabella @alexakeyloveloki @caffiend-queen @devilbat @nonsensicalobsessions @skulliebythesea @majoringinlife @salempoe @lotus-eyedindiangoddess

Request if you wish to be tagged

NOTES - apologies for the delay, I ran out of data....what a first world problem.

“Yes, Allfather.” Loki could not look at his father as he spoke to the Aesir king. “We will not contest such. I only ask one thing.”

“You have no right asking anything.” Odin snarled.

“I merely wish to show her those flowers I referenced, if it is permitted,” Laufey explained.

Odin deliberated for a moment. “I will see if she is willing.”

“Thank you, Allfather.”

“Have you anything to say?”

Loki looked at Odin. “Would you listen if I did?”

“Not likely.”

“Then, I have nothing to say, I only have an apology.”

“Your apology means nothing to me.” Odin scoffed.

“It is not to you that I apologise, Allfather, so your opinion on it matters little.”

“You will not go near her again, you have done enough damage.”

“I learnt the hard way, but I learned.” Loki looked him in the eye as he spoke.

Odin nodded slightly. “You may not send this realm to ruin yet if you do so quicker with the next woman you take. Try not to have her suffer as you did my daughter.”

Loki said nothing. He did not trust himself to speak for fear he would make things worse. He bowed slightly and left the room.

“You appear as though you will miss it here, Princess?” Laufey commented.

“I will. I feel very much like this is more to my nature.” She stated, looking at the ice columns around her. “Asgard can get very warm.”

Laufey chuckled. “Aye, it can.”

“I prefer wearing furs and being warm here in the crisp air, and I will deeply miss many of the foods, especially since the fauna has grown once more.”

“It has become far more interesting to eat these past weeks.” He agreed.

“They are as delicate as thin ice,” Laufey explained. “They crumble if touched by any but the coldest of beings.”

“So I do not get the honour of their touch. A pity.” Ella looked at the flowers. “Thank you, My King, for showing me this.”

“I am no longer your king, Princess.”

Ella looked down sadly. “I tried.”

“I know, we all know.” He placated.

“If I had been stronger, if my seidr had not…”

“Princess, this was not your doing.”

“But I was not strong enough, I failed.”

“You failed no one.”

“Loki…”

“My son is the one to have failed. He failed to see that the prejudices he held…”

“Valid enough prejudices,” Ella pointed out.

“Does it worry you that he will do such when he is King also?” She asked curiously.

“No, for in that role, he accepts that change is required, he does not respect that marriage is similar.”

“Marriage is not a concept here though, perhaps it was too foreign for him.”

“But mates are a meeting of some aspect of a being, mind, body or other, we never had such.” Ella felt a painful pang at that. “I was never who he wished for.”

Laufey looked at her studiously. “‘Who he wished for’, not what?”

“I could never do such a thing.”

“I wish I was. Know that though I leave today, I wish I did not have to.” She bowed slightly. “Thank you, My King.”

“I am not your King, Princess.” He reminded her.

“Not officially.” She smiled in return, walking to her father’s guards.

Helbindi looked at Loki for a moment before looking at her again. “And were I to decline?”

“Then that is your given right. I can only make the request in hope of a favourable answer.” She smiled politely.

Helbindi nodded slightly before jumping down from the doorway and walking off, Ella giving her thanks as he did. Loki, however, remained in the doorway, looking down at her.

“Thank you for your note.”

“Thank you for speaking to the Allfather and convincing him to allow the Casket to remain.”

“It will be.”

“Rule it well.” He frowned at her. “In court, you were fair and just, it would do well for you to remain such. It will make you a good king.”

“You think this?”

“I have six-hundred years of court experience, I like to think I have a slight knowledge of such things.”

“I thought it was only five and a half centuries you were there.”

“I thought you would not be so kind worded, considering.”

“How…?”

“I…”

Loki felt his throat feel tight, as well as pulsing in it. He had not realised that she knew, both of Angrboða and his thoughts of her abilities. “How…?”

“You told me the night we consummated the marriage that we needed to go to breakfast, I returned to the rooms but you were with your brothers when I entered your rooms speaking of it.”

“So am I.” She turned to leave. “Thank you, for what knowledge you have bestowed on me, for showing me my faults, know that I will endeavour to work on them moving forward.”

“Your only fault was bestowing fate in those unworthy of it.” They both turned to see Laufey standing closeby. “Come, your father is waiting for you, Princess.”

#loki fic #chapter 15 #Pride and Prejudice

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hotheadhero · 5 years ago

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Living on a Prayer || Caspar & Linhardt

@linhcrdt, CF war phase, transferred from here:

just his luck to be assigned night watch. one would think that his narcoleptic streak would render linhardt’s credentials for such tasks null but, alas, everyone must play their part. it wasn’t as if the healer could sleep at night anyhow, the pleasantries of a perfect slumber cast itself away with whatever remains of peace fodlan had once known.

they’re at a stalemate in the war. the professor is missing, and the fact that they’ve been able to stride with minimal casualties was nothing short of a miracle. in trying times, hope was nothing but a concept– and a fictional one if to be more precise. the war has waged on for years and, frankly, linhardt doesn’t see a glimpse of a conclusion near the horizon. everything is so grim and so bothersome– and yet, odd as it is, linhardt finds it worthwhile to be amongst the strike force than to be peacefully tucked at home, ignorant.

war has its benefits and it’s reaped through his crest research. they may not have gained any monumental victory towards their cause yet, but at least linhardt’s managed to harvest some of his own. it’s the bursts of knowledge that keeps the healer stable despite it all, as selfish at it is. the magnificence of crests shine through turmoil, in instances where their power pushes an individual past human constraints. linhardt’s managed to delude himself– as long as his research benefits from the strife, he has no qualms being on the battlefield.

but then, there’s caspar. that’s where it gets complicated.

in order to evade devastation before its dues, linhardt’s crafted a makeshift comfort within the grim realities of war. he’s evaluated and came to terms that, whilst all his classmates-turned-comrades happen to be alive now, there’s no logical proof that declares that even half of them would remain by the end of it– himself included. if dorothea were to perish, that would be unfortunate. had it been petra? it’d be pitiful, for she would have been exhausted upon foreign soils. ferdinand? to be expected. bernadetta would be a shame. hubert and her majesty? well, frankly, that was deserved.

only speculation of caspar’s impending misfortune that caused linhardt’s stomach to twist, to cause for his blood to run cold. the effects of his hemophobia had lost its charm long ago, yet the mere thought of caspar battered, shattered, and very much lifeless never failed to spike nausea. even now, it gives him goosebumps. it makes his chest race, throat quivering— he hates it. he despises it because, logistically, caspar’s survival rate isn’t exactly high, either. the cursed fool jumps into battles just as impetuously as he did at sixteen, as if he still had something to prove to himself, as if the war was going to end if he’s just hit a certain body count and constantly gave it his all. how someone could see death in the eye and still be so half-witted despite it all– honestly, it pisses linhardt off.

(and, of course, it’s just his luck to be so smitten by the said moron. of anyone he could have pinned for, of course he’d have to fall for the one who seems so stupidly eager to die on the battlefield. the one who never gives a second thought to any battle he’s roused himself within, the one who is stupid enough to break his weapon and continue fighting bare fist and all.)

think of a demonic beast, it’ll rise to exist. a swat to his bun announces a certain person’s presence (– and when had he been face first against the dirt?), linhardt gives a groan and stirs himself up. bleary eyes wander until they catch a glimpse of boyish looks against diffused moonlight. he stares, calm despite the outburst, and contemplates whether or not to sink back to the ground. if only death could be half as peaceful, he thinks, words dipped in fine cynicism, an art that linhardt’s found that he’s mastered over the times. he dares not to speak it, however, as he’s come to notice the begrudged state his companion is in. it’s odd– caspar’s rarely been anything but an optimistic bundle of energy.

“you look terrible,” linhardt opts to quip instead, rising, before he takes a seat next to caspar. he leans forward, shifting his weight on caspar’s side, and an arm lazily drapes around the other’s waist as aegean searches for baby blues. “something wrong?”

He didn’t expect otherwise (didn’t want to expect it either), but still, he is gratified to see Linhardt shift into an upright position and scoot closer to him. Five years ago from anyone else, he might have scooted away from the arm the mage wraps around his waist; but they’ve been fighting this war for four years now, amid fire and screams and demonic roars. He’ll take any reminder he can get that his friends are still alive and well, do anything to ensure they stay that way… even give his life for theirs if need be to save them. Caspar is the second son of Bergliez: his brother Julian, not he, will inherit the title their father currently holds (still holds, despite his age, for Gilead von Bergliez is nigh impossible to defeat in battle). The only purpose left to him is battle, and he’s dedicated all his strength to ensuring Edelgard’s vision becomes reality. Death is not unexpected for the men of his house (indeed, it is far more unusual to have representatives from three consecutive generations still alive), and he’s long since come to terms with the idea that the last thing he sees may well be the head of an enemy pike, even as the seeming indomitability of his forebears lets him delude himself into thinking he’ll survive this just as they did before him. No, it’s the others’ deaths that concern him more… Linhardt’s in particular.

This war came upon them so suddenly (even as he knows the flames of it are largely of Edelgard’s making), swept them up in its ultimatum of join or die. He knows Linhardt would much rather not be a part of it at all—even up to their graduation, he still blanched at the sight of blood—but it’s far too late for any of them to back out now. The mage has, predictably, taken up positions at the rear while he, predictably, threw himself right into the face of it all—but none of them had expected enemy reinforcements from behind until the screams fell upon them from within the infernal brush. Caspar had been part of the van, too far away to support the rear. The knot that lodged in his gut when the fighting broke out, when Linhardt’s scream of all people’s pierced the din— It was like a lightning bolt through the chest. The thought that he might not make it in time to save his friend was cause for him to move faster, even as his cramping limbs screamed at him no more. Thankfully Linhardt had escaped permanent injury resulting from the ambush (thank the goddess), but it was a harsh reminder that any one of them could die at any moment; and however much Caspar thinks he’s accepted that possible fate as his own, accepting it in others is far from easy. The mere thought of Linhardt dying near tears him in half. For fifteen years, they’ve never strayed far from each other. When they fight together, it is with the fluidity of two souls made one. Could he go on, should the other fall? Caspar isn’t sure… yet those demons still plague him even as he tries to sleep. Even worse, it’s Linhardt’s turn at night watch, and he’s out there alone. Anything could happen, and he’d never know about it. And so with a frustrated noise, he threw back his blankets and stood upright, strapped on his armor as he headed out. One could never be too careful in these dangerous times.

(The sight of Linhardt sprawled flat on the ground when he reached the outpost sent a second shock of terror through him. It hewed far too close to the repetitious image in his nightmares that drove him out of bed tonight.)

But all that is behind him now. Linhardt responded to the swipe to his hair-bun; he is here, awake, and more importantly alive. The weight of the mage’s body on his, the rise and fall of his shoulders beneath Caspar’s easy grip, the hand around his waist as if by inviting himself here, he’s become the biggest pillow in Linhardt’s collection (never mind that his heavy pauldrons can’t possibly make for a comfortable headrest)—only the familiarity of it all can still his breathing into something normal… though it would seem that not all signs of his distress could escape his friend’s watchful eye.

“You look terrible,” he observes, oceanic eyes searching his. “Something wrong?”

Caspar doesn’t answer for a moment. He can’t bring himself to answer, even though (or perhaps because) the one asking is the reason for his disquiet. To talk about it, he fears, is to invite its occurrence in reality, and Caspar would give anything to ensure that this particular event does not come to pass. Still… he has never been one to hide or lie. That he is debating doing it right now is writ as obviously on his face as his mind. Perhaps Linhardt did not even need the firelight to see it. Yet even so—!

“I couldn’t sleep,” is all he can bring himself to say. “I was just thinking…” He trails off reluctantly, then with an effort continues. “That last battle was pretty rough. Not even Hubert expected we’d be assaulted from behind. … We all got out okay this time, but it’s only going to get tougher from here on out, isn’t it.” He knows the answer already: It’s not even a question of if anymore; rather, it’s when. The young man shoots a sidelong glance towards the mage, and the knot in his stomach twists tighter. Nope. Still can’t say it.

“I wish the professor were here!” he bursts out instead. “He always knew how best to solve our problems back in the academy. Surely he’d know how to put a stop to all this without so much death and fighting! I wish—!”

His hand on Linhardt’s shoulder tightens with words left unsaid. I wish you didn’t have to be here to protect me. That should be my job, not yours.

#thread: living on a prayer #linhcrdt #3h spoilers #// i promise the next post will be somebody much owed orz #war phase

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