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redrorums · 9 months

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Jeramead, King of Nowhere

Lol so here’s what I plotted out.

Big boom happens. Shockwave hits your house and you think you’ve died, but then you wake up and initially everything’s fine. Then you and Leann go outside and the chunk of land your house was on is floating a few hundred feet above ground level. In the direction of town (the obvious epicenter of the blast), there’s a gigantic, floating skull with one massive and empty eye socket looking downward. It has several vertebral stalks with some rottin flesh on ‘‘em and dead, vacant eyes at the ends. I guess you would recognize it’s a plus+ size dead Beholder…depends how meta I feel like writing it. Then a bunch of daemons start swarming about the place and attack you guys, you get yur punchies on, Leann’s latent Witch genes activate and she gains absolute power over them BOOM BAM ya got yurself a mini-daemon army! Congrats. You bleed out and die from yur wounds, which is less cool. You’re in pitch blackness and then a massive eye opens with a triangular pupil and an iris like a red, dyin, sun. It talks through your mouth to say some shit you don’t understand. Then you wake up in bed again. You go to get a drink and Leann, covered in blood, has a freak attack cuz she just saw you turn into a bunch of golden bubbles and fly away. Also Vincent is possessed by some Germanic motherfucker who wants to teach Leann witchcraft. Then some Alterran adventurers rock up in a flying ship and just start lobbin fireballs and lightnobolts at ya house. All three of you die a bunch and wake up in bed a bunch aaaand go a bit crazy. So you try to clobber on with lead dude (just imagine a stereotypical jrpg protag…that’s most alterran adventurers and they’re all psychopaths) you try to fight the lead dude who’s got a badass golden axe. He’s clearly trippin balls or somethin so he misses a lot, but he’s indestructible and every time he hits something, it detonates like a grenade. Leann, Vincent and yo daemon compadres kill most of the other psycho adventurers accept for a kid who says she just wants to go home, an old dude and a sleeping beast chick who doesn’t wake up the whole time. You die a couple times and come back, which cause cardboard cutout man to lose his shit and chug from a glowin stein. He gets blue skin and grows like 20 feet, then laughs and chucks the axe at you, taking off yo right arm. When you come back this time, your arm is still missing where the blade specifically severed it. 20ft man goes after Leann. You dash over there in slow mo. Then 20ftcardboman’s muscles start ripping out of his skin and growing infinitely, until he’s just a spaghetti pile of muscle. Only the Axe and the Stein remain. Then the axe lifts up, flies towards you, grows a golden gauntlet that attaches itself in place of yo right arm, introduces itself as Charlie and says “yowr ma new dah.” That’s where the reeeeal shitshow starts.

(size of a city with smaller beholders at the ends of its eyestalks…Xenapho has the Eye of Bahamut denoted by its central eye’s triangular pupil and thus, wields an “enlightened”/absolute level of Aether control. Perhaps this evolution is due to Xenåphøliskïs no longer fearing or loathing others, genuinely believing that everything it perceives is it’s property. Besides this boosted ego quite literally giving it a fat head, this means it’s dream-born progeny are no longer born from hateful paranoia, but all-consuming narcissism instead. Yes, this means it is surrounded by an army of its loving children, The Beholden. The Beholden are just as powerful and intelligent as regular Beholders, but live to constantly defend and give their lives for Xenapho. Their reward for a job well done is being able to one day be selected to fuse into Xenapho’s newly grown eye stocks and share in the one true vision of all things. Xenåphøliskïs is the Supreme Eye Tyrant. It has defeated gods, titans, dragons and hundreds of its own kind. Side note: though it remains mostly lawful evil, Xenapho is much closer to chaotic neutral than most of it kind. It might help you if it thinks of you as a useful citizen in its Sim’s like view of mortals. It might even bless you with the mind and BODY of a Beholder…)

Xenåphøliskïs, The Monolithic Beholder, noticed that it could suddenly travel directly to a new world and that worlds core was dead (Gaia has no soul). So they were like “ time to test out that theory that I can fuse with the planet’s core and perfectly transmute into a world’s soul.” He enters real space above the town you live outside of and begins the terraformic spell, only to be rudely interrupted by a top hat wearing time traveler/Eldritch horror calling himself Mr. English(he’s battled English before). Xenapho has instantaneous reaction speed and split second spell casting ability, so they fire off 9th^999 level Soul Disintegration from three eyes while constantly disenchanting Mr. English with the others, preventing him from spell casting. It’s many progeny quickly form a triangulated antimagic field and focus on constantly charming/paralyzing the time traveler. Guaranteed victory. It’s temporally sensitive eyes could see the impossible happened, additional seconds were added to the past as Mr. English sneered down at him smugly with those glowing, golden eyes. In those impossible additional seconds, English raised his cane, aiming it at Xenapho’s central eye. They felt their eye imploding in on itself. Knew the bastard had turned their eye into a black hole with Eldritch Arcana that should’ve took years for a mortal to cast. In -3 seconds. Xenapho devoted all it’s unnaturally vast intelligence to finding the escape route. It COULD NOT DIE. IT WAS THE ULTIMATE BEING. It was then it sensed the vulnerable minds of teeming mortals below. No gods defended them. No Consortium warded their minds. It’s last grin could’ve swallowed the whole town as it disseminated it’s massive mind, trickling down into the many brains below. It would not allow any of them to die until it was revived. This was the will of Xenåphøliskïs.

The bro roster so far includes Buckethead, Alterran crusader who lost her crusader helm…so she just wears a bucket with eyeholes punched in it. 7ft tall, iron skin, dumb as a box o rocks, but she’s got a good heart.

A troll that you fight for five days straight and then axe in the head. As you’re one lining, they get up, grow a new brain, and thank you for waking them up. Become quite a sophisticated, gender-fluid individual. Vegetarian.

Yeeeeeeessssss. You also meet a band of Goblins who are all named Ked. They all wear different onesies.

Turns out, Goblins love guns and explosives. Who’d a thunk, huh. Once you taught them the ways of firearms and gave them all their first sawn-off shawties, they started crafting their own, improvised guns and explosives at an alarming rate. Amazing what you can with a Walmart’s worth of duct tape, gasoline and whole lotta random shit for “flavor”.

You have a tiny crab companion who’s actually a dragon. His back-shell opens ladybug style and lil wings pop out. He can also bench press cars and his pincers can cut through steel. Shoots the classic pressurized water beam of death, but I wanted him to have an alternate breath type that looks like a long range water sprinkler. It’s actually acid, but it magically tricks yur body into just thinking it’s wet instead of melting.

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mythriteshah · 3 years

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Visions of Winter

On the southern shores of Thavnair, the battle raged on. Blows fell, spells blasted, and war cries filled the air all the while. A massive entourage of Voidsent bombs had emerged nearby to assail the Near Eastern island. Answering the call to battle as always were Thiji’s Angels, along with the local dance troupes and Matanga warriors who supported them. Sesena Sena, leading the vanguard alongside Umimi, had been withstanding the brunt of their attacks, while Lilina was putting her new Reveler’s Trance to good use, dousing the bombs’ explosive attacks with the power of water, and causing unstable detonations with lightning blasts. Susuna, using her uncanny speed from her stints as a Rogue, kept the flanks secure, zooming around the battlefield thanks to her Red Mage abilities, while also tending to any wounded alongside Koyuki, who came from the Othard Branch to offer assistance while Yuanji dealt with Telophoroi attacks in Doma. Sosona, Meriri and Lelena provided artillery support atop the backs of adamantoise, striking at the Voidsent from their vantage points while also sealing any portals that were opening. Luluma, together with Veeveena, supported the dancers and Matanga lest they would find themselves surrounded. The explosive menace was being contained. Meanwhile, Thiji was astride Glacius, heading to the battle site with due haste alongside Suki. The words of his mother echoed in his head… “Embrace your sorrow. Accept it, and bring the beauty of winter to your friends and foes.” Then he remembered the times he participated in the Feast – the everlasting contest of might that pitted adventurers against one another, vying for dominance and bragging rights as they fought tooth and claw to be leaders of the pack. He recalled the resplendent armor he wore: winged motifs and a figurehead of the Fury proudly displayed on his chest. This Halonic armor was like a second skin to him during his stint as a knight, and he reveled in the glory of battle for which Halone was well known. “Your dream of becoming a Sorceress’s Knight is not dead.” It was time for the beast to be let loose once more. But he was going to do so in his own way. As the assault upon the shore continued, a roar was head from beneath the waves, with such magnitude that it shook the earth, commanding the attention of all as they looked toward the source of the sound. The area went silent for a moment, then something in the water began to stir. A pair of horns emerged from the deeps, followed by spines and glowing blue eyes. As it approached the shore with its cumbersome gait, a hulking brute which towered over the jungle canopy showed itself, letting loose another roar that would terrify all but the Angels. “So that’s the ringleader, huh? A Muud Suud!” Veeveena pointed out. “That thing’s technically a Gigas, right? That means we can get some Giantsgall from its blood!” Susuna remarked. “The Brugaire Consortium’s still outsourcing for these!” “Ever the resourceful lass, aren’t ye?” Meriri chuckled. “Orders, Miss Sena?” Before Sesena could even have the time to give any commands, the remaining bombs fell back to the shoreline and merged themselves into a massive grenade, taking to the air and landing in the hands of the Muud Suud as it began discharging unstable fire-aspected aether. The creature had intended to incinerate the surrounding area with an explosive fastball special! “Oh, shit…” Sosona calmly stated. The lumbering behemoth of a Voidsent clutched the grenade in its right hand as it primed itself, rearing back in preparation to throw. “Good Matanga, fall back!” cried Veeveena. The elephantine warriors gave a few trumpeting noises and sequential stamps of their feet in response. Thankfully, there was a certain oddity of an Angel who did a study of Matanga language to translate… “They say that they’re going to hold this line, even if it costs them their lives!” Lilina stated. Sesena sucked her teeth as she rose her shield. “Then we can get behind the adamantoise! We have no choice but to mitigate the impact of the blast!” spoke one of the dancers. With a swing of their hips, they protected the area in a pinkish barrier as Sesena dug her mythrite katzbalger into the sand, causing a pair of angelic wings to sprout from her tower shield to augment the zone of protection as the other Angels and locals took cover behind her. The Muud Suud then let loose a mocking laugh as it chucked the grenade with all its might at its victims. Everyone did their best to brace for the impact, its massive size casting a shadow over the area. As it touched down, it released its payload, going out in a tremendous blaze of glory, the force of the impact sending everyone skidding along the sands… The battlefield went silent again as the Muud Suud chuckled, seeming to have succeeded, but when the smoke had finally cleared, it let out a questioning grunt as it noticed something odd: the area suddenly began to snow! Sesena, raising to her feet, beheld the sight, as well as the bodies of the defenders strewn throughout the beach. Everyone seemed fine save for a few burn marks and damaged clothing. Even the adamantoise were relatively unscathed. “No casualties, Miss Sesena,” Luluma reported after giving a scan of the area. “But I’m not sure how to explain this sudden weather change.” “I think I have an idea…” Veeveena interjected as she turned toward the jungle. Out from the shrubbery layer emerged Glacius in his blissful barding, along with his mate, who began tending to the wounded with their curative abilities. One could only imagine who next followed after them… “The Mythrite Sultan…!” gasped one of the dancers. Whispers began to be exchanged between the others as Thiji began making his way down the beach… “Slow, small strides; eyes shut; calm demeanor; arms behind back… Analysis: this Muud Suud’s fucked, now,” Sosona concluded. Veeveena bowed her head low as he passed by. “We held as best we could, My Sultan,” she said. Veeveena then caught a glimpse of the items attached at his waist and gasped. “Wait – those are…!” Thiji continued his advance until he reached the point in which the tide flowed furthest inland, his footwear barely touching the waters, staring down the massive Voidsent before him. Then, there was the strumming of an oud which came from behind them. Everyone sans Thiji turned their heads and saw Mimizo, a smile made apparent on her face as she approached the Angels. “Valide-” was all Koyuki could get out before she was interrupted by Mimizo. “Angels, pray join me,” she requested. “You will want to see this.” Without hesitation, they took the instruments and fell in beside the Mythrite Sultan’s mother, while the locals clapped to the rhythm, and Matanga and adamantoise kept time with their stamping feet. Thiji would then brandish his weapons as he began to twirl on the heel of his foot, throwing a flurry of frost at the Muud Suud’s face so as to incite its wrath. Easily taking the affront as a challenge, the hulking brute balled a fist and prepared to strike at Thiji. Just as the hit would land, the Mythrite Sultan dashed with a spinning finish past its left leg, leaving behind a streak of ice blue as he did. Now entering the water, the aether Thiji gathered kept him atop the surface as it began freezing over! “Wait… Wait…!” gasped Lilina, pointing out the spectacle. Thiji dashed once more to its other leg as the Muud Suud attempted to retaliate, throwing a fan at its hip, which it would then let out a pained growl in response. As he continued befuddling the Voidsent, it was becoming clearer to the audience… “The ice formations… the freezing waters… It was our Sultan all this time?” Lelena asked. “I even feel that sadness from looking at it all… Holy hells, it was our lord!” Susuna deduced. Thiji’s attacks and movements left behind small motes of ice-aspected aether, and he leapt in time with the clapping rhythm, leaving tiny spots of frozen water around the Voidsent to confuse it until stopping again directly behind it. The Muud Suud rose both arms to smash Thiji into the deeps. But too little, too slow – the Mythrite Sultan once again zoomed between the creature’s legs, returning back to shore as he began to perform a Step. Though it gave off a different aura than the usual Standard or Technical. This one gave off strands of blue and white as snowflakes began twirling about the Sultan’s form. The crowd, awestruck at this unique dance form, slowly stopped their music. Now Thiji was stepping to his own beat – which is just what he wanted. A pas de bourree, an arabesque, a glissade, a chasse, and a flourishing fouette later, Thiji released the aether stored into a powerful burst of ice and snow. Everyone shielded themselves from the frigid gale, trying their best to catch a glimpse of the spectacle. The Muud Suud sustained considerable damage, and as it reeled back in agony, Thiji continued his attack. With glacial agility, he skated along the frozen sea, assailing the Voidsent between graceful lutzes, whipping axels, and tricky salchows, culminating in a frigid Saber Dance which struck at the creature’s arms, pinning it to the ground in ice spikes. Thiji then stopped behind the Muud Suud once more, jumping on and running along its back before vaulting off and performing a spinning maneuver with his fans outstretched, using the centrifugal force to levitate safely back onto land. With the Voidsent sufficiently immobilized, it was time for the finisher. The Mythrite Sultan went all out as he performed a frenetic series of gyrations, jumps, and twirls as he collected the aether generated from the defenders’ efforts, along with the ambient ice clouds that littered the beachhead. “Is this the Crimson Lotus…?!” gasped Luluma. “No… It’s too… blue.” “We’re not about ta die, are we?” Meriri said with a worried tone. “’Cause that’s a lot o’ aether he’s gatherin’!” “Hold your ground, Angels; you are safe,” Mimizo reassured. She spectated with a light grin as she watched her son show his true colors. All of the aether he could possibly contain – and perhaps more – enveloped Thiji in bluish-white as he performed a dash toward the injured Muud Suud, glaring daggers at the creature who had dared to encroach upon his home before he unfurled his fan. What followed was a sound akin to that of a shrill ring – he struck diagonally upwards, leaving a streak of white in his path. He then descended diagonally downwards, landing on the ground with another white streak left in his wake. He would repeat this attack thrice more as the aetherial streaks formed a star around the Muud Suud in a fivefold attack. At each point was a large bluish-white lotus that twirled slowly in the air. Upon returning to his starting point following the fifth strike, he slowly rose to an upright position before furling his weapons. What followed after a beat of silence was the violent display of exploding lotus petals as aetherial blades of silver and blue surrounded and cut into the helpless Muud Suud from all directions. This would, of course, free the Voidsent from its bonds, allowing it to strike at Thiji one last time in defiance. With a guttural roar, it mustered all its strength to deliver a downward slam with its fists. Thiji was still, maintaining his position, for the climax was not quite over yet. The gashes and wounds left behind from the initial attack left behind residual ice-aspected aether, which sort of kept the beast from bleeding out. It was because of this that the Muud Suud could still stand. But it would not stand for much longer as the aether’s glow began to intensify, turning a bright white. The beast ignored this reaction and continued its attack, but just as its arms were within ilms of hitting the Mythrite Sultan…

*BOOOOOM!!!*

A glacial explosion with force and sound not unlike that of a firework erupted within the Muud Suud’s body, blasting its arms clean off as they were flung into the far ends of the beach! Everyone was in awe at the wintry spectacle, though they shielded themselves from the ensuing rain of blood with some convenient parasols, ensuring that Mimizo was unscathed. “GIANGSTALL MINE, HERE WE COME!” Sesena cheered to herself. The other Angels couldn’t help but chuckle until they focused back on the shore. The icy detonation conglaciated the Muud Suud’s body, inside and out, leaving behind a diamond sculpture of a corpse. The tide would rock the Muud Suud’s frozen remains back and forth until it would finally tip over, shattering into a storm of dancing frost particles and lotus flowers. And in the midst of this wintry scene of gelid spires and frigid formations… was the Mythrite Sultan, standing silently with eyes closed. “Well, we did it, girls,” Sesena congratulated with a sigh, “and in no small part thanks to our lord’s timely intervention. Let’s see to the rest of the region before heading back to the city.” “I shall tend to our Matanga allies! I shall make my return to the Othard Branch afterward!” Koyuki stated. Lilina translated to their beastmen friends, to which they would graciously accept, before following them back into the jungle. “Never in my life have I ever witnessed such beauty and grace… and great sadness,” uttered one of the female dancers with a hand to her heart. “Lady Mimizo, what know you of this spectacle?” The Valide Sultan advanced several paces forward, gesturing towards her son. “My beloved Thiji is a proud son of Thavnair,” she began. “He has faced countless obstacles, and endured myriad hardships. And any seasoned dancer knows that what truly separates masters of the art from fools twirling around bladed rings… is their soul. It is the source of all emotion – it is their spirit, their conviction from where it springs. My beloved Thiji has ever been fascinated by the colder climes. He has developed a love for it, for winter and all things associated. And anyone who understands the soul of winter to its core knows what lies beneath its dazzling beauty; its stark, silvery splendor…” Mimizo gave a pause as the snow fell upon her hair and cheek, basking in the scenery with the others. All were moved by her words, most of all Veeveena, who was practically in tears. She kept her composure, but the mere sight tugged at her heartstrings, which only made it difficult. “… It is sorrow; the silent lamentations of a damaged heart. The Kriegstanz, though redoubtable in its own right, could not convey such emotion, for it was created solely to reverse the Danse Macabre – the Totentanz. This dance, invented by my son, wears his sadness like a glove, and becomes an extension of himself, dominating the battlefield with the switness and alacrity that only a master of ice-aspected aether can muster. It is a performance that expresses one’s longing… and turns it into something truly beautiful.” “What does he call it, Queen Mother?” Meriri asked. Mimizo gave another pause before slowly turning towards the Angels to give her answer…

“… The Eistanz.”

It was at this moment that Veeveena, unable to keep it together any longer, fell to her knees in tears, succumbing to the powerful emotions drawn by this scene, coupled with Mimizo’s explanation. Sesena hurried over to her fellow Angel to comfort her. “You okay, Miss Veeveena?” she asked as she rubbed the Advisor’s back. Veeveena quickly dried her tears and met Sesena’s gaze. “Yes… It’s just… so beautiful… so powerful,” she replied, staring once more at Thiji, still motionless and silent. “Could this… truly be the man to whom I may one day be wed…?” “Dear Sesena, pray maintain your current orders and ensure the surrounding environs are safe,” commanded Mimizo. “Miss Veeveena shall escort us back to the city.” “Yes, Valide!” acknowledged Sesena, leading the others back into the jungle, and leaving the three alone to their devices. “I’ve known that handsome Lord Thiji for many years,” Lelena began as she ordered her adamantoise away, “but never in my life did I imagine him being this… well, powerful!” “None of us did,” Luluma followed. “But if there is one thing I’ve learned from all we’ve seen, it’s that anything in this realm is possible. It is clear now why he is no longer embracing the life of an adventurer.” “A true king doesn’t seek war, but always prepares fer it!” Meriri exclaimed. As the beachfront was clearing out, Veeveena and Lady Mimizo were finally left alone, with Thiji still in the distance. The Valide Sultan slowly lifted the Advisor to her feet and comforted her with a reassuring hand to her shoulder. “My Lady,” Veeveena said in a hushed tone as she choked back tears, “am I truly worthy of this man…? Could I truly help fulfill his dream…?” “If you were not, dear Veeveena, I would have not taught you so well,” Mimizo softly replied. “As Valide Sultan, it is my duty - my charge - to seek potential suitresses and train them to become worthy prospects for my son. But remember: this our last resort per our deal. A lot may happen within the next two summers, so we will leave this to the hand of fate. But I meant well what I said to you moons ago; he will have his Sultana, for a man of such elegance and kindheartedness is deserving of such."

"Valide, let me go to him... He must know... my lord must know," Veeveena pleaded, her grip on Mimizo tightening somewhat. The Queen Mother chuckled as she shook her head.

"No, dearest," she declined. "You need not rush this. The effects of the Eisenstanz are influencing you. While your heart may be true, it is still far too soon. I wish to give my son this chance - to see if his Sultana is truly out there somewhere, waiting for him."

Veeveena once again dried her tears and smiled, getting herself back together. Grasping her weapons in hand once more, Veeveena steeled herself and was prepared to escort Mimizo back to the city proper. "Glacius. Suki. Pray watch over my son," the Valide Sultan requested, to which they would nod in acknowledgement before joining him at the shoreline. The Mythrite Sultan, now alone with his thoughts, had his gaze fixed out towards the sea for about a half-bell’s worth. Glacius and Suki sat quietly by his side to keep their master company. Lifting his gaze to the heavens, the clouds would slowly part, giving way to the light of that silvery star that always shone its light so proudly amidst the evening sky. Thiji squinted his eyes at it, seeming to revile its luminescence, but his countenance softened after a moment, his annoyance subsiding as he would slowly climb on Glacius’ back and giving him the order to move. His trusted companion took to the skies with his mate following suit, leaving the frost-kissed shore alone until it would eventually dissipate into diamond dust...

“I always despised You, Menphina... but I see now as to why You share the domain of ice alongside Halone. ‘Tis no small wonder why the Wanderer longs for You so. But it is thanks to You and the Spinner that I have tapped into a new strength, and with Halone ever at my side, this power will help ensure Thanvair’s protection, as well as the safekeeping of my allies. There are still moves to make before the adventurers set their sights eastward.”

Glacius eventually dropped his master off at the balcony of his bed chambers in the Main Branch Headquarters, where Nyra was eagerly awaiting Thiji’s return. Once done so, he ordered his chocobos to assist the Angels in their efforts, and they would fly off into the jungles below. He then laid upon his sofa, relaxing with a pitcher of Winter Lassi that remained from his previous conversation with his mother. He scoffed before taking a long sip, gazing back at the moon...

“I was never one to question Mother’s judgment, and even though I carry my sorrows with me... perhaps, when all of this is over... she will finally come to me. ‘Til then, they will have to deal with Thiji sor Higuri, Mythrite Bachelor, and the Knight bereft of a Sorceress.”

#thiji higuri #Higuri Regalia #thavnair #thavnairian #short story #radz at han #hannish #matanga #dancer #kriegstanz #eisenstanz #Lalafell #valide sultan #lalafell master race

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tisfan · 4 years

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Title: Genus and Species Collaborator Name: @27dragons & @tisfan Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26030251 Square Filled: Tony Stark Flash Bingo (Aug) - Thanos (both) Starkbucks Bingo - I3: “I got nothing” (27dragons), O4: Time Travel (to the Future) (tisfan) Ship/Main Pairing: Bucky/Tony Rating: G Major Tags & Triggers: None Other Tags: Time Travel, Established Relationship, Dinosaurs, Robots Summary: Tangling with Thanos has landed Bucky and Tony somewhere -- or somewhen -- they don’t know. No, Tony, you can’t bring the dinosaur home and keep it as a pet. Word Count: 1703

For @tonystarkbingo and @starkbucksbingo

When Bucky opened his eyes, all he could see was green in all directions. At first he thought that was just the remainder of the Time Stone’s power. Thanos had done… something. No one quite knew what because the battle had been so confusing; the Power Stone blasting purple rays everywhere, the Space Stone moving people out of position, lord only knew what was happening with the Reality Stone. And then there had been a great, green wave of energy--

“Ug,” said someone nearby. It took Bucky a moment to clear his thoughts enough to identify it: Tony. “I feel like a Pride parade just swallowed me whole and then puked me out.” A pause. “Why are we in a jungle?”

“I got nothing,” Bucky said, rolling over to look at Tony. The Iron Man suit was pretty banged up, souvenirs of the battle. “I think-- I’m not sure. Strange was yelling something about a time vortex. It’s hard to understand him under normal circumstances.” Thanos had zapped Bucky with the Mind Stone at least three times, somehow sensing the Winter Soldier would be easier to control.

Bucky did not appreciate it.

Tony made some kind of noise that was hard to interpret through the suit’s speakers, and then retracted the helmet to look around. “Okay, well, those are deciduous trees, so we haven’t been thrown back more than three hundred million years or so.”

“There are jungles all over the world,” Bucky said, grumbling and getting to his feet. He might only look about thirty-five or so, but there were days he felt all one hundred of his years. Knees. Knees were a thing. Also, poor design. “Any signal?”

Tony made a face and then reformed the helmet. “...Some,” he said. “Nothing I can hook into right away, but there’s something out there.”

“Right, Mulder,” Bucky snarked. “All right, we do this the old fashioned way.” He dug out a set of binoculars and hung them around his neck. “You stay down here, you’re too colorful. Any sniper in the area might want to take a stab at you.” He didn’t necessarily disinclude himself on that list, but the sort of stabbing he had in mind was generally not for polite company. He looked around for a good, tall tree and scrambled up, swinging himself from branch to branch. When he got high enough, he paused, waiting for the wind, so it wouldn’t just be one tree shaking like crazy.

Finally, he breached the canopy and could get a look around.

Jungle.

More freaking bush than he’d seen since Cambodia.

Trees, and trees, and more trees. In the distance, he made out a mountain (also covered in trees) and a break in the trees that was either a road or a river.

Something was moving.

Bucky turned the binocs in that direction. Something big was moving. Trees swayed and crunched. Something really damn big. Bucky could feel the vibrations of its footsteps in the tree he was clinging to.

“Clear,” he yelled, and then just let go. He could handle drops up to fifty feet without too much trouble, and the ground here was soft and springy.

He’d just reached Tony’s side when the something fucking roared. Like a tiger crossed with an elephant and the size of a blue whale.

“That’s a dinosaur,” Bucky said with forced calm. “We should get the heck to shelter, like, yesterday.”

“What kind of dinosaur?” Tony wondered. “Might be an herbivore. That would be cool, actually.”

“May I remind you that the current contenders for biggest, meanest land animals are moose and hippos, and they’re both herbivores,” Bucky said. “Can we do something productive, like finding a cave, or an overhang, before it sees us, and decides we’re lunch?”

“Oh, fine.” Tony tossed a couple of microcameras up onto the trees where they clung like particularly bright insects, then turned in a slow circle. “Infrared suggests some hollow rock in that direction,” he said, pointing. “If there’s not a natural entrance, we can make one.”

Bucky nodded, then took point. It bothered him a little that there wasn’t someone taking up the rear between Tony and whatever was out there, and reminded himself that Tony was an experienced fighter, and he had a suit of armor, which was pretty damn tough.

The whatever it was sped up, moving at them-- Bucky tipped his head to one side while he ran the math. Nearly thirty miles per hour. Bucky picked up the pace a little bit. On flat ground, Bucky could run almost sixty miles per hour, but this was not flat. Nor was it a good plan for him to expend that much energy before they had any idea what they were up against, or if there was much in the way of food in the nearby vicinity.

“Got your cave, ten o’clock,” Bucky said. There was a bit of a clearing and then they could squeeze in, one at a time. “How far back does it--”

Bucky stopped as the -- freaking hell -- dinosaur came crashing out of the jungle, about six meters high and full of teeth.

“That,” he said, firmly, “is a dinosaur. I don’t care what you just said about the deciduous thingies.”

“There were deciduous trees long before there were dinosaurs,” Tony said distractedly. He was looking up at the dinosaur, his head cocked. “It’s not a dinosaur, though.”

“Okay, you go out and tell it that it don’t exist,” Bucky snapped. “If it’s going to eat us, does species really matter?”

“The species doesn’t matter,” Tony said. “What matters is that it’s a robot. I don’t think we’ve gone back in time at all. I think we went forward.”

Bucky stared at him. “I fail to see how this is an improvement in any way.” Probably worse, honestly. Dinosaurs were at least skin and bone and nerve endings. And most living things were afraid of fire.

“Dinosaurs are your department, sweetheart,” Tony said. “Robots are mine. Get in the cave and stay out of its sight.” Without waiting for a response, he launched into the air, a wide, spiraling path that would take him around the dinosaur-robot-thing a few times before he reached the level of its head.

Bucky slid into the shadows where he could still watch, sighing. “If you bring back a giant dino-shaped robot from the future as a pet and say ‘can we keep it’ I promise you, Steve is gonna kill you.”

“Not if my pet dino-robot eats him first,” Tony said cheerfully, even as he swerved to avoid the thing’s lunging bite. He dipped and spun and wound up clinging to the dino-robot’s back.

The dino-robot was extremely unamused by the sudden disappearance of its prey. It whirled and snapped, clipping several branches as big around as Bucky’s arm with all the ease of a hedge-trimmer.

Tony was muttering under his breath, technical terms that made no sense even when Bucky knew what they meant, because they weren’t connected to each other, just little fragments of sentences and thoughts, punctuated with occasional grunts as the dinosaur made various attempts to dislodge him.

“You got an EMP grenade?” he called down after what seemed like hours and was probably no more than a minute or two.

Bucky stuffed his left hand into his satchel, the sensor array in his fingertips cataloging his equipment neatly. “Two. You want me to throw it, or lend it to ya?” EMP grenades were pretty good against Doombots, their occasional throw downs with raging maniacs like Doc Ock, and more than a few times against the US military who had a perpetual boner for shooting at the Hulk.

“Toss it up here,” Tony said. “This thing runs on a-- oof! --slightly different frequency than the ones we’re used to, I need to do a mod.”

“I don’t know about you, smart-guy,” Bucky said. He dashed across the clearing, rolling when he got to the far side, “but I am not used to giant robo-dinosaurs.” He threw the grenade with such precision that Tony only had to hold out his hand to be able to catch it.

“Perfect, good throw,” Tony said, because he was consistently amazed at Bucky’s aim. (And Clint’s, if Bucky had to be honest.) He let go of the dinosaur’s back and shot up higher into the sky, just out of its reach, hovering in the air as he retracted one gauntlet and started fiddling with the grenade.

After snapping uselessly at Tony a few times, the dino seemed to realize there was something else under its feet. A large snout bent down to snort at Bucky, who promptly punched it in the nose with his left arm. “Bad dino-bot, no biting,” Bucky scolded. The snout didn’t even seem damaged. Crap, that was probably bad.

The dino-bot did not smell like a robot. It smelled like rotting meat, probably the result of whatever it had caught in its teeth.

“Almost done!” Tony called. “Hang in there!”

“Whatever you’re doing, do it faster!”

The dino-bot made another lunge for Bucky that he was barely able to dodge by diving behind a large tree. And then he had to roll out of the way again when the dino’s attack knocked the tree over.

The dino roared again. Why did a robot have to roar? That seemed entirely unnecessary.

But as it did, Tony swooped down and chucked the EMP into its mouth, then dropped the rest of the way to the ground to get between it and Bucky. “--two, one.”

“You make a pretty good shield,” Bucky muttered, putting his shoulder to Tony’s spine. They’d discovered a few times, the hard way, that the arm wasn’t always too great at dealing with EMPs either, but the suit made for a good Faraday cage.

The dino-robot closed its mouth, made an entirely biological hiccup sound, and then--

WHUMP!

The mouth dropped open.

Very slowly, the dino-bots legs folded--

And it fell over, crushing more trees and wrecking the landscape.

“Well, that’s that, then,” Tony said. “Unless, of course, there are more of them out there. We should probably work on finding a way home so we can kick Thanos’ butt.”

#august flash bingo #tonystarkbingo2020 #starkbucksbingo2020 #winteriron #time travel

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fc5holidayexchange · 4 years

Text

FAR CRY 5 HOLIDAY EXCHANGE 2019 [FIC]

‘come things only happy and whole’

Original Character/Sharky Boshaw -Pre Relationship. Deputy Rook, Sharky Boshaw, Earl Whitehorse, Original Characters

@ask-chibi-rook

This was a really fun experience with a really cool character concept! I think I scrapped like five ideas, which almost never happens. TYSM and I hope you enjoy!

Notes: general warning for Jacob Seed who is Sir-Not-Appearing but still felt, brief non-graphic discussion of miscarriage, gentle flirting, as close as I get to fluff.

–

The circumstances are specific.

Eden’s Gate has a now unusually large population of pregnant women. The Resistance has few in the family way and explicitly no children in or around the compounds. So colour Pastor Jerome Jefferies and Father Joseph Seed surprised when they received identical messages asking them to parley a little north of Dutch in a zone they’d been habitually calling Bear Trap. Because of the bears. Twelve women who had been friends on Facebook before the Reaping started had kept to the agreement they’d made to meet up at Sally Sue’s old cabin and stay the days or weeks it took for all of them to give birth. This would have been a ridiculous thing to organise if a) every single woman involved hadn’t been previously part of a larger prepper group before making a smaller, more intimate one and b) that smaller group hadn’t been specifically for women who’d survived multiple miscarriages.

“They’re ah, not coming down.” Some poor son of a gun has to tell Whitehorse at two am on a Thursday. They’re out in the chill, on the porch of a little house. “They’ve got four doula’s and a bunch of equipment they’d set up beforehand as well as a doctor. Marcie, that’s, uh, Walter Whit’s Marcie, says that we can shove it up out be-hinds if we want them to come down. It’s between them and God now.”

“She tell Seed that too?”

“She told Walt that.” The boy sighs. “She told Seed that he should have kept that prize winning show dog of his brother under better control as he stressed Wendy and Carlie something awful with their atonements. And that keeping any pregnant women near Faith, who she did have something unpleasant to say about as per her use of Bliss, was just about his greatest crime.”

Whitehorse snorts. “Has she seen the bodies?”

The boy holds up his fingers to make quotation marks. “That’s killing folk, not killing babies, and Seed was coming awful close to asking them to kill babies.”

“That explains the Peggies. When it came right down to it they picked their kids over the Father.” Whitehorse muses. “Would’ve been nice if they’d stood up for us. No, don’t relay that Jimmy, that’s me being an old grump. If those girls need things from us, you get it to them, alright?”

“Yessir.”

“And you,” he turns to point at Rook, tucked under a blanket on the front step with him, “go get some sleep.”

Rook points at herself, flips to the page in her small notebook that says me?

“Yeah, you. Relax Rook. Ain’t nobody around here going to need you to fix this.”

She probably should have figured that Whitehorse would catch on. It’s been a week, maybe two, since Jess took an all terrain bike and an exhausted, largely non-responsive Rook back to the Henbane. She has marks she doesn’t remember and bigger, scarier blanks in her memory, left to white knuckle it through whatever recovery is possible. Rook spends a lot of her life kind of tired. When it’s hard to communicate you have to be quick and clear about what to say. She’s gotten it right down to essentials by now but that leaves out everything complex. There’s a lot of things sitting just behind her teeth, just behind her gums, that she’ll never have time to tell anyone. Certainly not if Joseph gets his way.

From what she understands they are at a critical junction in Joseph’s plan. Months at most from his intended end of the world and he has been reacting with his expected fanaticism. A bunch of women trekking off into the woods should be a minor concern. All of this would be a minor concern, solved by Jacob, who had no one among the Prosperity Prepper Pregnancy Yarning Circle, but for one Miriam Lee, of John’s faithful, who led security. She’d changed the locks on any number of critical supplies and literally taken John’s secret stash of solar panels with her, leaving John to explain why he had solar panels in Joseph’s unreasonable and unlikely future, and why Miriam Lee was the only person who knew how to change all the passwords. This still wouldn’t have stopped Jacob but for Joseph, who had decided he’d had a vision and his eldest brother would be cast from paradise should he take arms against the innocent. The absurdity of that statement about that particular redhead aside it seemed the Father was dead serious.

For all his numerous faults it seemed Joseph Seed was unwilling to harm a child.

(Ha)

So the circumstances? Very specific.

Rook takes his advice and heads in to sleep. In her dreams places red and deadly pass and prosper, knives sharpen and music plays, a familiar voice sweet and betraying. It’s further away than usual, buffered in her dreams by smaller, stronger feelings currently unsaid. Her mind is dark, not quite unpleasant. When she wakes in the morning, just a few hours later, the Montana morning is fiercely pleasant. The weather is beginning to suggest it’s turning but it hasn’t done more than throw up some surprising afternoon wind changes. Enough that a light jacket and a scarf stashed somewhere is enough for almost any day.

Someone knocks on the door of the small space she’s been allotted. Rook pulls on her clothes. Soft flannel, thick socks. Two shirts for those aforementioned wind changes. She makes sure she has a small notebook and pen on her. There’s a small box of blue ones under her bed here, liberated from John, so she never feels quite bad enough about how often they get snapped. The door knocks again and she rushes to open it.

On the other side Sharky Boshaw has a chipped mug of tea and a little bit of a nervous look.

The soft feelings from her dreams return in daylight’s full glory. She waves hello, takes the mug and invites him in. Sharky takes in her messy nest of blankets, the pens scattered on the floor from her dash to answer the door and how, apart from her bed, there isn’t anywhere to sit. She can see him thinking, her own embarrassment flooding her face with colour, before Sharky kneels down and starts picking up her pens.

“I heard from Isaiah -that prepper with all the grenades? The one the Peggies stopped going near because he set landmines attached to flamethrowers, well he’s been rehabbing a Judge. Found her ripping through Jacob’s territory baiting his people into traps. Clever as hell. He invited me up there ‘cause I brought him some beer a week or two ago and I made a bet against Hurk about it. Says she’s nearly ready to get the hell off his property on account of how she keeps activating his traps to scare the wildlife.” He pauses, glances at the ceiling while he scratches his chin. “Also I owe Hurk money.”

Rook hears all that and as usual has specific questions. She opens her book. Sharky hands her a pen. She writes: You brought a man surrounded by landmines beer?

Sharky looked faintly offended. “I ain’t afraid of fire.”

But the landmines? She asks with genuine concern.

“Landmines are fine if they’re attached to flamethrowers.” He waits a moment to see if she has anything to say to that, then adds, “Obviously I just figured out how those worked and went backwards. Easy.”

Easy, obviously.

Sharky rubs the back of his neck. “So, wanna pet a dog?”

–

Whitehorse is a paternal combination of pleased and worried that Rook is leaving the relative safety of the Prison to pet a dog with a pyromaniac. On one hand, she’s been a mess since she came back from the Whitetails -the Whitetails that want her back pretty badly, not including Jacob- and a strong interest in doing things that involve walking outside in a relative state of peace is indicative of the good mental health she never exactly had. On the other hand Sharky Boshaw is taking her through woods not quite Resistance and not quite Peggie to pet a wolf that kills people.

“Kills Peggies.” Sharky corrects when Whitehorse manages to stop grumbling long enough to state his problem. “And Boomer does that too.”

“Boomer is a good dog.” Someone Rook doesn’t know says from their left. “Let the girl pet a dog, Earl. It’s not the most dangerous thing she’s done for us.”

Whitehorse makes a face she dimly recognises from her early days, when she stayed at the station all hours and didn’t so much as a glance at forming a relationship outside of work. At her one month review he’d said that he hoped that she’d one day find people here she could trust, that he hoped to be one of them, but until then he’d do his best to at least be a soft place to land. It’s months later, and there’s a war on, and his face still says that. Rook spends all her time trying to be what the Resistance needs, the person it needs. There’s not much room for being soft.

Whitehorse relents, settles on take the shovel and gives Sharky back the rocket launcher and the nun-chucks that Whitehorse personally took out of his trailer about three months before all of this started. Sharky treats both of these gifts with a reverence that they have all learned to tolerate while living in close quarters. He also gifts Sharky with a ten minute long lecture while Rook goes and resupplies her day pack. There’s no explicit mention of her but she gets the feeling Whitehorse has been telling everyone to just be nicer, try to get her out of her shell.

They take a car part of the way and leave it tucked in an overhang that the Peggies have yet to figure out. The way requires crossing the river and taking a circuitous route through some unallied areas. The trees are just sparse enough to let the sun bite her on the neck. The dirt is coming up off the ground at a rate that’s alarming covering them to their knees in grime and debris. The greenery sings with the sounds of small animals, cautious bird calls and absolutely no gunfire. Silence will fall all across the county for a few moments every now and then, as if the whole world is being as cautious as the birds.

Sharky just talks and talks and talks. But he’s Sharky enough, whatever weird thing in the Drubman-Boshaw family makes them simultaneously caricatures and decent folk, to look back at her every so often and make sure she’s okay with him. Maybe it’s that he’s used to sound without answer, even if it’s from the opposite side. Maybe he’s just a guy who needs social skills and less access to nitroglycerine.

“Whaddaya think?”

Rook hasn’t actually been listening.

“Ah well, not important anyway.” He holds his hands out to her, baffling, before she realises he means to help her up into the knot of a tree. “Oh shit. Come look at this. Haven’t been back here in ages.” He plants himself and all but throws her up into a curvature of branches. “Man I got a twisted twunkle in this tree once.”

Rook takes his hands. He guides her carefully among the brown bark and the sparing leaves.

The tree itself is huge and old. It might once have been several different ones that melded together as trees sometimes do. Under her hands the bark feels warm and dry, aged away and tough. It feels alive but waiting, like it’s been here before and will be here again long after. She tries to take that feeling inside herself. Being steady and rooted instead of the constant swaying that digs deeper and deeper after every nightmare. Sharky helps, first by literally pulling her further in until they can sit on a thick branch together, and then by telling her all about the things he knows about this place. She’s not sure how much is true but it’s nice all the same. From the height, and the little raised hill the tree sits on, they can see a little bit of the space around them. The occasional smoke of a fire, or a plane flying in circles. She pulls out her radio, more habit than need, idly flicking it on and off, frequency to frequency, in case someone needs help.

The radio speaks for a moment: -coming off the mountain-zzzt-no sign yet-zzzt-heads on a swivel A-Team, targets tricky and lean- Jacob hunting Whitetails, even in so-called peacetime.

Sharky turns it off, not soon enough to stop her sense of self crumbling at Jacob Seed’s voice, but soon enough that when he gives her a quick hug she clings to it. Sharky smells like a heavy mixture of adult male body odour, what was left of the laundry powder and wet ash. It’s pungent enough to clear her head. Sharky holds onto her for a moment or two past appropriate then slides away not quite smooth enough to be cool.

“Hey, Rook, look at that.” He points straight out, and she assumes it’s just to change the subject, but soon enough a small dance of butterflies flies across the sky. They twirl in a circle and pass the tree close enough for Rook to see that they’re spotted with blue and bright green, creatures of the Bliss for certain. They dip down intending to take a pass right through the tree Rook and Sharky are sitting in. Sharky says oh shit just before they’re hit-

The butterflies fly around them, the whole world the colour of wings and white, before it’s the clear Montana sky again. One lands on Sharky’s nose and he pulls a face of intense disgust.

She can’t help it, she laughs at him.

He looks at her for a moment trying to figure out what the fuck she’s doing with her face. When she’s done she begins to climb down, the small bubble of mirth still sitting high, right behind her teeth.

–

It’s just past dusk when they get there. All of the Resistance keeps odd hours. Isaiah’s house involves a hike that’s near vertical. They see signs of Peggie work as they circle closer -spray cans next to symbols on trees, a copy of Joseph’s Bible, the occasional item of clothing for some reason- but those signs thin as they get closer to the house. Instead scorch marks and gun holes pepper the land like confetti at a wedding. Rook pulls out her shovel.

Eventually Sharky takes a sharp turn, ducks behind a thick crop of trees and leads her to a neatly kept front yard in front of a shabby barnhouse-cum-fortress. There’s even an American flag hanging from the roof of the added-on porch. Sharky whistles loud and clear across the space. After five minutes or so a man emerges.

His thick beard and scarred hands tell a story all their own. He shuffles across the porch with a bag under his arm and a cane in his other hand. His leg acts like dead weight across the wood, scraping and scratching along. He makes an unhappy groan low in his throat. Acid burns. Isaiah never had a last name. Or if he did, he refused to give it.

“Hey, buddy.” Sharky hops over some line only he sees turns and holds out his huge hands for her small ones. Like before she hands him her trust and no small amount of affection and amusement and then they do the world’s silliest looking dance:

“Over here -that’s a trip wire, don’t hit that, good-”

“-now this’ll sound strange, two inches left with your bum or you’re gonna lose a bunch, and you’re small enough, ow, from your leg Po-Po-”

“-did you just trip? Dep, this is a real hotzone, come on-”

“-look, I know what it means when a woman makes that face at me, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to grope you, but they’re nice, so-”

“-Good, great, no, nope, that way goes Sharky’s testy festy and he needs ‘em for the Testy Festy seed swap, so come over here-

Finally they come up to the porch. Isaiah sits on his rocking chair under a blanket with ice tea next to him. His chest keeps expanding in little giggles. Both Rook and Sharky are sweaty and breathing hard. Rook’s hair is stuck to her neck and she’s sure she’s never been this embarrassed before. No wonder the Peggies stopped trying. Sharky stops her with a solemn hand. “Okay now we’re gonna hop twice.”

She abruptly realises he’s fucking with her. Gently, with good humor, but still teasing her. She kicks a clod of dirt at him now that they’re close to the porch and reasonably unlikely to die in a fire. Isaiah makes this noise, like a cat yarking up a bird, his whole upper body moving. He’s laughing. Sharky laughs as well and proclaims he’s going to see if there’s any beer. With nothing else to do Rook climbs up onto the porch and takes a seat against the railing of his porch. Isaiah passes her a glass of the tea. He taps his own throat, the angle revealing its scars and warps, then pulls out a pen and a board. With unpracticed fingers he writes on his own whiteboard: I heard you speak like this.

Rook nods. Isaiah nods back and returns his writing implements to their bag. Within reach but out of the way. The tea is blessedly cool against her forehead when she presses it in.

“He-ey girl!” Sharky calls from inside the house. “Guess who found beer! You don’t have to guess, it’s me.” He sticks his head out, probably to ask if she needs something, so she holds up her half full glass.

The Judge trots onto the porch. Her coat has been shaved down, patches still that bone terrifying white where the hair is longest, but all over are swathes of grey brindling. Her sharp blue eyes are clear as water in a face returned all the way from the Bliss. Around her foreleg a bandage is slowly turning pink from the injury beneath. She comes to rest her huge body near Isaiah but with her sightline out to the world.

Sharky pats her cautiously then fits himself down next to Rook. “What’s her name?”

Isaiah considers. Then he opens his throat. “Boudica. Queen stayed free.” His voice isn’t clear. It’s pained and filled with the feel of disuse. He names the wolf anyway.

Boudica rolls on her back and shows her fluffy, scarred belly.

Rook stands and shuffles closer. Her hand shakes as she brings it down, firm, on her upper chest. Boudica wriggles but stays still. Rook keeps patting. Her skin is scarred all the way up to a sharp cut right across her throat. She didn’t die. She can see it: Jacob’s knife, his music and his soldiers. Running as far and fast as you can because you can never be free but you can be away. Boudica defies that, though. Her fur is turning back from the Bliss and there’s not a hint of madness in her eyes.

Rook returns to her seat. Isaiah gives her more tea.

Boudica snuffles, rubs her nose with a huge paw. She picks herself up and trots through the front yard they had to dance through. Her path is noticeably straightforward.

“What the fuck?” Sharky says.

Isaiah laughs again. “Bad leg. Don’t have time.” He flings his hand towards Rook, the yard and possibly the entire concept of the war beyond it.

“‘t’s not fair.” Sharky whines. “When I brought you stuff you made me strap it on my back and crawl!”

Isaiah slaps his knee, giggling again, points at Rook and then back at Sharky. “You danced.” Isaiah rubs his throat, as if it pains him. Then as if it would pain him more not to tease, “Fair.”

“I- Well-” Sharky chugs his beer instead of talking. Isaiah refills her glass to the top and bullies Sharky into pulling out Boudica’s bespoke sleeping pen, giving lie to the idea that she’d ever be coming back down with them.

Night falls properly. They eat together. Isaiah has no room for them inside but Rook’s slept rougher and he brings out a little heater and a bottle of bourbon. Sharky unearths a pile of excellent quality sleeping bags in a shed hidden on the side. Rook watches him whine his way through the whole thing since they don’t actually know there aren’t landmines. The bourbon makes Sharky feel better, though.

He’s talking about…something, honestly she’s not sure how he transitions from topic to topic. She pulls out her notebook. She wrote it earlier in the day, never said it. Thank you, Sharky.

He smiles, face lit by what little ambient light there is. “Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing, Rook.”

Rook stays sober under a pile of blankets. Sharky has long since collapsed into snoring. The night is starry and silent. If she sleeps now she’ll have nightmares: falling through red rooms, black blood dripping down her mouth, her tongue returned but unable to make human noise, another layer between her and other people. Another place for someone to slide a knife. The night is starry and silent and in Hope County that will have to be enough.

Boudica comes back in the early hours. Rook is still awake. Her muzzle is a little bloody but mostly she seems tired and pleased with herself. She comes over for a very quick pat but returns to the nest of hand sewn blankets and repurposed pillowing that she calls a bed. She tunnels in, turns and wiggles her body, huffs, sleeps.

Not his wolf, she thinks, and goes to sleep herself. She was right about the dreams. But between terror and noiseless pain is her own feet under her running like she thinks Boudica would.

#sharky boshaw/deputy #sharky boshaw #deputy oc #earl whitehorse #oc #brief non-graphic discussion of miscarriage #gentle flirting #mild fluff #gift: fic #fc5holidayexchange #ask-chibi-rook #submission

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doublerumnukacola · 6 years

Text

Dinner and a show

*sorry in advance, there are some scene transitions that seem quite sudden. There should be a few line breaks between them, so bare with me.*

The Co op was close by, they’d made it most of the way there the day before. Now it was clear sailing to their destination.

“... I’m just saying, it shouldn’t be too hard to make cheese. I’m shocked no one’s tried it.” Sole continued. “And bread! Razor grain isn't as versatile as wheat, but it could be done.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re obsessed?” He joked. “Never met someone so fascinated with what ends up as shit.”

“I would’ve agreed with you a few months ago.” She admitted. “But now… It's like a challenge. Figuring out how to make things taste better than edible. But hey, if you’d rather go back to eating cold cram…”

“Not complaining,” Hancock answered, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just not a subject I’m well versed on. Well except…” He coughed, looking away.

“Except what?” She demanded, smiling eagerly.

“Well… My mom… She used to bake mutfruit pie…” He started nervously. “Used to help her out sometimes…” She got a huge grin, grabbing hold of his elbow.

“Yes! That sounds perfect!!!” She gushed excitedly. He was taken by surprise as she held onto his arm. When had this developed? Then he thought about the night before, what he’d thought had been a dream. He flushed purple. “Oh hey I can see the Co op!” She said smiling, letting go of his arm. “Race you!” She took off, stunning him for a moment, before he grinned and dashed after her.

The Co op was fevered with activity. Agents were scanning the perimeter, helping construct the teleporter, or resting up before it was their turn. Sole was nearly shot on sight by an unwary agent unfamiliar with her, but Deacon was quick to meet her to dissuade gun fight.

“Hey you made it to the party,” Deacon greeted her warmly. “Sorry, but it’s bring-your-own-beer.”

“Man, these Rail signs are getting complicated.” She joked, walking towards the Co op with him. “What do I say to that? ‘Sorry, I only drink Vim?’” Hancock caught up to them, out of breath. “So how’s the bbq looking?”

“Not cooking yet, but we should be grilling by tomorrow… You know we don’t have to use code here.” Deacon pointed out.

“Yeah, but it’s fun. Keeps me on my toes.” She teased. She turned back to Hancock. “Oh hey you finally caught up.” He gave a wheezing laugh and a thumbs up, stopping for a moment to get his breath back.

“Could use some jet after that.” He rasped.

They settled in the main barn where the hive activity was centered. Desdemona was smoking, reviewing reports and such. She reminded Hancock of Fahrenheit, and it gave him a twinge of worry. How was she doin holding up the fort.

“Charmer.” Des greeted Sole curtly. Sole cringed, looks like forgiveness wasn’t going to be forthcoming. “Has Deacon briefed you on your assignment?”

“Get in, find Patriot, get out. Is that close enough?” Sole asked, crossing her arms. Des flicked ash from the end of her cigarette.

“This isn’t a joke. Lives depend on this.” Des snapped. “If you’re not going to take it seriously then-” Deacon stepped in, clearing his throat.

“Ok, let’s all calm down, not everyday we have a way into the institute, and someone willing to risk their neck to get there.” Deacon reminded her. Des frowned, grinding out her cigarette against the barn wall.

“Tinker Tom says the device should be operational in the morning. Report to Carrington, he’ll give you a once over before the op.” She finished with annoyance, before turning her attention back to the reports pinned to the barn wall. Deacon moved them away and out of the barn.

“When was the last time that woman took a shit?” Hancock muttered under his breath, making Sole chuckle.

“Carrington's over here, word of warning, he doesn’t like being out in the open.” Deacon cautioned as they approached one of the cabins.

“Ohno, and he’s usually so cheery.” She mused.

“My compliments to Doctor Sun,” Carrington noted dryly, examining the stitches along her side. “His work is not entirely unfortunate.” He sat back. “You’re healing remarkably well, considering Agent Deacon said you were at death’s door.” She sat up, pulling her shirt back over the stitches and slipped on her leather jacket.

“He’s exaggerating.” She assured him. “I had a couple splinters, a few bruises, and a bit of a limp.” He frowned, a deeper frown than usual.

“These stitches say otherwise.” He noted. He gave her a serious look. “Charmer, I am aware that you are frustrated. I understand that.” She looked up at him in surprise. “Desdemona makes some… Interesting calls with the agents, often putting them in danger needlessly. This frustrates me. But at the end of the day, she doesn’t do so lightly. She fervently believes in the cause, and has little patience with with those who don’t.”

“Trust me, I believe in the cause.” Sole cut in bitterly. “I believe synths have every right to live and be free. I’ve already demonstrated I’d die for one, but at the end of the day I’m here to take down the institute.” He nodded.

“Not an unheard of motivation among agents.” He admitted. “It was what started my journey to the Railroad, well, mine and my sister’s.” He clasped his hands together. “Our parents were scientists, working in Diamond City. One day they both disappeared.”

“I had no idea…” Sole breathed. He cleared his throat.

“Well, the bottom line is that, no matter the motivation, you are dedicated to our organisation. You have helped us considerably, do not believe it goes unnoticed.” He concluded. “Just do not be unfamiliar next time you are mortally wounded, Glory certainly isn’t.”

She emerged from the cabin, feeling lighter than before. Hancock waited on the porch, smoking to pass the time, practicing blowing smoke rings. He turned as the door creaked open.

“You were in there long enough.” He noted, tossing the cigarette and stamping it out. “Got a clean bill of health?”

“Apparently so.” She replied, looking around. Deacon was probably off somewhere, helping keep watch over the safe house. “Nothing left to do now but wait…” Hancock looked down at her, she seemed anxious.

“You know, I feel lied to.” He teased. “I’m starting to think this isn’t a cookout at all.” Something flashed behind Sole’s eyes, her face lit up in inspiration.

“You’re right…” She said, a smile forming on her lips. “We have all these people, there’s even a dining hall…” He saw ideas whirring through her head at a mile a minute. It was nice to see, but whatever she had planned wasn’t going to be easy. Things with her never were.

“Shit…” Hancock muttered. They’d set up in a watchtower after clearing out the two raiders inhabiting it. Sole had set up her sniper rifle and was scanning the area when she got a wide grin on her face. When Hancock followed her gaze, he saw a very large, very dangerous, Deathclaw. “You’re not serious…” She was very serious. But what made her really smile, was that it was engaged in a territory conflict with a radscorpion.

“Need a lot of meat to feed a lot of people…” She murmured. “I don’t get to work with Deathclaw often…” She waited, watching the fight progress, until finally the Deathclaw ended the encounter with a swipe of a clawed hand.

“You have some serious thrill issues….” He muttered, but she ignored him.

“Finally…” She focused her crosshairs over the Deathclaw, taking a breath, before squeezing the trigger. It clipped it’s shoulder. She swore under her breath. The Deathclaw looked around wildly for the source of the shot. Sole calmed herself and took another shot. This one dug into their chest. The Deathclaw whipped around and looked right at them.

“You think he noticed that one?” Hancock growled, already getting a few molotovs together. The ‘Claw started loping towards them. Sole kept taking shots, focusing fire on its legs to slow it down. Finally, just short of the watchtower, she crippled one of its legs. It limped towards them, still terrifyingly powerful. One swipe from it and they would end up like the radscorpion. Hancock started chucking the molotovs at it, exploding with fiery gusto upon impact. It worked through the pain, continuing on.

“This thing just won’t quit!” Hancock said through gritted teeth. “Could’a used those grenades about now…” It was almost to them, powerful claws stained with viscera. Sole pulled out her pistol, popping off rounds into the beast’s face, its large leathery hand rising up to tearaway at the watchtower supports, but fell. The Deathclaw collapsed. Sole took a moment to catch her breath. She really needed a better hand weapon.

“Time to collect.” Hancock grinned.

“Is this everything?” Sole asked, looking at the ingredients in front of her. It was a considerable haul. On top of the Deathclaw and Radscorpion she, Hancock, and two other agents had retrieved, they’d found some Radscorpion eggs, and some silt beans. On top of that, there had been some tatos and razorgrain growing on the co op, as well as what some of the agents were carrying around. It was all going to good use.

“Not enough for you?” Hancock asked with a smirk. She smiled and shook her head.

“Nah, just making sure.” She replied, tying her hair back to help her focus on the task. She’d instructed some free agents to bring over the orange grill Des had been using as an ashtray, as well as clean it out. It would be vital for grilling some of the vegetables. There was a rotary cooking station near the dining hall, she was already cooking some of the Radscorpion on it.

“Now you just need a ‘kiss the cook’ apron.” Deacon joked off to the side, having invited himself to the conversation.

“Shame.” Hancock muttered in annoyance.

“So what’s on the menu?” Deacon continued, ignoring the remark.

“The Deathclaw meat is nice and juicy, but really tough.” She started, speaking more to herself than him. “The softer cuts could be steak (served with insta-mash), but the rest maybe best as a stew. The silt beans will be vital for that…. And the Radscorpion will be good as just a roast with some grilled carrots and tatos… As for the eggs, a good old fashioned wasteland omelette. But man, I would kill for some salt.” She laughed. “Of all the things to miss, it’s good old fashioned salt and pepper.”

“Salt, huh…?” Deacon asked, mulling it over. “I mean you could try brining it in salt water, but it’d only add rads…” She nodded in agreement.

“Guess this will have to do.” She sighed.

Somehow it all came together. It was satisfying in its completion. The agents ate in shifts, to maintain protection of the safehouse.

First course was Deathclaw steak with insta-mash and grilled carrots. Second Course was grilled radscorpion with roasted veggies. The final course was the Deathclaw stew. It was the most labour intensive, and practical. The juices of the previous meals, as well as the leftovers, were tossed into a stew pot suspended over a fire, and simmered for hours. She’d even ground up the razorgrain and some dried noodles into flour, combined with water and radscorpion egg, to make some thick pasta.

It was the perfect thing for the agents on the night shift, needing something to warm them up in the cool of the night. Even Des was impressed at how well it went over. She was particular to the Deathclaw steak. Deacon kept teasing that he’d have preferred Mirelurk.

She sat on the far bench in the dining hall beside Hancock, tired but happy, her head in her arms and slumped onto the table.

“Why on earth was I a lawyer?” She asked, voice muffled. “I clearly missed my calling.”

“Clearly.” Hancock smiled, ruffling her hair, loosening the worn elastic band that tied back her hair. “You were wasted on the old world.” She sat up again, taking out the elastic.

“I suppose,” She murmured. “Still…” A sad look came fell over her.

“Hey, you did good out there.” He insisted. “Don’t think these guys have had decent meal like that in awhile.” She forced a smile and shrugged. “I think they needed a win.”

“Well, they’re getting a pretty big one tomorrow.” She mused, resting her head in her hand. “First agent to make it inside the institute of their own free will.”

“Yeah, sneaking in isn’t my style.” He teased. “Can’t we just go in with a few miniguns and have at it?” She gave a hollow laugh.

“You’d love Glory.” She said with a smile, looking away. “I should introduce you.”

“I think I like you just fine.” He countered with a smirk. She turned in surprise. He brushed a lock of hair out of her face, revealing a blush across her face. “Why so surprised, Sunshine?”

“Just, heh.” She gave a soft laugh just above an exhale. “I mean, I kissed you but thought that was just par for the course for you.” She looked around, a few eyes from the other agents averting their gaze as she caught them. “Let’s uh, step outside…”

“You never struck me as shy.” Hancock noted as they skimmed the perimeter of the Co op. “Any reason you needed fresh air?” She could hear the tone of his voice.

“Just wanted a bit of privacy. Too many eyes in there.” She explained. It was the nature of an organisation that lived and died on information.

“Oh, I feel ya.” Hancock shrugged. She stopped behind a cluster of trees, she could tell where his head was at.

“I don’t think you do,” She said. “I don’t care what they think. It’s not that. But there are some parts of my life I’d prefer to be… Unexamined.” She smiled at him, reaching for his hand. He pulled away slightly.

“Not a stranger to anything casual, but…” He started. She moved forward, he stepped back, stopped short by the trees. He had his back against the petrified bark, starting to sweat. What the fuck was wrong with him? How was he the one in a corner? She smiled.

“But…?” She pressed, giving him the inches of space needed. Exactly, what was holding him back? Same thing that almost stopped him going into the V.I.P. lounge what seemed like a lifetime ago. He was in love. Fuck.

“You know what? It’s nothing.” He answered with a grin. He leaned in, and kissed her. A long, hungry kiss, that left them gasping for air. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly, their lips parted.

“Glad for the fresh air now?” She asked, a breathless laugh on her lips. Her very soft, kissable lips. He couldn’t tear his eyes off of her. “You think anyone’s at that WatchTower?”

“Christ, I hope not…” He breathed, fingers already slipping beneath her shirt. She moved his hands away, smiling devilishly.

“Patience, sweety, nothing good comes easy.”

“Who said I was easy?”

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#fallout fanfiction #fallout #hancock #fallout hancock #fallout fanfic

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