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podiumackles · 25 days ago

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the moments that stay (they turn out all wrong)

In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.

CHAPTER 3

A/N: English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.

Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of slight gore, mentions of blood, mentions of death, and possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.

Present

Getting out of your cell was easier than expected. The hard part was getting out of the facility alive; about twenty minutes into the escape, alarm bells rang out like a symphony of dread, filling the cold, sterile corridors. It wasn’t surprising, really—Vought’s security wasn’t going to let you walk out unharmed. Still, for the first time in decades, your wrists were free from the biting restraints, and adrenaline surged through your veins.

You ran alongside Butcher, who seemed to have an uncanny knack for navigating the labyrinthine facility. His movements were sharp and purposeful. It was clear he had done his homework on this place, even if Vought’s playbook was constantly evolving. Soldier Boy was ahead, his broad shoulders cutting a path through the narrow hallways like a battering ram.

“Thought you said you had this under control!” you shouted over the wail of the alarms, your voice rusty but gaining strength.

Butcher smirked, barely winded. “Oh, this? Bit of noise never hurt nobody.”

Ben shot a glance back at the two of you, his shield gripped tightly in one hand, his jaw clenched. He looked as though he was barely holding himself together—rage simmering just beneath the surface. You couldn’t blame him. Whatever memories Vought had buried inside him, they still left scars. And now, the sound of blaring alarms running through his ears, must trigger his fight or flight response. There was no doubt about it.

“We need to hit the control room,” Butcher said, his voice urgent now. “Shut down the security before they send the big guns.”

You and Soldier Boy exchanged a glance. His eyes still carried that haunting vacancy, but a flicker of something else—recognition, maybe—crossed his face. He jerked his head forward, signalling for you to keep moving. Old habits died hard. Even after everything, he still acted like a leader.

The trio turned a sharp corner just as a squad of Vought soldiers appeared at the other end of the corridor. You didn’t hesitate. Throwing yourself to the floor, you slid behind a row of metal crates, while Soldier Boy charged forward like a freight train. His shield crashed against the soldiers, sending them flying, their weapons useless against his brute force and super healing.

Butcher stayed low, pulling a gun from his coat and taking a few well-placed shots, neutralizing the ones that hadn’t already been knocked out cold by Ben. The man moved with ruthless precision, not a shred of hesitation in his actions. You wondered how many people like you and Ben he’d already dealt with, how much he’d seen. But that was a question for later. For now, survival was your only priority.

“Clear,” Butcher muttered, nodding for you to get up.

“We won’t have much time,” you said, still catching your breath. The alarms were one thing, but Vought had been keeping an eye on every single corner of the facility with the carefully hidden cameras around the building.

“Yeah, no fucking shit,” Ben muttered, shaking off some dust mixed with blood from his shield as if this were a regular Tuesday for him. “Where’s this control room?”

You pointed ahead. “Up two floors. We take the stairs—elevator’s a death trap.”

Your mind was racing with thoughts of escape. But there was another gnawing question you couldn’t shake: Why were they here, really? Why you?

As the three of you burst through the stairwell door and ascended the steps, your legs burning with the effort, you felt the weight of the years clawing at you. Your muscles were stiff, your body weak from disuse, but the rage—the fury—inside you was enough to keep you moving. You were sick of being someone else’s pawn.

Suddenly, Ben stopped at a landing, holding out his arm. You froze, instinctively falling back into soldier mode. “What is it?” you whispered.

“Listen.”

You strained your ears, and sure enough, your superhearing enhanced the heavy clank of footsteps echoing from above. A lot of footsteps.

“They’re sending the backup troops,” You muttered. “They think we’re trapped.”

Butcher grinned, something dark and predatory in his eyes. “Let ‘em come. They don’t know what’s comin’ for ‘em.”

You tightened your fists, feeling the heat of your powers surging just beneath your skin. It hurt, just the slightest. It had been so long since you had the chance to use them—so long since you’d felt anything beyond the dull ache of confinement.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Butcher asked, glancing at you with an eyebrow raised.

You looked him dead in the eye, trying to hide your hesitation. “Always am.”

The first wave of guards came pouring down the stairs, fully armed, faces masked. Without hesitation, Ben launched himself into the fray, shield gleaming as it smashed into the front line. Butcher followed, a pistol in one hand and a combat knife in the other, carving through the chaos.

You stood back for a moment, feeling the pulsing heat build in your hands, until finally, with a sharp exhale, you unleashed it. Energy—wild, untamed wind—exploded from your palms, sending the next wave of soldiers crashing back into the walls. The surge felt powerful, like shaking off the chains that had weighed you down for years.

But most of all, it was stronger than it ever had been. The most powerful you had ever felt. And you barely dared to admit that it scared you.

Ben glanced back, eyes wide for the briefest of moments when he looked at you before he returned to dispatching the remaining guards.

“Not bad,” Butcher commented, smirking through the chaos. Though an unfamiliar look crossed his eyes.

Once the stairwell was clear, the three of you sprinted up the last flight of steps and into the corridor leading to the control room. You could hear more guards closing in behind you, but the door ahead was just within reach. With a mighty kick, Soldier Boy knocked it open, and the three of you burst into the room, slamming the door shut behind you.

Two of Vought’s employees shot around in their chairs, a look of horror flashed on their innocent faces right before Soldier Boy lifted his shield, moved it at the height of their necks and-

Two heads rolled over de floor.

The air was thick with tension, punctuated by the shrill wails of the alarms still echoing through the facility. The walls were lined with glowing monitors, displaying a maze of surveillance footage, flashing red warnings, and floor plans. This was the heart of Vought’s operations.

Butcher wasted no time, moving swiftly to one of the terminals. He began typing with a speed and confidence that suggested this wasn't his first time hacking into a heavily fortified system. Meanwhile, Ben paced near the door, shield in hand, his eyes darting between you and the hallway as if expecting another wave of soldiers any second.

You, however, stood frozen for a moment, taking in the room—the remembrance of decades of torment, experimentation, and manipulation. You thought you’d feel more relief standing here, so close to freedom, but instead, an overwhelming uncertainty bubbled just beneath your skin.

“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna help?” Butcher barked, not even looking up from the terminal. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he tried to override the system’s security protocols.

You snapped out of your daze and approached another terminal, feeling the heat of your powers still crackling under your skin. And it still hurt.

Before you could respond, Soldier Boy's sharp voice cut through the air. "We've got company."

The door behind him shook under the pressure of a battering ram. Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor as more of Vought’s enforcers gathered outside, their numbers growing by the second.

“Of course we bloody do,” Butcher muttered, his eyes never leaving the screen. “We’re almost through—just a bit more time.”

You clenched your fists, the air around you shimmering with energy that was so unfamiliar, it sent a shiver down your spine. "We don't have time, Butcher. I can feel them—they’re coming fast."

Ben squared his shoulders, stepping forward to brace the door. The rage that always seemed to simmer beneath his surface was now boiling over. He was done waiting, done being manipulated. “Let them come,” he growled, his shield raised, ready to take on whatever came through that door.

Butcher glanced at you, something like hesitation flickering in his eyes. It was a look you didn’t yet know he could have. “You’ve got a plan, love? ‘Cause if we don’t shut this down now, Vought’ll be all over us.”

The door rattled violently as Vought’s forces hammered against it, each thud reverberating through the control room.

"Me, a plan?" you spat ever so lightly, mild accusation in your tone. "You were the ones that needed me out!"

But Butcher didn't respond. Neither did Ben, for that matter.

Time was running out, and the tension was as thick as the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You focused, taking in the situation: Butcher was close to breaking the system, Ben was ready to stand his ground, and you—well, you weren’t the same person who had been shackled in that cell for decades. You had something new simmering inside, something dangerous. And you could feel it in every single piece of your body.

Your powers crackled just beneath the surface, stronger than you had ever remembered. The years of confinement, of being forced into silence, had built a storm within you, and you were ready to let it loose. But you knew this wasn’t you. This had never been you.

Ben stood firm by the door, his broad shoulders braced against the inevitable. His eyes flicked toward you, still cold, still distant. He was ready to fight, but this was a fight you had never been in before. A complete stranger, and a man who couldn’t even remember you, stood by you. And you had no idea if you could rely on them.

Butcher’s voice broke through your thoughts. “We’re in!” he called, finally cracking the security system. “But they’ve got some heavy-duty encryption on this place. It’ll take a few more minutes to wipe the files and shut down the alarms.”

You glanced at Ben. He was steady, but he couldn’t hold off a full squad alone. And your powers—they felt unpredictable. But you didn’t have a choice. Vought was coming, and this was your only chance.

The door shuddered again, and you could hear the muffled voices of the soldiers outside, preparing for a final push. You turned to Butcher. “You’d better hurry. We don’t have minutes.”

He looked at you, his jaw clenched, but nodded. “Just keep them off me, yeah? I don’t fancy getting me head blown off ‘cause you got distracted.”

Asshole.

With a deep breath, you stepped forward, joining Ben at the door. “You got an idea?” you asked, voice low.

Ben shot you a glance, his grip tightening on his shield. “You think I haven’t done this a thousand times? Just stay out of my fucking way.”

You didn’t respond. There was no point. Whatever bond the two of you once had was long gone, buried beneath the years of torture and manipulation. But that didn’t matter now. What mattered was getting through this.

The door burst open, and Vought’s soldiers flooded in. Ben moved like a force of nature, his shield slamming into the first soldier with a sickening crunch. He was fast, brutal, and efficient—every movement a practised execution of raw power. But there were too many.

You felt the heat rise in your palms, the energy building, and it hurt. It hurt so fucking bad. It was unlike anything you had ever felt before. It used to be a sweet touch of weather, the comforting droplets of rain. But this was different.

It neared a breaking point. Both your power and your well-being. At its maximum power, you lost control. And with a sharp exhale, you unleashed it. The energy exploded from you in a blinding wave, tearing through the room like wildfire. The soldiers were thrown back, their bodies crashing into the walls with bone-shattering force. Bolts of lightning crackled between the men, ensuring death upon impact.

Even Ben was forced to brace himself against the onslaught, his shield raised in defence. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, barely having evaded your attack from reaching him. But he didn’t say anything.

You were out of control. And there was no way you could contain this power any longer. Fuck, you weren't even sure what was going on. You weren't even sure if you were conscious.

When the dust settled, the room was eerily quiet. The soldiers lay scattered, unconscious or worse, and the air was thick with the smell of burnt metal and ozone. You fell to the floor, breathing heavily, your hands still crackling with residual power. For a moment, you didn’t feel anything—just numbness.

Then Butcher’s voice cut through the silence. “Well, that was bloody brilliant,” he muttered, stepping back from the terminal. “Shut down the whole damn system. Alarms are off, security’s locked out. We’re good to go.”

You turned to face him, your body still trembling from the power you barely remembered releasing. “It’s done?”

Butcher nodded, a grim smile on his face. “Yeah, love. It’s done. Now we get the hell out of here.”

Ben lowered his shield, his face unreadable as he looked at you. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was a glimmer of something other than cold indifference in his eyes. Maybe he remembered something. Maybe it was fear.

You didn't care.

You spoke up once more, this time directing your gaze towards Ben, who held a seemingly shocked frown. “What on earth happened?”

Soldiers scattered in the hallway, remains of them smashed against the bloodied wall.

Soldier Boy didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at Butcher, who knowingly glanced back at the supe.

All you could do was look around at the aftermath of whatever had happened to you.

And what feared you the most, was the fact you could only vaguely remember what the answer to it was.

A/N: as always, feedback is appreciated! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.

thanks for reading! <3

taglist: @demodemo909 @deangirl96 @mostlymarvelgirl @n-o-p-e-never

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #jensen ackles #soldier boy #soldier boy x female reader #jensen ackles soldier boy #soldier boy/ben #the boys amazon #the boys fanfic #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fic #soldier boy fanfiction #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #soldier boy smut #the boys #the boys tv

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thegildedbee · 6 months ago

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Blanket/Weather: May 17 & 18 Prompts by @calaisreno

Lhasa remains steeped in darkness, even though the stars at the roof of the world are beginning to fade as night closes its eyes. Sherlock carefully weaves in-and-out between the long-haul lorries in the crowded service area, moving towards the one that will clandestinely carry him to its destination in Shigatse, which will place him in the vicinity of a rogue copper mine. This improvised transport strategy allows him to slip surreptitiously from town, thwarting the restriction on international visitors that they be accompanied by guides anywhere they travel within the captive region. Careful to remain undetected, he slips through the back door of the attached freight container; once safely inside, he casts light from a pen-sized torch across the boxes, gauging how to arrange a space to conceal his presence.

The blend of noises outside the truck crowd in on his awareness, amplifying his sensation of confinement – snatches of conversation, mostly in Mandarin, random laughter and occasional shouts, the peremptory staccato of a horn, the groaning metallic scraping of engines downshifting, the crunching of gravel under moving vehicles. He sits down, pressing his back against the side wall, knees bent, his hands and fingers idly flipping and spinning the pen torch. After a few moments he stops, puzzled at feeling pulled off-kilter, unsure as to why. This moment, now, is just one more to get through, as are the moments to come over the next five hours, and then in however many days lie ahead. The waiting, the dark, the placelessness – these are all familiar companions; he’s practiced at tamping down his resentment, and meeting each of them with resignation. He allows his mind to drift, seeking to surface useful data . . . and when it comes, the result suggests an odd source -- the similarity of his physical position to that last day before he disappeared, sitting preoccupied on the floor at Bart’s laboratory, bouncing a small rubber ball, waiting for events to unfold. He rubs at his forehead, and exhales with an irritated huff, frowning, displeased that he’s let the memory intrude.

He disciplines himself to shift focus, to stay in the present, by mentally rehearsing the two major tasks he needs to complete today, barring any unfortunate developments that would require starting over. He’s here to neutralize two confederates of Moriarty's syndicate who work for a multinational energy corporation – the first is an enterprising engineer overseeing the digging of an illegal mining pit, the second an executive at the corporate headquarters in Lhasa, who is diverting impressive amounts of monies to the both of them. (Sherlock has no desire to know the whys of their circumstances – whether, in addition to greed, their actions are due to incentives, or blackmail, or outright threats; all he needs to know is that they’re beholden to the dictates of his enemy's network and any bounties they dangle, and are therefore a potential threat to himself if he returns, and to his friends.)

He arrived in the Tibetan Himalayas three days previous, but he’s had to wait impatiently to implement his objectives, betrayed by his body, waiting to gradually shed the debilitating effects of altitude sickness, in his muscles, his stomach, his lungs. He grudgingly admits to himself that the downtime, however, was probably necessary, allowing him to catch his breath in more ways than just the one that's so currently urgent.

The last fortnight had seen him – as Gabriel Vernet, a director at a French biopharmaceuticals start-up – in an unrelentingly tense journey in which he’d conducted business, fake as well as real, in Singapore, Hanoi, Hong Kong, Macau, and then through Sichuan to Chengdu for the flight to Lhasa. He’s been traveling on papers and an operative legend courtesy of the British government for this leg of his odyssey; while he prefers to chart his own course, unencumbered by the high-handed and condescending auditing of his brother, he had conceded to his better wisdom of seeking aid from London while being shadowed by ever-present governmental representatives of the People’s Republic of China -- as well as floating in and out of view of particularly vicious groups of gangsters operating in Southeast Asia.

His knowledge of Mandarin has been essential in keeping his forward movement going; it helped Vernet to facilitate cooperation from the sources he sought out, high and low. It also allowed him to expand his reconnaissance, especially when those on whom he was eavesdropping assumed that the sharply-dressed businessman within earshot was unable to understand their conversation. As a result, he’s obtained a wide-angle view of activities that he might not have been aware of otherwise, beyond his immediate remit. He’s learned, for example, from ancillary figures, of Chinese mobsters from Fujian, who have been tearing through various states in the U.S., muscling their way into the astonishingly lucrative illicit cannabis market that has accompanied legalization.

He’d crossed cyber-paths again with the Mexican cartel he’d come across digging through the dark internet in Tallinn – the one funding Nigerian meth labs to supply Asian buyers. Here, it’s reversed: Fujian gangsters are using the cartel to smuggle thousands of Chinese workers into the United States to produce illicit drugs – trafficked in to do agricultural labor at burgeoning marijuana grow sites. Trapped by fences, surveillance cameras, and guards with guns and machetes, the captive immigrants create tens of billions of dollars alone in states such as Oklahoma – a location that's an attractive target due to the abundance of cheap land, the lack of regulations on the size of cannabis farms, and a scarcity of police personnel with the language capabilities needed to translate communications and infiltrate networks. For what it might be worth, Sherlock had passed along what he’d learned to the CIA’s Crime and Narcotics Center.

He’ll be on a tight schedule in Shigatse today, needing to collect photographic evidence of the illegal mine, and still leave time enough to make it to the railroad station platform, and mingle inconspicuously amongst the groups boarding the local train bound for Lhasa. Once he's settled aboard, he’ll add the pictures to the files of documentary evidence he’s carrying on his mobile, and, as they near the city, he’ll press send and deliver the folder to one of the corporation’s higher-ups who is eager to rise even higher. Once the recipient verifies the information contained in the anonymous gift, he’ll be thrilled to gain credit as the conduit for the revelations it contains to his superiors in Beijing.

They’ve made good time on the road, and Sherlock stands up and stretches, releasing the kinks in his back, and jogging in place to get his adrenaline running. In his worn camping gear, he’s dressed completely different from Vernet, in his bespoke suits, with his expensive leather briefcase, and the expected Rolex watch.

The fact that copper mines require supplies of water will lend him the needed cover afforded by yet another identity – there are wetlands in the area, and it is unsurprising that a Canadian wildlife biologist on an international team will be there on foot, surveying the habitat of the black-necked crane. If anyone questions him, he’ll indicate that each of the members of the team have temporarily spread out to cover a greater area. There has been a great deal of anger, within Tibet and worldwide, at the damage done to the plateau’s environment due to China’s resource extraction agenda and its urbanization policies– the protections that the PRC is extending to the vulnerable black-necked crane population have been a public relations plus for them. The birds are currently in the vicinity, completing their breeding cycle, and as long as he can get in and out quickly, Dr. William Scott’s presence is likely to pass with little scrutiny, as long as his papers are in order.

Several hours later, Sherlock is relieved that his tracking efforts have paid off with actionable evidence – meaning that there will be no need to scramble for a new plan. After verifying that his file has been successfully delivered, he slumps in his seat, stubbornly indifferent to releasing himself from being on high alert. He knows that letting down his guard is when sloppiness can creep in and mistakes made, but having been awake for more than 24 hours and in action all day long at an altitude that still leaves him easily winded, relentlessly reminding him that breathing is problematic, is taking its toll. One last detail – dropping his mobile so that it lands on the train tracks when he exits – and then, in less than an hour, he can be seated in the hotel's oxygen lounge and restore his body and mind.

As they near the station, he shoulders his rucksack, ready to act out the fiction that he’s attached to one of the groups he’s sat nearby, and pulls out his mobile in order to remove the sim card. But when the screen lights up after he turns it over in his hand, he’s startled to find a text message notification -- receiving messages is not supposed to happen, ever, on this unit. No one has the number, save one person. This is not good. This is very much not good.

He takes in and releases several breaths to try and lower his pulse rate, hoping that when he clicks on the icon that he’ll find nothing more dramatic than someone misdirecting their text. At first glance, the message does appear to be irrelevant; at second glance, however, it is evident that the innocuous platitude it contains is negated by the fact that it is written in code.

His anxiety spikes at deciphering the communique: emergency action needed, abandon the hotel -- which means he'll not be returning to the inviting bed, the soft pillows, the warm blanket. There is no indication of why, or of what comes next, other than that he’ll be met at the station by a man who will identify himself as a tour leader from the Council for the Preservation of Sacred Alpine Cranes, and that he is to reply in Mandarin that he was honored to have seen four pairs of the noble birds nesting safely when he inspected the field site.

Other than this terse instruction, he has no idea what he’ll find once he leaves the train, and whether or not he is walking into a trap. And as he gazes out the window at the dark clouds beginning to gather in the east, he sees that the weather may be turning against him as well.

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@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @peanitbear @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels @a-victorian-girl @keirgreeneyes @starrla89 @naefelldaurk

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#mayprompts2024 #calaisreno #sherlock bits and bobs #may prompts 2024 #johnlock

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novantinuum · 3 months ago

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Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences Words: 4.2K~ Summary: Connie clenches her fists at her sides, envisioning a world where she still feels the safe, comforting weight of Rose’s sword strapped upon her back. But instead, it’s the Crystal Gems’ darkest, most forlorn hour... and she’s absolutely useless to them. Is there anything she can do to aid them in this struggle, anything at all? (Or: the beach fight in Reunited, but from Connie's POV.)

Woo, cleared another long-held WIP out of my drafts! I've always been very interested in what the beach fight was like beyond Steven's little mindscape adventure- and also, given her sword breaking, I thought Connie had a lot of potential mental angst to explore in that moment- thus this fic was born.

I highly recommend you read this one on AO3, it has some special formatting I cannot replicate on tumblr.

Enjoy!

___

It’s not that she hasn’t seen a sentient Gem poof before, but there’s something about the raw brutality by which Peridot’s form is torn asunder by Yellow's energy bolts that makes Connie feel outright sick to her stomach. She’s unable to bite back an alarmed yelp as she watches that green, triangular gemstone plummet into the sand, wholly inert.

(Ever the bold knight, Pearl strides in front of her and Lion, brandishing her spear in a wide-sweeping defensive stance.)

“Stop!!” Steven hollers, so loud and with such frenzied intensity that his voice breaks midway through the vowel. He darts forward to address the two Homeworld matriarchs directly, straying away from the safety of the rest of the group… away from the Crystal Gems, away from his dad, and away from her.

Her heart’s re-enacting a high tempo concerto in the confines of her chest, sweat beading at her brow as her mind grasps to understand what exactly he plans to achieve by pleading mercy from the two most powerful Gems they’ve ever faced while at such a strategic disadvantage. Peridot’s down, the house is wrecked, her sword’s been shattered, and worst of all, every last offensive effort they made against Blue alone only managed to knock her to her knees. Love him as she may… what impossible kindness is capable of standing against such ruthless might as this?

“Don’t do this!” he stubbornly continues anyways, and throws his hands in gesture towards his chest. “Listen to me— I’m the one you’re missing! I’m Pink Diamond!”

The militant monarch’s eyes narrow into thin, loathing slits the moment this claim (carrying almost unbelievable consequence, but true nonetheless) passes through his lips into stark reality.

“You…!” she seethes.

Yellow Diamond breaks into a terrifyingly swift sprint towards their party before any of the other Gems can shift even a finger to react.

Steven’s name urgently explodes from between Garnet’s lips, as if her split-second warning (much less a warning coming from someone who’s standing by the splintered wreckage of the house a good thirty feet away from him) would make any difference at all, as if any force in this universe— magical shield or not— could stop such a tremendous, terrifying presence from enacting her merciless judgement once it’s set in motion towards her mark.

The diamond’s foot plummets down upon the nigh-defenseless boy with the sheer unrepentant force of a freight train slipping off the rails.

Connie screams.

A boundless eternity passes within the depths of her soul, nestled in that vulnerable space between heartbeats. She watches the dust settle as she leaps off Lion's back, watches that cruel matriarch lift her heel from the massive crater she’s conceived. Still holding her breath as if a mere, misplaced huff of air could permanently shift the course of time in some brand new terrifying way, she locates Steven lying motionless in the sand. His suit jacket is scuffed and dirtied, and one of his arms is contorted in what— from her years of soaking up ambient anatomical knowledge through her mother’s stories about work— appears to be a wholly unnatural alignment.

(One of the Gems— she’s so distraught at this point that her mind is unable to process who— shouts his name, voice laced with an unfettered urgency. As expected, there’s no response.)

And then, with zero warning whatsoever, the waking world around her explodes into chaos.

Garnet bares her gauntlets against Yellow Diamond without even a second thought, shouting with a primal ferocity Connie’s never seen from her before. Pearl and Amethyst and all the rest of the Crystal Gems boldly follow her charge, weaving together their attacks in flawless devotion until practically operating as a single-minded organism. All in all, there’s simply too much happening to reliably follow. Spears, whips, and hammers clash against their towering foes to no success. And how could they? Compared to these diamonds, they’re nothing but fleas scurrying across the shore. They’re outmatched, fighting a battle that’s cursed to be lost. In the end, even the full splendor of the ocean’s might at Lapis’s beck and call fails to land a satisfying blow. Blinking back confused tears, she clenches her fists at her sides— harboring anger at herself (for ruining her weapon, stupid, stupid, stupid), at Steven (why on Earth did he voluntarily put himself in danger by trying to reason with them?), heck, at this whole damn galaxy— and envisions a world where she still feels the safe, comforting weight of Rose’s sword strapped upon her back.

But instead, it’s the Crystal Gems’ darkest, most forlorn hour... and she’s absolutely useless to them.

A strong palm lands on her shoulder, gentle yet urgent in its hold. With great reluctance, she pries her gaze away from the chaos of battle in the distance, the skin around her eyes dampened and puffy.

“Connie, w-we should go,” Mr. Universe says, his voice wavering with barely-contained grief. He glances beyond her for just a second, and she’s almost certain he’s looking at his son, his body crumpled in a broken heap in the sand at the heart of the battlefield. “I can’t let another one of you kids get hurt on my watch.”

He’s already reaching forward to grab her by the arm— too panicked by now to think about such fundamental things like politeness or personal space— when she makes her bold decision.

“No! I can’t leave yet!” she proclaims, brushing his hand away. “There’s still something I can do. And it may be stupid, and dangerous, b-but…” Connie wipes away a sudden wave of tears, matching eyes with her best friend’s dad. She flashes a watery smile. “It’s what he’d do for me, yeah?”

His expression surges with palpable dread as she turns her attention towards the fierce skirmish raging behind them.

“Wait… w-what—?”

She takes off running before he can even finish his question. In any other situation she might feel guilty for spurning his protective instincts— for leaving him in the dust, altogether anguished in his terror, shouting her name with an urgency that downright seizes at her pounding heart, begging her to not throw herself into the chaos of the field— but there’s no time to waste, not here, not ever, not when Steven’s very life may depend on the actions she takes now.

She has to pull him away from all this fighting before he gets crushed in the fray… or worse.

“Someone— cover me!” she cries out, nearing the front lines. Her foot collides with something hard and cold. She gasps, her glance snapping down in an instant. It’s a stray can of soda, unopened, something one of the party guests must’ve dropped while evacuating.

“I see you,” Garnet says, landing in a deep crouch near her. (It would not surprise her at all if the Gem already anticipated what she plans to do, seeing it as the most likely possibility amid a churning sea of choices.) She bares her gauntlets once more, and circles around. “Stay close, and be quick!”

“Connie!” she hears Mr. Universe wail from the sidelines.

She ignores him, though— she has to, least she let the final embers of her resolve be snuffed out by the sheer weight of her fear— and pushes her fragile human form through the thickets of this otherworldly battle anyways, following Garnet’s lead. ‘Cacophony’ is the only word she can think of that truly fits the harrowing scene ahead. There’s no more strategy in her friends’ strikes, no more clever battle formations… only their desperate, desperate defense against the wretched beings who created them. The Crystal Gems who are still standing thankfully seem to be holding their own… but just barely. Pearl’s losing momentum with each slice and slash of her spear, Amethyst and Lapis look like they’re halfway to abandoning all hope, poor Lion is tuckering out after such repetitive use of his concussive roars, and Bismuth’s filled with so much despairing fury towards their opponents (for the harm they’ve caused to this planet… for the harm they’ve just caused to Steven—!) that her footwork has grown rushed and sloppy. In the few seconds Connie’s watching her, the rainbow-haired Gem is almost hit by a direct bolt from Yellow Diamond twice.

Her chest seizes tight with dawning dread. This entire operation is falling apart. They don’t have much time left, do they? She must recover Steven, and fast!

Garnet keeps a watchful eye for any incoming projectiles as Connie skids to a screeching halt next to her friend’s comatose body lying limp in the sand. (And oh, has she never been more thankful to not see blood.) Okay. Okay. Here he is. Now all she’s gotta do is… ferry him to a safe distance. Steeling her core in preparation, she squats down and tries to leverage herself to scoop him right up. Her legs, though… in the midst of her terror, her legs are simply too wobbly to bear his mass, and after one valiant but failed attempt she’s scared she’ll hurt herself (or him!) trying again. Which means… she’ll just have to drag him.

“Sorry—!” she says with a faint hiss of regret as she grasps both of his arms by the wrist and starts to pull him across the battle-swept sands. Sure enough to her suspicions, one of his shoulders definitely doesn’t feel like it’s aligned in its socket right, and she worries that yanking him along like this will only serve to further exacerbate it. Still, what other choice does she have?

What choices do any of them have, all tangled up within the fallout of this thousand year war?

As Connie drags Steven off the battlefield towards his house, Garnet circles around the perimeter a few more times, ever-diligent in her role as lookout. She’s grateful for her help. Truly so. It allows her to focus her energy on protecting her best friend instead of constantly having to keep an eye out for stray attacks from the Diamonds. And boy, oh boy— she digs her heels into the sand, spent muscles all but screaming for her to rest, to drop her load and continue on alone— will her body need every last drop of energy she’s got. That’s why relief surges through her heart with all the ferocity of a tidal wave when Mr. Universe’s frantic voice comes into range once again. Because it means she’s here. She’s succeeded. She’s pulled him all the way to his father, halfway off the field.

The exhaustion hits immediately. Huffing for a lungful of air, she drops the half-Gem’s arms to the ground and collapses to her knees. For an extended moment, the unwanted melody of warfare rings through her ears like canon fire. She can’t move. She can’t even breathe properly. She can swear her friend’s dad is trying to say something to her— can feel his hesitant touch brushing against her shoulder in what barely counts as a whisper— but she can’t even manage to distinguish a single word. Her eyes brim with fresh tears, every last sensory input overloaded. It’s all too loud. It’s all too damn heavy. It’s all too—

“Connie,” Garnet slices through the static with astute authority.

She snaps her head up, her eyes flitting between the Crystal Gem leader (currently kneeling at her side) and a still panicking Mr. Universe (clutching his unconscious son’s hand). Her breath settles, slowly but surely. Her fingers twitch, tracing shallow patterns in the sand. The ringing lessens.

“Thank you,” the Gem continues, pushing herself back to her full height. The long skirt of her wedding outfit flares behind her as she glances back towards the chaos of the battle. “For protecting him where I couldn’t. Now stay back, and keep watch. If they poof all of us, promise me you’ll evacuate the beach.”

“I-I… of course,” Connie says, her gaze still wet with terror and barely contained grief. “But y-you… you don’t really think you’ll—?”

Lose, is the word she can’t bring herself to say. Surely you don’t think you’ll lose?

The Gem warrior gives a sharp, almost defeated exhale before grinding her fists within the tempered hard-light of her gauntlets and leaping right back into the fray.

Connie cries out after her, suddenly stricken with a churning feeling of dread (what grim futures did Garnet just witness?) as she scrambles to her feet, arms outstretched towards a self-appointed destiny she can no longer reach. A strangled sob wrests control of her body. If she still had her weapon they wouldn’t be asking her to stay at the sidelines. She’s nothing to them anymore, is she? She’s nothing without that sword. If she closes her eyes she swears she can still feel it… can still feel the perfectly countered weight of its thorn etched handle within her grip… but with it shattered, she’s completely useless out here. Feeble. Organic.

Weak.

“Connie,” her friend’s dad pleads for her attention, his tone warbling with all the wavering emotion of an out of tune guitar. “Connie, please! She’s right. You know she’s right. We have to get off the beach! There’s literally nothing we can do against Gems as powerful as that, we’re just humans.”

Slowly, the last of his words reverberating within her mind, her eyes widen.

“But he’s not,” she breathes, turning her head towards her friend’s still body on the ground.

“W-what are you—?”

She grasps his hand within her own like it’s their final lifeline, gently tracing her thumb along the back of his knuckles. If anyone could swerve the dangerous wake of this conflict into something better, it’s Steven. He’s certainly managed the impossible before.

“Steven!” she calls, her brows threading together in the wake of her thunderous desperation. “Come on, please wake up!”

Hot, messy tears threatening to cloud the edges of her vision, she lets go of his hand. Glances back towards the battlefield. The remaining Crystal Gems aren’t faring well in their war right now. Pearl and Amethyst appear exhausted enough to collapse at any moment, and the Diamonds have pushed the other three to the very extremes of their defensive capabilities. If they have any chance left of winning this encounter, it’s gonna require a miracle of encouragement.

“Come on, Steven,” she calls again, voice dripping with the burden of her pending despair. “We need you.”

No response, yet again.

Her breath ripples through her chest. He… oh stars, is he not healing? From what he’s described in the past about his healing powers, she’s surprised he hasn’t leapt back to his feet with newly restored vigor already. She leans forward, pressing her ear to his chest to listen for a heartbeat.

A harsh shriek ringing from across the sands interrupts her investigation, however— and Connie spins her gaze around just in time to watch Yellow Diamond strike down Lapis Lazuli with a fierce bolt of destabilizing energy right to her chest.

She swallows, already sensing their options eroding away at the wrathful whim of the tides.

Time is truly of the essence here, and much like an hourglass theirs is mighty limited in this state.

Connie stands to her feet once more. With him showing zero signs of pending consciousness, it’s growing harder and harder to ignore Mr. Universe’s intensifying plea for her to leave the battlefield.

“Wake up, please!” she cries, a pitiful final appeal before her inevitable shame-filled retreat.

Her lips screw shut amid her sheer heartbreak, fists clenching at her sides as she silently gapes at her friend’s pale, expressionless face.

We’re supposed to be in this together, remember?

And then…

Connie’s eyes blow wide, her entire body shuddering as she senses a familiar presence dance along the very fringes of her mind like stray raindrops splashing against her cheeks on a late spring day— a wholly recognized sensation, but not an overwhelming one. She gasps. The presence carries with it an instant aura of comfort and affection, as well as a hundred billion panicked questions like ‘what happened’ and ‘where am I’ and by golly, it’s the exact same subtle presence she’s aware of at the very periphery of their mind whenever she’s fused with him as Stevonnie.

“Huh? Steven?”

Her heart’s practically rattling within her rib cage as she feels that ghostly presence flutter within her thoughts once again, speaking in his voice, calling out to her by name.

“Connie, it’s me!”

Holy stars. It’s him. It’s actually him.

She doesn’t know how, but it is.

Her brows shoot up within her lingering confusion. Even though she’s well aware that this is a Gem thing, she’s unable to fully fight off the impulse to search around as if some conscious, flesh-and-blood Steven were somehow standing right next to her, whispering directly in her ear. “Wha- Where are you? How are you do—?”

“I’m not sure, but… I think it’s a classic psychic ghost type situation.”

“Ah, of course!” she exclaims, peering down at his motionless form. She’s heard all sorts of madcap tales about his astral projection powers— about how he used them to speak to Lapis through his dreams when she was stuck fighting for control of Malachite under a mile of ocean, or to drive the body of one of the watermelons he brought to life, or to make mental contact with the Cluster like he did not too long ago— thus it makes sense for this new mode of communication to be some sort of natural extension of that. “So, what’s the plan?”

“The Diamonds won’t listen to me out there, but… maybe I can get through to them here. They’ve gotta know Pink Diamond wasn’t shattered.”

There’s a brief, meek pause before he makes his final request.

“Please protect my body while I’m gone.”

“Got it! Good luck out there, Steven.”

His active presence fades from her mind like the setting sun over the cloudy horizon, taking that comforting aura right along with it. Connie’s form all but deflates as she exhales, her shoulders curling inwards as she wraps her arms around her torso and tries her best to keep whatever remains of her brave facade from cracking in two. Mr. Universe gawks at her, his attention clearly piqued by her conversational mention of his son.

“Wh—” his countenance is pale and streaked with fresh, messy tears, swirling with a conflicting mixture of grief and last-ditch hope— “h-how were you talking to—?”

“He’s okay,” she blurts out, her own voice quavering at the edges as the reassuring realities of this fact wash over her like a cleansing shower on a muggy summer’s day, a blissful salve to her previous strife. “I promise you, he’s okay. He… I think he’s trying to make contact with the Diamonds, like he did with the Cluster.”

His father closes his eyes for a moment and inhales deep and strong, steeling his nerves as he basks in the reassurance of this news. Then, rolling his shoulder back and standing at the ready: “Well, what can we do to help, then?”

“Keep him safe while he tries to work his magic, I guess. Listen, we gotta pull him further back so he’s out of striking distance.”

He issues her a swift nod. “Leave it to me.”

And after all her struggles she must admit she’s kinda jealous at the sheer ease at which he scoops Steven up in his arms, but, well… fair is fair. He’s clearly had fourteen years of practice on that front. The two of them turn tail and run towards what remains of the house, barricading themselves against the foot of the stairs. Connie doesn’t take a full breath until they’re out of range of the worst of it. She helps Mr. Universe set her friend down in the sand, and now that she’s calmed down a little, sets her attention to giving him a full once-over. And thank the stars, his chest is visibly rising and falling now.

Biting down upon her bottom lip amidst her rippling anxieties— sorry, Steven, this has to be checked— she reaches to untuck his dress shirt. A true miracle after the ruthless velocity of the hit he took, his gem is unblemished. No cracks at all, not even a tiny chip. So that means he should be fine, yes? His body’s just conserving energy to heal from the impact? It’s hard to pin down any precise points of improvement, but she swears a little bit more color has returned to his cheeks these past few minutes.

She also swears that the rest of the remaining Crystal Gems must have had a psychic encounter with Steven too, because there’s a tangible surge of renewed vigor that’s taken the front lines by storm. Garnet throws her punches a hair harder. Pearl swings her trident with just a tinge more finesse. Amethyst and Bismuth aren’t holding back their strikes in lieu of focusing on self defense quite as much. Not only that, but the Diamonds almost seem more distracted now, more vulnerable to their coordinated group attacks. (Is this Steven’s doing, she wonders? Has he found a way to weaken them from within whatever weird psychic mindscape his untethered spirit is drifting within?)

But no matter the underlying reason, the evidence surging to life upon this beach is undeniable: slowly but surely, despite every flagrant disadvantage they hold, the tides of this struggle are turning towards their favor.

“I think he’s doing it,” she marvels to Steven’s equally as mystified father, the pair crouched right next to the boy. “I don’t know how, but somehow he’s wearing them dow—”

And then she’s blinded.

Stripped of all coherent thought or word or rhyme.

Helpless of anything beyond peering through narrowed slits with her flattened palm shielding her view as the entire beach is engulfed with a pulse of magnificent pink light.

But no, no… it’s far more than just light. Her encounters with fusion can tell her that much.

It’s a song. A symphony. An entire story told in oscillating waves of light and sound that her organic body isn’t remotely equipped to process the fullest gamut of.

Sucking in a shaky bout of air, Connie tilts her sight to her periphery to follow the light to its source. And in her joy, her heart nearly skips a beat at what she finds. His body may still lie comatose upon these course sands, healing from an impact that surely would’ve killed a less stubborn soul, but Steven’s gem is glowing as bright as a miniature sun. Any lingering signs of injury heal in an instant as this potent aura radiates from his core.

Clear on the other side of the battlefield, the Diamonds are drawn to their knees in awe of this power. Blue falls into hysterics, sobbing an ocean’s worth of tears into her hands… and Yellow— uncharacteristically still and silent— seems so shell shocked by the revelation that she can’t summon even a word of doubt in retaliation.

When Steven’s bold display of might finally fades, there’s zero quarrel on who this struggle’s victors are. Their attackers make no moves to re-engage, and the Crystal Gems remaining sprint across the shore to help each other to their feet. She… stars, she can hardly believe it. They won. Even with half of their company down for the count— two poofed, Steven unconscious, and her shamefully stripped of her sword— they managed the impossible: they held the line against two of Homeworld’s most ruthless matriarchs and survived.

Of course, their battle isn’t quite over. Steven has yet to wake up.

Greg hollers out for Garnet and the others, alerting the lot to their position. They waste no time in hurrying towards the house to congregate around them. All the while, she clutches his hand within a vice tight grasp, running her thumb along the back of his palm, hoping… begging… no, yearning for him to be okay. He has to be okay— right?

“Show her to me,” Blue demands, her tone soaked in stalled grief as she hovers over them with all the lingering dread of a bad omen. “I must see her gem with my own eyes.”

“Bismuth,” Garnet warns as the Gem in question moves to shield him with her body. “Let them through.”

Her eyes flare with abject turmoil. “B-but how can you be sure any of this is—”

“Let them through,” she repeats, propping a gemstone laden hand upon her shoulder. “The battle is over. They have no desire to hurt him now.” Then, directed at her specifically: “And give him space, he’s about to wake up.”

Connie swallows hard— a part of her unwilling to let him out of her immediate care given the daunting uncertainty of these circumstances— but then again, Garnet’s not the kind of Gem to knowingly lead them astray. Despite her own tumultuous feelings on the matter, if she says they’re safe, then they’re safe. After all, they won. She won. Despite every last insidious variable working against her— a broken sword, spine-tingling terror, her lack of strength— she served her purpose. She, a mere human, proved her worth on this battlefield of Gems. Drawing in a deep breath of air, she drops her friend’s hand and pulls back with the others.

Sure enough, he’s starting to come back to them, his chest rising and falling with greater frequency and his features scrunching inwards on his face.

Steven’s eyes flutter open, his whole body jolting as he drinks in the unlikely picture of the scene before him… family, friends, and enemies alike clustered together upon the beach they were fighting upon just mere minutes ago… all gawking at him in slack jawed wonder.

“It’s you…!” Blue Diamond breathes in sheer disbelief. “Pink!”

#su #connie maheswaran #steven universe #greg universe #garnet #su fanfiction #su fanfic #my writing stuff

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thanatika · 18 days ago

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saw a post theorizing on how the bachelor and the haruspex arrived in the town, and it's reminded me of something i've been trying to figure out for ages: pathologic train lore.

i've always thought that patho classic sort of proved that daniil couldn't have arrived directly to the town via train, with this line in the haruspex route intro:

"Unwilling to wait for a regular freight train, Artemy follows the rails through the Steppe until he's caught up with by a small shunt locomotive. This is how young Haruspex arrives in the Town."

but reading more closely, now i'm even more confused. "regular freight train" implies that this would be the "regular" way for a person to take a train somewhere, but freight trains are... by definition, cargo trains, and do not carry passengers. then again, it seems pretty heavily implied that the only train that comes through town is a very infrequent cargo train. but apparently what he caught instead is a "shunt locomotive", which is mainly used for maneuvering train cars around a single railyard and do not typically go long distances. which doesn't line up with the fact that the town is meant to be very remote and isolated.

honestly, i'm curious about what terminology is used in the russian version of this intro? it's possible that it's just a weirdness of the translation and different terms are used in russian that make more sense, but there's no transcription of the russian version of the intros anywhere for me to translate.

regardless, and back to the topic of how these two arrived to the town, it does seem reasonable enough that artemy wouldn't have any qualms about hopping a freight train, especially for something so urgent. daniil on the other hand, i'm not so sure. he does plan on leaving town by freight train on day 2, if you go along with the "let's run away" side quest. but that's to escape dying from a plague, and he never mentions arriving by train in any of the discussions surrounding that.

the most recent ARG teasing daniil's route involved his train ticket, but i'm guessing it's not a train ticket directly to gorkhon, considering that no passenger trains go there. it's a ticket to "the end of the north east branch" of the railroad network. personally, i've always headcanoned that he took a passenger train to the nearest possible town, and from there maybe... paid for a ride as far as the locals were willing to take him to town-on-gorkhon? and walked the rest of the way? there is that flavor text in the marble nest about "wearing down three pairs of shoes" to get to the town, and i think he's being hyperbolic but i do think it makes sense that his journey might have involved a ton of walking.

obviously the actual answer is that we're not meant to think too hard about it, and that the town is meant to feel like it exists not only beyond time but beyond space. but it's fun to ponder. i do wonder if pathologic 3 will explore his actual arrival to the town to any greater extent, instead of just having him wake up in the stillwater.

#pathologic #patho meta #mine #if anyone has thoughts feel free.... especially if you know if the trains were called anything different in the russian intro

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air-exec · 4 months ago

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What life is like on a troop train...

(Life Magazine - November 13, 1943)

What life is like on a troop train… speeding over the Water Level Route

This is "Main 100"… a twelve car troop train…identified on railroad orders only by its code number.

A few hours ago, no one at New York Central knew this train would be needed. Yet here it is, assembled, scheduled and speeding to its secret destination.

Sometimes "Main 100" is all Pullman, sometimes all coach, sometimes a mixture of passenger cars, baggage cars, and freight cars for equipment. But whatever its make up, its job is the same…to move its share of the 2,000,000 members of the armed forces carried on duty each month by the railroads of America.

Visualize the thousands of cars and engines required for this task. Add on the large number of accommodations needed for fighters on furlough. You'll see then why train space for civilian travel is often "sold out"…why trains are sometimes unavoidably delayed…and why civilians should travel only on urgent and essential business.

"Main 100" must have the right of way.

Field Kitchen The Mess Sergeant, an Army Cooking School grafuate, sets up his field kitchen in a baggage car to serve 3 or 4 troop cars. That's what many baggage cars are doing. So if you must travel, travel light!

Mess Call Men eat at their seats. On some trains they file up to the kitchen to be served; on others, food is brought to them. Meals are tops and plentiful. One reason why your home and our diners are rationed.

First Aid In one of the washrooms, the Army Surgeon sets up a "field hospital" for minor accidents or ills. His prompt care of scratches and colds keeps our fighters among world's fittest

G.H.Q. on Wheels From these "headquarters," the Train Commander orders the time for reveille and taps…the posting of guards…all the details of this traveling Army camp, of which he alone knows the final destination.

Railroad Liaison A New York Central Passenger Agents acts as "Train Escort" to assist the Train Commander with transportation matter…procure extra supplies…arrange for stops…handle mail…and perform may other services en route.

Music By The Mile The soldier with a portable radio competes with the local "live talent." Barrack room ballads and current hits share honors with "Sweet Adeline" and other old close-harmony favorites by the company quartet.

Preparing For Taps Men are usually allowed later hours en route than in camp. At the time set by the Train Commander, the Porter makes up the berths…as carefully as he would for the most generous traveler on a limited train.

V-Mail Soldiers long for letters, and write many to get answers. For secrecy's sake, none many be mailed en route…except through the Train Escort who posts them only at points permitted by the Train Commander.

39 Men To A Car Soldiers sleep two in a lower berth, one in an upper. Even with such full cars, today's military movement needs half of the Pullman's, a third of the coaches. One reasons you may find train space hard to get.

Seeing America Soldiers spend much time at car windows. They are moved an average of six times for special training…seeing the Hudson River and Great Lakes one trip, perhaps the Rockies or California next.

BUY MORE WAR BONDS

New York Central ONE OF AMERICA'S RAILROADS - ALL UNITED FOR VICTORY!

#wwii era #wwiii #life magazine #journalism #history #wwii history #us military

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sodavizz · 9 days ago

Text

Knowing

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Pairings: Jimmy Neutron & gn! Reader

Word Count: 0.7k+

Warnings: Mentions of deaths, being brutally honest <3, I hate Jalapeño, pronouns are; you, I have massive brainrot of mouthwashing and is bored rn but sorry if this is occ, angst under the cut <33

You knew it was him all along…

You were making your way down to the cockpit to give Curly a message when you felt the jolt. The shake of the ship and the blaring emergency sirens. It only made you walk faster to see what was going on. As you got closer, you could see Jimmy sitting on the floor, his head in his hands and Curly urgently rush inside the cockpit. Not a moment later, you were thrown off your feet and thrown to the metal wall.

The ship had... crashed…?

You had quickly put together that it was Jimmy’s fault, the way he was sat outside of the cockpit, the way Curly reacted when he saw him…

-----

Now, nearly five months after the crash, everything was going to hell… Daisuke had an axe to the face to put him out of his misery, Anya had overdosed, you just watched Swansea get a bullet to the head and now you. You lay on the floor, a bullet to the abdomen, glaring at Jimmy as he stands there, the utility room only illuminated by the red emergency lights.

“I always knew it was you…” You say through gritted teeth, your hand trying to staunch the never ending flow of blood from your stomach. “It was never Curly’s fault…”

He slowly looked to you, his eyes wide with shocked surprise. But he knew there was nothing you could do now, critically injured and no one else on the ship to help you…

How did you know...?

He thought to himself, his voice cracking slightly. He couldn't tear his eyes from the scene in front of him, it was all too much for him. The sight of you laying there, bleeding to death, staring up at him with those eyes...

He felt a pang in his chest, an intense surge of emotion that he couldn't quite place. It was like a mix of anger, sadness, and regret. But mostly regret.

"I will never forgive you. Not after what happened to everyone on this ship... Not even after what you did to Anya, you monster. I hope you rot in hell. You will regret the day you even existed, where you took your first breath. Your mother must be disappointed that she raised a man who ended up being a retarded motherfucker who thinks that he could even fix the problems that he caused himself. And even if you managed to survive, I will make your life a living hell. I mean it.. You hear me..?"

Your breath hitched as you let all your rage out. You then looked up to Jimmy with the pure resentment in your eyes, one that could make someone quiver.

The words hit him like a knife to the chest. Each syllable stinging him, searing into his soul. His mind races, scrambling to find a way to defend himself from the truth that is being hurled at him. But he can't. He knows it. Every word you uttered was true.

He stood there for a few moments longer, his eyes glistening with tears threatening to spill over. Then he turned and slowly began to walk away, his footsteps echoing through the corridor.

"....I always wondered how Curly could stand you... Your just an asshole whose jealous of all his accomplishments, so why don't you just grow the fuck up and do better than being filled with envy." You said with a scoff.

Jimmy stopped in his tracks once again, his shoulders slumped forward and his head hung low. The emotions were hitting him hard, he was pissed. He took a deep breath and turned back around to face you, his expression a mix of anger and remorse.

"You... you have no idea what it's like to be in my position," he finally managed to choke out.

"..I do know how it feels. But guess what I did? I actually earned my life, earned my achievements, and earned my title properly.... And if I were still as pathetic as you are, I would have killed myself ages ago."

He flinched at your words, the bluntness of them hitting him like a freight train. He couldn't bring himself to look at you, to see the disappointment and judgement in your eyes. As he stood there, silent and dejected, he realized how alone he truly was. He had lost everything that mattered to him.

You scoffed again but in a more shaky voice.

"Fuck you... Jim." You said in a low voice as you took a deep and long breath, as blood continued to seep out of your body.

He couldn't bring himself to say anything else, his words stuck in his throat. Instead, he just nodded weakly, acknowledging your pain and frustration. He turned and walked away, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the corridor slowly fading away.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

#[★—sodavizz]#shitpost #mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #mouthwashing jimmy #i dont know #i dont like him #i dunno #what the fuck

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lilac-hecox · 1 year ago

Note

If you're still accepting Damien fic requests, maybe a camp au with a puppy love crush on one of the counselors (Ian or Anthony) and/or having a reciprocated crush on Shayne

I wrote this in the camp au that was written by @wow-ihateithere

Damien/Anthony and Damien/Shayne - Summer Camp

“You’re acting like one of your kids,” Angela says with a grin.

“Huh?” Damien says, coming back to his senses, turning his gaze away from where he had been watching Anthony animatedly eating with his campers.

“You’re staring at Anthony like a thirteen-year-old with a crush,” she adds, mimicking a love sick expression.

“Stop!” Damien says, feeling his face get hot. “I am not.”

“You are!” Angela says around giggles. “I hang out with the same age, but the girl version. I can spot a crush a mile away.”

Damien scoffs. That absolutely wasn’t true because if it were Angela would know that Amanda’s been into her since the beginning of summer, instead of being utterly oblivious.

“I don’t have a crush on Anthony,” Damien says more firmly, but his face gets red.

“Okay,” Angela says in a sing-song voice, going back to eating her lunch.

Okay, so, maybe Damien did have a small crush, but it’s small! It’s manageable! He just thinks Anthony is cute and funny. He’s good with the kids too. Damien finally accepts the crush on Anthony when he watches Anthony strip off his colorful camp shirt and toss it on the grass up beyond the shore. Anthony is muscled and lean and gorgeous in the bright light of the warm summer day. Damien watches as water splashes on to Anthony as he begins to wade into the lake, Anthony letting out a shriek as the cold-water splashes on him, Ian laughing from where he had committed the crime and swimming away before Anthony could retaliate.

“Mr. Damien! Come on!” one of his students yells from the water. “We need you for chicken!”

Damien smiles and peels off his own t-shirt as he wades into the cool water of the lake.

Damien catches Ian and Anthony kissing after one of the staff bonfires in the deep warm night of summer. They are sat together on the same log, Ian’s hands in Anthony’s hair and Anthony’s hands on Ian’s waist. They kiss urgently and fervently in the night, the warm glow of the fire illuminating them.

Damien isn’t crushed. He didn’t need Angela’s supposed ability to see crushes developing to realize that the two counselors liked each other, to see the momentum between them building like an unstoppable freight train where they were always meant to collide.

He vows to let go of his crush that day out of respect for both of the other counselors.

What takes him by surprise is when they do the camp talent show Shayne sits next to him while they watch the acts. How whenever Shayne laughs it is so bright and cheery and how more often than not, he’s looking at Damien to see if he’s laughing too.

Damien and Shayne’s talent is performing an improv skit together. They make it cheesy, making the younger kids laugh and the older kids roll their eyes and “die of cringe.” At the end of the skit Shayne gets down on one knee and then offers Damien a plastic flower, declaring his love.

The younger kids giggle, the older one’s groan, the other counselors crack up laughing. Damien accepts the plastic flower, and he sees Shayne smile with bright blue eyes crinkling in the corner, a big cheesy grin on his face. What takes Damien by surprise is the fondness in his heart, the way it speeds up when Shayne pretends to plant a kiss on his cheek, big, wet, and sloppy.

Angela gives him a knowing look from the stands and Damien pointedly ignores her.

It’s August when Shayne presses Damien against the side of the staff log cabin and kisses him in the darkness of the night. When he presses his nose against Damien’s and says, “I’ve been waiting all summer to do that.”

There are fireflies all around as Damien leans in and kisses him back.

#antmien #ianthony #shaymien #summer camp au #my writing #my fic #my fics #fluff #polysmosh #smoshships #damien bday prompts #summer love #camp counselor au #blink and you'll miss it amangela

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piratetransport · 3 months ago

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drifting-pieces-blog-blog · 1 year ago

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Breaking down the comics: What big Teeth (Issue 29)

Moon Knight, Issue #29: Morning Star.

Enter WEREWOLF BY NIGHT.

We're going back to the start of it all.

Also, this cover? Fucking BANGER.

(This issue has two stories, but I'm going to cover the second shorter story in a separate post.)

Titles page reads:

"Jack Russell must reach Moon Knight before the full moon, before the change...And before the hooded figures can use him for their own terrible ends."

Yesss….. It’s time to fall back to the roots of it all. A horror story.

We open on a train yard.

"It has been said that the train, outmoded though it may be, functions as the nations lifeline.

But here's something else that's been said: 'As a viable mode of transport, the nation's once mighty rail system is dying a painfully slow death'

Take your pick....Then Decide where that leaves the nation. Or consider this: Here, in the twilight of an Omaha Freight yard, long lines of trains merely slumber.

Reassuring? Nope.

Because the peace of sleep is easily shattered."

We see a man running for his life as people fire on him.

"I could change... I could kill the man... But I don't want to..." He weaves through the train cars and tracks.

"Full moon rising... Soon I won't be able to control myself... Just a little longer!"

He jumps on a train that's starting to pull out.

But the train moves at a crawl.

The men move in.

But the moon is risen and full.

"Dusk dies. Leaving only a circle of silver to light the sky..."

And the monster is awake.

"First night: Darkness and the moon conspired with an ancient curse to answer my prayers --and to give me what I needed. From the shadows of the boxcar I reached out, seized the first man--and Squeezed.

He was surprised. I felt my talons flex under the pressure. Then puncture his flesh. Blood spurted. I bared my fangs and almost howled, but not yet...not yet.

True, I'd become the werewolf again and all awareness of my human identity as Jack Russell had gone the way of my flesh... Still, I was cunning.

Soon the hated man would be dead...But I knew there were three of them. Plenty of time to howl, so I snarled instead."

The wolf carries on. He rips into flesh then runs. The wolf knows it needs more time.

It makes a break into the night on the departing train.

The remaining men rush to the station and demand to know where that train is going.

New York City is about to get interesting.

Back in LA, we find ourselves in a satanic cultist curch where the leader, Schuyler Belial, who also calls himself Morning Star, is giving a midnight mass sermun.

It's typical satanist cultist stuff.

As part of his promise to his followers is that he produce the "Beast of the Apocalypse".

Which he was supposed to produce that night. That obviously is not going to happen.

"You promised you'd produce the beast tonight! That's what we came for! Where is he?"

"Ah, no--Not tonight--But soon. Soon the sign shall be manifest! And you shall see--"

Apparently he's been promising to deliver the beast for the past year.

It's hard to deliver a pissed off werewolf on a time schedule.

The congregation is pretty displeased and most of them leave. This leaves Morning Star pretty riled up.

He needs that beast and he plans to get it.

Time to head to New york.

You know who else is in New York?

This page is just….It’s the heart of this comic. Lockley chilling with his friends. You got Crawley and his flowery language and oddly high insight. Jake asking how Gena and the kids are doing. Flint contacting Moon Knight through Gena’s diner… It’s perfect.

Moon Knight meets up with flint. Flint passes along a letter marked "Super urgent" for Moon Knight.

"Moon Knight, for past favors, please meet me tonight before 6-- Jersey countryside, old house on Deer Run Road just off Routes 27 and 63. -Jack Russell"

Moon Knight has a flashback of him punching a werewolf.

Yeah...that...that sounds about right.

He makes haste but it's a half hour trip and it's already Five thirty.

Yeah that's pretty much how it went last time too.

"Moon Knight wasn't in time. I jumped all over him for it. When the moon is full, I have no control over myself...None! And then I splashed through glass into the night. "

Moon Knight has his own thoughts on it.

"Well, you may have transformed, Russell...But you sure haven't changed much since our last meeting... Still adhering to an altogether too hairy lifestyle."

"Too late by a matter of minutes--And now instead of merely containing him, I've got to capture him."

Moon Knight is not looking forward to this night. He's been faced with capturing him before.

The Wolf runs for freedom, knowing the Moon Knight is after him.

He's easily distracted at the sight of prey.

A large stag frozen in fear before him.

"And there HE was--A wealth of silver moonstuff itself."

Moon Knight bursts into the clearing and startles off the stag.

Russell gives chase. And so does Moon Knight.

There he goes…on the ground again. He has the worst luck.

And Moon Knight takes a hard blow to the head.

The attacker flees and calls up Morning Star to tell him the bad news. "Moon Knight the Avenging white angel" is after the beast.

Morning star elects to wait until Russell has changed back to human form when he is worn out and easier prey.

Speaking of prey, the wolf has taken his own prey down and feasted well. His rage and need for the hunt quelled, he heads to a stream to wash off.

And then the dawn broke and the man was left behind.

"I went to sleep on my feet--standing in water."

And just a few yards away, Moon Knight also awakens.

They’re doing great.

Moon Knight pulls Russell from the water. He and Frenchie take Russell back to Grant Mansion to let him rest.

He wakes from a nightmare.

Moon Knight asks him about the men following him. Russell believes them to be phantoms, since he can't seem to shake them.

"...But no matter how far or fast I go, sooner or later they always show up."

Moon Knight recalls how the cowl mic was filled with static.

He calls in a doctor.

Outside, down the road, the cultists wait for their chance.

After x rays are taken they discover a chip that has been implanted in Jack's head just under the scalp.

The doctor says he can remove it, but it will take time and time they don't have. He will have to wait till the next day to remove it.

Moon Knight explains to Jack how he's being tracked.

In the mean time, he does what friends do best.

"Strap you down, lock you up, and keep watch over you throughout your werewolf phase. Right here."

The moon rises and so does the wolf. He snaps the straps and is now loose in Grant mansion!

Yeah...Moon Knight didn't think this one through....

CONTINUED NEXT TIME!

I have to say, I love how when the wolf appears, we get the narration from the wolf’s point of view and it’s still in Russel’s voice, but more confused and more driven by the wolf.

On a different note, I was excited to see Marvel previews for other comics popping up in the back of this issue! It means that Moon Knight has broken into the big leagues at this point and now they are advertising the more mainstream events and comics.

There was ALSO a letter from the editor, Denny O'Neil stating that Ralph Macchio has been promoted and will be dancing up the Marvel food chain. It also talks about how the publishing schedule for Moon Knight is going to change. They can't give information yet, but the hope is to reach a larger audience.

It's heartwarming to see how this little obscure comic started to get such a following so early on and started to grow.

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight comics #Werewolf by Night #Jack Russell #Marc Spector #Steven Grant #Jake Lockley #They're friends #Everyone Moon Knight makes friends with started with a punch #Nothing makes me happier than Moon Knight having flashbacks to punching a werewolf #That first comic was something else #Let's get this bread #It's spooky time ya'll!#Analyzing the comics

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