halofcrged - Tumblr blog

[halofcrged]

okay so i've mentioned before that john is, obviously, not an easy guy to pin down or capture or hold bc he's massive and super human strength and all that but that doesn't change the fact that i have a need for angsty and potentially violent threads with him too so consider this a wishlist / plotting call - if you are interested in john having crash landed on your character's world and him being brought somewhere for questioning / interrogation whatever OR whatever scenario to fit the bill of The Angst lmk !! like or reply here or come poke me or whatever. i'm lurking until after dinner and might write more after if i have brain.

(or always feel free to just chuck a relevant starter or meme at me too)

[halofcrged]

DUNE SENTENCE STARTERS // accepting

@halofcrged: ❛ If you mean to harm me, I must warn you whatever you’re hiding, it won’t be enough. ❜ / tony

“Who said anything about harming anyone? Not me. I’m just here to talk.” And hopefully, that’s all that would happen. Doubtful though. When did he ever get that lucky? Tony raised his hands, palms forward, in a motion close to a shrug. “See? Nothing up my sleeve.” There was however nanotech in his watch and glasses. He wasn’t actually about to go out there empty-handed. “Now, how about we talk about that suit of yours. I know they say imitation is the most sincere form of flattery but I’ve never found that to be true. It looks pretty well made - certainly better than any of Hammers attempts - a bit bulky, but hey, you’re a big guy. So, where’d you get it?”

[halofcrged]

@intcthatgoodnight Tony: continued.

“Who said anything about harming anyone? Not me. I’m just here to talk.” And hopefully, that’s all that would happen. Doubtful though. When did he ever get that lucky? Tony raised his hands, palms forward, in a motion close to a shrug. “See? Nothing up my sleeve.” There was however nanotech in his watch and glasses. He wasn’t actually about to go out there empty-handed. “Now, how about we talk about that suit of yours. I know they say imitation is the most sincere form of flattery but I’ve never found that to be true. It looks pretty well made - certainly better than any of Hammers attempts - a bit bulky, but hey, you’re a big guy. So, where’d you get it?”

By the time that he had been roused into consciousness by Cortana’s proximity alerts, he’d already been surrounded. Granted, it was at a fair distance, and no one had been actively firing at him - and, Cortana was quick to inform him that the armor and armaments were bordering on antiquated. So, at least there was that.

It hadn’t taken much longer for Cortana to data dump the pieces of information she’d considered most relevant, starting with the fact that they were on Earth; but not their earth. Not only had the Halo transported them out of the ring, but to another time and place. A place where masked villains and super soldiers were part of every day life.

It didn’t take much of a leap to guess at why he was surrounded. He hadn’t made any attempts to leave or fight. Cortana was still data mining and he didn’t want to make enemies if he didn’t have to. So he had been content to wait. The man that entered the perimeter that had been set up around him was identified on his screen within moments. Tony Stark. Scientist, engineer, billionaire, CEO and, apparently, superhero. A quick flurry of images spun across his HUD: inventions, visual records of fights, snippets of speeches, and the suit.

The three d rendering of Stark on the edge of his peripheral glowed with highlighted points on his wrist and temples. Nanotechnology.

“I can assure you, Mr. Stark,” John began, hands rising to detach his helmet after a moments consideration, releasing it with a soft hiss, revealing his somewhat battered and bruised features. “The team that designed this armor drew no inspiration from your work.” A brief, if slightly pointed glance, went from Stark’s wrist and then upwards to meet his gaze. “If you’re going to want more answers than that, we should really find somewhere more comfortable to have this conversation.”

[halofcrged]

If you’re fine with me replying to asks from the inbox ie on mobile lmk I might do some tonight I’m already in bed but can’t sleep have muse on the brain. (Just please make sure if you continue them you move them to a new post!)

[halofcrged]

okay so i've mentioned before that john is, obviously, not an easy guy to pin down or capture or hold bc he's massive and super human strength and all that but that doesn't change the fact that i have a need for angsty and potentially violent threads with him too so consider this a wishlist / plotting call - if you are interested in john having crash landed on your character's world and him being brought somewhere for questioning / interrogation whatever OR whatever scenario to fit the bill of The Angst lmk !! like or reply here or come poke me or whatever. i'm lurking until after dinner and might write more after if i have brain.

(or always feel free to just chuck a relevant starter or meme at me too)

[halofcrged]

[halofcrged]

ok i have a few more things i want to try and get done tonight but my brain is fried, i'm hungry and i crave pizza and we can't swing it so i'm sad about that but yeah, gimme an hour or two til after dinner and i might be back to do some more. either way, more tomorrow.

[halofcrged]

@saud4des continued from [x]

you shouldn’t be out here by yourself. ❜

she  likes  the  cold  and  always  has.  it  freezes  lingering  adrenaline,  keeps  her  alert,  and  conveniently  pushes  slumber  to  the  back  of  her  obligations.  it  makes  the  combat  medic  a  hypocrite  of  the  highest  order,  pushing  rest  on  other  weary  soldiers  while  saving  little  for  herself.  but  she's  fine.  she's  perfectly  content  running  from  every  ghost  she's  ever  made.

  his  voice  cuts  through  her  focus,  a  tiny  notebook  stained  in  loam  and  blood  shut  with  another  name  tallied.  gloria's  consciousness  flows  fully  into  her  surroundings,  knocked  from  the  beginnings  of  a  ritual  mourning.  part  of  her  is  grateful  for  it,  john  interrupts  the  new  guilt  she'll  stack  on  her  shoulders.  all  the  reasons  she'll  hold  herself  accountable  for  not  doing  enough  even  if  she'd  done  everything  she  could.  ❝  no,  i'm  not.  ❞  her  lips  quirk.  ❝   you're  here.  ❞  she  pats  the  ground  beside  her  in  a  wordless  invitation,  tense  shoulders  pushed  back  against  the  building  frame.   ❝  don't  tell  me  you're  worried  about  me.  ❞  it's  a  lighthearted  quip  from  someone  who  carries  a  heavy  soul.  she'd  insist  on  dissuading  any  concern  regardless.  that  post-op  haze  holds  enough  space  for  denial  but  it's  getting  harder  every  time.  the  war  still  sings  under  her  skin,  it's  still  held  between  her  teeth  like  a  good  soldier  and  it  hurts  a  little  more.  the  softness  she  covets  within  herself  is  as  fragile  as  glass  in  these  moments,  she  wonders  if  one  day  it  will  be  lost  for  good. honey  eyes  trail  up,  assessing  and  concern  knits  her  brows  (  the  tenderness  isn't  lost  in  the  violence  after  all  ).  ❝  are  you  hurt?❞

"Mmm," John offered, noncommittally, as he closed the distance between them to let his larger frame sink down to rest beside hers, holding out one of the two apples he'd had in hand as he did. "Splitting hairs, now, are we?" A half smirk. It wasn't like he didn't think she was capable. It was just a matter of caution. And regulations, but he'd learned fast that rules and regulations meant very little to this particular unit.

There was a lot about this world, and this particular assignment, that was taking some adjustment. "Should I be?" It was offered casually enough, but he'd had enough experience with war and the effects of it to know that more times than not, when someone tried to deflect, there was a reason. He wouldn't push, but he wasn't going to just let the comment slide by without acknowledgement, either.

"What, all of a sudden I have to be bleeding out to see you?" A brow jutted upwards as he took a large and crunchy bite out of his apple.

[halofcrged]

@orphanedshadow continued from [x] Everything was so fascinating. The creature could feel its…no her vessel, the wispy tendrils flowing from her scalp, the strange limbs, the way the hunger collected in her core instead of spreading through every cell. It was all so stable, not like she was constantly falling apart and pulling herself together. Of course her other form was there, it would take only a thought to allow this odd scaffolding to return to being undifferentiated cells… but why would she, when this form was so new and exciting. The creature didn't really realize that the noises she was making were audible, not when her newly-formed senses were echoing with the sound of her own shadowy blood rushing through her veins. But the growling felt good, it made things rumble in new ways, and opening her mouth let her taste things, like the cellular fluid that dripped down her face in bloody trails. It also revealed far too many extremely sharp teeth, not that she realized it meant anything. She was so caught up in the sensations that it took a moment to register the sounds of her kin's attempt at communication. With her mind feeling clearer than ever it only took a second for her to try and copy one of the signals he always used, clumsy fingers, actual fingers, how fascinating, attempting to signal that it was all clear, no threats present.

There was very little about the last few days of his life that made a great deal of logical sense to him right about now; maybe, one day, after he had the time necessary to process how he'd gone from being transported from the Halo to this once Covenant controlled world, to fighting for his life against the remnant creatures of the Flood that had somehow managed to survive and perpetuate themselves here for ... decades, centuries? to ... watching the inky shapeless entity that he'd dubbed Rex in honor of his childhood dog sink into a vat of goop and come out .....

Human shaped?

Maybe. One day, very very far from now, he might have all the pieces he needed to put the particulars of this puzzle together.

The creature had started out as little more than a shapeless entity, the feeling of eyes on him that he couldn't shake. Only after he'd winged it with a spray of bullets had it even taken any form that he could recognize as anything other than shadows and he still wasn't entirely clear as to why it hadn't retaliated and tried to eat him, and instead, settled for consuming the Flood entity that had been moments away from trying to swallow him whole, but here they were.

He'd taken to talking to it, maybe just to keep him a little more sane, maybe to convince himself that there was some kind of sentience in there for his own comfort. It hadn't taken him long to realize that maybe there actually was.

By the time they'd made it to the safety of the underground bunker of the original owners of the foundry, he'd accepted that he was stuck with it -- and it hadn't been the worst partnership he'd ever found himself in, though maybe the most unlikely.

He'd watched, equally wary and fascinated, as the entity had slurped its way out of the vat of ... nutrients, that it had consumed, fascinated by the attempt it had made to find form and function. Or at least form. The helmet that he'd removed on entering the safety of the bunker was recording everything. He expected Cortana would have much to say about this later on. "Right." His brow furrowed a little as fingers formed, and conveyed a response. "Right." Definitely not a dog.

"No biting. That seems like a good first ground rule," John said. "You don't bite me, and I won't bite you." Sounded like a good plan.

"I'm John. John 117." He tapped a finger to the number on his suit. "Do you have a ... designation? A name?"

[halofcrged]

@deficd revna; continued from [x]

@halofcrged sent “Men without morals are dangerous beasts.” Men are dangerous with morals, too. Perhaps moreso, with their stone-strong tenements and ideals. righteousness tightens the mind in its iron grip, leaving little room to breathe. Revna knows this because she's seen it, sees it everyday, even on this savage world with its savage people. no matter how noble, there is always a man with and without morals speaking Imperial tongues. She's not sure if she's lucky that her father is one with. Her fate is sealed no matter what. Womb as a commodity, for mystics with serpent mouths. "Men are dangerous beasts," she offers, her gaze shifting up to the dark night sky. The desert is peaceful like this, and it will vanish soon enough, as they draw closer and closer to Anhur. She wants to memorize the way the moons shift in the night sky, how the desert reptiles sweep beneath beneath their feet, making waves in the sand. Gesturing with her head, over the dunes, for him to follow her. "Morals don't always hold much weight." John hasn't hurt her yet, though he easily could with-- or without-- that strange armor. "Are you speaking from experience?"

He offers a faint smile, visible to her now only because he has taken advantage of the cooler night air to remove his helmet, strapped to the small of his back for quick retrieval should he need it. "I have seen the worst of men - and women - more times than I could count." His steps are steady, but kept short to keep in something of a stride with her. There was no need for haste.

"I have seen humans do abominable things to one another in the name of what they would call morality. Others simply because they could, or because someone else possessed something, or someone, they wanted. At least if I know someone is possessed of morals, there is a logic to what they do, or will do, what lines they cross, wile greed and wrath and envy are appetites that cannot be quenched." He fell quiet for a moment. "I have seen the cost of morality, though, in the name of the greater good." He and his Spartans have paid the price, in flesh and blood and death, for someone else's ideals.

"I suppose, in the end, blood spilt is blood spilt, whether it is for what someone would call good, or evil. I don't know if you can ever know, if what you're doing is right. That's a price you have to be willing to pay, to protect what is yours, to protect what you love."

[halofcrged]

@hcartsleeved ; continued from [x]

since we'll be here for a while... might as well make the best out of it.

she   peered   out   the   window   of   the   old   farmhouse   as   storm   clouds   rolled   up   above   them,   thunder   cracking   and   rain   pelting   the   windows   as   a   herd   of   walkers   shuffled   around   outside   —   mindless   and   hungry.   she   heard   johns   words   and   let   out   a   sigh,   closing   the   blinds   and   stumbling   her   way   in   the   darkness   until   she   found   a   chair   to   plop   down   in.   

‘   oh   yeah?   ’         she   says,   fiddling   with   the   handle   of   the   recliner   before   it   quickly   threw   her   back,   nearly   making   her   fall   out.            ‘   uh   —   you   have   any   ideas?   not   to   be   a   downer   but   there’s   not   much   to   do   here   —   unless   you   wanna   make   out.   ’         she   jokes,   of   course,   as   she   dusts   off   an   old   magazine   from   the   end   table   beside   her.            ‘   it   doesn’t   really   matter   because   if   those   things   get   in   here,   if   even   just   one   goes   off   path   and   drags   the   rest   this   way   —   then   we’re   dead.   ’  

He watched and waited until she had pulled the remnants of the blinds and curtain closed before he slid the small lantern from his bag, clearing away a spot on the coffee table to set it on. He didn't really require the light, but no one else needed to know that, and she clearly did, judging by the way she scuffled her way into a seat. He switched it onto a low setting; enough to give them a dim glow, and function, but nowhere near enough to draw any unwanted attention. A brow flicked upwards at her initial suggestion, and he decided this was as good a time as any to spend digging through his duffel for two of the MRE packs he had stuffed away.

"I figured dinner and conversation could suffice," John suggested dryly. "Maybe some cards, if all else fails."

A faint smile offered as he dropped down to sit cross legged on the floor beside the coffee table, his back pressed against the back of the couch behind him. He still didn't know what to make of the woman, but then, they hadn't had quite all that much time for conversation since they'd run into each other a few days past. Trying to keep away from the shambling dead and find some place to wait out the horde had taken priority. He was hoping this would be a good time for him to get some answers. "So how long, would you guess, has all ... this," he gestured vaguely to the world around them, leaning in to offer her one of the MRE packs. "Been going on, exactly?"

[halofcrged]

ok i trimmed down some of my original planned drafts til tomorrow i'm gonna work on continuing a handful of answered memes after a break and some gif making

drafts: 10/ 15 10 to be continued: 0/5

today's goals.

[halofcrged]

He's far more accustomed to the sounds of battle than the silence that lingers after his words. He finds it stifling, but he remains quiet, steady, waiting for whatever response she might feel inclined to give. He'd seen people deal with grief and guilt and rage. He'd born the brunt of angry words and blows from those that wanted to stay on their worlds, their homes, that wanted to fight a fight they knew they could not win, he'd borne the spite and despair of those that blamed him because there was no one else to blame. He remembered them all.

Her stillness, her silence, was eerie.

"As you wish, ma'am." A tilt of the head, a glance to the cabinets beside the bed, indicating the taller locker with a nod. "They'll likely have put your clothing in there, after admission. If not, the medical staff should be able to tell you where it's located."

"Yes, ma'am." It's immediate, and again he finds himself having to fight back the urge to snap to. There's a line of the ache from tension creeping down his spine, and he lets one shoulder roll back just enough to try and release it. "I'll be waiting outside the med bay when you're ready." He offers a nod, a slight bow of his head before he's turning on a heel, reflexively ducking down just enough to step through the door and make his way out into the hall beyond the medical facilities to wait for her.

What was the purpose of a life? The quantitative worth? The value, the cost? Something in her flickers, shivers — a bowstring plucked and vibrating. Dead. So many, many dead, deemed less valuable by command because she’d been born with the privilege to have money to her name. Children clinging to red eyed mothers; lovers in each other’s arms; elders with unspoken knowledge that would now be lost to time. All of them, dead — and she survives, saved because of family ties and mines she’s never even seen.

The silence filling in the room is taut, palpable in the air. A muscle in her jaw ticks; the only outward appearance of an anger so vast and deep that it begs to be released, to shatter the glass at her bedside, to let the med bay echo back her scream. She has failed them. The lives under her protection, command — she failed them all, and that reality is suffocating.

❛ I want to see my people. ❜ It’s the only thing that matters, now. She turns from the weight of his stare and glances around the room, searching for things that aren’t there. Where are her clothes? Ruined, gone? Burnt like the rest of her possessions, back on Ebrion, so freshly glassed? ❛ I’ll need something appropriate to wear. After I dress, you will take me to see them. ❜

It’s not a question, despite the fact that she can’t issue him commands. But she turns back, and the eyes that meet his expose her softness, if for a moment. ( Grieving and raging and terrified and —) Just a moment, and then it’s gone, a veneer of calm again. A brow arches in his direction. ❛ Well? You are dismissed. ❜

[halofcrged]

It hadn't taken more than a cursory glance to give him some rough idea of the other occupants of the cabin - only three others, in total. None of them seemed particularly high on potential threat levels, at least not as far as he was concerned. In such relatively cramped quarters, they seemed as if they'd be relatively easy to subdue, which meant the highest threat was the plane itself. And said cramped quarters. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat again, glancing out to the ground that would soon be out of sight before opting to slide his window cover closed and turn his attention, instead, to the man that had spoken. A pinched smile tugged at one corner of his mouth briefly. "That obvious, is it?"

It was his first flight on this world's version of air travel. It seemed antiquated to him. "I'm more accustomed to jump seats," John added. "They're a lot less comfortable, but at least then I know I'm going to have to jump out of the plane, as to just - hoping not to." Fingers curled around the glass of ice water, letting it tilt back and forth on the table beside him briefly. Falling out of a perfectly good plane, or in his case, space craft, had been close to an every day occurrence, until recently.

"Let's hope you're right." Another, slightly less pained, but still thin, smile was offered. "I never expected to have the opportunity, but --" A light tap of fingertips against his glass briefly. "Circumstances have changed, recently, and it seemed too good an opportunity to let pass me by."

He took a measured breath before continuing. "I brought a few books," he said, reaching into the bag beside his chair to pull out a couple of well worn books focusing on Greek mythology and Spartan history that he set on the table as well. "But I've read them all before," he admitted.

as much as desiderius wanted to own his own plane, there was a lot of logistics he still hadn't figured out. technology and documentation in the modern world made things like that a lot harder. there'd been a time when he could simply up, move, and start all over in a new city with no one being any wiser.

then again, people usually came to him, so going through the hassle of paperwork wasn't really worth it when he'd only use said plane once in a blue moon. arthur would find private accommodations much more practical. he spent too much time around andromache and her paranoia, though.

plus, these little chartered flights were private enough that desi didn't get too worked up over the other people. harder to sneak up on him when he was perched in the corner closest to the flight deck. everyone except the stewardess had to talk towards the back for the restroom. the smell of coffee was generally enough to ground him through the clicking and the clanging of locking everything back into place.

with the table folded down and the tablet propped up in front of him, desi takes a sip of the small glass of red wine set down by the stewardess. an image flashes in front of him of an old spartan helmet against a white background. historical artifacts weren't usually his department but, where there was a market he was willing to dip his toes in for an established client. one of which, had an obsession with the greco-persian wars.

when the hulk of a man first sat down near him, desi's first instinct was to become smaller. the way the man filled the plane's small door frame brought back a memory of a shadow against another such structure. once the immortal realized the other man's discomfort, however, he started to relax into the oversized seat. the man's face helped a little in that department, too.

" first flight? " he worked up the courage to finally say something once the stewardess had come through with a second glass of wine. " stepping foot in greece is always worth it. don't worry. " he found his chin resting in the palm of his hand, which had more to do with his back against a wall than the alcohol in his hand. the small space he always carved out for himself on the plane gave him a bubble of safety, so to speak. " do you have anything to keep you busy? if not i have another tablet. " he starts rummaging through the black leather bag next to him before an answer ever hits his ears.

[halofcrged]

what is ONE THING you like about the way i play my character?

[halofcrged]

“Respect is earned. And you still have a long way to go.” For the professor from John / @halofcrged

"One, it was a figure of speech, I hope you heard of those. And two, do you really think I would need your respect, or anyone else's at this point?" What a strange irony, to become an otherworldly being and then meet this giant guy who happened to be lost between planets... dimensions? "The fact that we are forced by circumstances to be temporary traveling companions doesn't make us friends or even potential friends, and let us stick with it. Safer for both of us." He chuckled barely audibly, his yellow eyes glowed in the twilight surrounding them. After a minute's silence, he spoke again, "Respect shouldn't be earned. It must be felt to every living being you meet. And then it may be disillusioned."

[halofcrged]

There were times when the Spartan was certain that he'd seen it all. That he'd seen all of the worst things of humanity and Covenant alike. Death, mayhem, bloodshed; mountains of the dead and the dying, entire worlds roiling in fire and destruction, nothing but ash and glass and dust and bones left in the wake of war.

He'd seen the worlds ravaged by war, and worlds ravaged by the devastation that rippled through the galaxy in the course of war. Starvation. Slavery. Torture. Desperation and fear and greed and hunger could turn the most civilized man savage, and give freedom to those already given to cruelty liberties to turn cruelty into worse.

What he saw here left his stomach churning. Left his throat stinging with acrid rage.

Haunted. She looked haunted. Terrified.

Wide, brown eyes. Skin torn, caked in blood and dirt. Her wings -- he still hadn't taken the time to truly let that one process -- were bent, bedraggled, bloody. She looked as if she would crumble with a wrong word, a wrong look. Mahia. He offered the smallest jerk of his chin, the smallest nod that he could, carefully scooting a little further into the cage where she was trapped. "Can you come to me, Mahia, or do you want me to come lift you up?" He wanted to get her off this ship, back to his, as soon as possible, but he didn't want to have to sedate her, or try and fight her to get her back to his prowler, either.

Hauled away without fanfare. Captured. Starved. Sedated far beyond articulate thought for days, weeks... time was a fickle thing to pin down in this state. Only once her captors had travelled far enough to feel comfortable, out of reach of any interruptions, did they allow the healer to rise from the low, dizzying edges of forced sleep. Nowhere she could go, after all. No sky to flee into past the frigid metal. Thoroughly caged.

She was still battling effects of the confuddling tranquilizers when her cell shook. Alarms followed an instant later. The pounding of feet on metal above her, in the corridor just beyond the locked door trapping her in, heralding something gone wrong for those who carried her away. Her mind struggled to grasp coherency through the lifting fog. Attacked. The ship rocked by shots both given and received. And Mahia did all she could do... messy, unkept feathers were pulled across her frame as she tucked herself into the tightest corner of the cell, and she prayed. Let her death be quick. Let her be forgiven. Let her be granted some small mercies.

But, the explosion never came. The violent sounds of a fight gave way to the low thrum of engines dying down, alarms falling silent as power was drained and stripped away. And footsteps. Heavy like those of giants from childish folktales she'd once heard. She didn't look. And the screeching of metal pried apart easily as ripping a flower's petals sent her flinching, with nowhere to go but further into the wall, pressing herself tightly there as though that would somehow make her invisible to whatever force had entered the ship, was stalking toward her. Was she to be shredded like her brother...? By the claws of some beast beyond her comprehension?

But, there was a voice. Human. A name and something following it that sounded like it was important, titles she didn't understand. Though her attention clung to one word, ' help '. Here to help. And she allowed herself to believe it.

Gradually, like curtain lifting, her wings unfurled from the shield she'd made them, and she allowed herself a first glance of him. Kneeling and still hulking. The size of his shape made her breath catch, intimidated. Yet, through a throat dry and hoarse, she offered back her own name, " Mahia... " And a plea so pitiful it shamed her. A flicker of hope in the wheeze of syllables, aching in her chest, " Yes, please, help me... please... "