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enaelyork · 5 months

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This is all we are, a product of war I [Part I]

[PreWar Cooper Howard x F! War photographer reader]

Prompt

After her dramatic photo which won the World Photography Award, Y/N is propelled to the rank of essential war photographer. What could be more normal, then, than that the New York Times sent her to the Alaskan front to cover a decisive turning point in the war? If she is ready to face the hostility of the battlefield, she is much less prepared to fight Cooper Howard and his hostility, as well as everything that this meet will provoke.

Discl: Fallout fanfic in 2 volume : During the Sion War (I) and one year before the Great war(II). Eight years between the volume I & II.

Tw & others: 18+ / Angst / Violence / Slow burn / Before and after Barbs ('cause i like her) / Fluff / English not my native speak

Words : 1.9 k

Chapters navigation : 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

Tag list : @ghcstvibess , @thebumbqueen

You can ask for tag in comment ;)

She is dead.

I made her immortal.

Her face hanging above mine, the thin smile playing on her lips as her eyes close for good. An angel. That's what I thought as I held up the lens under her blank gaze. An angel who flew through the bullets and the screams. Her body collapsed on top of mine just after catching that last glimmer inside her.

Then nothing. Silence, nothingness.

Me, alive. She, dead.

Maybe because I made the wrong choice at the wrong time.

I don't think about it, I don't think about it anymore. At least, I try. The world looks at me as the one who symbolized in a single photo the horror of war. Others - most - believe that I took death as an opportunity to rise above the world.

But they don't know anything. They will never know.

-So, are you the photographer?

I raise my head towards my colleague. Inside a military truck that agreed to take us with them, there is a mortuary silence, almost as cold as the environment in which we have been operating for weeks. I guess from his accent that he is not American and that he crossed the Atlantic to follow the last decisive round of the conflict. As we all.

-You and I are the same.

-I can't believe you're here, next to me.

- I'm James Ford, The Telegraph. Your photo has gone around the world, my dear. Are you here to repeat your success?

He offers me a hand that I don't want to take, out of politeness I return his greeting before avoiding his gaze. Around us, the soldiers give us glances, sometimes bad, sometimes intrigued, often revolted.

There is nothing worse for them than hearing us talk about our business. Because that's the real problem.

War is our livelihood.

Each of us feeds off their misfortunes and perhaps most of them despise us for that very reason.

-It seems that things are completely in shambles on this part of the front, that your country is on the verge of losing the war, do you know more? I shake my head.

Of course I know more than I want to tell him. But our job is not to pass information on to a rival. It's about doing something with what you have, producing a report that holds up without needing anyone's help.

He thinks he is going to the decisive stage of the conflict, but I know that I am going to the place of our perdition.

The Bible was wrong. Hell is not just made of flames and demons. It is sometimes wet, windy and freezing. Full of humans ready to kill each other for a cause whose source they have forgotten.

-We stop here, terminus.

The marines barely glance at us when we get out of the truck, entering the polar atmosphere of the camp for good. It only takes a few seconds for a discerning eye to understand that nothing is at stake here, except the little pride these soldiers have left. Wrapped up in my anorak emblazoned with the word press, I take the risk of taking off my gloves to capture a few photos of these men consumed by despair.

Then I saw him.

He was getting out of a truck coming from the combat zones, carrying at point blank range one of his comrades who was visibly in poor condition. The desolation with which he tried to keep him alive gripped me to the core of my being, because that is exactly what I felt that day.

So, after taking a few steps, without greeting my colleague who was already moving away to the other side of the camp, I caught my reflex.

And I took a photo of him. Several times.

First I took an overview. Him and his makeshift companion, on the ground. Him, his hand outstretched towards a group of soldiers running with a stretcher. Him again, a zoom on his features carved in rock, his helmet held firmly on his head by a strap which dug into his skin. Him. His eyes of a color that the zoom could not define perfectly. A strange mixture of caramel and hazelnut. A warmth emanating from his gaze contrasting violently with the ambient cold.

Jostled by a soldier, I interrupt my session considering the chaos reigning around me. My journalistic gear immunizes me against the violence and animosity of the fighters; better still, they must guarantee my safety while some dream of killing me. It is therefore like a ghost that I advance towards the tent into which the soldiers have entered, haunting a place where everyone is unaware of my presence.

-I'm sorry, there was nothing we could do.

The soldier's shoulders slump when a doctor walks towards him, not even bothering to take off his gloves to give him a futile hug. Everyone here knows that one gesture won't replace any deaths, but they're trying hard to keep things warm.

One more photo.

That's what I'm for. Not just to show the horror, but to make people feel all the emotions that result from it. The sadness freezes on the memory card forever while the event floats away in a flood of torment that only peace can dry up.

It was at this precise moment that he became aware of my presence.

He gave me that look in the face like a slap.

A look that had, for a brief moment, bypassed all the barriers I had erected around me to feel nothing other than indifference. I was screwed, but I didn't know it yet.

-Are you okay, did ya get your pic?

Much more fascinating with your mouth closed.

- Would you have started again if that wasn't the case?

I realize I'm going too far. Sometimes I forget that my defenses are not those of others and that it still happens here that someone has feelings.

-Sorry, I shouldn't have. I am…

-No need to make introductions. I know exactly who you are.

Amazing. He knows who I am AND he hates me.

-Nice to meet you, Captain Howard. You and your obvious sympathy.

He didn't want to argue, that was understandable, but something pushed me to follow him when he turned his back on me to go to another compartment of the tent. He knew my name and hadn't even introduced himself, reason enough to convince me that I had scented the right target.

Like a snake, I had slipped into a corner of the room, ignoring the looks that instinctively turned towards me before returning to their main point of interest: a large makeshift table where a map of the region was placed. I have no military training, but what I saw there was not a shadow of a doubt.

We were going to lose.

It was there, between the pawns strictly aligned to the north of our position. The reds were going to get us and it was only a matter of time. It was for this reason that I was here, to see my country fall to its knees in front of it stronger than it for the first time in its history.

-We have to hold on until the new armor prototypes arrive. said a visibly exhausted general. So they have to be there within a week, maximum.

Howard remained profoundly silent, his gaze fixed on the table. Strange attitude for someone I thought was rather angry and nervous. He clung to this map as if persisting would allow him to detect the flaw, where no hope remains.

-I suggest we try for a breakthrough here. Continued a visibly confident captain.

This suggestion drew immediate ire from the main protagonist of my report.

-A breakthrough ? he replied, acidly.

-If we manage to progress this far, it will take us little time to act after delivery of the prototypes. We will take the reds by surprise and turn the tide.

-We still need to have the necessary soldiers for this. I lost half of my men in the last attempt.

The observation plunged the room into silence. It was just a polite way of telling him that a man here was just gunpowder. He understood it perfectly because I saw his eyes clouded with bitterness. His helmet removed, I discovered a man of war-worn beauty.

-We can provide you with men, Howard. Captain Brendol puts forward an idea that should not be overlooked.

It had darkened, again, I could see the depth of his distress from where I stood and it was sucking me in, literally.

-Cooper. I can hear that the situation is confusing you, but you're going to have to go back.

-So are we there? Bet on a hypothetical prototype whose real delivery date is unknown ?

-It's an order, Captain Howard. Gather what's left of your corp and we'll provide you with what you're missing. You leave tomorrow.

The discussion was over. The general packs up his things and Captain Brendol gives Howard a triumphant smile. He's the kind of man who likes to show off by proposing suicidal ideas, but not courageous enough to carry them through to the end. There was now only me left in the room.

And him, too, him and his hazel eyes that pinned me to the wall.

-You want to come with us, right? He had swept everything away. His resentment, his fears too, all of that had waltzed away the very moment the order was pronounced. Yet he didn't follow the others, content to stand there and consider me a negligible garbage.

-That's the idea, indeed.

-And it's bad. I'm not going to explain to you wha' you might see there, your mouth will water.

-Too late for that. You already make me dream.

His hand lands on the table next to us and his eyes focus on me like two knives trying to tear me apart. I jumped in spite of myself at the violence of his gesture and his intact will despite the fatigue that stretched his features. He still believes in it, I thought, and if I wasn't so captivated by his will, I would have taken a photo of him

-I think there are things the world shouldn't see.

-And I think just the opposite. I don't think they'll miss a thing.

I stayed there, clinging to my reflex with the firm intention of not giving up any piece of land to this man. It made me wonder which of us was more accustomed to war and who was going to win the one we had just declared. I probably exaggerated my initial intention a little to provoke him a bit more, which was not the idea of the century when you had to find a place among soldiers at the end of their nerves.

But I feared nothing: he could not forbid me from following them. And he knew that just as much as I did.

-Do what you want. But I don't babysit. Me and my men will have other fish to fry to save your skin. But scavengers like you, people who take photos of those who die to win trophies, know that, don't they?

It was in this way, by literally sticking a knife in my heart, that he permanently sealed our lives. Because I will never forget Cooper Howard again, and not just for the meanness he showed towards me from the moment he laid eyes on me.

#fallout tv #fallout show #fallout prime #cooper howard/the ghoul #cooperhowardedit #cooper howard #pre war cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #pre war

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fogwitchoftheevermore · 10 months

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👀 martyn and/or rendog for the mcyt blaseball au?

Oh my god ok so time to divulge a secret. While I said there were three legs of this AU (Empires, Hermitcraft, and the Life Series) I just cannot get the Life Series branch to Totally work. I don't know why, I just have a much more difficult time assigning teams to the Life Series players than any other SMP. I think it’s probably got to do with how wildly different everyone’s story is in any given season and something to do with the fact that dying in a Life Series is just wildly different that dying in Empires or Hermitcraft and that difference just doesn’t transfer quite right to a Blaseball AU.

However the Life Series branch of this AU does exist, and it has basically just become a treebark AU at this point, so you're in luck. You're especially in luck because Martyn still exists in the Hermitcraft AU, so I'll give you them in both!

Let's start with Hermitcraft, because that's the simple one.

Ren Dog is a shortstop for the San Francisco Lovers with the Charm modifier. He spends his time off the field as the test dummy for Doc’s experiments or Martyn’s video games, making any given reporter fall in love with him, and watching a lot of Flormula 1.

The Charm modifier is one that allows players who have it to periodically charm their opponent into failing. In Ren’s case, this means getting the pitcher to throw an extra ball or two with a well timed smile or wink. All the lovers have it, but ladies (and gentlemen and others) get in line, because Ren is particularly good at it. Ren is also the captain of the Lovers- self appointed- because he thinks he’s good at that (he’s not but they let him have this).

Martyn isn’t a player in this universe (but it’s not off the table! It never is off the table to become a player, if the Hermits are looking to add anyone to season 10). He’s just a regular guy doing regular guy things. He and Ren are at the very least living together, I’ve not decided if they’re married. I don’t know why but something in my bones is telling me that Martyn is a video game dev for his day job.

Ren’s Assigned Garages Song: i’m in love with a blaseball player

Sorry I’m not giving Martyn one because he doesn’t play

Martyn Inthelittlewood is our Parker Macmillan in this AU because I am nothing if not consistent.

Martyn I started his career as a first baseman for the Alaskan Immortals during Pre-History. He was one of the best players in the League and made the Fans, some of whom are Watchers, because the metaphor is literally right there, lots of money due to his Profit modification, which increased idol payouts x10. Fans of teams that weren’t the Immortals got jealous and cursed him with Non-Proft, baring any Immortals fans from making money off of him, as well as Firewalker, which would curse any team he left with team wide instability. If the Immortals Watchers wanted to make money off of Martyn, they’d either have to leave the team that he was single-handedly bringing to every championship or risk his leaving the team killing the entire team.

The Watchers chose to risk it.

And then a lot more stuff happened to Martyn I that I’m not gonna get into, and I’m going to assume that you’re a Blaseball fan, anon, so you already know all this anyways. If you’re not, I’d absolutely be willing to explain but this post is already so long without it. Anyways, Martyn I gets trapped in the Vault for an undisclosed number of years and clones get made of him that don’t remember any of this.

We don’t know what happened with Parker II, so we don’t know what happened with Martyn II either. This will never fail to make me deeply deeply angry.

Martyn III is made the intern-interim commissioner of the newest era of Blaseball, the era in which Ren was a season 1 player.

Ren Dog was a first basemen for the LA Tacos while they were still the LA Tacos. He’s our Wyatt Mason in this AU, if you haven’t gathered. This also means he should be way worse of a player than I made him but I felt bad doing that. When the Grand Unslam happened and the world fractured around him, every member of the Tacos suddenly lost their names, the only identifier Blaseball players had at this point, and became Ren Dog. Martyn III guided the Fans (Watchers and Listeners alike cause why not) in restoring all the members of the team, except for Ren. Because that’s just not how this works. It never is.

Ren dissolved into static and became the Microphone, his own entity separate from the gods and management of Blaseball. He plays by his own rules and helps save the world from the guys in charge. Martyn III might not be a fan of the guys in charge, but he doesn’t understand the Microphone, and it scares him, and he doesn’t know why.

It should be known that while Blaseball was running I was a diehard for Parker/Wyatt, and so that heavily effects this whole thing. Specifically, a very important thing to me was that Wyatt/Ren was a normal person during pre-history when Parker I/Martyn I was playing Blaseball for the first time. The Boss (the Watchers) weren’t his biggest fan and maybe, just maybe, the Watchers pulled some strings to put Ren in the latest iteration of Blaseball so they don’t run the risk of him and Martyn III meeting each other and talking for too long. What happens to Ren in the Grand Unslam is just helping keep them apart even more.

However, what Ren is doing as the Microphone is bad for business. Very bad. So maybe they pull another few strings to send Ren very far away for, ideally, a very long time. And maybe they equally orchestrate some bad things happening to Martyn III and Martyn IIII so that they finally get the perfect puppet with Martyn IIIII.

But nothing ever works out the way they want. Because the game, the business, is falling apart at the seams. Because Martyn I is still in the Vault, dead set on getting out, and when Martyn IIIII finds out that he isn’t his own person? That he’s a clone of a man that’s still alive and still angry? That he’s missing memories most of his life because they were taken from him?

Yeah he doesn’t take it so well.

He finds himself asking the Microphone- Ren- for help. He doesn’t know why. But Ren can’t reach him where he is, so Martyn takes ahold of the Microphone himself, directs the new generation of Fans into taking down the old ones, the Watchers, who are now management and straight up ending the world. And he does take them down, but the world still ends, and inside that Black Hole, everting gets weird for Martyn.

It’s a side effect of taking up the Microphone- you don’t do that and not get weird.

Ren’s still not quite around, never really will be again, but now that Martyn’s taken up the Microphone, they can talk. And this Martyn is not the one that Ren knew and loved long before all of this, but he also kind of is? He used to be, even if he doesn’t remember it? But admittedly, Ren isn’t the Ren that Martyn knew either. They’ve both changed beyond belief, and maybe they can have something new together now. And maybe having something new means having it in the void at the end of the world but, well, at least they get to have it.

I care about them a lot in this AU they make me crazy.

Martyn’s Assigned Garages Song: firewalker with me

Literally what else did you expect

Ren’s Assigned Garages Song: ENCORE

I’ll be frank this one’s a bit of a cop out because Rain is a Garage and this is a Blaseball song but it wasn’t released under the Garages label. But look it’s just so good.

#mcyt blaseball au #treebark #rendog #inthelittlewood #op i REALLY hope you were a blaseball fan cause if not i’m sorry this is missing SO MUCH #if you weren’t and you want me to explain i would genuinely love to #but i also understand if i have scared you away forever

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fabledivine · 2 years

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>:D

ID: A digital bust illustration of Crits Manhattan from the video game Blaseball, from the perspective of a camera close to his face. Crits has black hair with purple highlights and is wearing a blue Alaskan Immortals sweatshirt. He also wears dark glasses which hide his eyes and replace them with purple, digital ones. He has several silver piercings on his face and ears. He's making a move to push the camera away from himself, hand blurred, laughing. His other hand is raised to his face. It is snowing.

#mine #blaseball #crits manhattan #the alaskan immortals #he's so silly vibes #i drew this ages ago and im only posting it now bcs im busy w assignments. filler content

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clumsiestgiantess · 11 months

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Day 18: Frost

This one’s for the lore! I have a few different refs of the creatures in Winter’s Everlasting

(in the final picture, top left is an Ice Person, top right is a Faerie, bottom left is a giant, and bottom right is a Frost Spirit)

If you want some more in depth info, look below

Creature index:

Human - I'm going to assume you're human yourself and know what that is

Greater Wolf - A large wolf about 8 feet long, as smart as a person and can stand and walk on rear limbs like one too. Their speech is similar to English with varying Northern European accents (depending on where the wolves live). They live underneath a king and his advisors, as well as regional representatives that come petition the king every year. Their king is very vain and often throws lavish parties; his advisors keep trying to reel in his excessive tendencies.

Faerie - Speaks in a language that everyone and no one can understand (except for those who speak it, who understand it just fine) which each creature can understand during certain hours of the day. There are 7 different types of faerie, all connected to different elements. While they can control virtually every aspect of their element, they can not create it. Have unprecedented magical capacity, thus actually making their lives harder by having to follow certain guidelines that come with all that raw energy. These include: Can't give their full name or they won't be able to deny whoever knows it. All favors they take or give must be repaid (if either party fails to repay before their death, they will become bad-type immortal until their deed is done). If they lie three times about the same thing, it will never be true. Can't kill something without their permission (excludes plants) Can't touch raw iron, it will cause pinpricks in the skin that feel like burning because their 'blood' is raw energy, being drawn like a magnet through their veins to the iron. Faeries have different colonies scattered throughout the realm, all of which have drastically different cultures. Mountains - The oldest living make the rules; they live in a small palace high in the peaks. Tundra - There are no rules, everyone for themselves; they live underground w/ entrances beneath bushes. Forested - Queen/King is determined through trial by combat; they live within large tree trunks. Plains - Communities of like-minded individuals who form deep bonds & claim territories; they live openly in flowering fields & sometimes with a hospitable/unaware giant.

'Dragon' (in circus) - A forbidden hybrid between a dragon and a greater wolf. At one point they were sentient, but over a lifetime of mistreatment (and being part dragon, they've lived quite a while) they've lost their mind to animalistic tendencies.

Ice People - Live in the Northern Kingdom in a giant glacier-plowed valley. Have a social hierarchy similar to arthurian times, with five classes: Royalty, Empowered, Median, Lesser, Lost. Each higher class can tell the lower classes what to do. They look like normal people carved of crystalline ice and stand at a statuesque height of 12 feet tall. They don't eat normal foods and instead survive off heat, which is converted internaly into energy. If they get too hot, it's like overeating to them. They will (depending on how hot it is) get fatter and if it's warm enough, rupture and die. (The warmest place in the land is like an Alaskan spring, so they can survive there, they'll just get fat.) Every house has a large fireplace of sorts where a kitchen normally is. Their queen is ferice, but surprisingly good at keeping her citizens happy.

Giant - Live in the warmest part of the world, though they can survive in much colder places. In legends, they are known to “breathe life” into the world; really their breath is so big and warm it melts snow and allows plants to flourish. Contrary to rumors, giants don’t eat much meat. Meat is easy for them to digest, therefore it’s highly unsustainable for their diet as they would have to eat many hundreds of pounds of it to satisfy them. Giants mainly eat large vegetation in spurts called ‘cravings’, where they eat many large plants in a single sitting. Afterwards, they don’t eat for an entire month. They try to spread out the devastation their cravings cause between multiple places to avoid upsetting the natural life.

Dragon - They come together to vote on a new leader every twenty years, though all the voted leaders have purposely been voted in due to their relaxed rules, so the laziest one is often the best candidate. For this reason, dragons are said to be lazy though many of them are far from it, and work hard to provide for themselves and others. They breathe ‘fire’, which is really a type of magic. Different species of dragons have different types of magic; the ones in Winter’s Everlasting have a negative version of fire, which is bitterly cold and sucks in light.

Frost Spirit - The magic energy left after a human perished in a cold environment. A lot of mystery surrounds them as most beings don’t even know what they were. Many of these spirits are stationary, though there are a few more restless ones who wander around the realm. They can speak with great difficulty, so they don’t do it often.

Magic:

-Comes in many fun colors depending on the wielder. soft yellow = faerie, electric blue = greater wolf, indigo = ice person, fiery orange = dragon

-Originates from faeries as they're born with a very high energy capacity. They 'created' magic by figuring out how to manipulate the energy into spells. All creatures have this energy, some just don't have much and are less likely to be good at magic.

-Iron has magic-absorbing properties. This is especially dangerous to the faeries because they have it running through their veins like blood.

-Tier list: Faerie (literally have raw energy as blood), Ice People (can directly convert heat into energy), Dragons (massive stores of energy are in its chest), Greater wolves (the same energy stores that a human would have), Giants (they are the anti-faerie due to the large amount of iron in their blood)

Naming: Greater wolves - things/actions, Ice People - verbs/descriptors, Dragons - sounds/actions, Giants & Faeries - strange names

#again I wish tumblr kept the unique text for each being but oh well #If y’all have any questions about the different creatures I’ll be happy to worldbuild!#g/t #giant tiny #promptober/inktober

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