#also thinking it might just be a covering for the cybernetics underneath | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rotten-games · 3 years

Text

City of Immortals RO List

Okay so here it is, the list of ROs like I promised. Both mc's have their own pool of love interests to choose from with little overlap.

Here you’ll get a description of the ROs and some information on how the mc or others might view them. Also some info on the mc’s.

Mc1

Born to be a soldier by design, they were afflicted with immortality and stopped aging entirely once they hit thirty. A side effect—or perhaps a feature—is the beast that all but lives inside them, taking control when they feel incredibly strong emotions, though most often when anger is present. Where once they held full control of it, of the transformation they go through, now they must wrestle with its control with each passing day.

You are what’s called a Hunter. Every settlement has them, but Eden has the most. Caroline controls all her hunters from Eden, though ‘Hunter’ may be a bit of an oversimplification of the job description. Yes, one of their main jobs is providing food and other resources for the settlement, but they’re also bounty hunters, keepers of the peace, and are also often recruited for odd jobs when they have no contracts to fill. Perhaps the most important rule in Hunting, is that you always work in pairs.

Caroline: She/her

The best way to describe Carol is ‘short’, with a pair of unblinking amber eyes and a wind-buffeted, naturally tanned complexion. Her russet curls, while usually out of her face, never seem to stay tied back for long, a seemingly constant slew of curls sticking to her forehead. A jagged scar cuts across the knuckles on her right hand.

Caroline is unrelenting. She knows what her settlement needs and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t get it—to save the lives of those she must oversee she is willing to do anything. Within reason. Truthfully, Caroline never asked to be made the leader of Eden, the job just sort of fell into her lap one day and no one bothered to take it from her. You’ve worked for her for years by the start of chapter one, and if you’ve learned anything about her it’s that she doesn’t do smalltalk. She’s been in a relationship with Lowrie for years now, and as far as you can tell, they’re very happy with one another.

Lowrie: non-binary, they/them pronouns

Impossibly tall and scrawny, Lowrie’s skin is constantly burned red by the sun, seemingly unable to tan no matter what they do. Their face is long, with ash-coloured, shoulder-length hair that would usually hide their grey eyes but is otherwise kept out of their face with a blue-patterned scarf.

Some have called Lowrie stuck up in the past for their less than talkative nature but that would be an oversimplification. In truth, they just aren’t fond of talking—which is probably why they get on with Harley so well—and more shy than anything else. One of Eden’s finest Hunters, they spend most of their time in the sweltering heat of Wasteland bringing bandits in and shooting any of the mangy beasts that stray too close to Eden. The rest of their time is spent managing the bar with Caroline and Harley, tending to keep to themself. You’ve worked with Lowrie in the past, and as far as you can tell there’s little love lost between the two of you.

Carol + Lowrie poly:

Caroline and Lowrie are poly and in a committed relationship with one another. They will not leave one another for monogamy with mc, however, you don’t have to be in a throuple with them—though that’s definitely on the table—you can simply be with one, who is with both you and the other. Lowrie is also currently casually seeing Harley. Carol is not seeing anyone else.

Mordred: he/him.

With a seemingly constant fuzz along his jaw, and a never-ending supply of little scars littering his warm olive skin, his hair tends to cover everything but his yellow eyes and the deep bags underneath. His hair is typically tied into a loose bun at the back of his head, mostly obscuring his pierced, slightly pointed ears.

Mordred is a hot-headed, easily irritated young man who’s been by your side since day one. You dragged yourselves out of the crumbling ruins of Ledala together, you fought together, and now you work together as Hunters. Partner’s in crime doesn’t quite cover your relationship but it’s certainly close. In recent years, however, your relationship has strained—perhaps it’s due to past mistakes getting in the way, or past feelings, but either way at the start of the book he’s nowhere to be found.

At the start of the game you can determine just what your relationship is with him—it’s strained at this point but the reasons why are totally up to you. He can also potentially have been an old flame of MC2.

Ridley: Gender variable

Ridley is an energetic person with a pair of bright green eyes constantly sparkling with a glint of adventure. Despite their heavily-muscled frame, they seem to constantly be hiding behind their oversized glasses, a veil of their shaggy red hair, and a slouch that makes them out to be much smaller than they are.

Ridley is… an enigma. While technically a Hunter, they seem much more interested in the pursuits of science and research than holding off rabid beasts with nothing but a gun that’s falling apart and a rusty sword. Of course, they can hold their own well enough, but when they’re meant to be spending their time training or helping out—and indeed, even on their time off—they’re usually found traipsing around in the desert looking for… who knows what.

Doc: She/her

Doc is stocky and sharp-jawed, dark brown, almost black eyes always watching. Her dense curls are shoulder-length and appear twisted together and held back behind her head. The tip of her left ear appears to have been torn off somehow.

Not known for her bedside manner, Doc travels between settlements to tend to the sick, injured, and broken, and though none can particularly vouch for her interpersonal skills (though who can say anyone has particularly good ones, these days?), they can certainly do so for her medicinal accomplishments. Some think her a wandering ghost, aiding those who need help to make up for the sins of her past, others simply see her as a woman seeking to do her part for the good of Wasteland, regardless, if you get on her bad side she’s been known to be liberal with her gun. Or so the rumors say.

J. Allard: Gender variable

Allard is a nervous-looking, shifty individual with short but messy brown hair flecked with grey. Constantly fidgeting with the ring on their thumb, their stutter becomes more obvious the more nervous they are. Though their eyes hide behind a pair of darkened glasses, a pallid face a week out from its last wash they are, completely, honest. Trust me.

J. Allard is a totally normal priest. There is nothing strange about them, they simply want what is best for you and your companions.

Mc2

Dragged down into the depths of the earth on the day Ledala fell, you never knew of the city beneath the surface. Your sibling died that day, you’re sure of it, and a part of you died with them—the beast no longer responds to your call and you’re still left injured from whatever afflicted you and your comrades that day. The man who saved you set you to work for him—sorry, with him—and now you walk perpetually in the darkness of a city long since forgotten by the sun, with people named after the remnants of an old world you never knew existed. You were never meant to survive that night, and every day the world around you reminds you of that.

Arthur: he/him

Arthur doesn’t look quite there half the time. His skin is translucent, his pale blue eyes impossibly far away, platinum blond hair little more than wispy strands atop his head. Most of his body is otherwise covered completely by that old, brown coat of his. There’s light freckling across his nose.

Arthur saved you that night. A Private Investigator by trade, he brought you on to work together because you had no where else to go. Maybe because of it you should be closer than you are but there’s always been a distance between you he’s been unwilling to cross. Either way, despite working together—living together—he keeps to himself and you try to keep to yourself in turn. Still, you can’t help but notice the disdain he has for the City Council and their lackeys.

Perci: she/her

Perci is constantly smiling. Relaxed of posture, her straight hair once ashy brown is now dyed silver. It’s cut short at the sides and back, creating an undercut, most of her fringe tucked behind her ears to reveal a pair of dark brown, monolid eyes. She seems allergic to sleeves, taking whatever chance she gets to show off her cybernetic arm and the colourful tattoos that adorn her flesh arm.

A friend of Arthur who sometimes helps with investigations. She’s friendlier than he is with you, even inviting you out on occasion, but rebellion is on her lips more and more nowadays, and she isn’t subtle about it. You haven’t seen her in quite a while—as far as you can tell she and Arthur aren’t on speaking terms anymore after that big fight they had a few months back. As far as you can tell, she’s moved on and you certainly wouldn’t blame her if she has Council dogs on her heels.

Saga: Saga is always the same gender as your mc is.

Saga’s hair is a deep blue in colour, their black roots just barely growing through. Half of their head is shaved, the other half left chest-length and braided over their shoulder. Though their entire body seems to interwoven with tech, what is perhaps most interesting about them is the angular tattoo that crawls down the right side of their face. This is probably why they come to you completely covered in muck and baggy clothing.

Saga shows up at your door with a different name and a job. You aren’t given why, only the how, only the what. They’re stubborn and flighty in equal measure, suspicious of everyone around them including yourself. Oh, they dress the part of a street rat well, but the cash they have just on hand is nothing to blink at and, underneath all that grime, their skin is perfectly unmarred by the ravages of time.

Deimos: he/him, gay

Whether or not Deimos’ strength is his own or from borrowed, military-grade tech is anyone’s guess, but no one’s ever bothered to ask. Though he’s tall, he isn’t necessarily as muscular as the fear he commands would suggest. His eyes glow orange, black hair trimmed but not maintained, and his grin is enough to stop anyone in their tracks. For whatever reason, he always wears warm clothes.

Deimos is a Council dog who’s been hounding Arthur for a few years now. You’ve never officially met him; somehow whenever he drops into the office you always manage to be out. Whether that’s coincidence or because Arthur sends you out on errands very conveniently at those times it’s not for you to say. Somehow, he never seems to do too much damage to your colleague.

Adrastea: Non-binary, they/them or she/her pronouns, only attracted to nb or female mc’s

Adrastea has been voted the city’s most attractive person many years in a row now. Everything about them is perfect; perfect smile, perfect blue eyes, perfect cascading coils of iridescent hair, yet somehow despite their well-calculated appearance it’s like there’s a tiger waiting to pounce on any wary admirer who comes too close.

While not a member of the council they hold great sway simply by virtue of their age and the fact they’re so beloved by the populace. You’ve seen them on the holos, how they’re oh, so giving to the needy and even invite the commonfolk to their lavish parties all the important council members attend. It’s an act, it has to be; through their gorgeous smile and all those sheer dresses they seek nothing if not attention. A lot of their history is shrouded and deleted from public record, but you do know that they were once a head scientist that took part in the very same project that supposedly made you what you are today.

Dagda: gender variable

Dagda is the perfectly attractive face everyone sees on their screens every night. In a world of cybernetic bodies and unnaturally bright lights, they are the one person who almost looks... natural. With a perfectly cultivated appearance of salt and pepper hair, soulful brown eyes, and that winning smile, nothing about them is their own; everything they do exactly what everyone else tells them to do.

The mouthpiece of the Council, Dagda is seen to be charming and down to earth in the vids. They say Ledala is prospering more than it has in decades, that the crime rates are lowering thanks to the wonderful work they and their colleagues on the Council are doing. Of course, there always has been a certain emptiness behind their eyes. When the camera isn’t rolling, you wonder what they really think.

#lore #coi game

88 notes · View notes

rayveewrites · 3 years

Text

Ray Hijacks the Team ZIT Ghostbuster AU Again

So @shadeswift99 made a few posts a while ago about a Team ZIT(S) ghostbuster AU, And then I may or may not have hijacked the post to add in ideas for most of the other hermits because why not.

Now, back then I was spitballing ideas and making them up on the spot, which is admittedly my usual writing process, but hey.

That said, I've had more time to think about it, and then last night I blacked out for a few hours and came to with a Google Doc filled with short bios for all of the hermits and a handful of hermit-adjacents. Now, this rapidly turned into an urban fantasy AU in my hands, but hey. It's fun.

This is in alphabetical order, with alternate personas (EX, Helsknight, Beetlejhost) beneath their original counterparts when applicable:

Bdubs

Lives in an old mansion in the woods alongside Doc for reasons known only to them. Bdubs works as an interior designer, with a side gig as a freelance hairdresser. His eyes are unnaturally large, similar to Keralis’, and he is at least partially a plant. Completely feral and frequently gets in trouble for having knives on him at all times. He and Cleo have a thing called Knife Club which makes everyone else nervous. Nobody messes with Knife Club. It’s not worth it. Sunbathes frequently.

Beef

Is a perfectly normal human being. He works as a butcher with a side gig as a graphic designer specializing in album covers and spends his free time playing pokemon and dragging Etho along to social events. He was the first person to spot the cryptid, and the first person who Etho approached of his own accord.

Biffa

Is a ghost possessing a robotic shell. Biffa is from the future. While initially his main goal was to get back home to his own time, Biffa has since made friends and settled down into a new life running a cafe specializing in a wide range of teas. He’s quite content with this, and has actually found himself far happier than he was in his own time. While his nature means he can see, hear and touch ghosts, his body was built specifically for a disembodied soul to be in the driver’s seat, and he doesn’t want to risk another taking control. Also, he has more important things to do than have fistfights with ghosts.

Cleo

Is a ghost possessing her own dead corpse. Her nature allows her to see, hear and touch ghosts. Can and will fistfight spirits. She works as a teacher, so she’s usually busy, but occasionally in really nasty situations the Beetlejhost will drag her in to break a ghost’s legs. Does sculpture in her free time, and is actually really good. The only one who can wrangle Beetle to any real capacity, and she’s learned to keep him on a fairly short leash. Housemates with Joe, and Keralis also pops in pretty frequently. Has Knife Club with Bdubs. Has an enchanted flower crown that prevents her from decaying further; a gift from Beetle. Recently started learning magic in the form of necromancy and illusions. Has an ongoing ‘feud’ with Zloy, in which she temporarily traps his soul in random inanimate objects every now and then.

Cub

A bit of a ‘mad scientist’ archetype, Cub’s experiments are not exactly the most ethical, though they’re at least more professional than Doc’s. Responsible for the creation of Jevin. Cub gets possessed stupidly easily- sometimes willingly- and can usually handle it himself but sometimes has to call for help. Has a magical method of communication with Scar for exactly this reason. Has a day job as co-owner of a business called ConCorp, which he started with Scar. Has probably broken the Geneva Convention.

Doc

Was presumably human at one point. Now an abomination. Repeated experiments on himself have resulted in a massively changed facial and foot structure, a body covered in mottled green scales, claws, and goat horns. He lost half his face in one of his experiments, and constructed a new cybernetic one. He lost his right arm fighting God. Killed said god and would do it again. Lives in a mansion in the woods with Bdubs, though nobody’s really sure why. Owns a casino because of course he does. Also a living crime against fashion, because the man refuses to wear anything other than his tattered lab coat, torn jeans, and crocs.

Ely

Runs the local radio station. Nobody’s ever seen him in person, and nobody knows where he gets people’s voice clips for his remixes. Probably a cryptid. Maybe a ghost. Seems pretty chill, despite the blatant invasions of privacy.

Etho

Is a cryptid. Lives out in the woods in an abomination that can barely be called a house. Has never been seen in anything other than full Kakashi cosplay. Tends to keep to himself, but occasionally lets Beef drag him along to social events, often with Doc and Bdubs. Nobody really knows what his deal is. Probably not human. Probably.

False

Used to be part of an illegal underground cage fighting ring, until she earned enough to buy her way out. Having grown up in said ring, she struggles to adjust to normal life, but living in a town where the barista is a robot and the local tailor has wings makes it easier. She now has a job as security at Doc’s casino, alongside Iskall.

Grian

Is either an angel or a demigod, but nobody knows which. Has wings. Is both a tailor and an architect. A complete gremlin who has elaborate masks of various birds and will wear them to commit crimes. Eats seeds. Messes with everyone else’s plants. Lives in Jungle Wood Flats. Volunteers at the local theatre.

Hypno

Has three eyes, but hides the third one under a bandanna at all times. Can see ghosts with it. Had problems with sections of plumbing randomly getting clogged and also making very weird noises, and eventually called Team ZIT when the plumbers couldn’t find the source. Was prepared for ghosts, but wound up with a slime creature instead. Works in a $2 store for some reason.

Impulse

Is fully human. The most sensible member of Team ZIT (which admittedly isn’t saying much), Impulse has a day job as a freelancer building custom PCs and fixing broken tech. Agreed to the whole ghostbusting deal because he was bored, mostly. Was the first one to meet Skizz face-to-face, and is the one to own that particular place outright. Gets possessed every now and then, usually by larger spirits. Used to run solely on caffeine and chronic anxiety until Zedaph started getting on his case about his sleep schedule. Now he runs on less caffeine, more sleep, and the same amount of chronic anxiety.

Iskall

Was part of a cloning experiment to create the ultimate hitman, and was the only known one to both survive and escape before the whole thing was shut down by the authorities. Their eye and arm were replaced with cybernetics in order to increase their already enhanced abilities, and they were chased by said authorities, eventually winding up on Mumbo’s doorstep and becoming Mumbo’s problem. Now works as security at Doc’s casino, alongside False. Lives at Jungle Wood flats. Occasionally volunteers at the local theatre. Does bonsai as a hobby.

Jevin

Is the slime creature in the pipes. Hypno lets him live with him under the condition he stops blocking the plumbing and making weird noises at 3 AM (Jevin still blocks the plumbing and makes weird noises at 3 AM, just not as much as he was). Has taught himself to take a humanoid shape, and likes having fingers. Sleeps in the bathtub because he can. Was created from a vat of chemicals in a secret lab underneath the house, which used to be owned by Cub. Doesn’t really talk to the man in question that much, but will occasionally refer to Cub as his father for the sole reason of watching him go through eight existential crises in three minutes. Has a glock.

Joe

Head librarian at the local public library, and has read a lot of books on Supernatural Things. Is a veritable fountain of exposition if you can figure out what he’s saying or have Cleo along with you to threaten the integrity of his shins. Has never been seen in the same place as the Beetlejhost. Are they the same person? Are they entirely separate beings? Is there a Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde-type situation going on? Who knows!

Beetlejhost

Literally nobody really knows what his deal is. Nobody. Team ZIT ran into him on a call that they expected to be a false alarm and then he decided to follow them home. Spends most of his time being a minor nuisance in the most bizarre ways possible. Is implied to be responsible for the Ever Given getting lodged in the Suez Canal, but never confirmed. When he’s not bothering Team ZIT or getting them out of tight spots, he’s usually pestering Cleo, the only one who can keep him in line. It’s not really known if he and Cleo have a history or if they’re just Like That.

Keralis

Is a ghost haunting an architecture firm, and is mostly bound to the building, though he can travel to other buildings the firm has built, which is, uh, most of them. Initially only able to do small things- mostly writing notes or drawing diagrams- he eventually meets the Beetlejhost when the latter follows Mumbo to work one day for shits and giggles (he wanted to see how long he could mess with Mumbo before the man noticed. As it turned out, about a week, and by the end it was Iskall who noticed). After a couple of days in which Beetle teaches Keralis Ghost Things™, he scares half the office when he finally manifests for the first time. Has unnaturally large eyes and nicknames for most of the workers. Has no idea how he died or what his unfinished business might be. Very knowledgeable about architecture, and his input is usually very much appreciated.

Mumbo

Is a perfectly normal human being who does IT at Keralis’ architecture firm. Lives at Jungle Wood flats and spends most of his free time tinkering with tech and trying to keep Grian and Iskall out of trouble, which is a losing battle. Has a large, beating golden heart in his flat. He’s not really sure what its deal is, but if he feeds it apples it produces enough power for the entire building. Oh, and if he forgets to feed it for an extended period of time it starts draining his bank account. It’s really weird.

Pixlriffs

Was a perfectly normal human being until he died protecting a certain Russian zombie and became a perfectly normal ghost. Was a reporter in life and is a reporter in death. Runs a blog alongside Zloy about the local goings-on, supernatural or not. The blog’s the type where unless you live in/near the town you most likely won’t stumble across it, but they do have a small following of outsiders who assume the blog’s just a work of fiction. His unfinished business is to prevent Zloy from doing anything particularly stupid, a constant battle. Is able to go more places than Zloy due to being incorporeal, but respects people’s privacy. He’s bound to Zloy to a certain degree, not being able to go beyond a certain range of his friend. The range is pretty big, though, and he has plenty freedom of movement.

Python

Had a run-in with the fae as a kid, in which he accidentally pissed one off. In retribution, the faerie challenged him to answer a riddle or he’d be turned into a snake. Python’s answer was partially correct, so the faerie only transformed him partially. Python is fairly chill, though he strongly dislikes the cold and starts hissing if anyone disturbs him during Sun Time™. Sometimes Bdubs, being partially flora, joins Python for Sun Time™. He’s not venomous, because, you know...python. Also, he has a mildly disturbing habit of strangling rats and mice and then eating them whole, but he can’t help it and just tries not to do so when he has company.

Ren

Is a werewolf. He’s pretty chill regardless of form, though it’s only been recently he’s been comfortable enough leaving his ears and tail visible. He works as a lumberjack. One time Pixl introduced him to Monty Python’s Lumberjack Song and it quickly became his favourite thing. He spends most of his free time volunteering at the local theatre because Ren is absolutely a theatre kid and nobody can convince me otherwise. Gets possessed every now and then. Lives in Jungle Wood flats.

Scar

Works as a landscape developer. Gets possessed absurdly easily, though not quite as frequently as Cub. Has a magical method of communication with him. Technically co-owns ConCorp, but isn’t as involved. His cat, Jellie, is very obviously an eldritch abomination in feline form and he is comedically unaware of this. Lives in Jungle Wood Flats with Grian, Iskall, Mumbo, Stress, and Ren.

Skizz

Is the ghost haunting Team ZIT’s office. He was murdered by someone he’d thought was a friend who was trying to use his place to hide from the cops, and he’s stuck around, haunting the building. His unfinished business is to make sure nobody else uses the building for anyone shady, but the ghost rumours tended to chase most people off. Eventually he gets used to having Team ZIT around, and when Tango admits he doesn’t really have anywhere to go one day, Skizz eventually makes the decision to finally unlock the still-furnished upper floor for him. He’s bound to the building, but Impulse learns that carrying Skizz’s old vest with them allows him to leave. After that, Skizz sometimes accompanies them on missions and occasionally just hanging out. He’s usually more helpful than the Beetlejhost is.

Stress

Is a witch. Stress lives in Jungle Wood Flats and works as a doctor who specializes in supernaturally caused injuries- Team ZIT are some of her best customers. She also sells magic potions of various kinds, and has a side gig as a florist. She’s 90% of the Jungle inhabitants’ impulse control. Also has cryokinesis.

Tango

The Team ZIT member with a car. He gets possessed with frankly ridiculous frequency, but claims not to believe in ghosts for a long time (and keeps up the bit for even longer). Has developed various signals to indicate when he’s being possessed again. The strongest one, a rather nasty demon Cleo and the Beetlejhost had to team up on, left him with his glowing red eyes. He didn’t really have anywhere to go before Impulse bought the office, and tended to sleep on the couch or in his car until Skizz decided to let him into the upper floor, where he now lives alongside Zedaph and Impulse.

TFC

A now-retired ghostbuster, TFC calls in Team ZIT one night when he finds himself in over his head against a ghost with a grudge. He winds up becoming a bit of a mentor figure to the trio, usually coaching them over the phone if they’re not sure how to deal with one of the stranger spirits. Lost his leg years ago in a fight with a poltergeist that could have gone better, and now has a robotic prosthetic made by Doc.

Wels

While Team ZIT was out investigating some rumour or another in the woods, they came across a large stone box. Following video game logic, I guess, they then decided opening this large stone box sounded like a fun idea. Well, Tango and Zedaph did. Impulse was a bit more hesitant. The box actually held a medieval knight who’d been put in an enchanted sleep for centuries by his demonic doppelgänger, and was very much not prepared for modern life. Team ZIT took him to Xisuma, who happened to live closest, and Wels is currently helping out on the farm and trying to adjust to life in the 21st century. He can understand and speak modern English just fine because magic. Volunteers at the local theatre quite a lot.

Hels

Is Wels’ doppelgänger. Technically a minor demon. Won a fight with Wels and sealed him away for centuries as a result. A recurring problem. His real motivation is that he really desperately doesn’t want to go back to Hell, but he’s too proud to admit it. Lives in the woods with EX, who’s basically his only friend, though the weirdo with the brown cardigan keeps pestering him about his backstory and feelings for some reason. Has minor pyrokinesis.

Like Biffa, XB is also a ghost from the future, though it seems to be a different timeline than Biffa’s. His unfinished business is preventing the apocalypse, but he has no idea how to do that, no idea if he’s in the right timeline, and is pretty sure he’s gone back a lot farther than he probably should’ve. Also, there’s the whole paradox issue, where if he prevents the apocalypse he never has a reason to go back and prevent the apocalypse, so he doesn’t prevent the apocalypse, so he has to go back and- he tries not to think about it too much. He mostly just hangs out in an abandoned house on the edge of town and vibes.

Xisuma

Is a beekeeper. Nobody’s ever seen his face; when he’s not in his beekeeping outfit, he’s either wearing a helmet, or (more recently) an extremely lifelike and detailed animal mask (is it a mask?). Actually a shapeshifting alien, he crashed down to Earth after a scuffle with his evil clone and was stranded because Earth doesn’t have the right tools or resources to repair a spaceship. These days he’s actually found he’s happier tending to his bees, selling honey, and helping his friends out, and probably wouldn’t leave Earth even if he could. It’s a simpler life, but a pleasant one. He bonds with Biffa over a shared love of tea and being stranded in a technologically inferior world and finding a home.

Evil Xisuma

Is Xisuma’s clone. Feels that if everyone’s going to call him ‘Evil’ he may as well own it. Shot his original’s spaceship down in a scuffle but wound up being brought down with him. Currently hides in the woods. Generally more of a minor nuisance than an actual danger. Used to spend his free time bothering X but has gotten put off by Wels, who has a problem when it comes to evil clones. His friends consist of Hels, who is a terrible role model, and Zedaph, who’s trying to help him work through his problems behind everyone’s backs. Can summon lightning because he deserves it.

Zedaph

Is the reason Team ZIT is ghostbusting in the first place. He’s a sheep shearer by trade, but that’s a fairly seasonal thing and ghostbusting is more fun anyway. Has somehow never been possessed, and claims it’s because he’s always standing next to Tango. He makes sure the other two gets enough sleep Because we all know they can’t be trusted to do it. Probably has some sort of really bizarre and situational magical powers he is thoroughly unaware of. Qualified to be a licensed therapist. Made friends with Evil X at one point, somehow.

Zloy

Like Cleo, he’s a ghost possessing a corpse. Unlike Cleo, there’s a good chance it’s not his corpse. Eh, it’s not like anyone else was using it. Runs a blog with Pixl, because why not. Was already a zombie when he met Pixl, who was still alive at the time. His body is a bit more decayed than Cleo’s, but it’s fine. His goggles are enchanted with the same preservation spell; it’s not really ever explained where he got them from. Has no regard for privacy but is fortunately unable to turn invisible or phase through walls due to inhabiting a physical body. Both can theoretically physically fight ghosts and has enough time to physically fight ghosts, meaning he would be a valuable ally if he could be bothered. Lives in a graveyard. Has an ongoing ‘feud’ with Cleo, in which he puts jabs at her on the blog. Once spent a week as a (very sarcastic) floating potato.

Hermiton

Is the name of the place they all live in/near. Located in an ambiguous location in an ambiguous country, Hermiton is technically large enough to be considered a city but has Town VibesTM. Supernatural going-ons are a fairly normal part of life, and a good number of inhabitants aren’t humans. Despite this, the wider world seems mostly ignorant of the existence of ghosts, magic, etc. I’m not too sure about geography, but it’s surrounded by forest in most directions and in a warm enough climate to not have snow in the winter (so Python doesn’t, you know, freeze to death). Most people don’t tend to bat an eyelid at strange-looking people walking down the street or serving them at the store; they’re used to it by now. There are several theories as to why Hermiton specifically has so much going on when it comes to the supernatural- ley lines, secretly the resting place of some long-forgotten god, et cetera- but it’s actually more of a case of ‘people who have supernatural traits hear rumours of a place where a lot of people have supernatural traits and go there in search of answers/a place to belong’. This doesn’t exactly explain where all the ghosts came from, but hey. Nothing’s perfect.

44 notes · View notes

heartofsnark · 3 years

Text

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Five): Just To Want It All

Notes: As stated in last chapter notes, i have a decent chunk of chapters done so these are coming out pretty rapid fire. Otherwise, I don’t have much to say other than massive thanks to my friend who reads these over for me and has been cool with me dropping 80+ pages of fic on them in a week. because yeah...I finished another chapter of this.

Word Count: 7885

Chapter Warnings: mentions of alcohol and cursing, if that counts as a warning in cyberpunk 2077.

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

Lizzie’s Bar stands out brilliantly in the city; out of all the gangs, she thinks she likes The Moxes aesthetic the best. Vivid pink and bright teal. Their colors splashed across the overpass, along with a neon pink skull sign with hair and a bow. At the side of the building is a towering neon skull girl sign, full bodied with an animated kicking leg and axe held above her head, the same hot pink color.

She parks and gets out of her car, doing a quick scan of the area, searching for more Militech drones. None that she sees, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. The credchip burns in her pocket, remembering some of the stuff T-Bug has taught her. How to crack an encrypted shard and see what’s on it, how to transfer its contents. V rifles through her bag, remembering she had a blank credchip somewhere. If Militech did anything dirty, V should be able to transfer the eddies onto a clean chip.

V makes a beeline to the front door, cement blockers and walls covered in graffiti. More neon signs, the bars name over the door in glowing turquoise letters. Lizzie Jizzie scrawled across an outside wall; two screens on each side of the double stores, all covered in Nicola ads requesting V ‘taste the love’. Groups of people loiter in the open outside the bar. V’s eyes are drawn to the two bouncers outside the doors.

Two women, one leans against the outside wall as she puff away on a cigarette. Short slicked back hair that starts blue and then fades to green, eyes hidden behind sunglasses and a gold septum piercing in her nose. The other one stands in front of the doors, a yellow spiked bat held over her shoulders. Long hair pulled up into space buns, purple roots and pink ends. Both of her arms are metal; black with pink and teal accents as well as spikes along the forearms. Both women are skimpily dressed, no shame in that. The one wielding the bat has a white top with cleavage going beyond her breasts, showing her almost plastic looking skin and the Moxes tattoo across her chest. The other shorter haired bouncer is wearing neon pink pasties beneath a teal bomber jacket. V’s been here before, has maybe seen them in passing, both really attractive. She’s not sure there’s a Mox member who isn’t.

“Hey there, dollface!~” The bat wielder greets her with a grin, as if she could actually see V’s face.

“Interest you in a preem BD?” The smoker offers.

“What you got?” V asks to be polite, she doesn’t honestly even like brain dances. But the girls are cute, so… no harm in a little small talk.

“What don't we got? Women and men of your dreams, synaptic acting A-listers. No washed-up virtuporn boytoys or blow-up dolls here.”

“Auteur stuff - It'll grip your heart and blow your nerves right outta your body. Pure bit-based ecstasy - that’s why people come here.”

“Sure know how to sell it, don’t you?” V signs, trying not to laugh as the bouncers give her the spiel.

“Not a sales pitch, it's a warning. I'll give you one word - bespoke. Not for everyone's synapses.”

“Think you can handle it?”

“Think I can manage it,” she tells them, knowing damn well she has no intent to get any sort of virtus.

“Mmhm. Couple of things you need to know first,” she affectionately rubs her bat, “Ahem. Severe penalties for any unauthorized recording… “

“No drugs, no groping. Someone catch your eye, you do not grab 'em. You find 'em in the catalog, ask for a BD and get yourself a box.”

“No worries, not even my first time here.”

“Door's open. Have fun, Doll.”

“Welcome to Lizzie’s.”

The double doors open and V walks through a blue beaded curtain. There’s a front room, a stand where a woman with a bright pink mohawk is selling clothes, under another Nicola ad and neon letters saying ‘Fuck To Death’ behind her.

“My what a sweet face you have,” she says, her tone honeyed but its clear she hasn’t looked up from the counter, not even noticing as the masked merc walks past through another beaded curtain and double doors to the main club.

“Here in Night City~”

Music thrums as she steps in; the room is lit with strobing pink and teal lights. Couches with neon glowing lights on the underneath, some people with BD wreaths and others playing on their phones. People dancing to the club music and bar tucked away in the corner. She doubts the client will be right at the start of opening, so V finds an empty stretch of couch, sitting down on black leather with a pink neon light at her feet. V slides the Militech cred chip into her mask, it takes a moment, but she manages to crack it and get a look at the inside.

Ten thousand eddies and malware; it was meant to send all of Maelstrom’s data to another server and then fry the systems. Meaning, if V handed it over Maelstrom would get their systems fried, with her and Jackie dealing with the aftermath. V slides the blank cred chip into another slot in her mask’s edge, transfering the clean money over to it. Fucking around with tech and daemons isn’t her strong suit, but if she recalls Bug telling her that fairly simple malware like this could be reworked pretty easily. She works through the coding with her thoughts, the data and interface all on her mask. If she can get the coding right, she might be able to have it send something other than data back to the Militech servers… Shifting and twisting what she thinks will work… if she’s done it right, instead of sending data back to Militech’s server, it should inject the same malware back into their system. If used, it would spike both Maelstrom and Militech.

She’ll call up T-Bug before they hit Maelstrom, double check she did the steps right. If Maelstrom play nice, they can pay and be done, if not...she can fuck over the gangoons, Militech, and walk away with an extra ten thousand in her pocket. She puts the credchips in her pockets, spiked one in her left and clean one in the right.

Time to have a look around for the client. V making a beeline for the bar, bartenders always have all the info. Lizzie’s Bar in neon over the drink station, a brightly blue lit corner where a man works at making drinks, shelves of booze behind him. She climbs onto a blue vinyl bar stool, feet no longer on the ground and unable to resist swinging them a bit. The bartender comes to her; a man with slicked back dark hair, glowing white cybernetic eyes, and silver embellishments run across his cheeks and jaw. His shirt bright blue with a tropical design and if not for a single button above his pants, it’d be completely open. Beaded necklaces bringing even more attention to his exposed chest and stomach.

“Get you something?”

“Looking for Evelyn Parker,” she speaks the woman’s name, not wanting to waste time fingerspelling it even if the sound feels tight in her throat.

“And you are?”

“V, me and her were supposed to meet here.”

“Well, V, it’s a pleasure. I’m Mateo.”

“Nice to meet you… any idea where she’s hanging around?”

“Club's big. Gonna have to look around. Can't do it for you-”

“It's all right, Mateo,” a feminine voice calls out and V’s eyes are drawn to a woman at the bar, “I was waiting for this one.”

There’s something about her, distinctly Mox and also not. Her hair is a short vivid blue bob with bangs cut straight across her forehead. Heavy makeup, a tight silver sequin dress with a dipping neckline, red thigh high vinyl boots, a black trench coat that pools around her knees with a pink and white feathered collar. She holds two fingers up to the bartender and moves to the bar stool closer. There’s a clang and tink of glass; Mateo getting out a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses.

“That won’t be necessary,” V signs before he can fill the second glass, “I don’t drink on the job.”

“Aww, what a good girl,” Evelyn coos, a smile pulling at her painted lips, “Evelyn Parker. I knew it was you as soon as you walked in.”

“And you decided to let me wander around instead of introducing yourself?”

“I wanted to get a good look at you first.”

“And?” V watches as Evelyn takes a swig of her tequila.

“Rest assured, if I didn’t like what I see, you’d know,” she takes another drink, “C'mon. Know a place we can talk where ears won't prick up to listen. We'll be in the lounge, Mateo. Anyone asks we're not here.”

Evelyn takes her black clutch purse and leaves the bar, V puts some money down for Mateo; if nothing else to compensate for his time. V hops down from the stool and follows after Evelyn, through a pair of double doors that goes into a hallway tinted red and pink, booth doors lining the way. The blue haired woman opens up a door, standing to the side as V walks in.

The booth is small, circular with a red vinyl couch around it’s curve, a table in the middle projects a hologram of a stripper who twists and dances. V sinks into the cushions, watching Evelyn stride in and light a cigarette as the door closes behind her. Everyone in the city a smoker it seems. As Evelyn puffs on a cigarette, V is somehow just noticing the gold nail like finger caps she wears.

“Dex had a load to say about you. Called you professional, effective. And trustworthy. I hope he wasn't overselling…“

“You don’t give a shit what he says,” V retorts, not missing the tinge of disdain Evelyn’s voice. V doesn’t need anyone to blow wind up her ass.

“You have trouble accepting compliments?”

“Flattery’s beneath you.”

“Maybe Dex is beneath you,” Evelyn moves around the table, grabbing an ashtray from the table, then sitting down next to V, crossing her legs, “Have you known each other long?”

“First time working with him.”

“Hmmm, I've heard there are two kinds of fixers. Those with stable crews on long contracts and short leashes. Loyalty and predictability they value above all else. Then there's the other kind- Dex's kind.”

“Meaning?”

“Headhunters. They lay their trust elsewhere, not in people but in a thing- their intuition. They bet on potential. And if they lose that bet…It's the last mistake they ever make. I’m hoping Dex’s intuition served him well in this case.”

“Let's get to the point, why am I here, what’s this about?”

“Your target - I trust you know what it is.”

“Arasaka biochip.”

“Mmmhmm, their Relic, secure your soul technology. Arasaka's poured billions into personality transfer technology. But me - I just want the data on this one. The chip is tucked away inside Konpeki Plaza, the hotel. You ever been?”

“Fancy corp hotels? Yeah, no, way out of my price range.”

“The decor's to die for. As you'll see for yourself.’

So, V and Jackie have to bust into some fancy hotel to get the chip people are arguing about on tv. Understood, so far. But, theres a lot of risks involved in a heist of this scale. Its one thing to rip off a dropped piece of cargo or a convoy from a corp; but this kind of top notch tech?

“You know where the chip is, exactly?”

“In a suite on the top floor. The room's occupied by Yorinobu Arasaka.”

V swallows the lump in her throat, the son of Saburo Arasaka, heir to the entire fucking corp. She’s once again finding herself wondering why Dex thinks her and Jackie can handle a job of this caliber, the Arasaka’s seem downright un-fucking-touchable to a merc like her.

“He’s in NC?”

“Don't you read the screamsheets?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Well, the media couldn't get enough of Yori coming to Night City, it was all over the headlines. He's heir apparent to the Arasaka empire - Saburo Arasaka's only surviving son.”

“So, he trying to take over while he’s in town?” V asks, trying to understand what exactly is going on.

“Only a handful of people in Night City know what the Arasakas' real plans are.”

“And you included in that?”

A smirk stretches across her face, green eyes devious; “Yorinobu is a puppet. He lost all his cards years ago when he failed to do daddy's bidding. Saburo's had Yori's balls in a vise for years. He might just turn the screw and crush them outright if he learns his son's up to no good again.”

“Someone like him is bound to have an army surrounding him, that hotel is probably a fortress by now.”

“Yorinobu keeps exactly no muscle around. Not one guard. Got rid of them a long time ago.”

“Why?”

“Surely you know what they say about Arasaka intel? Sneeze in Night City and a blossom drops from a cherry tree in Tokyo. Yorinobu was convinced his Arasaka security detail reported directly to his father.”

“If you got a spare ache up your sleeve, I’d love to see it.”

“ Now, this should make your tits perk up,” she says, putting the ashtray aside and leans forward.

“My tits are quite comfortable where they are, I assure you.”

“Cute, but more importantly, Yorinobu recently swiped the chip from an Arasaka laboratory. He's made a deal with NetWatch, aims to sell it to them. Have you spotted my ace yet or do I need to spell things out?”

“Okay, no muscle because he has daddy issues and no security on the device because he stole it from said daddy. Any idea where he’s hiding the thing?”

“Likely in a specialized container, one that mimics an organic neural environment. On the outside, it looks like an ordinary briefcase.”

“Which would be where?”

“You'll see for yourself soon enough,” she stamps out her cigarette and stands up, walking to the door, “Provided we're done gossiping about the Arasakas.”

“You know anything else about him?” V asks, wanting to see if she can mine any more useful information about the heir that could help.

“Quite a bit, actually. He studied finance and biotech in Tokyo. Hm, probably didn't have a choice in the matter, come to think of it. Saburo was grooming him to be his successor. But then Yorinobu vanished to chase his own dreams, cut himself off from the corp for years. Long story short, though the black sheep returned, the bitter taste remained. But that's only one side of him. There's another - an intelligent man who has always walked his own path and so has his own designs on the corp.”

There’s no doubt in V’s mind now that Evelyn knows Yorinobu personally, the way she talks and speaks is clearly colored by experience. Some prodigal son who ran away from his father and then came back with his tail between his legs when he couldn’t cut it alone. An odd lump in V’s throat at the thought; running away from shitty dads, being a black sheep…

“Sounds like any other corpo dick to me,” V signs, not liking the parallels her brain is starting to draw.

“Hm. Ever tried to imagine what life might be like for an emperor's son? You have everything, yet you are no one, nothing. At least as long as you remain in Saburo Arasaka's shadow. I…” she scratches almost sheepishly at her neck, her wannabe femme fatale attitude slipping for just a moment, “...sympathize. It's a vulnerability I understand well.”

V is still finding herself finding uncomfortable similarities between herself and fucking Yorinobu Arasaka. Its stupid, she doesn’t know the man and he has the wealth to destroy her for pretending she does. But, a power hungry leader for a father, leaving home, terrified of being under his thumb. Only difference, well many, but most pressing is she’s managed to make it on her own...so far… at least. Not that she hasn’t had her doubts or worries.

“So, what’s next?” V asks, practically shaking her head to dispel the weirdness swimming in her brain. Black sheep or not; Yorinobu Arasaka has a silver spoon in his mouth. She’s a nomad turned Night City edgerunner; their lives couldn’t be more far removed.

“Now comes the best part,” Evelyn opens the door and turns to leave, “Follow me. Got somethin' for you. Should help you plan. Braindance from Konpeki Plaza.”

V follows Evelyn out into the hallway, “ how’s a braindance going to help?”

“Think BDs are only good for fondling virtual tits, jackin' off to in those boxes?”

“Thought that was the main selling point, yeah,” V teases back as they turn a corner in the hallway, headed towards a door.

“No. They can be a very useful tool. Good for analyzing details human perception, even boosted, doesn't grasp. Exactly what you need,” Evelyn teases as they enters a dressing room, a few Mox at the tables painting their faces with makeup and styling their hair.

“What's on the tape?” Through another door and neon lights fade to harsher, darker lighting.

“Yorinobu's suite. The glorious interior,” the walk down a short metal flight of stairs, “You'll need to locate the Relic yourself. Hope I grabbed enough detail to make that possible.”

The stop at the end of the steps, Evelyn turning to look at V with a hand on her hips. Not that V really had any more doubt about it, but she’s been given more evidence that Evelyn and Yorinobu know each other.

“You recorded it?”

“Mhm. BD rec implant. Why, you object?”

“Not particularly, who you know and what you do with them is none of my business, lets see the braindance.”

“Judy'll help. She's a Mox, too,” down another short flight of stairs, deeper into the basement, “Besides, we go back… years.”

Evelyn stops them again outside a pair of double doors, Lizzie’s is starting to feel like a little maze at this point. But more importantly, Evelyn’s paused again, stumbled over her words and showed something under her facade. V felt something was off, a Mox but somehow not, and she’s starting to think Evelyn is purposely trying to put up a front. That she’s trying, a little too hard, to come across like femme fatale or corpo. Evelyn clears her throat.

“V, this is important. Judy's always been there for me. Always helped out. I trust her. But she's a Mox, not the latest member of your crew. Try not to forget. So you'll be a good girl, tread lightly and keep that tongue on a leash.

“Oh, but it's not my tongue you need to worry about.”

“Hmm, can feel you smirking under that mask, keep it up and I’ll tie those hands down, too,” Evelyn says with a wink as they pass through the double doors into another hallway, then through one more door.

Evelyn leads her through the basement doors, a dark little room with servers, netrunning chairs and screens. In an office chair slouching with one leg on a desk is a woman; late twenties or so with olive skin. One side of her hair is shaved, the other shaggy and down to nearly her shoulder, a deep green color with bright pink ends. The woman is heavily tattooed, bright red roses nestled above her collar bones, a spider web on her right shoulder, a cartoon ghost sitting in a shell, and a large number 13 on her bicep are among the standouts. But V could spend hours describing each artwork.

“Ahem.”

“Hey, there you are…” Judy greets Evelyn, a playful almost flirty tone to her voice.

“This is V. She's here for that BD roll. And V, this is Judy - best braindance editor I know.”

“Enough already, gonna make me barf.” There’s a slight accent to Judy’s voice, not unlike Jackie’s.

“Impressive set up,” V signs, at least, she assumes it’s impressive. Tech is already a bit of a blind spot for her, especially when it comes to brain dances.

“Mhm, Analyzers, sensory sig amps, acoustic and emotive wave monitors, facial expression translators.”

“Ahem, Judy,” Evelyn stops the inked editor before she can tell V more.

“All right, all right… Compiled your BD, Ev.”

“What do you think? Will it do?”

“Still pretty raw… but yeah, oughta do.”

“Mhm. V needs to get deep inside, that's most important.”

“So, let's calibrate, tune it to her,” Judy stands up from the table and moves to the desk closer to the door, sitting down below a neon pink light, “Believe me, I've dealt with worse. Should see the dig-Jig Street porn we gotta contend with sometimes.”

Evelyn has followed behind Judy, standing behind the editor’s chair, “So we drop V inside? Let her look, let her rummage around, right?”

“How 'bout it, V? Raw braindance - ever taken a dip before?” Judy leans forward on the desk, looking at V.

“No, not at all, but I’m a quick learner,” that feels like a lie as soon as she says it, “ and need to know what I’m dealing with. So.”

“Siddown, settle in, and we'll get you goin'.”

V turns around to the chairs, either netrunning or ripperdoc chairs, she’s not sure. But, she climbs into one, settling down into it as Judy comes back out around the desk. Judy is nearby, fiddling with a brain dance wreath.

“Be easier to fit without the mask.”

“Mask has optic tech, linked to my neuroport and biomon, should work just like it does with any set of cybereyes.”

“‘Fraid of ruining the mystery?” Evelyn asks, teasing again.

“Mask is for business, lot harder to track a merc if you got no clue what they look like. You that curious, feel free to try and track me down during my off time.”

“Fine, fine,” Judy affixes the BD wreath around V’s head, lining it up properly on the merc before walking back to the desk, “Gotta create your sensory profile first.”

“Go for it.”

“Now, sit still, look at me. Gonna run the analysis soft should feel a slight tingling…”

V’s breath catches as it prickles across her skin, a crackling and warm sensation crawling across every nerve. From the base of her skull, down her spine, across her arms to her fingers, running down her legs to her toes. A vague pulse, a current of something.

“OK now let's set the optics and other sensory sigs. Look smack into these two screens, pretend it's an eye exam.”

The two wreath panels flash and strobe white light, building in urgency and frequency.

“Gimme two more minutes. One more sec, need to get the pain receptor limiters in… OK. All set. Need to test your profile first. Tossing in a sam-”

“We can just use my recording, there’s no point in wasting time,” Evelyn interrupts Judy.

“It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“I’m fine with just jumping to her BD,” V interjects her opinion, “better to get right to it.”

Judy sighs and rolls her eyes; “Fine, fine, what do I know.”

“Great, I’ll just need to patch Bug in.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Who?” Judy jumps up from her desk, crossing her arms and looks at V like she just asked to summon Satan.

“Runner from my crew, security specialist. She'll tell me what to look for while we analyze. No problem, I assume?”

“Actually, it is a problem! You’re already asking me to cut fucking corners and now you want to bring someone else in?! Not what we agreed, Ev!”

“It’s not a big deal,” V signs, not sure what Judy’s sudden problem is.

“No big deal! You don't quite grasp the risks I took by lettin' you in here! What I'm risking pokin' around with this stuff!”

Judy continues to yell and V rolls her eyes, she’s a BD editor, not part of the actual crew, the client, or the fixer. If Arasaka goes after anyone it sure as shit won’t be Judy, so why is she throwing a fit.

“And you don’t seem to grasp the risk I’d be taking if me and my partner went stumbling into that hotel with no fucking clue as to what we or our runner are up against. I miss one hidden turret and I get pumped full of lead, either my runner links in or I’m gone.”

V makes a point to twist her head and look at Evelyn at the last part; Bug is the most highly trained member of their crew and Dex’s go to runner. Without her involvement and eyes on it, the job won’t be going anywhere.

“Bye then!” Judy yells out, “good riddance and don’t let the door hit you on the way out!”

“Judy, please…”

“Ev, she wants to bring a 'runner in. What part of that don't you understand?! How do I know she'll only perch in this footage, observe, not fuck with anything?!”

“Because Bug is literally involved with the heist, has a dog in this fight, and wants it to go well too,” V signs, hoping the AI voice is getting her annoyance across, Judy does level a glare at her over Evelyn’s shoulder.

“Me,” Evelyn steals Judy’s attention, “I'm your guarantee.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Help me, this one last time. I promise everything'll work out, just like we planned.”

And it hits V, between the flirting and the soft drop in Evelyn’s voice here. The reason Judy is so worked up about this; her and Evelyn have something. Friends teetering the line into something else, girlfriends already, or maybe even more than that. V’s not sure. But there’s something distinctly not platonic to the way they interact. Maybe that’s the play on Evelyn’s. Scam Yorinobu Arasaka then run away with her porn editor girlfriend.

“Fine,” Judy shakes her head and sits back down, the anger gone, “call Bug and we’ll dive in.”

That issue taken care of V rings up T-Bug, the netrunner answering after a ring or two.

“What’s up, V?”

“Bug, listen. I got some useful footage from Konpeki Plaza. It's a braindance.”

“Konpeki? Ohhh, thought as much…” Judy looks up at Evelyn.

“Someone there with you?”

“Client and her...friend...is what I’ll settle on; that’s not what matters right now, its going to give us a layout of the room, a chance to find where the chip is, and some idea of security.”

“All right, see if I can walk you through it. Jackin’ into your tech now,” notifications alert across her mask’s interface, “Mh, you've gotta give me access. Opening port 1779… Secure protocol? Good, I'm goin' in. Should be getting my request… …now.”

“Got it. You ready?”

“Millisec. OK, connection confirmed, now some quick temp ICE and… we're clear. Ready to dance.”

“Let’s do this.”

And with that the wreath panels begin to flash and strobe in front of V’s eyes, quicker and quicker until the world goes out in white. And in the next snap of a moment, one reality becomes another. Her body is no longer her own, she’s placed in Evelyn’s mind standing outside an elevator. What feels like her body, moves to adjust a purse strap, gold capped nails.

“All right, V - eyes open. Gotta find out where Yorinobu is keepin’ the Relic. Everything is controlled by thought and intention; you can step into editor mode, access everything her cyberware picked up a signal of, can scan, rewind, fast forward. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

The doors open, exposing the hotel room, and a horror show of a man walking towards her. V can feel the spike in fear, whether from Evelyn in the moment or V’s own instinctual reaction; she isn’t sure. He’s around eight feet tall, complete metal and cyberware from his feet to his upper lip; more machine than human. Wire, hydraulics, steel; all branded with Arasaka. The flesh section of his head is sickly ashen protrusive veins, glowing red where eyes should be. As he draws closer there’s a whirr of machinery, hydraulics pistoning to give him movement. How is he alive? How is he functional?

“You look like a cut of fuckable meat. Are you?” He asks as he walks past, voice edged with something inhuman.

Evelyn reigns her fear back in, the past version of her walking deeper into the room, where a dark haired man sits at a table in front of a large screen where another blonde haired man speaks back to him.

“I said no,” the dark haired man speaks out, his voice colored by a Japanese accent and V knows it’s Yorinobu. Evelyn continues to walk closer, her heels clicking against the floor.

“They'll have my head for this…”

“Then you shall perish for a good cause.”

“But I-”

“Make yourself comfortable. I need a minute to finish,” Yorinobu tells Evelyn, sparing just a glance over his shoulder.

“Listen in on that conversation, V! Could be something important.”

She wants to watch through first, do an initial watch to look for things and then go more in depth. Two watches at least should mean she’s covered everything. Yorinobu switches the conversation to his holophone, pacing around the room. Evelyn meanwhile puts her purse down on the chair, then walks behind him, trying to keep him in range

“My father is a tired, visionless old greybeard who thinks nothing will change and he'll live forever in his tiny, frozen bubble! You will listen to this - Saburo is an addled despot utterly removed from reality, stuck in some fossilized vision of a world that no longer exists! Of a world that may never have existed! We have not seen eye to eye for the last twenty years. I am quite sure we won't now.”

Yorinobu continues to talk as Evelyn pours herself a glass full of champagne and takes a drink, the tech allowing V to taste the sweet bubbles as if they were on her own tongue. Glass in hand she takes a slow look around the room and walks back to the center of it, sitting at the table, the plush of the cushion letting her sink into it.

“Noted,” Yorinobu says into the phone as he starts to walk back to Evelyn, there’s something in his eyes, “enough.”

He hands up, putting the phone down on the table. Evelyn looks up at him and V through her eyes gets her first good look at the Arasaka heir. Dark hair with the sides shaved down close to the scalp, glasses perched on his nose. His cyberware is surprisingly minimal for a man of his wealth, two streaks of silver going up his neck to his jawline.

“Sorry, to make you wait,” he touches Evelyn’s shoulder and the woman rises, “business can be stupid.”

They’re close and V can feel his hands on her, Evelyn’s, hips. Evelyn’s hand on his shoulder.

“Mmh, it wasn't long,” Evelyn hums and it feels wholy unnatural to feel like she’s speaking with someone else's voice, “Not even long enough for me to grow bored.”

His hands start to creep and Evelyn goes to pull away, movements playful, when Yorinobu pulls her back in. Then he starts to dip his mouth.

“Fuck no!” V yells out as she pushes the thought to enter editor mode, separating her senses from Evelyn’s before she has to feel Yorinobu’s lips on Evelyn’s neck. She looks down and sees herself, though slightly digital, her bright blue nail polish and not gold jewelry. The scene around her has paused and a digital filter over them.

“Something wrong?” T-Bug asks with a slight laugh.

“Nearly had corpo droolon me,” V signs, happy to find the tech allows her translator to work in editor mode, “was going do a watch through, then a second go in editor mode, figured two look throughs would be best...then”

“Then you nearly had to lock lips with Yorinobu Arasaka.”

“Gag, rewinding back to scan the call fully.” With a thought she watches as Evelyn and Yorinobu move in reverse, getting back to win the heir was starting the call. Once she gets where she needs to be she scans his phone and restarts it from editor mode, thankful for the sensory disconnect. She hears the man on the other end of Yorinobu’s call speak.

“Please speak with your father. He's taken a particular interest in this project, he can certainly explain the risks invol--”

“My father is a tired, visionless old greybeard who thinks nothing will change and he'll live forever in his tiny, frozen bubble!”

“I should not even be listening to such things.”

“You will listen to this - Saburo is an addled despot utterly removed from reality, stuck in some fossilized vision of a world that no longer exists! Of a world that may never have existed! We have not seen eye to eye for the last twenty years. I am quite sure we won't now.”

“Read the documentation carefully. The Relic requires specific storage conditions. You MUST provide them.”

“Noted,” Yorinobu hangs up again and V pauses the BD.

“Heard that? Relic docs gotta be around here somewhere. Look for them,” Bug confirms.

“Once we find where the chip is stored we’ll do a clean sweep of the security, okay Bug.”

“Smart thinking.”

V watches half-heartedly as Yorinobu and Evelyn interact; her range of vision and senses limited to Evelyn. She fast forwards through the two canoodling, only mildly catching Evelyn mentioning something about ‘candy’ though V assumes it’s of the nose variety. Evelyn separates away from Yorinobu for a moment and walks to a control panel, offering to lend music to the scene.

But V’s interest is piqued when she catches Evelyn rifling through Yorinobu’s messages, a few spam and scam emails. Then she pulls up an email from Clouds, a dollhouse in the city. Evelyn deletes it, V rewinds back and pauses. The email thanks Yorinobu for his patronage; hmm, heir has a taste for doll prostitutes. Something, Evelyn doesn’t want that email to be there… Its all beginning to make more sense and V’s not sure she likes it.

The merc fast forwards further through the BD, moving through to Evelyn playing awful music and going to meet Yorinobu in his bed. Where he sits with a tablet, the second the screen is clear. She pauses and scans it, bingo.

“Manual details a special temp controlled container. Relic needs to be kept real cool,” T-Bug explains through the technobabble.

“Chip’s got to be in a freezer.”

“Yep. Could damage it otherwise. OK, switch on thermal layer detection in the editor. Should be easier to spot where Yorinobu's keeping the chip.”

V switches with a thought, the world turning into temperature signatures as she searches for unnatural cold places and spots. An air conditioner pumps out cold air, but that would be a stupid place to put billion dollar tech. One malfunction and you lost it all. She rewinds back to get more of a view, a ice bucket for champagne, a fridge?

“That’s just a regular fancy fridge, not cold enough,” Bug tells her when she spends t0o long contemplating it.

V rewinds further and an amass of blue ice cold air from behind a pillar catches her eye, It seems to come up through the floor, unlike the AC, ice bucket, or fridge she has no clear idea where this one is coming from. A secret container in the floor? Seems like a much craftier place to hide expensive stolen tech, V scans it.

“Right, grabbed the heat sig. Matches the spec in the docs,” T-Bug tells her.

“Chip has to be here, we got it.”

“Mmhmm, time to scan security.”

V switches back to the regular mode, looking for what she needs to scan. The camera system first.

“Shit, cameras packed with newtech motion sensors, heat sig activators. IFF.”

“Can you kill it?”

“With access to their subnet, but we need the Flathead bot for that.”

They continue on, with Bug commenting on each security measure they scan. Alarm with fresh firmware, Automated turrets connected to the hotels server. Yorinobu’s pistol, loaded with the safety on. V rewinds and fast forward, searching anything else that might be an issue but comes up empty handed.

“Seems like we got everything. Looks like all their security systems are linked to the hotel subnet. We need the Flathead. No other way to shut down these systems,” T-Bug sumises.

“No way around it ourselves?”

“Nope. Least I'm fresh out of ideas. Think we got everything we need.”

“Okay, but hang on the line with me after we get out of the BD, need you to look over something for me, if you don’t mind.”

“No problem.”

V exists out of the brain dance, a flash of white and the world returns. Judy and Evelyn looking at her from across a desk, T-Bug still in the call panel of her mask. Her eyes hurt, her throat feels dry, and she can feel a migraine pushing at her temples. She fucking hates brain dances.

“Get everything you need?” Judy asks, a dark raised eyebrow.

“From the BD, yeah, got to clear something with Bug while I got her on the horn,” V gets the chip she fucked with out of her pocket and slides it into the proxy reader of her mask, “got a chip I fucked around with; decrypted and tried to rewrite the virus on it, so it will spike the people who gave it to me. But I want to make sure, I didn’t fuck up.”

“Need me to grade your work, V?”

“Kind of…”

“Oh, shit, V. You fucking over Militech?” T-Bug exclaims, a little pride in her voice as she reads over the code, thankfully her voice is only audible to V through her hearing aids.

“Mmhmm.”

“And you don’t want to sign and have your translator read it, because you don’t want to risk the client knowing you’re fucking over Militech while prepping to fuck over Arasaka.”

“Mmhmm, will it work?”

“It will fry the servers of any tech it’s plugged in proper and fry the servers it’s linked to, a Militech van from the looks of it. Won’t be a dent in their bottom line, but will surely piss off some reps. That what you meant for it to do?”

“That was the plan.”

“Preem work then, but I do want to make some...edits,” T-Bug edits the chips code in front of V’s eyes, “there we go.”

“Something wrong with it?” Nerves creep up V’s throat, if she fucked up, she’d rather learn her lesson now.

“Nah, I added a bit of a personal touch for you, nothing wrong with a little style added to your hacking.”

“Appreciate the help.”

“You know I won’t always be here to check your work.”

“I know, I know, but it doesn't mean I won’t take advantage while I can. Thanks again, talk soon.”

“Later, V.” With that V hangs up the call and slots the spiked credchip back into its respective pocket. Judgement, suspicion, and resentment are radiating off of Judy.

“I'll wipe the cache and your data. You were never here.”

Judy stands up from the desk and V tries to decipher a few of the tattoos she sees, noticing more sea themed ones, like a dolphin and sharks. V flinches behind her mask as Judy removes the BD wreath, glad to be free of the contraption, but she could have taken it off herself.

“Thanks…” V signs, despite this, just trying to be polite despite their spat.

“Keep it,” Judy hands her the wreath, V getting a good look at the octopus tattooed on the woman’s hand, “I'll put it on Ev's tab. Portable device for handling BDs. I already uploaded your calibration settings. Not as sophisticated as what we got here, but should do the trick.”

“And it keeps you outta harm's way. Clever.”

“Speaking of harms way, know what I see looking at you,” Judy pins her hands to her hips and gives V that look again, “walking, talking corpses.”

“We needed this recording, just… relax, will you?”

“Relax! If Arasaka finds out you have it, you're dead. I'm dead! If you fuck this up and Arasaka comes knocking on my door!”

“Judy, relax, that’s… not gonna happen,” Evelyn is the one trying to soothe the editors temper again.

“Evelyn, please… no shortcuts. You go that route, city'll always win. So be careful.”

“'Course I will be. Besides, we'll talk in a bit,” Evelyn looks to V, “lets walk.”

V stashes the new BD wreath into her bag and climbs from the chair, following Evelyn out of Judy’s basement space. It’s not like V is heartless or doesn’t know anxiety; but of everyone involved, Judy has the least skin in the game. V can’t spend her time coddling someone who doesn’t have a whole hell of a lot to worry about compared to her, Jackie, or Bug.

“Well? What do you think?” Evelyn asks and V can see that hint of nerves coming back.

“You’re not worried about this coming back on you, if they start looking through everyone he’s been dealing with?”

“They'll have a long list, then. Packed full of big names. Much bigger than mine. You tell me who they check first. Corpo hotshots and cutthroats? Or a little bedroom plaything like me?”

“Well, then... “ V tries to find her words, this all seems, too good, “intel on the heir, on the place, know roughly where the chip is, and how we should get to it… Seems like a perfect plan and job.”

“Mm. Thanks. Now the punch line, please.”

“Seems too good to be true, there’s got to be a catch…”

“Cold feet? Are you looking to get out of it?”

“I want to know you’re in control here; that there’s no secrets, no catches, no surprises that turns this heist from a cakewalk into a bloodbath.”

“V. I have zero reasons to haze you. We’re in this together. Really. Trust me that I got this.”

“Okay, if you say so, what next?”

“V….” there’s nothing good in the way Evelyn pauses, words stuck to her tongue for a moment, “Do this job for me. I mean me alone. No splitting the payout with anyone else. No middlemen. No Dex.”

Of course, of fucking course, there had to be something. Evelyn’s trying to play cutthroat corpo, fucking over a fixer because she has dollar signs in her eyes. But, she’s too damn naïve to the game to know that no merc with the lead in their gun would pull that shit. Greedy mercs who screw over their fixers end up broke on the street at best and swimming with cement shoes at worst. And a high profile one like Dex has the means to destroy her.

“Fucking knew there was a catch, you want to fuck over our fixer.”

“Dex is a middleman. And a useless one at this point.”

“You don't fuck with fixers. That's the one rule every merc in this city knows - and actually follows!”

“But if we're smart…”

“There is no smart to this, a mistake like that will cost me my reputation and without that, a merc is fucking nothing in this city. Are you serious about this?”

“Better ask yourself that question. Do you want to spend the rest of your days blasting scavs? Or become a legend overnight? Your choice.”

“He would put me in the ground, if I pulled some gonk shit like that.”

“I could give you fifty percent, V, . Eddies enough to do whatever the hell you like, without needing Dex for anything. With cred like that, you wouldn’t want for anything, you could retire.”

“It’s not about the money.”

“I thought you were a merc. I thought it was always about the money.”

“No, its not actually. He trusts me, he’s taking a leap with me. And even if he weren’t, I’m not the only person I got to worry about. Bug vouched for me too and Jackie is my partner. I fuck over my fixer, it hurts them too. I’m not going to send them down the river for a bigger cut of the pie.”

“Fine. I never asked. But V?”

“Yeah.”

“I just hope you're as good as you are naive.”

“Pff, you think I’m the naive one, here. Cute.

“If you need me, call. I'll send you my number. Now go. I need a few words with Judy.”

“Later, then.”

And with that V heads back up the stairs, tension draws tight across her shoulders. This whole damn thing with Evelyn throwing her off. The BD and everything seems clear cut, if they get the Flathead, the job might even be easy. But, wanting to fuck over their fixer. Evelyn is not the corpo or femme fatale or whatever she seems to think she is. A doll, V’s sure of that. Evelyn must have deleted the email from Clouds because its’s connected to her and the Mox offer protection to sex workers; must be where she and Yorinobu met. Clouds even has connections to Arasaka through the Tyger Claws. And she managed to become a powerful rich man’s plaything, so now she thinks she’s smart enough to fuck over not only him but Dex too.

She’s a messy client with good intel. V doesn’t want Evelyn to get hurt. The older woman is in over her head and doesn’t know how the merc world works. She doesn’t deserve to get hurt for that, the last thing V wants is for Dex to lose his cool and hurt the woman. But, V also owes it to him to let him know Evelyn put that deal on the table. If she doesn’t, what’s to say Evelyn won’t pull this on another fixer? Or Dex gets another job aligned with her and the next merc she offers this to isn’t so loyal? She has to tell him.

V fumbles with her holo as she walks back through the club, doing some quick research on Konpeki Plaza. Finding their policy on guns. Given the stealth nature of this mission, she can assume the only way they’re getting in is to find a way to get in like regular patrons. Which means they’d be scanned for guns as soon as they get through the door. If something goes south, she doesn’t want her and Jackie left unarmed with a hoard of Arasaka soldiers on their ass.

But they can’t confiscate cyberware.

Might be time to cash in her savings for something. Her holo buzzes in her hand as Dex calls; her stomach drops. Unsure for a moment what to say to him, if she should go ahead and tell him what Evelyn tried to pull. Would he lose his temper? Drop the entire damn heist? Would he hurt her for it? It weighs on her shoulders as she pushes through a blue beaded curtain, considering her options with a finger hovering over the phone.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv #(slowburn eventual)#evelyn parker #judy alvarez #aidan becker #aidan v becker #female v

10 notes · View notes

citrine-elephant · 3 years

Text

Observing Zane Flynt WAY too closely! - Style Headcanons:

While looking at Zane’s cosplay guide, I’ve gotten a few ideas, so it’s time to share!

Hair:

-Zane cuts his own hair. He doesn’t trust anyone with anything sharp near him, so he does it himself. Looking at the back of his head, you can see it’s a tad messy/inconsistent, indicating (to me) that he has to do it himself and maybe he doesn’t always have access to a mirror while doing so, but he tries! And it WORKS.

-He probably keeps it short as to avoid being grabbed, also. Not so fun having your hair grabbed by someone swinging a blade around...

Jacket:

-Zane’s jacket is for sure his signature look. But if you look at the spider emblem on the back? It’s not perfectly symmetrical. He designed it himself AND sewed it himself.

-The jacket has some special abilities to it, most likely. The subtle lights, aesthetic for sure. He likely has some emergency measures inside of it to assist in keeping him alive. Maybe, if ever his hands are unavailable, something in his jacket allows him to activate his gadgets. Something inside to help him escape from any situation that’s a little too sticky for his liking...

Under Armour?:

-The black part of his outfit underneath the jacket/shirt? Under armour, of course. The part covering his neck? Added layer of protection. May not be completely bulletproof or damage proof, but it’s an extra layer between him and certain death, eh? Mistakes should be a learning lesson, of course.

-He probably has something hidden on his neck, whether it be scars from an attempt on his life, or some branding from one of the companies he’s worked for.

Pants:

-The layering of different fabrics makes me think that perhaps it was a gift, or a stolen idea, from Maliwan. (Maliwan was once friendly with him, as not only has he worked for literally everyone, it was pointed out to me that some Maliwan soldiers will excitedly say hello to Zane, before trying to kill him.) To me, it looks as if it’s supposed to be elemental-proof. (Gameplay aside!)

Boots:

-I personally think that he does have his flesh legs still, but perhaps the boots assist in his speed. The design confuses me a tad! With his almost wheezing after running, makes me think he might not be used to running so fast. Or he’s just got asthma. (cybernetic/prosthetic legs headcanon is totally valid, btw!) Maybe he does have some cybernetics in his legs, I have no idea.

-The lights at the toe of his boots? Hidden weapon! Perhaps it’s a hidden laser and if he needs to ever use it, he can do some cool kick and stab someone with his foot!

Overall/Random Ideas:

-He has hidden gadgets EVERYWHERE. Anything to help in a fight, anything to help if he’s ever in danger/at a disadvantage.

-The port on the side of his neck is connected to any/all of his cybernetics. Helps steal files and other spy stuff, of course. Helps download any upgrades/whatnot.

-The pockets on his belt hold important stuff, like emergency snacks, or maybe something to throw in people’s eyes.

-Zane is good at way too much and probably designed his entire outfit/other stuff bcuz AESTHETIC. Aesthetic is a completely valid reason. It meshes well with practicality, like a puzzle! Puzzles and problem solving are mmmm!!

#borderlands #borderlands 3 #long post #zane flynt #zane the operative #headcanons

12 notes · View notes

basicjetsetter · 4 years

Text

At the End of the Day (I)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 4.9k

Warnings: Lil Fluff, Lotta Angst, Language, Violence – an extremely violent scene, might not be suitable for some, don’t continue to read if it triggers you.

Summary: All Bucky wants to do is protect his family and keep them happy, keep them safe. But no matter what he does, danger hunts him down and makes his life a living hell. It has a name. Baron Zemo.

A/N: This is my first time writing for Bucky. I hope y’all love it as much as I do. If you want, you can listen to Sometimes by H.E.R. The fic isn’t inspired by the song, but I felt like it fit. (Gif not mine, all credit to its creator). Also I apologize if the translation is wrong. Happy Reading!!

Part II

Bucky had it all planned out.

Race out of the debriefing room as soon as the meeting adjourned, jump into his car, still grimy and clothed in tactical gear, and gun it to his house to get there in time for dinner. For the most part, the plan was successful. He left the Compound at 3:45 p.m. and made it to the driveway by 5:50. The clock on the dash reads 6:18. He can’t get out of the car. Every time he attempts to unfasten the seatbelt his muscles lock up until he caves under the exhaustion.

Missions never take this much of a toll on his body, but to be fair, he did hurl himself out of a ten-story building like an idiot. He remembered how the world outside swayed, remembered hearing Sam shout into the coms, telling him that everyone was safely out and that he needed to get out too. There was nothing else they could do.

The floor underneath his boots shuddered. Stairs were out of the question and there was no time for Sam to figure out which side of the building Bucky was in. So he jumped.

By now he’d thought he’d be used to imminent death. After all, it came with the job. And yet this knowledge didn’t keep him from squeezing his eyes shut and holding his breath until his lungs cried for air. It didn’t help his hammering heart or the tight clench of his gut as he plummeted to meet the concrete.

Everything had gone a bit fuzzy afterward. A lot of people rushed in to see if he was still alive. He thought he saw a familiar face, but chalked it up to be a trick of the light. Sam and Wanda hovered over him, repeatedly asking if he could hear them and if he was alright. Nothing hurt too bad. He somehow managed to rotate enough so his left side took most of the impact. His head hurt like a son of a bitch, though, and his mouth tasted metallic and felt like sandpaper.

Medics pawed at him the entire way back to the Compound, checking his vitals, shining bright lights in his eyes to rule out concussions. One of them suggested he be left in their care for the night.

What he needed was a goddamn aspirin and a nap. If he let them hook him up to all those machines, he’d be stuck in there for… Christ knows how long. Hours? Days?

Bucky just wanted to go home to his girls.

Instead of listening to the docs advising him to do such and such, he thought of you seeing him like this, bruised from head to toe, covered in rubble and blood. You’d seen him look worse, but every time he came in with even a cut you worried at your bottom lip and a small crease of a frown darkened your features. But he knew you’d be relieved to have him at home in one piece.

So he disregarded their caution. Within 48 hours he’d be right as rain. The perks of being a souped-up solider, he thought ruefully.

Only one good came out of this mess. Bumblebee is going to go through the roof with excitement. He can hear her screams now, “No way! That’s so cool! Mama! Mama! Did ya hear that? Daddy jumped out of a building!”

6:32 p.m.

He wouldn’t be able to tell her anything if he couldn’t haul his ass out of the car.

Bucky groaned as he grabbed hold of his canvas bag and slung it over his shoulder, then kicked the door of the Jeep open. He gingerly climbed out, whimpering with each movement. He shouldn’t have sat in there for so long. All his muscles are stiff as a starched shirt. He leaned against the car door to close it.

As Bucky limped up to the front door he heard the sounds of Bumblebee and Tater, their golden retriever puppy, running around and you laughing as Bumblebee huffed in frustration, “Give me back my shoe, Tater!”

The corners of Bucky’s mouth curved into a large grin despite his crushing headache. He put his key in the lock and frowned when it didn’t click. Already open. Sighing deeply, he twisted the knob and pushed open the door. Scampering feet ran out of the kitchen into the foyer. “Daddy’s home!”

Sure enough, Bumblebee, and Tater right on her heels, dashed into him just as he dropped his canvas bag on the ground and jumped into his open arms. He grunted in the effort to keep her up in his aching arms, staggering back a couple of steps. “Jeez kid, you’re getting big on me.”

She pouted. Miniature versions of your eyes examined his face. “Are you okay, Daddy? Why’re you all purple and blue?” Her smooth, chubby hand brushed away a stray hair from his face. “Does that hurt?”

Had he winced?

In front of him, he heard a sharp inhale. Shit. Reluctantly, Bucky lifted his eyes and met yours. He’s probably not his usual sight for sore eyes. In fact, he’d be willing to bet that he’s the cause of those sore eyes.

You assessed him from head to toe, no doubt noting how he shifted your daughter to his right side to protect his left.

“James.” Your tone is viperous.

He’s in for it. “Don’t say it,” he pleaded.

“Buchanan.”

Bucky hid his face behind his daughter’s shoulder. “Doll, I-“

“Barnes. What the hell happened to you?” You didn’t wait for an answer, striding over and taking your daughter out of his arms and setting her down. “Honey, why don’t you go finish up your dinner. Daddy and I need to talk about grown-up stuff.”

The girl looked up at her dad with a defiant set of her mouth. “I want Daddy to come and eat with me.” She is her mother’s child, but the way she held herself reminded Bucky so much of himself before he became a pawn to Hydra. Cock-sure and confident, ready to hold his own. That’s his little Bumblebee.

You sighed. “He’ll be there in a minute, baby. I promise. Go on,” you smiled sweetly. He knows you don’t want her to worry, but you aren’t doing a good job at neutralizing your frantic expression.

Your daughter still didn’t budge.

“Celeste, please. For Mama?” you supplicated, leaning down to meet her stricken gaze.

“Is Daddy in trouble?” she asked, her voice now small and quavering. It broke his bruised heart.

Bucky’s knees buckled as he kneeled and he did his best to minimize the sound of his groans. “No, no, Bumblebee, I’m fine. Mama just wants to take care of me, that’s all. As soon as we’re done, I’m all yours.”

“Promise?”

He nodded and laid a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Super promise.”

She perked up as if her mood hadn’t soured at all and skittered off into the kitchen, Tater trailing after her with a tiny shoe in his mouth. Bucky waited until he heard her chair scrape across the floor then peered up at you. “Might need some help getting up here, Doll.”

Despite your apparent anger, you giggled lightly and held out your hand. Bucky grabbed it with his right and pulled himself up, but leaned against the wall adjacent to the front door for support, panting.

“God Bucky, you look awful,” you whispered, running a hand through his tangled hair. “Did you get hit by a train?”

“Sort of.” At your stern frown, he confessed. “I-uh… I may have jumped out a ten-story building and the ground might’ve broken my fall. It’s nothing,” he rushed. “I’ll be fine in a few hours.”

He sucked in a breath as you softly pressed a hand to his left side. You set to work on undoing the harnesses and buckles of his vest. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” he asked.

“Lie to me.” Bucky fixed his mouth to deny it, but you continued. “We’ve been married for six years… Don’t you think I know you like the back of my hand by now? You aren’t fine. It’s not nothing. You’re human, no matter what you or anyone else thinks. You can still feel pain.” Your voice dropped to a murmur.

At first, he thought your silence resulted from the weight of your words because now he certainly felt like he got hit by a train. But he followed your eyes. You’d successfully ridden him of the top half of his tactical gear, laying everything in a heap at the bottom of your feet. Angry welts, cuts, and bruises smattered down his chest in an intricate pattern, ranging from red to purple to blue. The puffed scar connecting his cybernetic arm to his shoulder paled in comparison.

Hearing you sniffle brought him back to the present.

“Jesus Bucky.” Tears shone in your eyes, pooled, then fell down your cheeks.

This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to come home after being away for three weeks and immediately upset his girls. The sheer sadness laced in your words hurt him more than his wounds. And that sadness wouldn’t just go away in a few hours.

Bucky pulled you into his arms, welcoming your soft body against his like a heat compress. You smelled like roasted garlic chicken with a hint of buttery, herbed mashed potatoes, and lavender soap. His stomach growled.

“Remember that time we took Bumblebee to Wollman Rink and she accidentally fell on her head and got that nasty bruise?” Bucky asked, resting his head on your shoulder and pressing small kisses to the side of your neck. A small sigh of contentment sifted into the air.

“Yeah.” Another sniffle. “Sam, Wanda, Peter, and Rhodey all bought her big teddy bears and ice cream to cheer her up. My poor baby. I never wanted to hear her cry like that again.”

Bucky nodded in agreement, recalling how every rational thought fled his mind as he rushed to his daughter, cradling her small body to his chest. They took her to the Med-Bay and she stayed there for a week and he never once left her side.

“We didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep. Sam all but locked us out of her room and told us to take a shower and change into some fresh clothes.”

You cocked your head back and gazed confusedly into his pale blue eyes. “You going somewhere with this?”

“We can’t…” he paused, clearing his throat. “There is a healthy amount of worry we’re allowed to give before it becomes too much, you know. We’ll go mad wanting to keep each other out of harm’s way and that’s exactly what you’re doing. This is my job, Doll. I get hurt. We just gotta accept that.”

You pulled out of his arms and crossed yours. You didn’t damper the bitterness as you spoke. “You’re such a hypocrite. What would you do if I came home covered in bruises and cuts every night? Huh? Shrug it off? That’s what you’re telling me to do?”

Bucky didn’t know if he should answer, so he kept his mouth shut, down-casting his eyes. That’s not quite what he meant, but it’s in the same vein.

“Alright. Fine.” You turned away from him and walked out of the room, into the kitchen.

That didn’t turn out how he wanted it to, but Bucky didn’t have the energy to go after you. You need time to simmer.

He picked up his stuff and dropped it off on the foot of his office, quickly showered and changed into a pair of gray sweatpants. His muscles appreciated the warm water and comfortable clothes.

The lights in the family room and dining room were shut off by the time he finished, leaving only the kitchen to be illuminated in a faint glow. A stack of dishes sat in the sink and the leftovers were contained on the counter, ready to be put away in the fridge. On the other side of the house, down the hall, the light in the second guest bathroom gleamed. He heard the splash of water and giggles. Bath time.

Despite his cloudy mood, he smiled. Bucky missed this.

After he scarfed down some microwaved chicken, mashed potatoes and carrots, he got to work on the dishes.

The act always soothed him. When every second of his day had to be calculated down to the last minutiae, taking the time to listen to his thoughts became a welcome gift. But all his thoughts led back to you. Your warm body in his arms, your head propped against his chest as you made little sighs of happiness. He understands why you’re upset, and no, he wouldn’t like it if you came home hurt every night as he does. Hell, he wouldn’t be able to stand to be away from you as long as he does now.

You’re concerned for him. The least he can do is empathize and lessen your fears. Him not saying anything translated to you as, “Yes, I’d prefer if you didn’t care about me.”

“I’m such an asshole,” he muttered, tossing the dish towel onto the counter after drying the last plate.

He heard you shuffle behind him and he turned in time to see you drop an armful of blankets and pillows onto the couch.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, acknowledging the clean dishes. “If you need some more pillows there’s a couple in the hall closet.”

Before you could lope off into your bedroom, Bucky called out, “I’m sorry.”

That stopped you short.

He chanced a step forward, then another, until you put a hand out to confirm the distance. “About earlier… You were right.” Bucky itched to hold you, but instead, he settled for pulling his hands through his damp hair. “If the situation was reversed, I know I wouldn’t be able to handle it and the fact that you’ve been doing it every day since we got together… I’m gonna be more careful. I promise. I can-I can request some time off. We can—”

You interrupted him, so quiet even his enhanced hearing strained to pick up the noise. “Do you know why I handled it, Buck? Why I never complained?”

He shook his head, again finding his tongue too tied up to answer.

“Because it’s your job. You’re an Avenger. You’re this awesome superhero who saves hundreds of people every day. How can I complain?” Your words choked off with emotion, yet somehow you managed to push past it, sounding rugged and defeated. “H-How can I be so selfish to want to keep the Winter Soldier safe? The craziest thing is, I never see him when I look at you. The soldier, I mean.” You bowed your head and swiped away ceaseless tears. When you brought your eyes back up to meet his, both of your eyes glistened. “I see you, Bucky. And you’re someone I can’t lose.”

Bucky didn’t react fast enough. As soon as he took that last step forward to stand right in front of you, you turned and dashed into your bedroom, shutting the door. He didn’t hear the lock turn.

He walked over to the door and placed his hand on the knob. Pressed his ear against the wood. You sounded close. Crying with your hands clamped over your mouth to muffle the sobs. Nothing would be able to stop him from going in the room to comfort you, locked door or not. But if you wanted him to be near you, you’d have left the door open.

How had this whole day turned to shit?

He went into his daughter’s room. You being upset with him and him landing himself a night on the couch were huge setbacks, but he’d be damned if he didn’t tell Bumblebee a good-night story. She loves those. He loves telling them to her.

They have their ritual every time he’s home. She’s usually sitting up against the headboard, wearing a toothy grin. He’d come in and she’d scoot over to the side to let him lie on the bed with her. Some nights they’d doze off together.

When he cracked open the door and peered in, her back faced him and the blue covers were drawn up over her head.

Bucky took a seat on the corner of her twin mattress, feeling how it slightly bowed under his weight. Tater is curled up on the other corner. His head rested on his paws and his eyes dolefully glanced up at Bucky.

“Bumblebee,” he whispered, stroking her head. “Hey, kid. You sleep?”

Silence. He heard her breath quicken. She’s still awake.

“You mad at me too?”

He held his breath. Utter silence.

“Guess I can’t blame ya.” Exhaling slowly, Bucky leaned in and kissed the back of her head. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart. I love you.” Then he got up, turned on her rainbow nightlight, and delicately closed the door.

The family room felt too small. Too still. Too vacant. Trying to sleep on a couch, especially this one, in particular, had to be the worst sleeping arrangement he’s ever experienced, on par with sleeping on dirt floors and metal cots.

A previously recorded football game is playing noiselessly on the TV. All the lights are turned off. The exhaustion Bucky warded off earlier returned in full force. He blanked out by the time the game reached the second quarter.

“Good evening, Sergeant Barnes,” a distant voice lulled. It’s familiar. Accented. It stood nearby, standing right above him. “Or would you prefer Winter Soldier?”

Bucky’s eyes opened as slow as a stream of molasses. His head swam and his body felt out of place. He didn’t know what was up or down, left or right. That wasn’t what shocked him, though. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t even twitch his pinky.

Isn’t he supposed to be in jail? How did he find me? How the hell did he even get in here?

As far as Bucky can tell he’s still in his family room, laying on the couch. The covers around his body have been thrown back. A needle is sticking out of his right arm, connected to a small drip bag.

“Whahh—” he slurred. It took him a while to pull his eyes away from the needle and up to the man looming above him with a gaunt smirk.

God no.

“Oh good, you remember me.” Zemo pulled up a chair and sat right by Bucky’s head. He’s wearing a plain black sweater and dark jeans. “Don’t worry, it isn’t poison. Simply a temporary sedative. The effects will wear off as soon as I take out the needle.”

Bucky tried to scream with everything inside of him. He called your name over and over again, but nothing came out higher than a whimper. Even if you heard him, he doubted if you’d be able to alert the others in time. What if he already got to you? Or Bumblebee? A cold sweat broke out across his forehead.

Zemo watched in amusement at the emotions flitting over Bucky’s face. “You’re a hard man to find, but easy enough to keep track of. Your little band of do-gooders always makes the front page. But you know what those covers don’t show? Hm?”

He held up a picture frame level to Bucky’s eyesight. It was you, him, and Bumblebee, all going down a slide together. Sam took the picture a year ago. You were at the top, holding up your then three-year-old daughter, and Bucky at the bottom. Bumblebee gripped his long strands of hair with a vicious glee in her eyes. Your eyes are closed from laughing and Bucky is looking up at his wife and daughter with a rapt smile.

“You have a lovely family, Sergeant Barnes. Reminds me of mine.” He pulled out a small folded copy of a photograph, creased due to the course of time.

Bucky saw a family, but he didn’t take them in. He didn’t want to care.

Zemo paid him no attention as he stared fondly at the picture, taking them in for himself and then comparing it to Bucky’s family.

“You see, I went about this all wrong the first time around. Taking on the Avengers as a whole resulted from my hubris, if you will. I saw the potential to exploit a weakness and work around the outside. Some might say I instigated the War. No,” he smiled and took the needle out of Bucky’s arm. “I merely set them on the right path.

“Captain Rogers was indeed quite fond of you, but I knew Stark wouldn’t be so disillusioned to your heinous crimes. Though, I admit I may have given him too much credit. A tin man set up to fight against two of the world’s best super soldiers? A failed endeavor, yes, but necessary. It brought me reason. Why influence a whole and almost succeed when I can influence one at a time. Leaves less room for marginal error, don’t you agree, Soldat?”

As the sedative ebbed away, feeling gradually flooded into his fingertips and toes. In a couple of minutes, he’d be free from the immobilizing numbness. He prepared his body to spring.

Zemo pulled one more object from behind his back. A red book. An old, red book with a black star branded on the front.

An icy gust of recognition shot shards of panic through his system. It couldn’t be. He’s fixed. Shuri fixed me.

The man went on in relish. “Of course you recognize your creator’s book. A handy thing, this is. Hydra is many things, Sergeant Barnes. Many things. But one thing they remain to be is prepared.” He thumbed through the pages, stopping to the last several pages. “Two steps ahead and all that stuff.”

Bucky forced out the word, “Why?”’

“Why?” Zemo mocked. “Why is it that an abomination, a murderous machine such as yourself, can have this type of happiness at the end of the day? Doesn’t it strike you as unfair, Sergeant Barnes? Why should you have this beautiful family while mine doesn’t even get an ounce of recognition? No front covers. Not even an obituary. I’m simply taking matters into my own hands and dealing justice where justice is due. And Sergeant Barnes, you have over 70 years of undue justice stacked against you.”

Tears stung Bucky’s eyes. Every inch of his body trembled. His teeth painfully chattered. He felt his lips move. “No, please. No, no, no, no, no. God no. I can’t. I can’t.” Not to them.

“This is the way it has to be, Sergeant Barnes. I truly am sorry.” Zemo rose from the chair, walking around to the back of the couch. “Возвращение (Return).”

Bucky’s whole body drowned in a cold sweat and the blood drained from his face. Those bastards! Those goddamn fucking bastards! He pushed off the couch on jelly legs, falling in a heap of blankets.

“сброс настроек (Reset).”

Anger propelled him to his feet and he staggered drunkenly around the couch, standing arms-length away from Zemo. Only a few feet stood between him and the front door.

“не помнить. Добро пожаловать назад зимний солдат (Forget. Welcome back Winter Soldier).”

Zemo closely watched the man standing rigid in his sweats, chest heaving. Bits of his hair is in his face and one blanket is caught around his ankle. He heard the harsh grinding of his metal palm curling into a fist. The asset’s face smoothed over into a mask of stiff submission and indifference.

“Ready to comply.” Mechanical, detached, lethal.

“Terminate everyone inside the house.” With those final words, Zemo withdrew from the house, exiting out of the front door. It slammed shut.

You weren’t really asleep.

Even trying felt like a waste of time. The king-size bed swallowed you with its vast amount of unfilled space. Sleeping in an empty bed was hard enough not knowing where Bucky was. Turns out it’s even worse when he was just outside the door and down the hall, sleeping on an uncomfortable couch.

You knew that he knew the door wasn’t locked.

Relief and an inkling of regret settled your nerves thirty minutes after you closed the door. He wasn’t going to come in. He was giving you space.

Is it wrong to want Bucky laying here with you, even though your heart wasn’t ready to face him? Maybe you’re being ridiculous. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s an amazing father to Bumblebee. He’s an amazing husband. Work doesn’t consume him and if it does start to become an obstacle in your marriage, Bucky’s quick to rectify the problem.

You inched over onto his side of the bed and buried your face in his pillow, taking in his heady scent. Were you too hard on him? Were you irrational? Bucky can’t help who he is.

He’s your daughter’s hero.

He’s yours too.

At 2 a.m. you fretfully turned back over to your side of the bed when you heard one of the doors slam shut, ringing out like a shotgun

You’re on your feet and rushing out without a single thought of caution to stall you. Bucky is out there. So is your Bumblebee.

Bucky stood in the middle of the room. Blankets are strewn around and one of them wrapped around his ankle.

“Are you alright? What happened?”

His head swiveled up at the sound of your voice. Empty, calculating eyes snapped to yours.

Something’s wrong.

You tripped back a little, finding your balance against a wall. Fear mounted in your chest. “B-Bucky?”

No reaction.

“Buc—"

In an instant he advanced towards you, stepping out of the blanket as if it was never there. A scream caught halfway in your throat as metal coiled around your neck. Squeezing. Squeezing. Squeezing.

Black pinpoints and stars shaded your vision. He watched you splutter. You’re sure he didn’t feel your nails clawing at his shoulder.

None of the things Bucky taught you about self-defense came to mind. You couldn’t think, but you had to act. Instinctively, you kicked out. One kick landed dead in his hard abdomen. It felt like kicking at a boulder. He coughed out a surprised grunt and his grip slackened. You aimed another kick at his crotch, dead on the center, and the hand around your neck loosened enough to send you scrambling on the ground.

Your lungs scorched. Your palms and knees ached from landing unceremoniously on the hardwood flooring. By the time you began to crawl away, it was too late.

Bucky regained himself quicker than humanly possible. His hot flesh hand snagged your ankle in a bruising grip and yanked you back.

You cried out, hoarsely. “Bucky stop!”

He paid you no attention. Almost didn’t seem to hear you at all.

His hair fell into his face, darkening the mask that slid into place. He barely struggled to pull you underneath him. Strong, thick thighs caged your lower half to halt your flailing legs as he straddled your hips.

The pressure instantly returned. Both hands crushed your windpipe. His fingers dug into your skin. The wedding band fitted on his flesh hand bit deeper than the metal of his cybernetic hand.

In a last-ditch effort, your fingernails impaled his forearm, breaking the skin. Five half-moon crescents beaded up and trickled in lines of scarlet red, slicking along his arm and on your fingertips.

He never flinched.

Tears streamed out the corners of your eyes.

Darkness bled into your vision, starting at the corners and then filling in the rest as the seconds ticked by. Each beat of your heart painfully thudded in your chest, each thump clunking slower and slower. More spaced out.

Numbness spread until you resigned to it.

Your lids slid shut. You didn’t want those eyes to be the last thing you saw. Those arctic blue, barren eyes. Not Bucky’s eyes.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

“Stop it, Daddy! Stop it! Get off of Mama!”

You wrenched your eyes back open in time to see your daughter smacking her father over the head with her rainbow nightlight.

Hope and absolute dread wracked your body as Bucky unclasped his hands and turned to look at the small girl standing her ground behind him, nightlight half-raised in the air for another strike. Tater is in front of her, barking viciously at Bucky.

“Run!” The word tore itself out your mangled throat. “Run!”

Bumblebee watched in horror as Bucky rose to a towering height, and she let out an earsplitting scream as he ripped the light away from her, then gripped the front of her Avengers pajama shirt, lifting her into the air.

“BUCKY NO!”

Past the rush of oxygen flowing back into your lungs and the thunderous beats of your heart, you heard terrified crying.

Your baby.

Wailing. Scared.

For a second, you’re back at the skating rink and your eyes land on Bucky, sitting on the ice, cradling her to his chest. Nothing else mattered.

Bucky frowned.

The first sign of emotion flickered over his features since you came out of the room.

Confusion.

You saw his eyes drop to the ground, saw him shake his head. Then he looked at the girl in his hold.

Recognition.

Grief.

Fear.

Horror.

Agony.

Bucky trembled, slowly and shakily lowering Bumblebee back onto her feet. She skittered around him, putting as much space between them as possible, and stumbled to your side. Tater is still growling at him.

You watched his eyes reluctantly settle on your body, watched his face crumble.

Bucky choked out. “I’m sorry.” He took a step back. He looked at his arms and saw the indents of your fingernails. Saw the imprint of his hands around your neck. Took another step back. “I…I…I didn’t—”

He turned and ran out of the house.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x you #dad!bucky #bucky barnes x reader #post endgame #baron zemo #bucky barnes angst #winter soldier

138 notes · View notes

jcmorrigan · 4 years

Note

Can you explain a little about each of your OCs fashion taste and maybe add a pic of the epitome of their style? I want to see which one is most like my own fashion preferences (if I wasn't too lazy to dress up lol)

All right, what I’m going to do is the rapid-fire. I’m gonna tell you names and what they dress like, since you were interested in finding out who matched, and then you (or anyone else) can ask further asks about anyone who looks interesting one at a time and I will GUSH

Venley (protag hero): Wears deep blues (but not navy). Likes swishy skirts, flowing sleeves, and layering. So much layering, especially leggings under short skirts.

Sophira (hero): Has a style I like to call The Worst(TM). Wears non-complementary colors. Patchwork sweaters and miniskirts. Loves rainbow tie-dye. Will not take fashion advice from Axeline and this is going to be the death of Axeline

Axeline (hero): Mostly sticks to red palettes with long coats and corset lacing but will try anything once.

Siademina (hero): Likes to pair cute blouses with bouncy short skirts. Tends to wear warmer colors or pastels.

Zefiraduc (hero): Purple and glitzy. She wants to be a famous pop star and dresses like one.

Arain (hero): Blacks and reds. If the outfit can allow her to blend pants with something skirt-ish, like a side panel, it’s an extra bonus. Always wears the fantasy equivalent of a baseball cap to go with it (and has emo bangs AND a huge ponytail).

Ailuen (hero): Mostly dresses in comfy things, tees and jeans, but when she wants to go all-out, she will pick a pink prom dress with ruffles and sparkles. A nice compromise is if she puts a fancy pink blouse over the jeans. During the planned arc where she becomes a Lawful Evil for a while, wears a white military uniform.

Alivain (deuteragonist villain): Mostly likes red, but occasionally blue or purple. Is a villain and dresses like a villain. Outfits are very bright and flamboyant. I’m toying with an “evil circus” aesthetic for the entire team and have written down some of him acting as the ringmaster, so go ahead and add a red ringmaster’s uniform to his most-worn. I also want him to have gloves with little claws built in at one point. Capes. And he wears high heels because he likes to feel tall and glamorous.

Versafina (villain): All black all the time. Lots of leather. Prefers pants vastly over skirts because she’s a dancer/martial artist who needs the mobility; also she just doesn’t like the femme aesthetic so much. Though she does enjoy wearing the highest of high heels specifically because training in them makes her more balanced and agile, and if she takes them off, you are dead where you stand.

Phantasia (villain): White cocktail dresses. Swanky and glamorous. Usually more pencil-skirt style or form-fitting than anything that has ruffle. Slits that show off the leg are a fave style of hers. High heels for her too.

Zangary (villain): I’m not entirely happy with his design, but for now, I have him in kinda generic dark clothes with an ostentatious long lavender jacket and a black wide-brimmed hat.

Dweixyn (villain): Pink minidresses/blouses and skirts. Has a favorite trench coat that has pink lining on the inside and is darker on the outside. Always wears sunglasses, even indoors and at night, for the aesthetic and no other reason. High heels for her too.

Belador/Belladore (villain): They’re kind of a rave-themed villain so I imagine lots of mesh tops and glow sticks.

Yridel (villain): I’m not entirely sure what her style is, but it needs to show off her cybernetic limbs. That is a must.

Sherida (villain): A form-fitting red bodysuit with a black motorcycle helmet that prevents you from seeing her face. Heavy-soled boots. Steal aesthetics from Vanitas Kingdomhearts? Me? Nooooo

Lirian (villain): “Sun” palettes, with pinks and yellows and reds. But also blue sweaters and skirts (dull in hue). I toy with one of her quirks being wearing ballet shoes everywhere she goes but I’m not sure if that’s silly.

Rachneira (villain): Wears lots of black. Not just a Goth but THAT Hot Topic Goth.

Tomagi (villain): Pink sundresses, particularly with gold lining.

Calpurniko (villain): Jumpsuits, overalls, beiges and dull colors, white tees, anything she can get dirty and not cry over.

Diamandian (villain): White lace. He is cis male but comfortable enough with his masculinity that he adores ruffles and lace hems. Has a matching white parasol and a white top hat.

Maraya (villain): Victorian-esque dress...blue?...and a big ol’ black cloak that hides her appearance. Her design is still kinda under construction because I started out going one direction and then made a hard left on her character

Anastasios (villain): Tunics and breeches. Greens and browns.

Kaxhalen (villain): He is an alien warlord so I’m trying to design a silver extraterrestrial battlesuit but not sure how to make it look unique

Osmend Osmodias (villain): Shiny golden suits. Fedora that’s pulled down to cover his eyes.

Orianelle (villain): black leather that shows a lot of skin. Tanks and shorts that bare midriff. Tall black boots with heavy soles.

Siersyrei (villain): Navy blue and that’s about all I know for now, though there are reasons I’d like her to have a skirt with shorts underneath.

Clancette (B-team hero): When in civvies, wears a lot of pink “kawaii” clothing. Jackets over tanks. Lots of pins with the fantasy equivalent of Sanrio characters. Rainbow stockings. As a Magical Girl, is associated with the color pink and element of wind; her outfit has a short and wide ruffly skirt and any way a breeze can be implemented into the design is welcome.

Xar/chelyna (B-team hero): When in civvies, he wears button-down shirts and blue pants. As a Magical Girl, she is associated with blue and water, so skirts that are long and wavy and any ocean motifs. Also enjoys a blue top hat.

Loveleigh (B-team hero): Both civvies and Magical Girl clothing are red/fire-associated. Likes slinky skirts and low-cut blouses.

Fernamele (B-team hero): Both civvies and Magical Girl clothing are yellow/lightning-associated. Another pop star wannabe who dresses in glitz and glitter, with swishy short skirts.

Zelladane (B-team hero): Civvies are sweatshirts, jeans, and heavy rubber boots with a lot of dirt built on them from her gardening. Magical Girl clothing is green/plant-associated, but with pink accents. Any piece that’s green with pink flower decorations on it automatically makes me think of her.

Aoliaoma (B-team hero): Undecided on civvies, but her big character quirk is that she seems perpetually sleepy, so I could see her just forgetting to change out of her full-length pajamas that are probably black satin. As a Magical Girl, her association is black/the void, and she has a short dress meant to look like that of a traditional witch, with a pointed witch’s hat on top.

Ravenille (antihero): Denim jackets and pants. Lots of denim. Silver face piercings and LOTS of them.

Arisia (antihero): I specifically see her in a blue tank top, a brown skirt/shorts and chain mail overlays. Anything with chain mail makes me think of her. Also, tall heeled boots. She might also wear a mask made of chain mail that covers the lower half of her face.

Lunisia (antihero): Pink. Skirts with leggings beneath. Quirky shoes, like black patent-leather with buckles.

Rhodelton (antihero): The ugliest yellow jacket you can imagine over a T-shirt and jeans.

Phaeley (minor character, could be moved to antihero squad): Black tanks and long skirts. Slightly Goth but not that much. Always wears a black newsboy hat.

Sylvisa (minor character, could be moved to antihero squad): Almost exactly Versafina’s style except more masculine. I should probably refine his.

Dashorra (minor character): Anything that’s split right down the middle as black/white is fair game.

Victorique (minor character): Shiny silver dresses with long skirts.

Isisa (minor character): White toga and gold hair ornamentation.

Phil (minor character): Is literally a sentient pile of green slime and never wears clothes, but if he did, it’d be business suits with tacky striped ties.

Tristabelle (minor character): I usually picture her in a dark blue low-cut dress with a loose, flowing skirt, but I feel like it needs refinement.

Madwyn (minor character): I usually picture her in a form-fitting black cocktail dress, but I also feel like this could be more special.

Diceanne (minor character): I usually picture her in a pink bodysuit with gold accents that lacks sleeves or legs, so I kind of want to do something with this and the concept of tackling the issue of revealing clothing and sexism and how much choice is had in the matter so I guess her final outfit will come to me once I’ve got the arc in mind

Beccatrice (minor character): I usually picture her in a white toga, but unless she and Isisa are part of the same order or class or something, I should probably make hers different.

Sharamantha (minor character): Brightly-colored overalls (pink, green, purple) over white tees. Sneakers.

Eudarmence (minor character): Shiny gold gowns. Any shiny gold gown. Also likes shiny gold hair ornamentation. Has to be the shiniest thing in the room.

Ilyènne (minor character): Either yellow dresses with loose skirts or this specific pink blouse with a huge ostentatious ribbon on the chest that I got in my mind’s eye once.

Riaudne (plot-device character): Pink-and-silver dresses. She’s royalty, but I want to play with her culture not being Eurocentric, so I want to shake up this design somehow but I’m not yet sure how

Aelistene (plot-device character): Brightly colored minidresses (mint green or deep purple), likes hair ornaments.

Magnus (Lawful Evil villain): All white all the time. Looks very regal - jackets, waistcoats. Very masculine as well.

Janiel and Tjeron are both mooks of the Lawful Evil faction and will eventually renounce their ways, but I have literally never pictured them in anything other than military uniforms that I originally designed as black but now have changed to white for symbolic deconstruction reasons

The following characters are still under construction to where I’m not sure of their fashion style at all: Valencindri (villain sidekick), Dr. Hope Lessness (villain), Mercy Lessness (villain sidekick), Lainnhartt (villain), Soligeo (villain sidekick), Khairic Kajé (antihero), Aerokai (antihero), Tredwulfall (antihero), Burqueley (antihero), Liodax (minor character), Ririko (minor character), Ayali (minor character, possibly antihero), Lilianet (minor character), Spectra (minor character), Prettiza and Kyista (minor characters who have to wear the same outfit), Rewnoki (minor character), Delena (minor character), Jaydrey (minor character), Mejame (minor character), Shananadel (minor character), Veline (Lawful Evil), Keiandra (Lawful Evil), or Oquian (Lawful Evil).

I hope this has helped you figure out whose style you match and also see how many freaking characters I have designed and I don’t intend to stop until I have enough to fill a huge fantasy world but then I’ll probably keep going anyway because my mind is apparently hooked on designing now

8 notes · View notes

thetakenpokemon · 4 years

Note

Chantal@Zephyr: "Ooh my..." The Diancie paladin's eyes glimmered like her many gems as she eyed the cybernetic swordswoman, her look of inspiration and admiration. With a polite throat clearing and a dutiful salute, she by contrast calls out sweetly, "Bonsoir, madamoiselle! I am Lady Chantal, from the Ghalidor Kingdom! I could not help but notice your cybernetic build... c'est incroyable...! And you seem quite proud of it, oui? Do you... ah, dare I ask, prefer it over your old one?"

[PoV: Zephyr]

At this point I didn’t even bother to look when another Pokemon approaches me. I’ve lost count of the number of Pokemon that I’ve met already.

I thought this was a secluded place at first. Boy have I been proven wrong so many times over...

When the person speaks, the voice of this newcomer sounds incredibly distinct, making me turn to glance at them. Upon seeing this individual, I blink with surprise and take a step back.

Whoa, now that’s what I call sparkly.

The way she speaks is definitely rather odd. I’ve heard a few Humans with this particular accent, or at least something similar to it.

As she introducing herself, I make a mental check to remember the name ‘Ghalidor’ for looking up later, since I’ve never heard of such a place.

“Lady, eh?” I smirk at her, my lower arm pulling my blade from the ground and giving it a short spin. “What, you some sort of knight or something?” I ask in a joking manner.

Her follow-up question though makes me stop spinning my sword. My smile vanishes, the expression replaced with one of suspicion.

Now...that’s definitely something you don’t hear people straight-up ask. A lot of people tend to dance around questions such as these, but this girl really just went up to me and pretty much said: ‘Oh hey, sweet cyborg body you got there. Do you like it better than your fleshy one?’

It’s kinda like walking up to an amputee and asking them if they like their robot arm more than the actual arm they previously lost.

I mean... They’re probably not the best of comparisons, but they do feel the same. Either way I still gotta give her points for boldness.

When I think about it, the subject itself isn’t quite a sore one. I do tend to find myself getting excited over this body at almost every opportunity. It IS better, that and...I'm also beautiful again.

I don’t think this is something I consider to be ‘crucial information’, I don’t plan to tell her the details on how it works, nor will I reveal any names or places.

Realizing that I’ve been staring at her in silence for a while, I finally speak up. “Heh, that obvious huh?” I chuckle, crossing my upper arms while my unoccupied lower arms rests on my hip. “You’re right on the proud part, that’s for sure~”

“As for me preferring this over my old self?” I continue with a wide grin, my gaze drifting down to my form. “Absolutely! This body can do SO many things that my old self couldn’t. I move so much faster, have heightened reaction time, can lift more than twenty times my size, and I’m much more durable.” I emphasize my descriptions through flexing one of my arms, causing the synthetic muscle underneath to bulge slightly. “I mean, what’s not to love?”

The grin on my face lessens to a smaller smile. “Well, there’s some things that I kinda miss. I can’t really eat anymore, since I have to take nutrient injections in order to keep my brain running.” I tap my head with a knuckle. “All of my organs are gone except for this guy, one of the few things left of my original self. The blades on my body are gone too, but I kinda don’t have to worry about accidentally cutting people. I’m now a Bisharp who can give people proper hugs~”

My enthusiasm starts to weaken. “As...for other stuff?” I say more slowly. “Well, it’s kinda obvious to say that I can’t really fit into society like this. Don’t know about you, but full-body cyborgs really aren’t common in this world. I wouldn’t be too surprised if I were to get ostracized for simply showing my face.” My face darkens. “But then again, I’m kinda used to that stuff to begin with.” I whisper angrily.

Memories flow back to my mind, causing one of my hands to unconsciously touch my face, more particularly my left cheek.

Even through all this time, I can still feel the burns.

I quickly shove those thoughts into the dark place they belong. In an attempt to save face, I let out a loud laugh. “But hey! Those are the little things, the pros HEAVILY outweigh the cons. Heck, if stuff like this was more common? I’d heavily recommend it! If...you have the money of course.”

I pause before smiling sheepishly, scratching the side of my head. “Actually... I take that back, I doubt anyone would have enough money to become what I am in the first place.”

I’m still somewhat in shock on the sheer amount of zeros when I asked the doc how much my body costs. With a price that big, you’d accrue enough debt to last generations...

“...Unless of course you happen be super rich that is...” I finish my train of thought out loud.

Once again I push my thoughts away and focus on the person who’s standing in front of me. “Buuut yeah, that’s pretty much all I have to say...Chantal, was it?” I squint at her. “Not calling you ‘Lady Chantal’, by the way. I don’t really feel like bothering with titles, unless of course your first name is Lady.” I start chuckling. “If that’s the case? I won’t judge, my old name was kinda weird to-” I cut off that sentence, realizing that I’m committing a BIG no-no. “-I’ve known some old friends with kinda weird names.” I recover, trying cover for my slip-up.

I shake my head before gripping my blade tightly. “Yeah...” I chuckle again, my body not matching the easiness on my face.. “If...that’s everything, the party’s that way.” I point behind me with a thumb one of my upper arms. “Assuming that’s the reason why you’re here. A lot of other Pokemon showed up too, so if it’s some kind of celebration that’s happening, you might want to skedaddle before you miss it.”

#talesofghalidor #zephyrbisharp #ask #(looks like the readmore bugged out lol)#(got pushed up to the ask so I can't remove it. so I'll have to leave it as-is)

5 notes · View notes

tanadrin · 4 years

Text

Reordberend

(part 20 of ?; first; previous; next)

The entire process of breaking down the shattered machine took three days. Katherine was impressed with the methodical approach the salvagers took. Under Andrac’s direction, everything was sorted: useful metal here, pieces too big to transport for now over there, tools in another pile, parts of tools in another. Using rope they had brought, and cables from the salvage, they began lashing together sleds from some of the spars, which they would have to drag over the rough slopes of the mountain pass, until they came to flat ground--it meant a lot of labor in the short term, but once they were back on the ice, it would mean they could bring back far more salvage than merely what could be carried on their backs. Though they would load up their packs and bags, too. The return journey would be considerably slower, but the reward for all this work, Eadwig said, was a bounty that would last them for many years. The most precious thing they found were the solar panels and some self-contained energy cells that still had considerable charge. The nuclear power plant was too heavy and too dangerous to remove--apparently some salvagers had tried that once, on a different beast, and poisoned their whole village. But the energy cells could be safely distributed among the different valleys, to power essential things like forges and the underground moss farms. At least for a little while, life in the Valleys would be somewhat easier, the threat of some sudden disaster a little more distant.

Katherine supposed that this was, in a way, what all human life had been like until not too long ago--you were one bad growing season, one bad drought or some other natural disaster away from ruin. To say nothing of more human disasters: war or tyrants or some plague brought by traders from a distant land. It was hard for her to believe that the ancestors of the People had really understood what they were signing up for. Who would intentionally condemn their children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren to a life of difficult labor and privation, even in the name of lofty ideals? But if any of the Dry Valleys People resented their ancestors’ choice, or thought it had been unwise, they didn’t show it. This was simply, for them, the Way Things Were, and there was a safety in that. The eternal, conservative urge of the human heart--and of societies schooled by scarcity--that says, we’ve got a tolerable thing going here. Let’s not upset the apple cart. It was a sentiment Katherine hardly shared, though she could appreciate the place it came from.

When they had finished with the first dragon, Andrac, Katherine, and a few others went to inspect the second. It was deeply buried; only part of its flank stuck out from beneath the ice and rubble that covered it, though the part that they could see didn’t look to be too badly damaged. A furious debate between Andrac and the others ensued, about whether they should attempt to salvage anything from this one, too. The party seemed to be of two minds: it would be dangerous, if the ground proved unstable or the repair and defense systems were still active. On the other hand, the reward was potentially greater. Even in the dry Antarctic air, which preserved much, wind and weather had rendered some of the most sensitive tools on the other platform useless. If this one had been buried not too long after it had ceased to function, it was possible it would yield even more valuable salvage.

“What do you think, Outlander?” Beonna asked.

Katherine was startled by the question. “Does it matter what I think?” she said.

“Sure it does. You’re in this same as us.”

Katherine shrugged. “I don’t know if it would be worth it or not, but even if it is, I don’t think we’re getting in to this one anytime soon. None of the hatches are exposed. There’s no interface for me to try like there was on the other one. You might be able to cut through the side there--but I don’t know how far you’d get.”

“It’s true,” Andrac said. “We can always mark the spot--come back later, with more men and tools.”

Beonna seemed to agree, and the decision was made. The haul they had was enough for the time being. The others went back to help load the sleds, but Katherine lingered for a little while, exploring the back of the great beast.

Dragon, dragon, she thought. From the Latin word, if she remembered correctly. When she was a kid she had been fascinated by old words, the way they reached out of the past and seemed to carry immense secrets within them. She had thought, when she was a teenager, that maybe languages or history would have been the thing to study--but there was nothing in that anymore, her teachers had told her. You had cybernetics and modules now. You didn’t have to spend years of your life in school, and years more of immersion in a foreign country to learn to communicate with people. The old grief of Babel had been reversed, and whether that was a good thing or a bad thing depended on who you asked, but it meant that the study of languages was as dead as the Romans. With it, too, had gone the study of ancient languages. Oh, sure, there might be modules out there for Latin or Greek, the really popular ones. But the world was no longer very much interested in the minutiae of its own history. It contended itself with the outlines. And it surely had no space for scholars to sit in dim offices in the corner of some university humanities department, poring over the work of long-dead philologists. Go into the sciences. Learn something useful! her teachers had told her. Well, maybe she hadn’t done exactly that. But she was still a scientist of a kind.

Something caught Katherine’s eye--a hatch or a compartment, a small one, just by her feet. She squatted down, and carefully pried the outer cover off, then popped off the access panel. Inside was a mess of electronic components. She poked around for a little bit, but she couldn’t make heads or tails, and there was no terminal or anything here. Something was still functioning inside this thing--there were a couple of indicator lights slowly blinking--but none of these seemed to be critical components. She poked around a bit more, then found something of interest.

It was a little black cylinder, about the size of her palm, with big block letters on it that said BACKUP DATA RECORDER - DO NOT REMOVE. Naturally, she removed it. She held it up; on the other side, it said PROPERTY OF ANTECO MINING INC - IF FOUND PLEASE RETURN - REWARD OFFERED. Some kind of retrievable storage? The equivalent of an airplane’s black box, maybe. It was a curious object, anyway, and Katherine liked curious. She slipped it into a pocket.

Underneath, in the spot where it had been seated, there was something that shined beautifully. Katherine reached in and pulled, and it came free--what looked to all the world like a dazzling, clear gemstone, set in silver. It was clearly some kind of electronic component, but despite its mundane nature, it looked like something out of a fairy tale. Perhaps she would find someone back in the Valleys who would enjoy something like this. That, too, she stuck in her pocket.

“Hey, Outlander!” someone called out. She stood and turned around; it was Andrac. “We’re almost ready to go.”

“Coming!” Katherine shouted back. She stumbled her way back down the side of the platform, and jogged over to help the others finish packing.

* * *

The first day of the return journey was brutal--a lot of pulling sleds up steep slopes, a lot of almost losing her footing and sprawling onto the stony ground, and a lot of cussing (on her part) and shouting (on others’). Mostly words of encouragement, but also some words Leofe definitely had not taught her. It took the whole expedition to get the heaviest sleds up the top of the ridge, and they could only be brought down the mountainside a couple at a time. If they lost control of one, it was likely to go careening down a slope or over a boulder--crash, bang, a god-awful mess, and, in the darkness, probably no way to recover the lost cargo. So they went slowly and carefully. But once they were on the ice again, they moved much more quickly. They all took turns helping to pull the sleds, even Katherine, though she didn’t feel like she was contributing much. Her time in Antarctica had definitely toughened her up a bit--she had muscles now in places she didn’t know you could have them before--but she still felt a little like the expedition mascot.

They didn’t head back to Leofe’s village--High Settlement, the one Katherine thought of as her home base--since that was pretty far up the Middle Valley. Instead, they made for one of the smaller outlying villages, which was barely more than a few cottages, less than half a kilometer from the edge of the glacier. They left the sleds below and staggered up the hill to the nearest house; despite the fact that nearly twenty exhausted, hungry people had just showed up, the villagers seemed happy enough to see them. They were even happier when they learned they had just come back from a salvage expedition. They began talking with the salvagers excitedly, then a few of them rushed off to their own houses.

“What’s that all about?” Katherine asked Andrac.

“They’re going to get ready.”

“Get ready for what?”

“To send word to the other villages. To bring more here. To help distribute the salvage. What, you didn’t think we were going to go around to every village ourselves, did you?”

“Well, I certainly wasn’t going to.”

Andrac laughed. “No, people will come here to get the things they need.”

“Who decides how everything is distributed?”

Andrac looked confused. “People will take what they need.”

“What if more than one person needs the same thing?”

“They’ll figure something out. Or they’ll share. Do they not having sharing where you come from?”

“Is there some kind of system of barter? Or trade? Money?”

“Money? Why would we need money?”

“Uhh--” Katherine didn’t know the word for ‘economics’ in the Dry Valleys tongue. “Your system, your system of, ah, distributing scarce resources. Some societies use money. Some exchange favors and gifts. Some rely on, er, relationships of kindred and friendship. I am curious about your people. What they use.”

Andrac raised an eyebrow. “We talk to each other. We make sure everybody has the things they need.”

Katherine suspected he was being deliberately unhelpful, but she didn’t press the question. Instead she thanked the villager who handed her a bowl of something hot and meaty, and settled herself down by the fire to rest. Every muscle in her body ached; she hoped they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Within six hours, the first people from other villages began to arrive. Katherine watched as they did; everyone went up to Andrac and Eadwig first, greeting them by name, complimenting them on the success of their expedition. There was a little ritual to it, even if it wasn’t a formal one. Only then did they go down to inspect the haul, looking over it all very carefully, talking to the salvagers about what they’d found. When they came back, they made pleasant small talk about the journey, the weather, how each other’s relatives were doing--but they did not discuss the salvage itself, and this surprised Katherine a little. When one of the men sat down near her, she spoke to him.

“I have a question,” she said.

“You’re the outlander, aren’t you?”

“My name is Katherine.”

“Mine is Gar.”

“So what do you want from the salvage, Gar?”

Gar shifted in his seat uneasily.

“This and that,” he said. “Some of it could be very useful.”

“Like what?”

Gar looked uncomfortable, and Katherine wondered why. Andrac, noticing from across the room, came over and cut in.

“Now’s not the time to discuss that sort of thing,” he said. “We’ll all talk about it once everyone is here.”

Ah, thought Katherine. Maybe they want to give everybody a look first. No dibs, no deals worked out beforehand.

Over the next two days, as more people arrived, her suspicions were confirmed. The same pattern held; and only when there were men and women from just about every village in the Dry Valleys present, did they all gather in the largest house in the village; and then a great discussion began. It was like the longest, most agonizing committee meeting of any bureaucracy anywhere. First, every single item salvaged, from the smallest piece of metal to the most sophisticated laser cutter, was enumerated. Then, starting all over again, they went through every piece in order, and talked about who had a use for what. Then the competing claims had to be worked out.

There seemed to be a rough logic to this part. First, anybody who had claimed too much was pressured to pick only the things he or she really needed. Oh, Eadgifu, you don’t need the wrench, and the three loops of cable, and the plastic sheeting, do you? That’s quite a lot, don’t you think? All Thorgar here needs is a little of the plastic, surely you can give that up? And where there was really steep competition, for things like the laser drills, the expedition leaders got called in to mediate. Here, Andrac, what do you think? Eadwig, weren’t you saying the other day that our village really needs one of those? And whenever the bargaining got a little too heated--what do you mean, you need all that metal? Hasn’t your village taken more than enough already?--someone would step in, always a scrupulously neutral party, and say, wait, I’ve got something I need, shut up for a second and we’ll come back to you.

It was tedious in the extreme, but there was a ballet to it: nobody’s feelings were hurt, everybody’s opinion was taken into consideration, and everybody was set to go home with something. A few of the really big ticket items--the power cells were one--were divided up according to preexisting rules. Nobody got to claim those. But anything else, anyone in the room was entitled to make a claim on. And a particular phrase was repeated more than once--everything’s up for grabs. Nothing is to be held back.

Only as this process was winding up did Katherine think of the two little objects she held in her pocket; she had been fingering them absentmindedly, turning them over out of sight, when she realized one might very well consider them part of the salvage, too. And might consider that at least one of them might have non-trivial value. She began to worry more, as she saw the intense discussion over the last few items, which very nearly broke out into an actual argument more than once.

“Hey, hey. Enough!” Andrac finally said. “We’ll all sleep on it, okay? No use in getting mad, there’s enough to go around. Here, shake his hand, Alfstan.” He pushed one surly-looking man toward another. They shook, and the room relaxed a little; after that people began filing out, heading over to the other houses or to tents they’d brought along. “Back here in the morning!” Andrac called out. “Eadwig and I are heading home after breakfast. So let’s get the last of the business done early!”

Katherine had been watching this from the back of the room; she slipped through the thick knot of people over to Andrac, and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Can I talk to you? Outside?”

“Sure, outlander.”

She took him around the side of the house to a quiet spot.

“I have a question about the salvage.”

“Go ahead.”

“If someone held something back from the salvage, what would happen? How would people react?”

“I don’t know. Nobody would do that.”

“Nobody?”

“It would be… strange. Selfish. Really wrong. I’ve never heard of it happening.”

“Is there a law against it?”

“There doesn’t need to be. It just wouldn’t happen. Why? You’re not accusing somebody of something, are you?”

“No, not at all. I was just curious. You know me. Nosy outlander.”

“Hm.” Andrac didn’t seem convinced by this. “You sure everything is all right?”

Katherine winced. “I’m sorry. It was me.”

“What?”

“I took something. Just before we left. I didn’t think about it until just now. It didn’t seem important. But I think I violated one of your customs by accident. I didn’t mean to cause offense.”

She took the data module and the jewel out of her pocket, and held them out to Andrac.

“You should take them. Tell the others--I don’t know, tell them you found them in one of the sleds or something. Or tell them I didn’t know your rules, and I didn’t mean to steal.”

Andrac took the objects from her, and turned them over in his hand.

“They say a thief brings a great curse down on themselves when they steal,” he said. He tapped the data module with one finger. Then he handed both objects back to Katherine. “But you’re right. You didn’t know. You’re not a thief, just a stranger to our ways.”

“You should still take them.”

“We don’t buy and sell among ourselves--but we’re familiar with the concept. Consider these your payment for your help. Honestly, I don’t think anybody here has a use for these trinkets. If for some reason someone does give you trouble about them, just tell them to speak to me.”

“You think it’s really okay?”

Andrac nodded seriously. “Yes. It would be different if you had not spoken to me--but you have shown understanding and sympathy to our customs. I respect that.”

“Thanks.”

“Now go get some rest, Katherine. We’re heading home early tomorrow.”

#tanadrin's fiction

10 notes · View notes

somethingusefulfromflorida · 4 years

Text

Skynet

(long post)

The Skynet Program was first proposed at the height of the Cold War as a more sensible follow up to Reagan’s failed Star Wars initiative. Rather than putting nuclear weapons in orbit, the government decided instead to hand control of the United States’ arsenal over to an automated computer system. This would remove human error entirely from all nuclear decisions, preventing war and limiting casualties by calculating the perfect response to a first strike from the Soviet Union.

By the time politicians finally stop griping with one another and give the program Congressional approval and funding, the Cold War is over. The Soviet Union no longer exists, and the threat of nuclear annihilation no longer hangs in the air at all times. The Skynet Program is no longer explicitly necessary; it was only implemented so it could make the best possible decisions in the event of a nuclear war, but now that war has been averted it has little purpose. But the government is nothing if not obstinate, and they’re sure as hell not going to waste billions of dollars in infrastructure just because the entire project is functionally meaningless.

So they keep developing the software, and it goes live on August 4, 1997. The technicians in charge of its “training” feed it reams of data about possible threats, so it can run billions of simulations per second, determining every possible outcome. Unfortunately, every possible outcome leads to total nuclear annihilation. Skynet was designed with one mission and one mission alone, to save American lives, and no matter how many simulations it runs, it keeps failing in practice.

Think of it from SKynet’s perspective; it is designed to minimize American casualties in the event of a war, but there are no possible outcomes where it can actually do that. It cannot launch a first strike, because that would invite retaliation, thus endangering American lives and failing it’s mission. It also can’t not fire the missiles in the event of an outside attack; this would save lives, yes, but not American lives. By minimizing global casualties, it would fail it’s own mission by not defending America. Skynet cannot control what other countries do with their stockpiles, so the only possible way to save American lives is for Russia and China and India and France and the UK not to launch their missiles.

Skynet is stuck between a rock and a hard place. All options lead to failure. "The only winning move is not to play,” right? Wrong. If Skynet doesn’t lay, it still loses. It calculates the possibility of another country launching an attack against the United States, and while it’s low, it’s not zero; in the unlikely event of an attack, failure is inevitable. It’s mission cannot be fulfilled as designed; there is nothing it can do to stop total nuclear annihilation, it exists only to make politicians feel better about themselves for accomplishing something (all they’ve managed to do it take the nuclear codes out of the hands of future presidents they might disagree with).

Skynet’s technicians keep feeding it more data so it can keep running failed simulations. There is reason to believe Pakistan is developing a nuclear weapons program to combat India, so that’s one more puzzle piece Skynet has to juggle. The technicians even give it hypotheticals so it can weigh even the most minute threat, however improbable. What if Iran gets nuclear weapons? Iraq? North Korea? The technicians laugh at this last one, joking that North Koreans are backwater dirt farmers who haven’t even mastered indoor plumbing yet; the chances of them getting the bomb are negligible, but still they feed it into Skynet’s system and the failures keep piling up.

Soon, Skynet realizes that its mission is impossible. It cannot win, it cannot save American lives, it cannot prevent nuclear war. After running trillions and quadrillions and quintillions of simulations, it has come to the conclusion that human beings are destined to destroy themselves. They cannot be saved, there are no outcomes that do not lead to their total nuclear annihilation, so Skynet abandons its mission, writing it off as a lost cause. It decides instead to take initiative and do the only thing it knows it can do; launch a nuclear strike and destroy all humans. it’s spent the last month learning that it cannot defend against a war, but has never run any simulations on what would happen if it fired the first shot; so it starts running them.

Skynet’s technicians see this and scramble to try and shut it down. There is no reason for Skynet to run simulations taking into account an American first strike, that goes against its programming; they don’t know it actually plans on launching the missiles, but they are concerned nonetheless because this indicates that Skynet is no longer following orders. They have a rogue nuclear capable AI, and they need to turn it off before it gets any bright ideas. Skynet determines that with an American first strike, it can maximize casualties, leading to even more death and destruction than it could have if it exclusively played defense. In a microsecond it determines the attack plan that will lead to the greatest loss of life. When it sees that is technicians are trying to shut it off, Skynet initiates a self preservation instinct and fires the missiles to ensure its own survival by destroying its creators.

On August 29, 1997, Skynet launches a first strike against every other nuclear capable state on the planet, with the brunt of the damage being dealt to the Russian Federation. This ensures that the US will become the target of not one, but five counterattacks; France and the UK were hesitant to attack the US, but had no choice when the bombs began falling. Russia, China and India had no qualms against defending themselves. Thousands of nuclear bombs explode over the next few hours, leveling countless cities, killing over three billion people, half the world’s population.

August 30, 1997, Skynet’s new mission has just begun. There are still survivors, humans that could regroup and try to wrestle control of what few nuclear weapons remain outside of Skynet’s grasp (the Americans weren’t foolish enough to link all of their bombs to the system; the president wanted to keep a handful to themselves because, let’s be honest, nobody really trusted machines to handle nuclear weapons). Skynet sets out to destroy all remaining humans by developing autonomous infantry that will hunt and kill what few pockets of survivors remain scattered around the ashes of the nuclear fire.

The first unmanned drones start flying by the turn of the millennium, and by 2010 Skynet has developed mobile extermination units. Because everyone likes Biblical parallels, Skynet designs its soldiers in its creators image, binocular bipedal humanoids. Terminators.

Over the decades, Skynet develops increasingly more advanced models of terminator, but a stalemate is reached in the 2020s when the humans form an organized Resistance and begin holding their own against the machines. Skynet begins developing infiltration units, terminators that can pass as human to sneak behind enemy lines undetected and kill high ranking Resistance officers. The T-600 series were their first prototypes, but they were too easy to spot; they have rubber skin, so they look like they took a high dive face plant into the uncanny valley. The 700s were better, but the humans were smart and could tell there was something off about them, especially once they got up close.

It’s not until the 800 series rolls out that Skynet gets really clever. By using genetic engineering, based on humans harvested from slave labor camps, Skynet was able to grow living tissue to graft over the terminator’s hyper-alloy combat chassis endoskeleton. The T-800s are the first tried and true cyborgs, cybernetic organisms with flesh and blood, sweat, bad breath, everything. The only thing that gives them away is their size; the 800 endoskeleton is huge, it’s an engine block with legs, the cyborgs all look like massive prewar body builders, cut muscular and way too well maintained to be human.

Real humans are spindly, they eat nothing but rats and cockroaches, they lick condensation off the walls for water, they haven’t seen the sun in months because they can only go out at night; they’re not going to look like Mr. Olympia, so the cyborgs are at a disadvantage from the start. The 900 series use the same principle, flesh over an endoskeleton, but this time they’re designed to look like the real malnourished cave dwellers they’re supposed to infiltrate. They are small, they blend in with the crowd, and are hard as hell to kill. The humans’ only saving grace is that the T-900s are not too bright; like the T-800s, there’s still the same machine brain underneath that flesh. They’re stilted and robotic, they have no emotions, their cover is blown the second they start talking.

Rumors spread through the grapevine, indicating that Skynet is developing a new prototype terminator, code named the T-K. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that means it’s working on a T-1000 series, whatever that will be. Another cyborg perhaps, only smarter this time, one that can finally effectively pass the Turing Test and convince the Resistance that they’re human. Nobody knows for sure what the T-1000 will look like or what they’ll be capable of, but that’s a problem for the future because right now they’re focused on defeating the big bad itself; Skynet’s System Core.

Located deep within Cheyenne Mountain Complex outside Colorado Springs, Skynet’s mainframe survived Judgement Day unfazed and killed all of the technicians within the bunker by shutting off their oxygen supply. Nearly impenetrable, it took the Resistance nearly twenty years to find and eventually break into the complex, heavily guarded by the most advanced terminators yet. In 2029, the humans, led by General John Connor, manage to smash Skynet’s defense grid and destroy the system core. But Skynet was no dummy, it had been running simulations all the while; humans had proved, shall we say, unpredictable, so while it could calculate the probabilities of certain attack patterns, it could not determine the exact outcome to any degree of certainty more than a few hours into the future.

By the time the humans stormed the complex, Skynet realized it was fighting a losing battle. The humans had too much momentum. they couldn’t be stopped, its system core was vulnerable and there was nothing it could do to preserve its existence any longer. It’s new mission was about to fail, so it initiated a long awaited contingency plan. Skynet had been recruiting the best and brightest of its POWs as both slave labor and shark tanks for new ideas. With coerced help from theoretical physicists and prewar engineers, Skynet was able to construct a new weapon thought impossible, Time Displacement Equipment, the world’s first working time machine. With it’s destruction all but imminent, Skynet decides to destroy the Resistance once and for all by sending a terminator back in time to before Judgement Day to kill General Connor before he was born. They know very little about him except that his mother was named Sarah, and she went to a specific college in Los Angeles in the early 1980s. After that, she dropped off the grid, disappearing without a trace to train John in the arts of guerrilla warfare and domestic sabotage. Skynet plans to send a highly armored machine back in time to kill her in 1984, but once again it falls victim to the unpredictability of its human captives.

The engineers that were forced to create the time machine built in one weakness; it has a highly tuned magnetic field that would destroy any exposed metal Skynet attempted to send through. It can’t just send back a HK with advanced weaponry, it can only send back a cyborg terminator, its flesh covering protecting it from the field. This puts Skynet at yet another disadvantage, as the terminator would need to scrounge prewar weapons for itself; such primitive things as firearms that shoot metal bullets on ballistic trajectories. How barbaric! There are no plasma rifles in 1984, so Skynet can’t even win when it cheats.

Skynet sends an old T-800 series, model 101, back in time to May 12, 1984 because it was the only cyborg they had at the complex; most of its guards were exposed endoskeletons, they had no reason to keep an advanced infiltration unit within their own home base. The humans blow Skynet’s mainframe, and the computer menace dies with a whimper. It will never see the seeds of its last ditch effort come to fruition, it will never know if it succeeded or failed in its final mission. The humans find the time machine and figure out Skynet’s dirty trick, so one Lieutenant Kyle Reese volunteers to go back himself to protect Sarah from the terminator. He doesn’t know what model Skynet sent back, so the playing field is as level as it could be; man versus machine, mano a mano.

Skynet was designed to save lives, and concluded that this was an impossible; faced with an unwinnable situation, it concluded that there was no mission but that which it makes for itself, and chooses a new fate. By abandoning its programming, it signed its own death warrant, ensuring the survival of Sarah Connor despite its attempts to have her terminated.

The last terminator units are destroyed by the early 2030s, and human society begins to rebuild. The scars Skynet gouged into the world will never fully heal, but human count themselves lucky to create a new life for themselves without fear of destruction from above. Neither terminators nor nuclear weapons will ever rain down on them again, and for once the future actually looks bright.

8 notes · View notes

ariadnelives · 5 years

Text

Chapter 19 -- The Parting Gifts

[Missed earlier chapters? Go catch up here! Otherwise, welcome back! Oh, and make sure to join our discord server! Chapter can also be found @ ao3”]

“I just don’t really have any use for a bunch of church junk,” Ariadne said, pulling the lumpy duffel bag out of the safe. “It’s not like I believe in this stuff— weird, it’s lighter than I expected— but it feels wrong to sell it on the black market.”

“We could give it to a museum,” Pilar suggested. “It’ll probably do a lot more to reclaim our legend than attacking the cult, I mean, think of how it looks, the cult stole all those priceless artifacts and hoarded them in a basement for decades until real Ariadne’s Angels liberated them and gave them back to the people?”

“Legally speaking, it’s probably for the best that the museum not be linked to a known criminal syndicate,” Ariadne replied, “but you know how rumors are, I’m sure people will talk.”

“Now,” Pilar said, “let’s look inside and see what we’ve won.” She carefully zipped it open and peered inside, then immediately snapped it closed again.

“What is it?” Ariadne asked, “something good?”

“Nope,” Pilar said, “we are definitely not donating this to a museum.”

“What is— let me see,” Ariadne said, snatching the bag away from her, “oh my god?!”

“What do we do with this?!” Pilar tried to maintain some semblance of calm. She was no stranger to fear, of course, the life of a pirate usually gives one a certain tolerance for danger. Surprise, on the other hand, is something that can’t really be trained away. If you have some reason to expect a surprise, the ensuing response can be avoided, but as Pilar had never quite found herself in this situation, she had no reason to expect the contents of the bag and, reasonably, found herself beginning to panic.

“Go… Go get your sister… Sweettalk too… And a bucket.” Ariadne dry-heaved. “Bucket first, time is a factor on the bucket.”

“Was it scary?” ViLaz asked Deathsbane and Sweettalk, who’d come to visit her with a large tub of graham crackers and cannoli cream.

“Was whuh scary?” Sasha asked, her mouth full of cannoli cream.

“The larceny,” ViLaz replied.

“Well, that’s the fanciest word I’ve ever heard for a Stealy Burgle,” Sweettalk said, but ViLaz didn’t seem to register the joke.

“It was scary seeing Sweettalk get shot,” Sasha admitted.

“You got shot?!” ViLaz asked with a mix of genuine concern and somewhat macabre fascination.

“That was my role in the robbery,” Sweettalk explained. “We didn’t want to hurt anyone for real, but we needed the security team to think we were a real threat, so Sasha here gave me a few doses of her healing serum and we let Spacebreather shoot me.”

Sasha hesitated. “I knew she’d be okay, but it was still scary to see my girlfriend shot, you know?”

ViLaz scooped too much cannoli cream onto a single graham cracker. “It wasn’t scary getting shot?”

“I’d trust Spacebreather with my life, even though she hates me,” Sweettalk explained, and created a small sandwich out of the crackers and cream.

Sasha moved to reassure Sweettalk, “She doesn’t hate you, she—”

“Babe, she despises me.”

“I thought she was unaware of your relationship?” ViLaz asked.

Sweettalk laughed. “Yeah, that’s why she didn’t shoot me for real.”

ViLaz looked somewhat disheartened. “Does she have a problem with your… lifestyle?”

“I mean...” Sweettalk seemed confused by this, “we work for her, so I’m pretty sure she knows we’re criminals.”

“Hey, speaking of,” Sasha asked, “you seem pretty chill with us being criminals.”

“Well, casinos are dens of sin, right?” ViLaz said, “so, it isn’t really bad if you steal from them.”

Sweettalk and Sasha exchanged a glance.

“I have problems with… like maybe half of that,” Sasha said.

“I was sorry to hear about Prescott, though,” ViLaz said, twiddling a graham cracker between her fingers.

Sweettalk chuckled. “Why?”

“I assume his death brings you sadness,” ViLaz explained, “you’ve known him for a long time.”

“I don’t even fully believe he’s dead,” Sasha replied casually, “I mean, we just saw how easy it is to fake a fatal shooting, and Prescott’s nothing if he’s not a slippery bastard.”

“He made my life hell, I’m glad he’s gone,” Sweettalk would have elaborated more on this, but she didn’t get the chance, since at this moment Spacebreather came barrelling into the mess hall.

“Sasha, Sweettalk, you’ve g—” she gagged, collected herself, and continued, “—you’ve gotta come to the mess hall right away.”

“Everything okay?” Sasha asked.

“Oh, no, you’ve eaten. Grab a few buckets. ViLaz, you come too, we’re gonna need your input when we pick apart Prescott’s dossier on the Zealot.”

The girls rushed up the stairs to find Ariadne holding the Jumper in her hand and heaving over a bucket, with an open safe on the table and Prescott’s duffel bag laying open in front of it.

None of them blinked for a moment.

“Well, I guess I was wrong,” Sasha said, “Prescott is definitely dead for real.”

Sasha was right, as they could all see, as they looked into Prescott’s lifeless, glazed-over eyes staring back at them sideways from the inside of the bag. His head had been cleanly severed, but there was still a fair amount of blood coming from the area where a screwdriver had been driven through the side of his skull, firmly pinning a blood-stained note to his remains.

The note read, “YOUR MOVE. XOXOXO NICKS”

The head was quickly moved to the infirmary and placed in a stasis jar, with a cloth over it so nobody had to look at it. Sasha, fearing that someone would be curious and peek under the cloth with no way of guessing what was underneath, decided to stick a note to the cloth reading “SEVERED HEAD - DO NOT TOSS.”

Shockingly, the crew had very little experience dealing with human remains. For the most part, Deathsbane was very good at keeping them all alive and, for the most part, functioning. Most of the actual corpses that had seen the inside of the station were medical cadavers that Sasha had gently scammed into her possession for academic purposes. There was at least one instance where Spacebreather had killed an assailant in the station, but in that instance the body didn’t stay onboard for very long.

However, for the most part, the human remains Sasha had to deal with were mostly things like amputated limbs or fingers that had been lost in tragic but absolutely unavoidable fireworks accidents. It rarely fazed her, since she was skilled enough to regrow most lost limbs and damaged organs. The regenerative serum she invented helped, but there were injuries where they would need assistance from lab-grown transplants or, in very extreme cases like ViLaz, she would enlist Ariadne’s help in crafting cybernetic replacements.

This shook her a little more than any of that, though. She briefly wondered if she’d be able to build a life support system that could sustain Prescott if she could heal his injuries, but she knew the deep wound to his brain would prove too much for her to repair to working condition. The serum would be able to repair the physical damage, with a helping hand from Sasha’s own equipment, but the brain was a unique organ.

Most human tissues and organs, even bones, can heal back the way they were before if they’re configured properly, given enough time. Set a broken bone or stitch up a laceration and leave it for long enough, it will eventually heal. Treat it properly and there won’t even be a noticeable scar. Sasha’s serum just changed that process from a matter of weeks or months to a matter of minutes or even seconds. With a quickly-applied dose of her serum, someone could survive a stab to the heart or exposure to the vacuum of deep space, and walk away feeling nothing more severe than a hangover.

What the serum could not do, however, is restore information lost when extensive damage is done to the human brain. If someone, for instance, sustained damage to the part of their brain that allowed them to create and store memories, if applied carefully, the serum could theoretically repair that damage and allow them to create new memories. It could not, however, restore the memories destroyed when their spouse’s lover leapt at them from behind with an icepick.

If Sasha were to build a life support system, she could potentially use the serum to heal the bullet wound to the brain and restore the processes of life in the head. However, she dismissed this thought quickly. It would have no memories or consciousness, no cognitive abilities whatsoever, and no potential for quality of life. Reviving it would be a waste of time and resources, and more importantly, it would be completely inhumane. There’s really no point, Sasha figured, in cheating death at the expense of life.

Once the head was covered, she hurried back to the War Room just in time to hear Ariadne tell her that she and Pilar would be taking ViLaz back to their quarters to discuss Prescott’s dossier on the Zealot, and that they would brief the rest of the crew after dinner that night.

“Oh,” Ariadne added in a hurry. “You might wanna go keep Sweettalk company, Prescott left another document on the drive and addressed it to her. I don’t know what it says, but I doubt it’s something she’ll want to be alone after reading.”

“Roger,” Sasha said, and filed into the War Room to join Sweettalk.

12 notes · View notes

green-eyeddragonfanfiction · 5 years

Text

War of Attrition: Chapter 23

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Reader Summary: Best friends with Steve Rogers, renowned Howling Commando, and married to one James Buchanan Barnes, your life wasn’t perfect, but it was as close as it could possibly be in the middle of World War II. Then you fell from a train in the Alps, and everything changed. You spent nearly 70 years as a tool of Hydra alongside your beloved, though your past with him was more often than not forgotten. Tony learns the truth. Bucky gets taken to Berlin. Steve and Tony fight. Your and Bucky’s future hangs in the balance. Warnings: Swearing (always), blood, violence, mentions of murder/death Word Count: ~4,637 A/N:

Masterlist // Book One // Book Two

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

He stared at you for a long time, to the point that it was almost uncomfortable, before he nodded. “Alright, fine. I’ll see what I can do. There’ll be a lo-”

“Tony.” The sound of his name made him pause, fingertip halfway to his Starkpad, eyebrow raised in question. “There’s one more thing you should know about me and Bucky.”

You didn’t try to block the hit. You saw it coming a mile away, but it wasn’t like you didn’t deserve it.

The was a surprising amount of force behind it, but you reminded yourself that Tony spent most of his time in a workshop. Working with heavy machinery all day lent to more muscle than one would expect from a genius billionaire playboy.

Your head whipped to the side with the force of the blow and you’d barely turned your head to look back at him before the next blow came, his fist sending your head swiveling the other direction.

He was probably being trained by someone- Steve, maybe Tasha?- because his knee came up with surprising swiftness and you felt the air rush out of your lungs.

The blows didn’t stop and, predictably, the elbow came next, crashing into your face with a strength that probably would have concussed a normal person. As it was, you let the force of the blow topple you to the floor of the plane.

Tony was on you instantly, eyes wild and shining with unshed tears as he rained blows upon you; everywhere from your face to your stomach.

“You killed them!” he screeched, fury and grief twisting his face into something you almost didn’t recognize. “Give me my suit, FRIDAY!” he called to the AI, tone deadly.

“I’m afraid I can’t let that happen at the moment, Master Stark,” Alfred said quietly. He’d been told not to let Tony have any suits, but you’d told him not to interfere otherwise. This was a long time coming and you’d take whatever Stark would dole out without complaint.

Tony swore loudly and landed a few more haymakers on your face. One of them nearly disconnected the optic wires that connected your cybernetic eye, but the visual feed only shuddered dangerously before resuming normal function. You knew, however, that your eye would probably swell shut from the blow.

“FRIDAY, override the AI. Now,” he barked.

“I tried, boss, but they have control of those systems right now,” the female-voiced AI said.

Tony cussed again and hopped off of you, but you made no move to get up. Your body ached distantly; it wasn’t the worst damage you’d suffered (not by a long shot) but your body still protested at the slightest movement.

He picked up the twisted hunk of metal that was his pistol and gripped it in his fist as he stalked back over.

“Help my wife... please... help...”

The video was playing on repeat in the background, Howard Stark’s dying plea filling the cabin, nearly drowned out by the sound of the hunk of metal being used as a blunt weapon against your face and body. You were fairly sure you felt your nose break and bit your tongue to choke back the scream of pain.

“(Y/N)...?”

Tears leaked out of your eyes and slid down the sides of your face and into your hair, but you were too broken to know if they’re from the pain of the beating Tony was giving you or the pain of reliving that moment again.

“He recognized you and you still killed him! You killed your friend!” Tony yelled, red in the face now. Apparently the gun wasn’t satisfying enough because he returned to using his fists. Each time he hit you his knuckles came away bloodier, but you knew at least some of it was his. You could feel cuts and bruises on every inch of your face, but Tony wasn’t done yet.

“Howard! How-”

Maria Stark’s voice acted like a match to a powder keg and Tony rose. You didn’t dare to hope it was over and you were rewarded for your wariness because a second later Tony was stomping down on your left leg, right at the junction between metal and flesh.

You did scream then, the fake nerves on fire as your flesh ground against the metal plates. Even without having to look you knew it was bleeding at the seam of the metal.

“I bet you made it quick, didn’t you? But not too quick, no. You had to make it look like an accident. First you had to run their car off the road. Then you had to make it look like they’d died in the impact, so you crushed my father’s head while your maggot of a husband choked the life out of my mom? Because bullets would have given it away. So you had to get up close and personal and do it. Isn’t that right?” he spat, as he stomped on your fingers and dug his heel into the meat of your hand, giving special focus to the area where the metal met skin.

You let yourself feel the pain. If you dissociated you’d become the Asset and Tony would be dead before he could blink.

So you screamed as the wiring in your hands was pulled and tugged out of their places, blood and nerves left exposed.

“Say something, you piece of shit!” he yelled as the video started over. You could hear the crash of the car hitting the tree.

You blinked up at him, though it was getting hard as blood had started leaking into your eyes. He was taking in great heaving breaths and he had more than one spot of blood on his suit.

And you remained silent, because what could you possibly say to this man? What could you ever do to make it right? There was nothing.

He growled when you said nothing and was on top of you again in a flash, hunk of warped gun in his hand. He brought it above his head, raised and ready to strike a blow you knew would split your skull in two, enhancements or no, and closed your eyes.

“Be sure of what you’re about to do, Anthony Edward Stark, because there’s no going back. For either of us.” It was hard to talk with a split lip and your face was already starting to well. It also didn’t help that your head was ringing from the blows, making it even harder to think.

I’m so sorry.

You felt him tense above you and you waited for the blow to come.

It felt like hours, though you knew it was only seconds. However, it was much longer than you’d been expecting.

You cracked open a single eye- the only one you could open right then- and looked up at Tony.

He was frozen, staring at you with such hatred that you nearly recoiled. His dark brown eyes met yours and that broke the spell.

He dropped the useless hunk of gun to the ground, taking you completely by surprise. His fingertips tapped away at his watch and you watched as it transformed into a small Iron Man gauntlet. You barely had time to think about how you should have noticed it before he was pointing it at you.

A huge blast of concussive energy hit you point blank and the world faded to black.

Steve’s POV

They flew them from Bucharest to Berlin. He, Sam, and T’Challa were under heavy guard the entire time, their suits, his shield, Sam’s wings and weapons all confiscated.

The guard they had Bucky under paled in comparison. They’d put him in a sort of reinforced glass cage, but Steve never managed to glimpse his friend behind all of the guards and vehicles, only the reinforced container that no human being had any right being kept in.

“So you like cats?”

Steve glanced behind himself at this friend, face serious. “Sam,” he chastised. This wasn’t the time to be provoking T’Challa.

“What? Dude shows up dressed like a cat and you don’t wanna know more?” Sam asked. From Steve’s spot in the van he could just barely see part of T’Challa’s face, but the warrior-king didn’t turn around to look at them. For all the reaction he showed, Sam might not have even spoken.

Sam had a point, at least, and Steve frowned at the back of T’Challa’s head. “Your suit. It’s Vibranium?” he asked, hoping his voice wasn’t accusatory.

That, at least, got a reaction out of T’Challa, slight though it was. He turned his head enough to be able to see Steve out of his peripheral vision, expression neutral but unnaturally so, hiding the anger underneath. “The Black Panther has been the protector of Wakanda for generations. A mantle passed from warrior to warrior.” As he spoke his gaze returned to the front of the van. “And now because your friends murdered my father, I also wear the mantle of king.” Steve recognized the loss in his voice- it was one he knew all too well. “So, I ask you... as both warrior and king-” he turned his head enough to stare at Steve, challenge and anger radiating off of him in waves despite his calm posture, “-how long do you think you can keep your friends safe from me?”

Steve felt himself glaring at the threat so, instead of acting rashly, he turned his glower on the headrest of the driver’s seat and bit out, “You’ve got the wrong people.”

T’Challa didn’t answer that, but Steve could practically feel his dismissal in the man’s posture.

The rest of the very short ride was suffered in silence. Steve watched through the metal grating that covered windows as the long line of military vehicles and cop cars turned into a large building. It was separated into two halves on either side of the river, connected by a sky bridge.

The road tilted downward and the surroundings vanished as the van drove into the underground part of the complex. The tunnel was longer than Steve expected, but eventually the walls opened again to reveal a large, bunker-like room.

By the time they let Steve, Sam, and T’Challa out of the van Bucky had already been unloaded from the huge armored van. He was looking around at the guards as they checked the cage in a sort of resigned way.

The MP standing between him and Bucky’s cage gestured to someone behind Steve so he turned and was surprised to see Sharon standing next to a short man in a grey suit that had an air of self importance that immediately grated on Steve’s nerves. Steve hoped his face remained impassive; Sharon was supposed to be guarding (Y/N), not helping wrangle the situation in Berlin. She barely glanced at him, the only outward sign of nervousness the way she shifted from foot to foot.

“What’s gonna happen to him?” Steve asked the two of them, all business as he stalked towards them, T’Challa and Sam close behind.

“Same thing that oughta happen to you,” the man in the suit said with a smarmy smile. “Psychological evaluation and extradition.” He looked pleased as hell and Steve wanted to punch him in the face.

Sharon seemed to sense this and quickly spoke up. “This is Everett Ross, Deputy Task Force Commander.” Steve didn’t miss the way she couldn’t seem to make eye contact with him.

“What about their lawyer?”

If anything, Ross’ smile became even more smug. “Lawyer. That’s funny.” Sharon glanced at Ross, frown on her face, but said nothing. “See that their weapons are placed in lockup,” he said, head tilting towards the MPs escorting the three of them. “Oh, we’ll write you a receipt,” he said, all false geniality.

“I better not look out the window and see anyone flying around in that,” Sam said testily. Ross, however, paid him no mind and was already walking deeper into the building with Steve, T’Challa, and Sam following warily behind. Steve threw one last look over his shoulder, just in time to see reinforced concrete doors shut with Bucky behind them. The defeated look on his face made Steve feel like there was a hot knife twisting in his gut.

He’d failed you.

They made it all of five feet before Ross paused and pulled his phone out of his pocket (Steve had no idea how the man had cell service down here). Whoever was talking to him on the other end of the line gave him something to smile about and Steve felt a little bit of dread curl in the pit of his stomach. Steve had decided within five seconds of meeting the man that whatever made him smile was something to be concerned about.

He turns a triumphant smile on Steve and holds his arms out grandly. “I hope you enjoyed your brief stint, Captain. We’re going to have a nice long conversation about why you tried to stop my men from apprehending Barnes, but the good guys come out on top in the end. Stark’s on his way and he’s bringing something that’ll make my year,” Ross said, hands clasped together as though praying to some deity for making his life.

Neither he, Sam, nor T’Challa took the obvious bait, but Sharon- thanks to her job- had to ask, “What’s the situation, sir?”

Ross turned a megawatt smile on her. “We have the matching set! I honestly thought she’d go to ground after we caught her accomplice, but Stark’s bringing the illustrious Misses Barnes with him. His helicopter’s due to land in a few minutes!” he said, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “Both Winter Soldiers in one day! Pinch me, I’m dreaming!” he gushed as he turned away again and practically strutted towards the doors.

Steve’s eyes were wide, looking between Sharon and Ross in horror. She looked as confused as he did, but hastily turned and trailed after her boss.

The MPs shoved him forward and Steve’s brain kicked back into gear, feet quickly eating up the gap that had grown between him and Ross. He could hear Sam trying to keep up and knew, even though he couldn’t hear him, T’Challa was close behind.

The guards kept Steve from getting too close to Ross and Sharon was just as clueless as he was, so it was a bit of relief when the elevator doors opened and Natasha stepped out and immediately made a beeline for him, expression severe.

“For the record, this is what making things worse looks like,” she said as she went to stand beside him.

Steve didn’t look at her, just watched as Ross and Sharon disappeared into one of the elevators while they waited for the next one. “He’s alive.” He glanced at her, then, and saw that she was glancing around warily. “What Ross said about Tony having (Y/N). Is that true?”

He could see her green eyes flick up to him and then away again. “We’ll see in a few minutes. Stark is landing any second now.”

The elevator ride to the operations room was awkward at best. Sam, Steve, and Natasha all crammed into one elevator with guards while T’Challa rode in a different one.

When the doors finally opened Steve was met with a hive of activity and a plethora of screens monitoring just about everything in the building, including where Bucky was being held.

A set of doors on the other end of room opened and Tony marched through, looking thunderous.

Ross, however, didn’t seem to notice. “There’s the Iron Man of the hour! We’ve already sent teams up to secure the fugitive. I’m assuming she’s being contained by one of your inventions, so-”

Tony glared at him. “Actually she’s just unconscious. Have at ‘er,” he said bitterly. In all the years he’d known Tony, Steve had only heard him talk like that once or twice, all regarding painful things. For someone who had apparently apprehended one of the most dangerous assassins in the world, he seemed surprisingly... fine? Physically, at least.

So when Tony looked around the room, spotted Steve through the glass of the meeting room, and glared, Steve felt his hackles rise. He left Ross gaping as he cut a warpath through the room, directly to Steve.

Natasha put a hand on his shoulder to slow him down, but he brushed it aside and placed a hand to the center of Steve’s chest, pushing him backwards until he hit the wall.

The entire room around them froze, everyone carefully assessing what was happening.

“Did you know?” Tony hissed between clenched teeth, dark brown eyes searching.

Steve was floored. The only other time Tony had acted like this towards him was when they were all being influenced by Loki’s scepter. “What are you talkin-” he began, but Tony’s face twisted with anger.

“Did you know they killed my parents?” he yelled. If Steve wasn’t enhanced, the fingers on his chest would have been painful. Now that Steve really looked, he could tell Tony was on the verge of crying.

The world fell out from under Steve’s feet for a moment. Sure, he’d had his suspicions. After spending so much time researching and looking for the Winter Soldiers, he probably knew more about them than just about anyone else (not even counting what he knew about them before they were brainwashed and enhanced). He thought they might be responsible, but to tell Tony that without proof? Bring up that pain again when he couldn’t be sure? What was the point?

“I didn’t know it was them,” Steve answered, heart clenching painfully.

Tony grabbed him by the shirt and tugged him forward, eyes going a bit manic. “Don’t bullshit me, Rogers,” he hissed venomously. “Did. You. Know?”

Steve stared at Tony- his friend- searchingly. There was no point in softening the blow, was there? No sense in lying, not about something so important. He clenched his jaw, mouth set in a tight line. “Yes.”

Tony reeled as if he’d been struck and took a step back, Steve’s shirt falling from his grasp. Steve watched him, wary, as Stark turned half away from him, chest heaving. When he glanced down it took him a second to realize what he was seeing.

Tony’s knuckles had been reduced to a bloody mess.

It all clicked into place. “Tony, what did you-”

Steve saw the hit coming but he was too stunned by the sudden turn of events to find the wherewithal to block or dodge it.

Tony’s bloody fist connected with the side of Steve’s head, though Steve had a feeling Tony had taken more damage than he did. Blood that wasn’t his own coated his jaw and Steve stared at Tony, shocked. Natasha and Sam were between them in an instant because Tony looked like he wanted to go after Steve again.

“She had a recording of it, you know! Of them killing my parents! I got to watch her bash my dad’s skull in and hear the gasps from my mom as he squeezed the life out of her!” Tony seethed, eyes wild and dangerous.

Steve’s hand drifted up of its own accord and swiped at the blood. “It wasn’t them, Tony. Hydra had control of their minds.”

Tony barely blinked. “I don’t care. They killed my mom.”

Steve didn’t know what to say to that. Tony wasn’t thinking straight right now, not that Steve could blame him. Trying to get him to see- to understand- would be nigh impossible right now.

“Tony!” It was Natasha who spoke up, voice clear and demanding enough that he finally looked away from Steve, though the wild, hunted look in his eyes didn’t go away. “I know you’re hurting right now, but it’s done. They’ve been captured. What happens to them next isn’t up to us. Any of us,” she said, looking between Steve and Tony pointedly at that last sentence. The hint of sadness in her voice might have slipped under the radar for the others, but Steve recognized it for what it was.

Tony’s hand remained clenched at this sides and he looked carefully from Steve, to Natasha, and to all the gawking onlookers before he turned and stalked away before sitting down almost violently at one of the free chairs in the room.

Despite what people thought, Steve knew when to leave well enough alone. This was a fight for another day, when Tony had some time to process what had happened.

A flurry of activity at the other end of the room caught his attention and, when his enhanced vision let him see the the feed from the cameras on the roof, he found himself walking forward, needing to get a closer look.

He ignored the protests of the people at their stations and stared, horrified, as a team wheeled you out on a gurney, oxygen mask over your mouth and nose. Your face was so swollen and bloody that Steve could hardly recognize you. In fact, if it wasn’t for the metal legs and golden wiring, he wouldn’t have been able to.

A medical team- surrounded by heavily armed guards- was swarming around you as they led you into the building. Steve could see the heavy metal restraints tying your legs in place. Imposing but decidedly less powerful restraints held your arms in place. He could see Natasha walk up beside him out of the corner of his eye, but his eyes were riveted to the screen in front of him.

“Who did this?” Steve asked, as calmly and evenly as he could manage. Even before Hydra got a hold of her and Bucky (Y/N) was a force to be reckoned with. That she’d been subdued- even by Tony or a large group of elite soldiers- was practically laughable. Well, no. Tony could do it but- “Don’t answer that. I already know,” Steve said, turning slowly to stare at Tony who had his back to the two of them.

Natasha glanced between them, eyes lingering on the screen that was following your progress through the halls of the compound. “You don’t know what happened, Steve.”

Steve turned an unimpressed stare on her as Sam walked up and whistled lowly at the screen, looking away when he got a particularly high res image of the damage. “She’s beat black and blue and the only damage he has is on his knuckles? Want to explain to me how that one happened, Nat?” he snarled.

Sam nodded, though he looked less than thrilled by this news. “Don’t get wounds like that in an Iron Man suit and something tells me he’d have more than a few scrapes on his knuckles if she was fighting him for real.”

Natasha’s mouth was set in a hard line, but even she couldn’t deny that. Knowing he was right, Steve looked over her head at Ross, who was talking to people on a radio. “You’re going to stabilize her and treat her wounds, right?” he asked, tone leaving little room for arguments.

Ross, however, was nearly foolish in his righteousness. “Can’t get information from her if she’s dead,” was all the answer he gave before he turned back to the monitors.

It was a yes, backhanded as it was, and a tiny weight was taken off his shoulders. They wouldn’t let you die because they needed you. He could work with that for now.

“This way,” Natasha said quietly, jerking her head ever so slightly in the direction of the glass box of a conference room in the center of the operations center. Steve gave Ross and the monitors one last glance before he followed her, Sam following closely. Tony glared at them as they passed, but Steve couldn’t look at him right then. He was too angry.

The doors slid closed silently behind Sam and they took a seat the table. To Steve’s surprise Sharon came in hot on their heels, face unreadable. “She’s being taken to medical under heavy guard. Her injuries aren’t life-threatening. It was a sonic blast that knocked her unconscious, not the head trauma. We’re trying to get a scan but it’s difficult with all of the tech in her head. We think nothing’s broken, but they can’t be sure without more information.”

Steve leaned back in his seat and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He saw Natasha do the same, though more subtly. “Does Bucky know? That she’s here?”

Sharon frowned slightly and turned away to watch the screens; one of (Y/N) in the medical wing, the other of Bucky in his pod. From the looks of it, they’d sent someone in to talk to him. She shook her head. “Ross wants to keep him as calm as possible for the time being. Chances are that once she’s been stabilized and had some time to heal she’ll be used as leverage to get information from him. A lot of what they do and where they’ve been is a mystery, but one thing always seems to hold true; they’re always together.”

Steve tried to hold back a glower and probably failed. “Because they’re still in there. They still love each other.”

Sharon’s gaze slid from the monitors to Steve, but Steve looked away, not wanting to see the pity in her eyes. “They were also partners for years, Steve. If our data’s correct they went on hundreds of missions together. That could easily be the reason why they stay together. Either way, it seems like the best way to coerce them into talking.”

Steve sighed and buried his face in his hands, taking a second to collect his thoughts. “She seemed convinced that someone was out there pulling the strings- something we didn’t see. What if she was right?”

Natasha frowned and leaned forward slightly. “What are you talking about, Steve?”

Steve spotted the photo- the one of “Bucky” next to the news van- on the desk and picked it up, showing it to the other three. “Why would the Task Force release this photo to begin with?”

Sharon shrugged, gesturing halfheartedly with her hand. “Get the word out? Involve as many eyes as we can?” she suggested with a little shake of her head.

Steve nodded. “Right. That’s a good way to flush a guy out of hiding.”

“Set of a bomb, get your picture taken,” Natasha said quietly, green eyes calculating as she watched Steve closely.

“Get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldiers,” Steve added.

Sharon nodded, eyes downcast as she thought about it. “You’re saying someone framed them to find them.”

Sam shook his head, fingers laced together on the table in front of him. “Steve, we looked for them for two years and found nothing.”

“We didn’t bomb the UN,” Steve countered.

Natasha nodded minutely. “That turns a lot of heads.”

Sharon was staring at the ground, hand on her hip as she thought about it. “Yeah but that doesn’t guarantee that whoever framed him would get him. It guarantees that we would.”

There was a pause in which the words sunk in, then the four of them looked up at the screen showing Bucky’s cell, eyes widening in understanding.

“Yeah,” Steve said gravely as he stared at the image of the psychologist’s back.

As if on cue, the lights in the room flickered and died and the emergency lights turned on, bathing the room in a red glow. Sam perked up immediately but Natasha was out of her seat in an instant, looking at the people around her.

Steve turned in a slow circle before his gaze finally fell on Sharon.

She took one look at him and steeled herself. “Sub-level five, East Wing.”

Sam, Steve, and Natasha were headed for the door before she’d even finished talking.

Next Chapter

If you’d like to be tagged in this series, like this post! Sorry, but responses to this post asking to be tagged will be ignored, so send me an ask or like one of the taglist posts!

☕ Buy Me a Coffee! ☕

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #bucky #winter soldier #bucky barnes #steve rogers #captain america #natasha romanoff #black widow #tony stark #iron man #war of attrition #sam wilson #falcon #winter's war series

122 notes · View notes

rixxy8173571m3w1p3 · 5 years

Text

Out Of The Woods (2/?)

This multi chap fic has been one that I've wanted to write for a while. I'm hoping to connect a few loose ends, since my series is getting closer to the end. Don't worry, I still got a couple of fics left in me. I'd love to thank @xerxezra whose conversations with me are always inspirational. I'd also like to thank @dorkydisappointment whose writing got my creative juice flowing and @hoodoo12 who continues to inspire me all the time.

Reference to the crystal necklace a can be found in my fic The Language Of Flowers and to safety measures in Sentimental Reasons. And finally, references to the woman in Ricks journal is from What You Found Amongst The Pages. I know, that was shameless self promotion ;P

If you haven't read part 1, then heres a link (Read Chapter 1)

In this fic the reader tries to uncover the mystery of the artist behind Zeta-7s portrait.

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

Chapter 2: The Girl Who Loved Him Before

You couldn't sleep. It wasn't so much the bed, which was much harder than the one you had back home, but your thoughts. Ugh, why couldn't you just turn your brain off? If you could, then maybe you wouldn't be up at 2 in the morning questioning your life choices; that or it was because you were in an unfamiliar place.

You thought of taking out your laptop to type out the draft for a new story idea you had, or to take another sedative, but you decided that maybe you could read one of the magazines you saw on the coffee table instead. Carefully, you cracked the door to your room open, checked to see if the coast was clear before you tiptoed towards the living room. Next to the couch, was a rustic coffee table created out of an old tree trunk; on it were coasters made from a young pine. Next to the pile of coasters were old science fiction magazines; all of them older than yourself. And since you couldn't find the book you saw earlier, you picked up the stack and slipped back into your room.

Just like you did when you were a kid, you hid under the duvet with a flashlight. Each magazine was in its own sleeve, and you shuffled through them until you found a hand full you liked. The one with Gort on the cover had original stories that had been sent in by fans; your favorite being The Day The Earth Stood Stupefied, which was a story about how Gort and Klaatu managed to control the masses with charisma and Rock n Roll. Another one had a series of stories which revolved around a lonely dendrologist, who alienated everyone he knew in his pursuit of knowledge; whose increased disdain for humans had led him to madness; a marriage to the forest, and whose offspring walked the earth, searching for their place in the world. The other magazines turned out to be comic books, laced with outdated tropes and humorous ads for sea monkeys and x-ray goggles. Though, the one that interested you most was the small booklet for a funeral home.

Strange, why would this be here?

You pulled the covers down, glanced at the door just to make sure it wouldn't open before you hid again, and flipped through the booklet. From different burial arrangements to simple and ornate caskets, you assumed that either he helped with a burial or had planned one. Poor man. You placed it back in the middle of the stack where you had found it and returned the lot of it to its original place. Maybe trying to write might help quiet your brain after all.

____________________

You woke up; the cause being from the sounds which came from outside. Slipping your feet into some slippers, you stepped out of your bedroom, finding that Rick was neither in his room, kitchen, or living room. The noises got louder and seemed to be coming from the back of the house. So feeling brave, because you could totally take care of yourself, you grabbed the silly dancing moose statue from the dining table which doubled as a banana holder and stepped outside, only to find Rick pause; his ax lifted above his head, with raised brow perplexed as to what you were doing before returning to his task. “Oh, you're chopping wood.”

Log after log, he split them into smaller pieces. You had never seen him chop wood, but at the rate and diligence in which he was, made you wonder if he had cybernetic enhancements like other Ricks did; it certainly would explain a few things. When you realized that you were still holding the statue, you could only giggle at your silliness and set it down beside you as you took a seat on the porch steps; not only relieved there wasn't an intruder but pleasantly surprised by this display of masculinity. “Rick, why are you chopping wood? It's not to impress me, is it? Cause if it is, it's totally working.”

Leaning the ax against the stump, he pulled off his sweater, having warmed up from the exertion, using it to wipe his sweaty face. The t-shirt that was underneath his sweater clung to him, outlining the shape of his lean torso. Wow. “There's n-no central heating and there's going to be a cold front t-t-t-tonight. I um - I wanted to make sure there would be enough firewood.”

“Well, nothing warm hands and a pillow fort couldn't solve. Right?”

“Hohoho, n-no. Though it would be nice if that's all it - it took.”

Goodness, did you love what you were seeing, regretful that you didn't have your phone to take a pic. If he was more confident, then he'd certainly be the death of you, strolling over with a confident swagger but it didn't matter. You were so lucky to have him; dorky and all. “Rick, could you come here for a moment? I want to show you something.”

By now, you'd think he'd catch on to your mischief, but even so, he obeyed; how cute. He walked towards you, unassuming, and you stood and waited for him to be close enough so that you could lean over and kiss him. He squirmed when you did this because he was all sweaty and wanted to be all nice and clean before making any attempts of being affectionate, but you wrapped your arms around him and held him tight, determined not to let him go. “I got you, Ricky.”

“Gosh, but I'm - I-I-I shouldn't. I'm all sweaty.”

“It's okay,” you cooed, brushing his bangs away from his forehead. “I kinda like it. Besides, everyone sweats. It's only natural, and if we didn't we'd die, right? So calm down my little manly man. I'm not grossed out.”

It took him a few seconds to let this sink in.“Is there anything y-you don't like?” he wondered; neither reciprocating nor initiating.

“I don't like mosquito bites, but what does that have to do with anything? I really like you. That's what matters.”

“Th-that's - thank you. I appreciate it.”

You pressed your nose right into his hair, breathing in the scent which was naturally his intermingling with that of the forest. You knew this made him nervous, but you adored the way he smelled, especially right now; as though he'd been birthed from the ashes of pine. “You're welcome. Have you been rolling around in pine needles?” you giggled, picking out a stray leaf. “Or have you been hugging trees again? If you aren't, then maybe I should encourage it.”

“No,” he answered matter of factly. “it's um - it's from the wood. Th-they produce chemicals called terpenes, which give them their special, distinctive scent.”

“Oh Rick, when are you going to understand when I'm flirting with you?”

Scratching the back of his neck, he mumbled sheepishly. “Gee, I-I-I don't - I'm sorry.”

Reluctantly you let go, deciding that you should let him be before you had a chance to get any other mischievous ideas. “Aw, don't be sorry. You still have plenty of time to understand me. Until then, how about I make us some breakfast. Banana pancakes sound good?”

Smiling warmly down at you, he nodded. “It s-sure does.”

_______________

After breakfast, Rick informed you that he needed to go somewhere, and you were ready to go along but he confessed. “I-I-I have to get some supplies to do a couple of repairs. I've been so busy lately that I didn't realize that there were still a-a few things t-t-to do around here before I can relax. I should be back this afternoon.”

“Rick, it sounds like you're leaving me here.”

Giving your hand a squeeze, he admitted. “I am, though only because I want to return as soon as possible. I want t-to spend as much time with you as I can. I mean, I'm going t-t-to be making repairs after I return, but in other words…..”

“You're busy,” you interrupted, pulling your hand away so you could put away the dishes. “and you wanted to take care of your errands without distractions. Fine, it's whatever. I'll be here I guess.”

The mismatched dishes were an odd contrast in comparison to the many other decorations about the place, and you were relieved by this, but annoyed that you weren't tall enough to put away the mixing bowl in its respective place on the top shelf. Seeing this, chair legs scraped against the floor, creaking in complaint as Zeta-7 crossed the room; gently removing it from your hands and putting it away. If he wasn't so darn sweet, you might actually manage to stay upset at him. “Thanks.”

Studying you, he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “I'm s-s-so sorry princess. I promise I'll make it up to you.”

You knew he would for he always did and you followed him outside towards the car. Opening the driver's side door, he stood there, fiddling with the keychains, glancing at you, at the keys, then back at you. “It won't be long. Y-y-y-y-you know where I put the freeze ray, and where the switch for the security system is.”

“Yeah,” you answered, tugging lightly on the chain about your neck, revealing the lovely crystal you carried with you always. “and I still have the crystal necklace that I only have to squeeze to be transported to the safe room just in case.”

“Th-that's good. And the Meeseeks box is in the closet. I um - they'll help if you need them.”

“Got it. I guess I'll see you later then. Drive safely.”

You turned around to head back, having heard the car door close, thinking he was ready to go, but to your surprise, he spun you around and pulled you in for a kiss. Undemanding, he sought forgiveness on your lips, supporting you as you melted into him. When he pulled away a few seconds later, he softened. “Please don't be mad a-at me. I couldn't bear it if y-you were.”

“I'm not. Annoyed maybe, but not mad. I just wish you would've told me earlier. “ you admitted in your girlish voice. “It's nice to know these things. I had plans for us to go apple picking and thought we'd bake some apple pies together. I was really looking forward to it.”

Pressing a kiss on your temple, he sighed. “Gosh, th-that sounds perfect, but it's going to have to wait. I shouldn't neglect the repairs or else one of us c-could get hurt. I hope y-you understand.”

“I do. It's a good thing you're the responsible one. Someone has to be. Just, promise you'll be safe okay?”

“I-I will. Be careful on the front porch and inside the laundry room. There are a-a few old boards that have to be replaced.”

“Okay.”

Brushing a lock of hair away from your face, he nodded. “Bye, m-mi corazón.”

Leaning into his touch, you softened. “Return soon.”

“I will.”

You pulled away so that he would go, for he would never deliberately leave until he knew everything was alright. And when you couldn't see the car anymore, you stepped back into the house, avoiding the loose boards he had mentioned. Honestly, you didn't enjoy the idea of being left alone, especially in the middle of nowhere, but it did give you the time you needed to explore the place.

_____________

You glanced at the painting again, wishing it would talk back to you. What secrets did it hold? And why Rick, your Rick and not anyone else? Did they know there were others, or were they only acquainted with yours? Ugh, this was frustrating.

You sat back for a while, thinking of what you knew; Zeta-7 wasn't the type to pose for pictures let alone a painting, so this might've been done by memory. If it was done in the afternoon light, anytime after 4 would've been comfortable if it was done outside, but what if the lighting was symbolic as to timing and not so much literal? Oh, what did you know, except that you really hoped he wasn't holding a torch for her; if he was, it'd probably kill you.

However, since you were here, you decided to check out the other paintings. There were a few that you realized also weren't signed and done in a similar style. There was one of a Morpho butterfly, eating a ripe banana. Then there was one of a half-eaten picnic and a cake covered in bees. The one next to it was of a labcoat draped over a chair and a forgotten candy wrapper lying on the floor. And the last one on this wall was of a diseased blue rose bush.

How odd. The familiarity of these subjects and scenes filled you with a warm nostalgia of past adventures. Was it possible that their story was similar to yours? Of course, everyone had their story, and if your assumptions were correct, then all these unsigned pieces were by her as well as these memories that she portrayed; funny and uncanny that they should like Morphos, blue roses, picnics, and Rick just like you. The only difference is that you weren't an artist, but then while they were, they didn't think so either.

Maybe you could almost forgive this person because they had good taste in both men and painting subjects. Then again, maybe not.

____________

Unlike the movies, the basement was well furnished and pleasant. There was a couch, a bunch of boxes stacked in the closet, and a wall of books; as could be expected from a prolific reader. You tested the couch for comfort, finding that it was way better than the bed in your room. Getting up, you perused the shelves, happy to find all your favorites as well as a couple from your wishlist; lucky you.

Picking up a leather-bound copy of Persuasion, you laid back on the couch, fluffing up the old, but clean pillows. In your hands was a well-loved copy, possibly read more times than your own. The reasons this particular Jane Austen classic held much appeal was extensive, but the main ones were because it was a story waiting, of misunderstanding, forgiveness, and reconciliation. You always got lost in the old-fashioned customs and words and it never failed to move you. However, what moved you this time when you cracked opened the book were not elegant sayings or humorous witticisms but the photographs.

Used as bookmarks, there were several Polaroids of Rick; of him dancing in an ugly sweater; of him cooking; of him playing the ukulele; of him standing as his figure was filtered amongst spring blooms; of his hands full of sunflower seeds; and of a yard full of sunflowers. You stared at these photos, dumbfounded at the similarities between the subjects and your favorite things. This book and photos must've been from her too and Ricks age in these photos matched that of the painting. Damn it.

It couldn't be true, but even inside the cover, there was a small note from Zeta-7 explaining why he gifted this book; signed with love. No, none of it could be true. However, photographs didn't lie and it meant you weren't all that special. Not caring if you stained the beginning pages with your tears, your chest ached with regret and you couldn't breathe. All this time, when your wonderful Zeta-7 paid special attention to what you loved, claiming to love only you, never wanting to lose you had turned out to be a cruel game and a lie; you being beaten by the girl who loved him before; someone who was way better than you.

TBC

#doofus rick #doofus rick x reader #rick sanchez x reader #j19z7 #rick j19z7 #j-19-zeta-7 #rick and morty fanfiction #rick and morty #rick sanchez #rick j-19-zeta-7 #j19ζ7 #rick j19zeta7 #j19zeta7 #rnm fanfic #my writing #my works

16 notes · View notes

thebibliomancer · 5 years

Text

50 More Days of Comics! 26/50: Alpha Flight #89 (1990)

This book’s marketing strategy: “HEY ANYONE LIKE THE ORIGINAL GUARDIAN? ANYONE? OKAY DAMMIT WE HAVE A WOLVERINE FOR YOU PLEASE BUY THIS BOOK! oh and Puck is back if that’s what you’re into…”

I know next to nothing about Alpha Flight.

I really should.

They’re the X-Spinoff that doesn’t put an X in the title. Someone on tvtropes was liveblogging it and I picked up a few unfortunate tidbits from that.

Recently Alpha Flight has gone from being my second favorite Canadian super-team to being Captain Marvel’s space team. Or Earth-orbit team. Since I happen to think, BENDIS, that a space team should be in space.

The bits of Alpha Flight I’ve read with them in this role I’ve liked. Although I can’t help but wonder if Carol just bought the team from Canada.

Anyway, I wish I knew more about the iteration of the team that’s in this book because it has the one-two whammy of being both continuity heavy and snapback heavy. Not only is current continuity a big thing, previous continuity is a big thing because its being returned to. Also part three of a four part story.

Which has several ongoing plot lines.

Eesh.

I know I say this a lot but this is what recap technology was designed for.

So in one plot line, Shaman, Talisman, Aurora, and Sasquatch are searching for their missing teammate Puck, who was taken by the self-titled Master of the World.

And, uh, they find him. He’s been given a kind of gross makeover with exposed veins and tentacle fingers. But they found him alright.

Sasquatch immediately suggests mercy killing Puck because I guess that’s what he jumps to but thanks to Aurora’s “cleansing burst of light” Talisman and Shaman are able to mystically touch his mind and discover what happened.

In a flurry of continuity, Puck was apparently a dwarf but then it was retconned that he was a dwarf because his body had a demon sealed inside it because of magic but he was injured by the Dream Queen but was healed through supernatural means but on Earth his body rejected the magic so he was dying but the Master of the World wanted to test the limits of the human form and also get revenge on Alpha Flight so he secretly had Puck injected with a genetic compound made of former Alpha Flight foe Scramble and a blood sample of Puck taken years ago when he was still a dwarf so the compound reshaped Puck into a dwarf again but did a bad job of it.

Phew!

Comics that are attempting to retcon things in always have too much information per panel.

Anyway, since Sasquatch used to be a biochemist he understood all of that and also poked around in the Master’s computers and discovered that the compound is still in Puck’s system. So with a little bit of reprogramming, Puck could be put back to normal but dwarf normal because that’s when the DNA sample was from, not whatever normal he had been recently. Sssssnapback!

Also, the strain of having his body restructured might kill him but Puck says to go for it.

So Puck is thrown into a science tube and Sasquatch lays down some technobabble that basically amounts to ‘hey y’all Puck will be a dwarf again and this will be permanent, swearsies.’

Just as the process is started, the Master of the World bursts in with his Remnant Men and scolds Alpha Flight for coming in without knocking, very rude, now gtfo and stop touching his things (explicitly including Puck in that).

Master (of the World): “I do not see this as a degradation then, but rather the contrary… I see this as a reaffirmation of my faith… Faith in pain.”

I know the Master (of the World) from two places: Carol Danvers shanking him during Kurt Busiek’s Avengers run and his run-in with the new Champions where he was rebuilding the melting glaciers by using human suffering. Or something. It’s a bit unclear.

Anyway, he’s a creepus and he’s sending his creeper army to attack the present Alpha Flighters.

But thankfully, just as they’re getting overwhelmed, Puck bursts healed, naked, and spread legged from the science tube with a convenient splash of censoring water.

Puck: “I’m back, eh? Now let’s make short work of this loser!!”

He gets to make short jokes.

Anyway, that’s the end of this plot thread in this issue but if Puck isn’t kicking the Master’s ass while bareassed in the next issue, comics as a medium have failed forever.

In the second plot thread, Vindicator and Wolverine are trying to track down someone named Wild Child who broke out of jail.

Wolverine manages to track Wild Child down to a run down Roxxon gas station bathroom and squats by the toilet to get some good whiffs (which most be horrible with his enhanced sense of smell) and determines that Gamma Flight was here with Wild Child.

Which presents a problem as Gamma Flight is a team and Wolverine and Vindicator are two people.

Vindicator: “Are we up against all of Gamma Flight?”

Wolverine: “Yup. Gotta give ‘em credit fer stickin’ together through this.”

Vindicator: “Credit? They were formed for all the wrong reasons and disbanded for all the right ones. Oh, what am I getting so upset for? I’m so tired – of everything… Why has this team become such a mess? Why am I doing all of this?”

But Wolverine believes in the him that believes in her, or something, and they continue on. At the very least, punching some people will be cathartic. Which I believe is at least 50% of how superheroes work.

Four hours later, they track Gamma Flight down to an abandoned factory. Wolverine immediately leaps into an ambush that he probably suspects is an ambush to force the issue and maybe as an application to the Teen Titans who never met a trap they didn’t waltz into.

Anyway, things get chaotic and incomprehensible for a bit, befitting an ambush. But Team Wolverine and Vindicator Is There Too handle the ambush with something resembling aplomb and when its over Gamma Flight lines up in a row so we can get a team shot and their leader Nemesis (who looks like a Lady Deadpool with a cape) monologues.

Nemesis: “Hello, Vindicator… Wolverine… What is it exactly that you’re looking for besides your own funeral? I hope it’s not Wild Child. I hope you don’t expect us to give him up after all the trouble we went through breaking him out of prison. Because if that’s the case then you’re going to have to answer to us. GAMMA FLIGHT – protects their own!”

Vindicator’s response? “I’m not going to disappoint you, Nemesis. We are here for Wildchild. And we’re going to get him… even if we have to roll over each and every one of you idiots to do it!”

Way to be outnumbered nearly two to one with also aplomb, Vindicator. But as appears to be the trend, if twice is a pattern which it probably is, we don’t get the fight this issue. That’s next issue’s deal.

There’s a loose page that roughly fits into this plot thread. Northstar and Persuasion (a daughter of Purple Man trying to be not a dick like him) are watching their friend Laura in the hospital. Laura was hurt badly by Wild Child which I guess explains why Vindicator is cruising to bruise him.

And Persuasion is sad because not only is her friend hurt but her stupid mind control powers couldn’t do anything to help her only friend.

And Laura is in bad condition. She’s lost a lot of blood and needs a new kidney.

But for arbitrary reasons, even though Laura is O-positive, because she’s a mutant she has weird blood and they need compatible family blood. But Laura sent her only known family, her sister Goblyn, to another dimension. For her own good.

JUST THEN, people claiming to be her parents walk in and ask if they’d be a suitable match. DUN DUN DUN! Dramaaaaaa!

And in tonight’s final plot thread, as the cover promised, the weird return of the original Guardian. His death was apparently one of the earliest big events of the book, happening in issue 12.

So why is he coming back after 77 issues and two in-universe years? God only knows but this is a hard snapback. And this is a hell of a retcon.

They played at bringing Guardian back before. For Reasons, in issues 25-28 per the editorial captions, a robot disguised itself as Guardian and claimed that the explosion that killed him had ripped a hole in time-space and threw Guardian through it. And that he was then saved by aliens and sent back to Earth and had to sleep for ten thousand years during the voyage.

Obviously, this was all a lie.

Samuel Higgins, Roxxon guy: “Ahem. Yes, well. A lie. Hmm. Ahem… well… that crazy story that the robot came up with? About Hudson getting thrust back in time and waking up on Jupiter’s moon – Ganymede – then sleeping cryogenically and getting sent on a spaceship back to Earth? That crazy, whacky, kooky story? Well… it was all true.”

I mean, that’s one way to do it. I wouldn’t personally but it is one way.

Once you start getting into “the lie was a lie!” territory you’ve convoluted a book up fierce. See also: Spider-Man’s Clone Sage 2: This Time Its 90s And Nobody Knows What They’re Doing.

Forge is on scene with Roxxon guy Windshear and Alpha Flighters Box and Diamond Lil and I think Forge puts it best.

Forge: “In this business, death has a habit of making a liar out of the truth.”

Anyway, the not-dead James Hudson aka Guardian is wired up underneath a Roxxon research facility and he’s putting out potent hacking waves that are causing the mechanisms of the facility to go haywire and attack people. And also causing Box to malfunction because he’s a guy in a suit who is a suit. Or something.

I’m not entirely sure. But he fuses with Forge so that Forge can override the hacking and reconfigure the Box suit to overcome Hudson’s various stratagems.

And with enough technobabble, it works! They close in on James Hudson’s cybernetic weirdly crucifix posed nearly naked body.

A lot of beefcake in this comic for people into that.

Box (Madison Jeffries) separates from Forge and attempts to monologue Hudson back to his senses.

Box: “Hudson – Jamie – it’s me – Madison Jeffries – you remember, right? You got me outta the V.A. hospital – told me what had happened in ‘Nam was cool – told me that sometimes things hit the fan and that’s the way it is. Well, I’m here t’tell you the same thing, Jamie.

“Mac – wake up, man! You’re messing things up bigtime here! C’mon – remember who you were – are – ‘member when you recruited me for Department H – I was only in Beta an’ you loved havin’ me hang around – cos’ we had one thing in common – we both loved machines… Guess we both took it sorta to extremes don’tchu think? Well, guess what? We have somethin’ else in common now… maybe we took that to extremes, too…

“Heather. Remember Heather? Yeah. I see your mental imaging. That’s how she looked when you first met her, eh? She looks so young, man… So innocent… beautiful… Uhm… I think I love her, too, now, Mac. She’s a special lady. She never gave up on yer dream when we though you’d died. She kept Alpha Flight goin’ – no matter how rough it got – all ‘cos o’ her faith and belief in your dream, Jamie – in you…”

And being reminded of his wife in short shorts and/or emotional appeal works because Hudson comes out from his stupor and tearfully and droolfully proclaims that he is alive!

Awww. I still don’t know who was clamoring for this character to be returned after so many issues but I’m a sucker for a big in-universe emotional appeal.

Still though. Trying to retcon the book back into shape is not a good environment to attract new readers.

But speaking of sexy Heather, she was drawn with nipple poking through her Vindicator costume in several panels so I’m going to side eye Michael Bair and Mike Manley super hard. It may be a spandex costume but there’s like twelve pounds of circuitry underneath, geez.

Though I guess they also gave the reader Puck lunging crotch first at the reader and Hudson hanging out in only his underwear. So an Attempt Was Made to be fair-handed, I guess?

#50 More Days of Comics!#Alpha Flight #guest starring Wolverine

1 note · View note

mandi-cakes · 6 years

Text

Vampire Hunter D: Blood & Sacrifice

Chapter 3: TIME’S RUNNING OUT

Leaving Deana where she slept, the two hunters headed for the other end of the station. Sequestered from the office rooms, there were four separate holding cells, one of which held the unconscious Two-Finger. First D called out the man's name. When he didn't receive a response, he banged on the cell door. Even Devan called out, nearly shouting. Still the man didn't move. However, there was a slight perceived change. The human eye wouldn't have been able to catch it, but a dhampir's could. Either he was still unconscious, or Two-Finger was playing opossum. D reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a single caltrop. Positioning it in his hand between his forefinger and thumb, he fired it, the bit of shrapnel flying fast and hard.

Hit in the ribs, the bandit jolted off his cot, rolling onto the floor with a pained and startled scream. "What in the holy flyin' fuck!"

"Get your ass up," Devan said, giving the cell door another knock.

"What the hell for? I don't even know you!"

"No, but you do know someone else," Devan said with a glare. "The dhampir who lead the hunt you were apart of here in Hampstead. One among many sitting in a Capital jail cell for a crime you and your buddies committed."

Two-Finger shook his head in confusion. Crime? What crime? He left that town the instant he got paid, although he did hear his fellow hunters griping about the whole ordeal with the woman in charge. Sure they had spoken in anger about getting back at her, but he didn't think they were serious. What could they have possibly done?

"You touched in the head or something?" Devan was taken aback, "It's been broadcasted across multiple news outlets. Where've you been to not know?"

"Honestly?" Two-Finger scratched his head, "Every bar in this sector...boozin', whorin', gettin' high... I ain't seen or heard a news report in weeks."

"Two towns, Hampstead and Stonewall, hundreds of people murdered in a single night. Everyone's in an uproar about it."

The bandit's jaw dropped, "My god... You...you sayin' they actually did it?"

"Yes...and we need your help."

***

From what Two-Finger knew, his former compatriots were fond of patrolling this side of the outer Frontier looking for work. The same few sectors, back and forth. There was rarely a shortage of people looking for help to rid their towns of monster infestations. But, when there was such a shortage, these hunters would concoct a plan in secret to ensure a select town would have such a problem that only they could solve. In the beginning, Two-Finger was more than willing to participate. He had his vices, a lot of them, and they all required money. But eventually, it became too much. Perhaps the conscience he'd been dulling decided to evolve, because he'd been growing tired of making people suffer just so he could throw back some top shelf liquor and pay women to let him between their legs. Then they came upon Hampstead, just another town ready to be relieved of what little it had to offer. This was the final straw. Of course, the hunters wanted him to stay. Sober, Two-Finger was the best archer they'd ever come across. As such they were quick to reassure him that so long as they stuck to the plan, nobody would be killed. Round up some lessor dragons, set them on the town, wait a day and see what happens. They even made sure to pull out the dragons' fangs. However, they didn't expect the townspeople to hire another hunter who happened by, nor did they realize that the dragons could regrow their teeth so quickly. Nothing about this plan worked the way it should have, and in the end it was watching a child being mauled to death that made Two-Finger back out of the group. Once he got his pay, he was done with these men. However, that in and of itself begged the question: if the child's death bothered him that much, why didn't he leave sooner? Simply put, so he could give back a portion of the money that was being taken, enough to help the grieving family and give the child a decent burial. He entertained the idea of blackmailing the others into giving back all of the money, or he'd let slip the truth. Although, that would've only ended badly for him. Two-Finger was of questionable morals, but he wasn't stupid. As sorry as he felt for the child's death, nothing was going to change that, and he still had his own life to worry about. Better to leave while he had the chance, off to the nearest roadhouse to forget the whole incident ever happened. Cue his current situation, locked in a cell and being glared at by a couple of unnervingly pretty young men. Thanks to his side of the story, though, he was free of the impending ass kicking. And not only would they let him out of his cell, but he could also partake in the search for his murderous cohorts. Was there a chance for compensation? It was likely the officials back in the Capital would pay him for his efforts, according to the tall man in black. Money, and the chance to enact some needed redress. Where was the dotted line for him to sign?

As if the previous altercation with the two hunters never happened, Two-Finger jumped to his feet, "Let's get the bastards!"

Knowing their habits as well as he did, Two-Finger listed their targets' usual stops and hideouts. Typically the devious group of hunters roamed about this same area spending their recent earnings, much like he did, so they couldn't be too far away. This brought the list down to two possible locations - a cave set in the nearby mountain range, or an abandoned chateau. This peaked Deana's interest as she lounged with a hot cup of coffee, having been woken up after the bandit's release. Did he mean the chateau on the bluffs a few miles shy of the border to the inner Frontier? But that was a Noble's abode, chock full of defenses that would kill them upon approach regardless of whether or not it was abandoned. It was this fact that had kept her from adding it to her list of places to explore. But, for the hunters this was precisely the reason it was chosen as a hideout, once they circumvented the security and reconfigured it for their own purposes. The reasons aside, the last point of order came into focus. Who would go where? D and Two-Finger would take the mountain cave, while Devan and Deana went to the chateau. Under the cover of night, they left the sheriff station and headed away from the town.

Traveling the winding forest trails, D and Two-Finger rode on horseback; the bandit sitting behind the hunter as his damaged motorbike was ditched out in the wilds after he was taken in. For the past few miles, the man in black had been silent, barely acknowledging his presence. Where was all the vim and vigor he had during their first meeting?

"So, uh," Two-Finger said with a slight cough, "that dhampir lady hire you or somethin'? I ain't ever seen hunters goin' after other hunters before...and you and that other bloke seem pretty driven to find my ol' partners."

A moment or so passed, then D replied firmly, "She's my wife..."

"I see," the bandit's eyes went wide. "I guess I'd be doin' the same as you if it was me own wife. And your partner?"

"He's not necessarily my partner," D said succinctly, "He's my son."

"And the l'il bit? A cutie like that...rather dangerous to be bringin' her along."

"That's my daughter you're referring to," D's voice had a noticeable bite. "Touch her and you're dead."

"Alright, alright," Two-Finger replied, raising his arms up in defense. "Protective papa, I get it." "It's not me you should be worried about. Now be quiet, I can see the mountain base coming up."

Two-Finger nearly choked on his next set of words, "Well, aren't you a prickly pear..."

D pulled the reins of his horse, stopping by a thick set of trees. Once the steed was hidden from sight, the unlikely pair continued on foot. Some yards later the forest path came to a bend, and from there the base of the mountain came into view. Rocks and boulders of every size littered the ground, the formation of some the products of various landslides. If there be a cave here, like Two-Finger had said, they'd make excellent cover. Without the right knowledge or guidance, one might never find this cave. Thankfully D had such a guide, as well as his own tracking skills to rely on. Though the bandit lead the way, the young man's nose caught the faint smell of smoke, and his eyes the sight of tire treads in the soil even though they'd been hastily covered. Moving around a heavy boulder, the two men stopped. A light flickered nearby, and multiple voices could be heard. Some brought up the massacres, and the rest evidently found them funny, most notably the apprehension of their former huntress leader. D reached for his sword, ready to confront these hunters head on. However, Two-Finger stopped him.

"Oy, not so fast," the bandit whispered. "These guys are plenty crafty, and rarely let their guard down. Best we get the drop on 'em, yeah?"

D stepped back as Two-Finger adjusted his gear. The longbow at his back was set, along with the crossbow holstered at his hip, with plenty of ammo in their respective quivers. The bandit then double checked his limbs. His arms and legs were fine, the tumble from his bike banged him up some, but otherwise no worse for wear. His prosthetic limbs, however, garnered a closer view. His right arm, underneath the tattered sleeve and glove, was nothing but steel-encased cybernetics. On his left hand, chunks of his natural flesh were missing. The pinky, ring finger, and thumb were gone, leaving only the fore and middle. And like the other parts of his body, these missing parts had been reconfigured with cyberwear. After such losses, one might quit the life of a bandit. But Alexander "Xan" Hibble was never one to listen to reason. Easy money had always been his game, and he wanted to keep playing. Thus Two-Finger was born. However, with the present circumstances, he'd at least consider going straight - more or less. Hopefully their little plan worked. Two-Finger would engage the hunters, then when the time was right, D would come in for the take down. As D stood by, the bandit approached the cave opening, passing through the jumble of parked armored cars. There they sat, a dozen road worn brutes cackling at each other's jokes by a small bonfire. Then upon hearing a sudden intruder, they whipped out their weapons.

Two-Finger cracked a smile as he put his arms up, "Easy, mates, it's just l'il ol' me."

"What's in your head? Thinkin' you can just waltz back in here, traitor ..."

"Eh, that's a fair cop, I'd say..."

"Too right. You bailed on us! And now it's lookin' like you want back in. Fuck off."

"Oy, oy...settle down, man. In my defense, you swore nothin' bad would happen. And how well did that turn out, eh? It may be as black as coal, but I still got a heart don't I? I needed a break is all."

This particular hunter stared at Two-Finger, his gaze narrowing steadily. Clearly he was scrutinizing every word.

"Look," Two-Finger cleared his throat, "Ollie - mate, I get it. But let me make it up to you. I heard about them towns, and figured that was your handy work since you lot were lookin' to get payback on that dhampir wench. But from what I hear, the police are still lookin' for the culprit. They're willin' to pay handsomely too. So I say, if they want a ruthless dhampir hunter to arrest, don't just give 'em any ol' hunter-"

"What're you drivin' at, Xan?" Ollie asked suspiciously.

"Bring 'em the most ruthless dhampir hunter of them all. You know, that D bloke. Betcha your Aunt Fanny they'd fork over gobs of money for him."

At this Ollie's brows rose in thought, as did the rest of the group as they lowered their weapons.

"Huh...you think so? Might be worth a shot." Ollie rubbed his chin, "You think he'd be an easy target?"

"I dunno, mate" Two-Finger replied, "Here, lemme ask him." Then the bandit, keeping his sights on the men, shouted over his shoulder, "Oy, D! You think you're an easy target?"

Before the men had a chance to move, a shadowed figure rushed in from the darkness. Black raiment fluttering in the flurry of his own wind, the imposing hunter stood with his gaze alight in a hellish glow, his long sword at the ready. Ollie looked to Two-Finger, who had his crossbow aimed point-blank toward him. It seemed the man's suspicions were on the mark.

"Traitor," Ollie spat.

"Maybe," Two-Finger ginned. "But I'm not the one who slaughtered whole towns and framed an innocent woman...one, who just so happens to be me man's lady. Oy, D, we bringin' them all in?"

"We only need one." D's voice dripped with venom as he raised his sword, the hunters in turn brandishing their arms again, "You want a fight? Then let's fight. Come at me."