pramodupma

[zellk]

I have begun to ponder about Lana and Rena in Hades II... All the witches stuff suddenly makes it so fucking easy to add them in.... Hopefully some art to come about all this will come......

[deadbaguette]

as i see ur a person who has copleted the hades game; i want to ask if u have any advice in weapons, keepsakes or techniques to get out of asphodel 😭😭 i have gotten to the hydra two times i think but i can't find a way to defeat it so i would appreciate any kind of advice to finally get to elysium and reunite patroclus nd achilles

Oooh! I’ll see what advice I can provide😭 I do have a lot of hours on the game, but I’m not particularly good LMAO

I’ll give what advice I can for each weapon (except the gun, I’m horrible at the gun), a build you can use, and some techniques (below the cut because this might get long)

Just a bit of an explanation of status effects because it’s relevant for a lot of the builds:

- Weak (Aphrodite), Doom (Ares), Hangover (Dionysus), Chill (Demeter) are all primary status effects. Meaning they’re a part a few of the base boons (attack/special/dash and the cast too in only Aphrodite’s case)

- Jolted (Zeus), Rupture (Poseidon), Exposed (Athena) are secondary status effects. Meaning you have to get a separate boon to apply this effect to things like the attack/special/cast/dash

Having two of any of these applied to an enemy can proc the mirror of night effect ‘Priviliged status’ which at its max upgrade gives a 40% damage bonus

The fists:

The fists are arguably the easiest weapon to use early game. And the aspect of zagreus works because of that dodge chance which is nice when you’re early game. But I recommend running this with the Demeter aspect if you can.

The most broken build I use on them? Athena Ares duo boon build.

Start off with an Athena keepsake (i’m not sure if you have this, but give nectar to her if you haven’t), this guarantees your first boon to be her. Pick the one that makes your special deflect/divine flourish. Athena boons are SO GOOD early game, absolutely abuse that deflect ability especially on the hydra.

If rng isn’t on your side, equip the Ares keepsake after the fight with Meg. When you get his boon, pick curse of agony/your attack inflicts doom.

Now you have to look for their duo boon, merciful end (your attacks that deflect trigger/activate doom immediately). You can get this in: charon’s shop and from the chambers but NOT in trial of the gods (when you have to pick).

Try avoid taking other gods in throughout Tartarus and Asphodel (except Artemis, crit is always good so try get the boon ‘pressure points’)! This fills up your pool of potential gods to get, and you really only want Ares or Athena.

If you get Athena, aside from the special here are boons you should pick:

Divine dash/your dash deflects (this one is a must get, but it does not open the option for duo with ares keep it in mind!)

Blinding flash/abilities that deflect also make foes exposed (then you can proc the mirror of the night buff ‘privileged status’)

Bronze skin/more resistant to damage which is always nice ESPECIALLY in Asphodel when the lava is alr causing you enough trouble lol

If you want a cast/call, it honestly doesn’t matter who you pick. I would suggest the Athena cast/call though if you’re having trouble with the Hydra because the cast deflects and the call makes you invulnerable.

The sword:

Okay some advice for the sword. The best attack combination imo on the sword is: dash strike 2x, and then special. This gets a lot of dps out of it, and if you have the mirror of the night ‘privileged status’ in use it’s really easy to trigger

An easy build that I don’t go wrong with is on the aspect of nemisis build (but tbh u could use Zagreus’ aspect I just like the extra crit). It’s an Ares oriented build which is uses duo boons.

You’re going to want to start off with the Ares keepsake, this guarantees your first boon to be him. When you get his boon, pick the one that applies doom when you use your special (boon: curse of pain).

If luck is on your side, let’s hope you can find an Aphrodite chamber or an Artemis chamber. If not, equip one of their keepsakes in the room after fighting Megaera. Then you’ll get their boon guaranteed in Asphodel

But if luck IS on your side and you get:

An aphrodite boon, then pick heartbreaker’s strike/the one that applies weak to your enemies on your attack. This is when you begin to apply a lot of consistent damage

An Artemis boon, then pick true shot/her cast. This opens the duo boon options for Artemis. Almost every Artemis boom is really fucking good BUT the ones you should look out for are the Aphrodite+Artmeis duo boon (increase crit damage against ‘weak’ foes) and pressure points (lets any damage crit which is really good)

If you happen to get Athena and not Aphrodite, you can choose to put her on the attack instead BUT you have to keep in mind that then you should look for her boon ‘blinding flash’ (all abilities that deflect also make foes exposed).

The bow:

Crush shot aspect of Hera is a really good and really easy build! Equip the aspect of Hera which means that you imbue the cast INTO the bow. And your next shot will have all the casts as well.

Really the only thing you need for this is Aphrodite’s cast (so equip her keep sake in the start). And just… put every pom into the cast LOL

Some extra boons to make your life easier:

divine dash (I cannot stress enough how good this boon is)

get a Poseidon boon, his attack/special/or call, and unlock the duo boon for +1 level for each Pom upgrade

Get an Artemis boon along with Poseidon if you have him, her attack/special/or call), and unlock their duo boon which makes each cast fire a secondary projectile that does less damage

The shield

This is maybe one of the best early game especially against the hydra. The ability to block when holding the attack/doing the bull rush is so useful. For this one I always run Zeus’ aspect. It’s the only one that allows you to attack while your special is out. I like running a hangover build with this, but I’m not entirely sure how optimal it is lmao.

Equip the Dionysus keepsake, pick drunken flourish/special inflicts hangover. Throw your special at the enemy, and it applies hangover per hit (this is why the Zeus aspect is good because you can still attack while you’re applying hangover).

This is arguably the easiest build I use because (maybe it’s ironic) but Dionysus gets along with so MANY gods. Ares, Aphrodite, Artemis, Athena��� all their duo boons with him are 10/10.

So any of them come your way, here are imo the optimal boons you can pick to open the possibility for duo boons with Dionysus:

Athena: divine dash (again….) and you can get the duo boon with Dionysus which slows down projectiles IMMENSELY. Super good against the hydra

Ares: curse of vengeance (revenge damage, if you take damage inflict doom on the enemy) and you can get the duo boon which makes the hangover tick rate go from 0.5 seconds to 0.35 seconds. This basically doubles the amount of hangover dps you do, it’s so broken

Aphrodite: heartbreaker strike (the attack) and get the duo boon which increases the amount of hangover stacks you can do. So while the base is five (where you’ll do whatever amount of damage per tick x5 if you have 5 stacks applied), it adds 3 stacks (so now it’s like x8 damage per tick).

There is also Artemis, who you can choose true shot (your cast) to unlock the duo boons. Either Dionysus’ or Aphrodite’s are good options (increases crit chance to hangover foes per stack applied, increases crit damage to ‘weak’ foes)

Prioritize the Aphrodite and Ares duo boons they are the best.

The spear

The spear might be among the hardest for beginners? But it is my favorite weapon and the one I used the most in the beginning and throughout the game. I almost always run the Demeter cast build, but since you haven’t reached the surface I don’t think you’ve unlocked her (it’s been a while I’m not sure SGDGHSSGHS sorry). So uh I’m not able to help with the spear build until you’ve reached the surface 🙏

(You can check out this post based off a comic I drew where someone did the build!)

[copiousloverofcopia]

So....I know I said I wasn't going to work on any new chapter fics until I finished the other 3 I have going but fate decided otherwise.

Here is the first chapter to my new fic featuring Papa Emeritus I!

Potpourri

During his retirement, Papa Primo Emeritus falls in love with a new Sister of Sin who has suffered a tragic loss. While the new sister settles into the Abbey, Primo can't help but grow more infatuated with her. Promising to give her everything she desires, but can he win her affections when she still can't let go of the past?

Chapter 1: That Funny Feeling

Also available HERE on AO3!

NSFW due to triggers below the cut

*See trigger warnings in tags*

Three months ago...

She doubled over in pain, tears streaming down her cheeks. Eyes heavy with the weight of grief, as the inevitable was well on its way to completion. Her hand fell over the small swell of her belly. Pain, now coming in sharp waves. Like an ocean of knives determined to take its pound of flesh. 

Her knees hit the floor, hands wrapped around her middle and the sounds of her crying desperately trying to drown out the word and it sympathies. The blood continued dripping along the white bathroom tile. Calling attention to her loss as she heard their voices. Well intentioned words, conjured from unassuming lips, that echoed in her mind. 

"Everything happens for a reason…" 

"Some things are just not meant to be."

"God has a plan."

It was over before it began. 

Present Day

It had been raining for weeks. The clouds squeezed for every last drop and the shining sun, refusing to come out from hiding. The morning downpour had turned into midday afternoon showers as Primo silently cursed Satanas for his aching joints. The weather changes, making him painfully aware of each passing moment spent in his mortal coil. A reminder that he was still somewhat human, unrelenting and bleak. He was getting older, a man now well into his sunset years and finally able to enjoy the well-earned spoils of his retirement from the Papacy. 

It had taken decades for his father to release control. A long overdue ascension that had only come after years of fighting with the Ministry. A power now all but led by Sister Imperator, his father’s former lover. Primo had done his best, serving as Papa for many years before resurrecting the Ghost project. 

It was not his choice but regardless he was successful. Ghost taking off in directions that only time would tell. A bright future for the Ministry burning like the fires of Hell that lay beyond Charon’s ride. When the time came however, Primo was more than happy to relinquish control to his brother Secondo. His reign, followed soon after by their other brothers Terzo and then Copia—the last of the Emeritus bloodline.  

Primo was, for all intents and purposes, happy. The Ghost project, reaching new heights in Copia’s capable hands. Leaving Primo to spend his time how he truly preferred, among his plants and nature. Occasionally communing with the spiritual realm and preparing his weekly Black Mass as he lived out the rest of his days. His life, having been up to this point full. 

Primo grew up wanting for nothing. His beloved mother, the last of the Prime Movers, had assured him a coveted education and apprenticeship with the finest necromancers, seers, and casters the Ministry could offer. He grew up with nobility in name, but his strength of character and his actions proved his right to the respect bestowed upon him. A respect shared by every congregant, sibling of sin, clergyman, and ghoul within the Ministry.

His happiest of days were spent raising his two younger brothers whose mothers had been unable and Nihil, incapable of raising by himself. He had hoped that his time now would be a return to solace and enrichment without the pressures of the Papacy. Something, however, had still felt unfulfilled. A gnawing in his stomach that told him a piece was still missing, one he might not ever obtain.     

A thought buried deep inside his mind, hiding beneath the dirt and soil he worked so hard to till. The like seeds he planted tirelessly, for the sake of promised beauty. But for now, the rain still fell. Primo peered out the large parlor window of his quarters, sipping on his favorite herbal tea and watching as the old bus pulled up in front of the Abbey.

“Oh Lucifer, that's today?" he sighed, his thoughts recalling an all but forgotten meeting with the Clergy about receiving a set of fresh would-be siblings—now only capable sinners.  Primo stood up from his chair, bone cracking as he went upright and headed out towards the main hall. He adjusted his collar and quickly smeared on his corpse paint before he left. While he would prefer to stay confined to his rooms on a day like today, it was expected of him to greet them.

Along with the other former living Papas, Primo would welcome them to the beginning of their new lives. One outside of God's watchful eye and held in darkness. He arrived downstairs just as they were filing out of the cabin. Terzo and Secondo, already waiting for them on the stairs. The two of them like hungry wolves, eyeing the group for their next bed mate. 

“Another flock for which to shepard huh old man.” Terzo mused, a smile on his face as one of the women glanced his way. Ever the charismatic lover, Primo knew he’d make his way through the new recruits as fast as one takes to breath—his lust essential to his being. 

“Ah si, but will you allow them to make it to their vows before having them singing praises to Asmodeus from your bed chambers fratellino?” Primo asked, clearing his throat as Terzo rolled his eyes. A typical gesture from the Third Emeritus son to be sure though Primo paid him no mind. While he loved him dearly Primo couldn't help but still see his younger brother as an obstinate child. Forever in pursuit of Lust above all things. Primo wondered how, despite his best efforts, his middle siblings turned out more like Nihil than either would care to admit. 

It was times like this he missed Copia, who just happened to be on the first leg of rituals. His first tour as Papa, for which Primo was very proud. It had only been recently that he had learned of the former Cardinal’s parentage and despite their not having grown up together, Primo left just as close with Copia as he did the others. Maybe even more so, since they both shared a distinct distaste for Nihil that was like no other. 

As the last of those from the bus had stepped off, the brothers were happy to welcome home Mr. Saltarian. The man in charge of bringing the group to the Abbey and Primo’s dearest old friend. As he approached the first Emeritus son smirked, “Well now…they just allow anyone to recruit new siblings during these times hmm.” 

“Well we are surely in times of turmoil my friend and well someone has to do it, it might as well be me.” Saltarian chuckled, raising an eyebrow and throwing his arm around Primo. The two men, sharing a hug before Mr. Saltarian headed inside. Not but a moment later, he returned, this time with Sister Imperator in tow. She was looking especially severe. Her hair pulled back tight and working her favorite charcoal pantsuit and red heels as she walked carefully down the entryway stairs. She began clapping her hands as she reached the drive, trying to gain the crowd's attention before beginning to speak. 

“Yes, attention. Welcome, welcome all Seminarians and Novitiate. I am Sister Imperator, the Abbess of this Abbey. Today we will settle you all into your dormitories with the other siblings. You will take the opportunity to rest and unpack. Tomorrow we begin your final training and preparations for full conversion. Now if you will please follow me.” she explained, everyone following her inside. 

Primo watched and nodded as the crowd entered the Abbey. The would-be siblings were excited to see the Emeritus sons in person. Most of them, smiling and nodding in reverence as they passed by. It was during this time he caught a glimpse of her—a would-be sister hiding amongst them. Her face was soft, and round. Thick black lashes surrounding eyes of honey brown that matched the golden brown locks from her head. Soft curls that hit just at her waist, seeming to bounce a bit as she walked. The standard crimson and black robes of the tributes, adorned in gold Grucifix embroidery, fitting a bit tight against her ample bosom. A quiet and melancholic demeanor, which may have kept her overlooked from others, calling attention to Primo. Her pale delicate features and withdrawn appearance like a beacon against the smiles and conversations of those around her.

Primo was entranced. There was something about her that made him want to know more. A needy feeling gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. He felt drawn to her, her very soul seeming to be reaching out to him he thought when he was abruptly forced back into reality by a swat to the shoulder. 

“Losing focus, fratello?” Secondo laughed, biting his lip as he contemplated his first moves with a number of the new recruits. His intensions worn openly as he practically fucked them with his eyes as they walked in. 

“Hardly.” Primo responded as Mr. Saltarian went to stand beside him. “ Salare, who is that woman?” he asked him. Primo’s eyes, never leaving the woman in the crowd. Saltarian tried looking around attempting to see anything that stood out to him. 

“You’re gonna have to be more descriptive than that.” he laughed. Primo pressed his lips together in annoyance as the woman that had captured his attention reached the doorway and disappeared inside. 

“The one in the back with the longer hair, solemn looking and quiet?” he continued, hoping that would be enough for his friend to figure it out. Saltarian got quiet, nodding to him just before he spoke.

“That's Novitiate Guinevere. Most of the group calls her Gwen not that she really talks to anyone. She’s quiet that one Papa. Why do you ask?” Mr. Saltarian inquired.

“Oh…It is nothing…just a funny feeling.”

Notes: 

Seminarian- Preist in training

Novitiate- Nun in training 

Salare- Salt

[kidotm]

Lost in the Woods

by Im_A_Giraffe1979 When FLW and Charon arrange a meeting with Elder Lyons they run into a few issues and Charon gets very petty. Smut.

They were waiting in an old office for Elder Lyons to come speak with them. Well, technically, he was coming to speak with Summer, nor Charon. He wasn’t supposed to be in there. But she didn’t feel great leaving him alone somewhere and honestly, she wasn’t too keen on letting him away from her side in this snake’s nest. To make matters worse she’d been doused in mutant guts on the way in and had been forced to change into the only spare clothes she had on her, some sparkly blue knee-length dress that she’d picked up for God knows what reason. Sure, the Brotherhood had offered her some of their uniforms, but she refused since they’d refused all help up to this point, why should she act like they were friends now.

So, that’s how Summer had ended up wearing a blue dress meant for singing on a stage, leaning against one of those old wooden desks that were only accessible from one side, trying to figure out where to hide her almost seven-foot-tall companion and explain to him why he had to hide. And she wasn’t looking forward to it. He was already radiating violence from the fight just to get here and the less than warm welcome they’d received upon bringing a behemoth to the Brotherhood’s doorstep. She chewed at a hangnail that had been bugging her for a while now, trying to figure out how to best broach the subject while looking around the room for places to hide him. There were some lockers to the side of the room, but he was almost definitely too big. There was also a closet at the back of the room, which would be perfect if she wasn’t out of bobby pins to pick the lock.

“So, Charon, you know how we’re waiting for the Elder to arrive?” she asked. He was leaned against the desk, shotgun laying across his lap, one finger resting on the trigger guard. He nodded, his face like a mask. They hadn’t been traveling together for long and their working relationship had its good days and its bad days. Seemed like today was bound to be a bad day. She could only imagine how big of an idiot she looked to him while wearing this dress, waiting on a meeting that could decide the fate of the wasteland. “Well on the way in the Paladin who sent us to this room to wait and set up the meeting with the Elder mentioned how he wouldn’t take too kindly to you, being here for it, and suggested you wait elsewhere.” She rushed the words out. His eyes narrowed at her and she could see him bristle at the insult.

“That is not a command.” He replied.

“I know, it’s just, do you think we could…” the sound of heavy power armor moving and knights saluting their Elder reached both their ears signaling the man’s approach.

“Hide!” she grabbed his arm and without thinking tugged him under the desk just as a knock sounded on the door. It was a command, so Charon was forced to squeeze himself into the too-small space, then to add insult to injury she sat down and scooted her chair in, poking him with her knees and resting her feet on his lap. The door swung open and in walked Elder Lyons. She mock stood, hoping Charon didn’t mind her putting her weight on his leg, and shook the Elder's hand before sitting back down and scooting in. The Elder chose to stand across from her, wreaking havoc on her nerves like a disapproving schoolteacher.

“It’s good to finally meet you, we’ve been hearing so much about your mission…” he began.

2

Charon was furious. That was an understatement. The Brotherhood pissed him off with their holier-than-thou attitude and disdain for anything that wasn’t purely human or anything that wasn’t purely Brotherhood. Which is why he was currently crammed under a desk, listening vaguely to the conversation happening above his head, all the while Summer kneaded her toes nervously in his lap. He’d let her know what he thought of this when she let him come up, but for now, all he had to focus on was her bare legs.

They were smooth, except for a scar she had circling one calf up towards her thigh. There was hair on them, which felt like a marvel to Charon given his lack of hair pretty much anywhere, but hers was so fine it was just barely there, and soft he found when he reached out to touch it. A conversation came back to him from a month or so ago when she discussed boundaries with him. He’d told her he wasn’t allowed to have boundaries as such, so far as the contract was concerned, she just couldn’t be violent against him. She said she’d match that, so they were at least equals there. He heard more talk from above, talk of the Purifier and the Enclave, but he barely paid them any mind. He was focused on the scar, his fingertips lightly tracing it up her thigh as it wrapped behind her knee and kept going. He lifted her dress just a little, leaning in, intending only to find out where it ended when her knees clamped together on his cheeks and held him in place. She wasn’t wearing any underwear.

They were locked in place, foreign emotions tugging at Charon’s brain as he breathed in her earth scent. He hadn’t thought about sex in a long time. Hadn’t even really thought about his owner being a woman since he was a ghoul and in his mind, that would never happen. For a moment he was distracted, continuing to trace the scar until it disappeared over her hip, but then his eyes returned there. She was unshaven, just like the rest of her. The dark curls looked soft and inviting as he traced a hand up to touch them. She jerked, her voice faltering in their conversation but it had freed his head and for that he was glad.

A voice somewhere in the back of his mind told him to stop. Told him that this was his employer and this was inappropriate, but another more petty voice told him that she had directly stated that he could touch her anywhere, no boundaries. This probably wasn’t what she’d meant at the time, but he wanted some small revenge on the woman who’d bought his contract and shoved him under a desk, and although Charon was well versed in revenge, this type was brand new to him.

He wrapped a hand around the back of her knee, holding her firmly in place, and leaned his head forward a little further to rest his cheek against the inside of her thigh. He felt her breathing hitch, but the conversation continued. She was sitting right on the edge of her seat so when he pushed her other leg to the side, she was fully exposed to him. He blew lightly, watching the hairs shift under his breath and enjoying the goosebumps that peppered the insides of her thighs. She was damp, there was no other word for it in Charon’s vocabulary, a luxury of being fully human and the worse side of him wanted to be buried in it immediately. Still, Charon was nothing if not restrained, and he wanted to take his time here. He reached up with his free hand, carefully separating the folds, running the tip around each one of them and collecting as much of her wetness as he could. She flinched, her foot sliding off his thigh and scrambling for purchase again in his crotch. She probably didn’t even know it, but she pressed right onto his hard dick and it took everything he had not to groan. His teeth clamped down on the inside of her thigh, not enough to hurt, just enough to distract both of them. The conversation up top faltered and for a moment, Charon wondered what would happen if they got caught. The Brotherhood would probably kick them out or shoot them dead, maybe both, but somehow this made the situation all the more appealing to Charon.

His finger found that soft little bundle of nerves just above her slit and he massaged it, always careful not to press too hard. Still, her thighs clamped shut over his hand and he had to gently pry them back open. His mind was going fuzzy, everything being shaded with arousal. He let his hand wander, anywhere from cupping her round ass to messily spreading her juices around, he just went for it. Then when she seemed ready for it, he eased a finger in. He had large, calloused hands, not very good for small detail work, but for this they were good. He found himself leaning in, nuzzling his way up into her folds, careful that his breathing didn’t become too loud. He curled his finger into her heat once before slowly licking a stripe right up her center. Her hips gave a little wiggle, but otherwise, she stayed put for him. Hopefully, her face wasn’t getting too red from all this attention, but he found it hard to care.

He curled his finger again, rubbing against the front wall of her insides as his tongue tried to lap up every bit of moisture he could as though he were going to die of dehydration if he didn’t. She tasted heavenly and sweet, probably from all the mutfruit she ate, but he couldn’t complain. He didn’t like the fruits on their own, but on her they might’ve been his favorite flavor. His face was getting too warm and his brain was clouding over, all he could think about was pulling her down off that chair and sliding her beautiful cunt onto his dick, then fucking her under the desk. But he couldn’t, not yet at least. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that this situation was getting out of control, but it was difficult for him to reign in the stray thoughts that floated through his hazy mind. So, instead, he kept making circles. Circles with his tongue, circles with his finger.

Summer stood abruptly, Charon’s finger and face dislodged as she leaned over the desk again to shake hands with the Elder. Her dress acted as a shield to them and she stayed in that half-standing half-leaning posture until the door to the room was closed and the Elder was gone. When she plopped back down on her chair she was further away, dark curls falling around her shoulders, pupils blown wide as she stared at him. She opened her mouth, looking like she was getting ready to scold him when he placed his finger in his mouth and sucked all of her off it. When his finger popped free, she’d closed her mouth.

“May I come out now, Mistress?” he asked, still bound by his contract to hide. He didn’t use the title of mistress often on Summer since she disliked it, but if there was ever an appropriate time, it was now. She nodded and Charon began unfolding himself from beneath the desk.

“I kinda thought you still hated me.” She said, her voice almost a whisper. He moved to his knees, placing both hands on her thighs and gliding them up, enjoying the rough catch of his broken skin on her perfect skin.

“I don’t do this for you.” He murmured, lifting the hem of her dress and draping it back out of the way. She watched him with those careful brown eyes of hers, caught somewhere between predator and prey. He prized her apart again, the remnants of before still glistening on her skin.

“Then why?” she asked, her hand cupping the side of his skull. It was more tender than he expected from her right now. He expected rage, or disappointment, some emotion that he understood.

“That is a good question.” His voice was low, mouth mere inches from her warmth. He couldn’t fathom it anymore either. This was no longer about being petty or getting revenge, it had morphed into something else. Some desire that he hadn’t experienced in a lifetime or more. It was almost ethereal, as though he were a servant, and she was his savior. Then again, he supposed that wasn’t too far off from the truth, and in a way that made sense to him.

He licked her again, moving his tongue less delicately now that he could make noise. Two fingers slid in with ease this time, working in and out of her smoothly. Both her hands came to rest on his head, not pushing or holding, simply grounding her to him. She twitched under his ministrations, gave him rewards of breathy little sighs and quiet exclamations. This was better to him than the loudness. He’d witnessed enough of his employers getting their rocks off to know how unattractive he found loud women. This was just enough though, enough to let him know he was affecting her, without drawing the attention of a raider band several miles away, or in their case the Brotherhood knights stationed outside their door.

“Charon.” She moaned his name, they made eye contact and he pushed in once more. He felt himself go, completely untouched, swayed just by the look in his eyes that said she wanted him. He grunted, giving one final nip to her clit as she squeezed his fingers and flooded them with moisture. He withdrew his face, panting, resting it against her thigh like the softest pillow he’d ever encountered. His name rang in his own ears, some sort of benediction that made his dick twitch.

“Charon.” She said again. He pulled his fingers out slowly, cleaning them off as he’d done before. His mind was settling, what he’d just done sinking in. He flung himself back onto his ass, out of reach of her, a cold fear running down his spine. Would she want to sell his contract now? How badly had he fucked this up? It was only now that he was realizing how good of an employer she was, not that she had much to live up to, but out here in the wastes, decent people were hard to come by, let alone good ones. He was panicking, his mind flying from one terrible scenario to the next.

“Charon.” He froze as he placed a hand around his wrist. It was light, barely any pressure applied and when he looked up her eyes were calm and soft. They soothed him.

“They’re giving us a room to stay in tonight, we should head there and get cleaned up.” She said, standing and pulling him up after. Despite her kind eyes, he wondered what would become of him now.

3

The walk to their room felt shameful, but neither could figure out how to get out indiscreetly, so they didn’t bother trying to hide it. She could tell that something was off with Charon the whole walk there. Unlike his usual, massive presence at her side, he felt shrunken and small, like a beaten animal. She didn’t like it, but to be fair, a lot had just happened, and she wasn’t absorbing it all that well either. Sure, she’d been attracted to Charon for a while now. What could she say, she liked watching him work. He moved smoothly, confidently, and what girl doesn’t like a big, strong guy protecting her? But she’d thought he hated her, disliked her at best, and now it felt like they were on uncertain ground. The knights that looked at them with judging eyes as they made their way to their room only made it worse.

Once they were inside Summer flopped onto the bed. Strangely, she still felt completely safe with Charon, despite the fact that Charon didn’t seem to feel safe with Charon. She felt the stress piling on and building in her temples as Charon stood next to the door. Where to start with him? He was still such a mystery to her, but she had to try to mend this. She patted the bed beside her and he made his way over, wary like a caged animal about to strike. He sat a respectful distance away and wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“We’ve got to sort this out. What’s going on Charon? With us? With you?” she felt like she was rambling as she fiddled with the hem of her dress. Her cheeks reddened thinking about Charon’s head resting below the fabric.

“I do not know what came over me. I am sorry.” He said, his voice back to the monotone it always was. Her heart sunk a little at his confession.

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t mind…” she bit her bottom lip, not sure whether to back down or just go for it. She picked the latter.

“I actually enjoyed it… a lot. It’s been a long time for me, and well… I never really enjoyed that side of things, but I might have to rethink that now. I just don’t want you beating yourself up over any of this…” she paused her ramblings, trying to wrangle in her thoughts.

“I do not know what overcame me, but it seems my feelings are… complicated.” He managed. She snorted and he finally turned to look at her.

“You say that as though it’s never happened before.” She says, a smile smudging across her cheeks.

“It has been many years.” He said, some of the tension releasing from his shoulders. She reaches a hand out to rub comforting circles on his back.

“Well, on the bright side, you’ve got plenty of time to sort through them.” She said. There was a long pause in their conversation where she just rubbed his back and he thought, his brow heavy with concern.

“Do you wish to rid yourself of my contract?” he asked, his voice lower and more gruff than usual. Summer felt her eyes go wide and her hand stopped its slow pattern. She turned him toward her, meeting his eyes.

“No, not unless you don’t want me to hold it anymore.” She said, holding both of his hands in hers. He nodded, taking a deep breath. He turned more towards her, a grimace crossing his face, and looked down at his lap.

“Oh, we should probably get you cleaned up… I can help, if you want.” She said the last part carefully, catching Charon off guard. He held his breath, couldn’t say no, couldn’t say yes. She reached for the zip to his pants, making him stand so she could tug the dirtied garments off his hips. They pooled around his ankles, but she couldn’t focus on that when confronted with what was possibly the largest dick on the planet. He was hard again, painfully swollen and red with cum dripping off of every inch. She gulped, flush rising in her cheeks as she got to her knees and opened her mouth. He smelled strong, like flesh and rads, like the wind after a storm. Her mouth was almost on him when he stopped her. She looked up to find a new expression on Charon’s face. He looked tortured, not in a painful way though. Then, the next thing she knew he was pushing her over onto her back and lifting her dress up.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe as he lifted her legs and lined himself up at her entrance. His heat was apparent already, dripping onto her in a way that mesmerized. For a moment she visualized cleaning him off this way, with one good thrust into her, her hungry cunt would accept everything he had to offer including the cum that already coated his dick. She watched him slide home, surprised at the stretch. Her hands found purchase on his chest, clawing at his shirt until he was just inches from her and fully sheathed inside.

“Tell me that you won’t get rid of me.” He said, his voice cracking as he rested his head on the bed beside her. He didn’t move, just held her there around her knees, fully inside of her. A pang shot through her heart at his voice. He sounded confused and worried, overwhelmed with everything.

“Never, not unless you want me to.” She replied, wrapping her arms around his back. She placed a light kiss on his cheek and he pulled out almost all the way and slid back in releasing a sigh from her chest.

“Tell me you want me to stay.” He said, rolling his head to the side to look at her and thrusting again, agonizingly slowly. She felt too warm all over and jittery like she was already close to the edge.

“Please stay.” She begged. He thrust again and again, starting up a slow rhythm that felt deeply intimate as she could feel every inch of him, experience him in slow motion as he watched her react.

“Tell me…” he grunted, pulling her tighter to him. “Tell me you want me.” There was something begging in his eyes and it almost broke Summer’s heart. She placed her hands on either side of his face.

“I’ve wanted you for so long now.” She said, pulling his lips against hers in a slow first kiss. Her face tingled with the contact, all her nerves coming alive. It was like a dam broke in Charon and he began thrusting into her in earnest now, his hands roaming her body, searching, but she didn’t know for what. He planted himself deep inside her, his legs shaking between hers, muscles twitching as he emptied himself again. His hand found her clit, massaging until she let go too. She let her hands wander as well, following the patterns in his skin and the map of his muscles. Their breathing was heavy, but in sync, and when a knock sounded at the door, they both froze.

“Food!” came a knight’s cry from the door, but it remained shut and bolted. Relieved, they both relaxed into each other, unsure of the future, but happy with the present.

[awellboiledicicle]

I just remembered another Hypnos/oc au i had that involved a daughter Loki had with [spins wheel] who knows just before he was, you know, chained to the boulder.

Under the cut bc long

Her name is Osk and has the patience of Thor, Loki’s bent for magic, and the body of a brick wall. She’s actually a perfectly nice person when not annoyed, the problem is she loves her brothers and sister. And isn’t entirely convinced the world would end if they were treated better, which is a problem because Odin is 99.9999999999999% sure she’s wrong on that. Good news is she was basically Freya’s ward due to the goddess just kinda finding her one day after her mortal mother died of sickness. Bad news is Freya and Odin have been watching Demeter’s unending winter spiral out of control for the last fifty years and they’re... well not antsy. They know Ragnarok is going to come at some point. They’re just in agreement that maybe the great tree shouldn’t get frostbite early, nor should Fenrir be allowed out of his chains just because his little sister thinks he could be calmed with some work.

So a pantheon spanning convo happens between Odin and Zeus--who is also not loving the long winter, or the warring he isn’t involved in over resources--to figure out what to do. Because if the long winter is the Big One, their only hope of stalling it would be cutting out a possible trigger. And the best way to do that, since they can’t just stick her in Helheim because she might stir up Hel early, is to lock her in place somewhere where she can’t possibly contact her family. And them greek gods sure are good at locking up big powerful things. AKA Zeus offered to bind her into service of Hades. Because he does, at the time, have a reputation of only letting very specific cases leave his realm--and only if they follow the rules. It keeps her busy--he knows his brother, though they don’t talk much lately, will have work for her. And, maybe, the resulting offense from Hades will make him answer one of Zeus’ calls. It doesn’t. Hades answers a missive from Odin about it. No one knows how the raven got into the House in the first place, but it seemed content to follow Charon out. They come to an agreement that, yes, he’ll take Asgard’s problem child so long as she does a service to his house and doesn’t cause trouble. Which is good, since he will be her master for all intents and purposes. 

What’s bad is Osk and Freya--who is there largely to make sure she doesn’t channel her father and fuck off--show up about a month before Zagreus starts trying to escape. Which gives Freya time to try to convince Hades to marry Zagreus and Osk in a bid of ‘well if shes married perhaps it will slow her response upon ragnarok’. Hades, much too tired for this scheming and already trying to just be a good host until she fucks off, keeps saying no. Partially because he doesn’t want to deal with the chaos of a wedding, and partially because he seriously doubts Zagreus would be able to keep a wife. Just on a responsibility level. Then Freya tries to talk him into marrying her off to one of Nyx’s sons, assuming he’d have a say in that since the story was still that Zag was Nyx’s son. Hades definitely does not have the energy or time for this and says no.

Meanwhile Osk is not quite sure why she’s there. Like she knows she’s been essentially sold into service, the end date of which is ‘when the world ends’. She’s aware of the mechanical why. She just doesn’t understand why it was necessary-- she doesn’t want Ragnarok to happen any sooner than anyone else. She simply doesn’t want her family to suffer in the meantime. But no one seems to believe her, and thus. 

The upside is she does meet Zagreus and get along with him rather well--though sparring is done only under close supervision of Achilles. Osk might have a more mortal kind of immortality, but she also fights like she’s trying to tear someone apart with her bare hands. Zagreus, being trained by Achilles, does much the same. Which means if they’re not careful, they’ll both be climbing out of the pool of Styx. Which is best avoided. Meanwhile she’s very interested in Hypnos, in a very specific kind of way. Initially, she was curious if he and hsi river Lethe could be used to calm her brothers into stalling ragnarok, or on her father to make him sleep so deeply that the venom in his eyes no longer pained him enough to cause earthquakes. Then she got to know him and her interest turned into: “He is a funny little man, more suited like a housewife than some master of the realm.”

Basically she went “he’s pathetic, i love him” and spent a lot of time giving him pretty trinkets because she liked how flustered he got. Meanwhile he’s a bit caught up in the fact she could destroy him. The fact he was told, very sternly, that he was to knock her ass out if she disobeyed orders was noted and filed away behind her calling him a delicate poppy.

When Zagreus fucks off for the first time, shes the one who gets the job of hauling a very upset Cerberus out of the lounge. Her job, until Zag gets his as security tester, is literally to carry things around for Hades. Not because he can’t carry things, but because there’s so many fucking rolls of parchment. She’s just glad she doesn’t need to memorize all of them because oof.

She also refuses to believe Theseus isn’t Asterius’s father. She doesn’t know the story, no one wants to teach her to read to learn the story or tell her the story, so she just. Assumed, because of proximity. Hypnos corrects her because he’s his favorite fighter and oh darkness, no.

Once Zag gets his security job, he principally hijacks her for what he calls ‘stress testing’ on the off chance the shades are getting too used to how he fights. This is also known as ‘Osk punches her way through the underworld until she actually needs a weapon, in which case she just summons one with magic because what kind of woman would she be if she could not magic up a sword bigger than Theseus on command’.

That said, she’s mildly upset to find out Demeter throwing a fit is why everyone back home got so nervous. Well, not a fit but an overreaction. It’s not like the mortals asked Persephone to go missing. Once Persephone comes back though, Hades has to order her not to tell anyone. Because while yes, it would stop the winter if Demeter were focused instead on her daughter, it would mean a much larger war.

basically im ponder

[pokeverse-amethyst]

Sooooo… this is gonna be a long one, strap in. What follows is a metric ton of HCs about every single evil team and how they have worked themselves into every aspect of daily life, as to make them way more difficult to get rid off than just with a couple of arrests. Timeline wonkiness when trying to explain what likely happened first is to be expected, I’m playing fast and loose with all of this stuff. I might be way off topic in some regards but HECK HERE GOES. ~~~

TEAM ROCKET: This is pretty much of a no-brainer. What we have here is a classical mafia structure, and you just need to look at countries with extensive mafia presence to know that they are baked into every single fucking thing. Giovanni has worked years upon years to cement himself straight into Kanto and Johto, consequently making it impossible for any of the other teams to even THINK about gaining a foothold there. No further explanations necessary. ~~~ TEAM AQUA / TEAM MAGMA: This one is a bit of a more difficult one. But then again, let’s presume that most of the teams recruit a mixture of people who fully believe in the team’s message, who misunderstand the team’s message, and who see themselves in the team, but not necessarily in the message (so just looking for somewhere to belong and to gain some kind of direction). Oh, and monetary gain. Can’t forget that. So in the case of both Aqua and Magma? I like to believe it started out with Maxie and Archie working together on a plan to give nature back to Pokémon. Like, with trying to get more protected zones established, kinda like Fiore has them? But they were hitting resistance too often. Now I’m not saying that they were on the wrong track from the start or developed into what is basically eco-terrorists, but… they probably saw way too much bad shit happening to Pokémon around them. Maybe they heard what Team Rocket was doing to Pokémon in Johto and Kanto. Maybe they heard rumors about what Cyrus nearly accomplished, what Lysandre almost triggered, what Ghetsis managed to fuck up with his whole power play madness (TWICE, too!), what the Aether foundation might have had triggered if not for the intervention of a Legendary, what Rose made possible in the GALAR REGION of all places… Suffice to say, they probably felt like they needed to seriously up their game… to make sure that the other teams didn’t fuck up the world beyond repair before THEY could make the world a better place. The only thing that finally broke Archie and Maxie up though, was an inability to settle on what would be better. More landmass, more sea? What would be the gentler way of resetting humanity? Suffice to say, their vision might have attracted way too many who nudged them along. So TLDR: Archie and Maxie mostly reacted to what the other Team Bosses were doing and were helped along by Grunts/Admins that were way too into the whole “we will be the only humans deserving this new, shiny world”. They were numerous enough and determined enough to turn into a slightly terroristic group, but until the ultimate use of Kyogre/Groudon, they never really registered that much on Interpol’s radar. And when Interpol learned of them stealing a whole ass sub? It was already too late stopping them in their tracks in time. After all, Interpol had all the other regions to monitor as well… ~~~ TEAM GALACTIC: So. Charon doesn’t need much of a head canon fuckery. He just did it for the money, that much he stated openly. And Jupiter, Mars and Saturn? They all admitted openly to being along for the ride because they believed in Cyrus and the world being fucked up beyond repair, thus needing a good ol’ divine intervention from the whole-ass creation trio. But I don’t think any single one of them fully understood what Cyrus’s goal was. The commanders (that are not Charon) squarely fall into the category of “misunderstanding the ultimate purpose of the team”, as do all the Grunts. And as mentioned above with Team Aqua and Magma, Galactic probably saw some of the stuff that was happening around them and ultimately decided (and this is mostly for the Grunts and the Commanders) that Cyrus probably wasn’t so far off with the human spirit being incomplete. But they made one crucial mistake (pretty much the whole team, even Charon). They thought that Cyrus’s assertion over the incomplete nature of the human spirit was a reason for the man to believe in a world that should be made whole, not in wiping the whole fucking slate clean and going Tabula Rasa on the whole of creation. Much to the annoyance of everyone involved (and with that I mean the Creation Trio and the big boss of them), he actually went far enough to step on everything just to gain the power to control the legendaries. Also, time to unearth an already yoinked HC of mine that Giratina mostly retreated into the Distortion World to get some good alone time in, only to be disrupted by Cyrus bursting in. On that point also: time not really working all that clearly in the Distortion World. Kinda like Narnia rules, in as there is no fixed constant for time moving forward in either one or the other extreme. Sometimes, time will move forward extremely fast, other times, you spend years and years in the Distortion World and only a few seconds passed. After all, everything gets a bit… wobbly in there. But around the time Cyrus entered, Distortion World time became… more orderly. And that was what prompted Giratina to go VERY UNAMUSED ON HIS ASS. Think of it as time being influenced by what is thrown into the Distortion World. BACK to the Team, though. Galactic honest to Arceus believed that what they were doing would give the world a much needed boost… and were unpleasantly surprised when they were later on all shown that Cyrus wanted to go destruction and rebirth on the world. But that is not to say everyone was unhappy about this revelation. ~~~ TEAM PLASMA & NEO PLASMA: What easier time to convince disparate beliefs than with the apparent reason that they were just helping Pokémon that would have been unhappy in the care of their trainers? Wether the Grunts believed that the Pokémon should then consequently be released back into the wild or that they THEMSELVES deserved the Pokémon way more than others? What easier way to convince them of Plasma’s ideals? And there was no real discussion amongst the Grunts over this dichotomy. Sure, a few were disputing the one or the other stance, but most were still agreeing that the trainers they took the Pokémon from did NOT deserve them. No matter how pure their reasoning was. No matter how reality really looked like. Sure, they were removing Pokémon from some really nasty trainers? But on the greater scale of things, they mostly took Pokémon from trainers who they loved being with. And Ghetsis had his thumb on this a lot. See, Ghetsis didn’t want N to sway too much, before he finally met the protagonist. So Ghetsis made sure that only obviously abused Pokémon removed from trainers were brought to N. …why, no, this doesn’t mean at all that they were usually just from the outside. Ya think Ghetsis only had his main team? Dream on. ~~~ TEAM FLARE: What is there to say about Team Flare? They are basically a mix of the worst of the self-viewed elite of the region. There is entitlement to being viewed as the best of the best (and you can’t tell ‘em otherwise), there is doomsday fans who would do the whole shit with bunkering down and then fighting in an apocalyptic wasteland and fancying themselves new leaders in that changed world, there’s the ones who just think they will be able to surpass even Lysandre… What about the Admins of Flare? They half share Lysandre’s views of beauty. But mostly, they are in too deep to quit, and also half about relishing the fact that they get to work on something truly unique and devastating. They want this whole power thing to work out for them because some time in their lives, they might have felt like they were owed power and didn’t receive it. They were owed recognition and didn’t receive it. They want to be the new top of Kalos without working TOO hard for it. Without anything laying rocks in their path. Without any obstacles telling them that, no. They fucked up. ~~~ AETHER FOUNDATION: The moment Lusamine found out about the Ultra Dimension, she ostensibly was lost to her goal of getting her hands on the power to change the face of the world. And to preserve beauty. In many ways, her goal was similar to Lysandre… to a degree. The Aether Foundation is half staffed by people who truly believe that conservation work is the most important factor in the Pokémon World, to preserve some of the more endangered species around the world, and half staffed by people who truly believe that the Ultra Dimension holds answers to problems humanity might not even have recognized as such. This latter half was unpleasantly surprised when they started to learn the truth from the Ultra Dimension researchers. Finding out that Necrozma had destroyed the natural light of that world and was now the only source of more light for the city? That was a shock. But that didn’t necessarily mean that the Aether Foundation would have been broken up by that. Because honestly? The part of the conservation enthusiasts who were not deterred by the Ultra Dimension incident made the Foundation bloom beyond what it was possible to become. So in short: this foundation survived its leader far better than many others, and actually managed to get accepted. ~~~ MACRO COSMOS: This is the team that shocked their region with just how far their influence had gone. And that is to say that they existed at all, right under the noses of the region. Rose’s whole deal is a big part why Leon would later be plunged into a crisis of conscience, despite everyone assuring him that he had no way of knowing just how far Rose was willing to go to show the region how wrong it was to not immediately acquiesce to all that he envisioned for the future. The mere fact Rose was UNWILLING to wait what would at most have been half a day for Leon, to celebrate with the others after another big Champion Tournament? That was what sat so ill with many in the region. It wasn’t so much the message that Rose felt everyone had missed (that was actually just his version of events - most of the Macro Cosmos Grunts were attached to him solely for the reason of having privileges that none other had, and when they saw how he was acting, only the most dedicated few could ignore what was going on). So we are dealing with another team that was shocked how far the leader would go, but even more so than the Aether Foundation, the members scattered when Rose enacted the Darkest Day right out of nowhere. There is still worries that remains of Macro Cosmos could be out there, trying to bust Oleana and Rose out of prison and actually finding another way with which to scare Galar into complicity. How well that would even go is a whole different question… because the new champ is even stronger than Leon, and THAT is real fucking bad news for anyone who would want to establish themselves.

[facethroughthemirror]

A Little Less Dramatic

[ hey @fanvsfic I’m late to lunch with my mom and grandma so I can post this today enjoy it ]

Crossposted on ao3

Relationships: Donald Doyle/Emily Grey, Vanessa Kimball/Agent Carolina Additional tags: Suicide, Doyle Lives au

Over an hour after landing at what the rebels have termed “Crash Site Bravo” finds General Doyle still in the back of the pelican, perched on a bank of seats with his unarmored head in his gloved hands. The ache from where he’d hit it in the fall caused by the transport being jolted by the explosion has subsided, but the throbbing in his ankle. He can’t bring himself to look down at the discarded helmet at his feet, or at any of the plate armor he’s wearing. Not yet.

It’s war , he tells himself quietly. These things happen. Not everyone makes it back. He’s seen it happen countless times, hundreds of soldiers whose names he had never known slain on the battlefield, scientists and medical staff massacred by Charon’s mercenaries, each and every leader of the Federal Army before him either evacuated or dead, including the man he’d worked for most of his adult life before the... abrupt promotion. Good god, he stopped keeping track of names years ago. There were too many of them after a while to even keep track of. He doesn’t even know how many of them had died for nothing but the benefit of a businessman somewhere beyond Chorus’ skies, sacrificed for someone else’s gain.

And as much as it pains him, he can’t help but resign himself to the thought that maybe Armonia had been just another one of those sacrifices. That everything -- every one -- that Chorus had lost was for nothing. That it wouldn’t matter in the end.

No one’s been by to check on him. He assumes it simply to be due to no one noticing that he’s gone, though he finds it just a bit more comforting to think that it’s perhaps out of a kind of respect, or even more likely out of a somewhat mutual depression. Though he suspects that it’s entirely to do with the loss of Armonia, and not at all with the loss of...

“Oh dear…”

“What is it?”

“Are you ready?”

“... I’m afraid I won’t be joining you after all!”

“... What?”

“... there’s no longer a way to overload the reactor from the control panel with enough time to leave. But, I can still trigger an explosion! I’ll just have to do it manually!”

“... manually?! No, you don’t, just--just stay low, we can come to you.”

“I’m afraid that just won’t be possible! I appear to be surrounded, and there’s just no time for anyone else to get down here without tipping off Charon that something’s not right!”

Emily was a doctor . A non-combatant. He knows she can likely count the number of times she’s fired a gun on one hand, maybe both of her hands, and her standard-issue sidearm (that came with being an officer and as strongly as Emily objected to carrying one, there just wasn’t anything either of them could do about that) was in such a pitiful state of disrepair that it was hardly safe to use -- she’d had plans to convert it into a tranquilizer gun, he’d discovered. She should have never been down there in the first place. She should have left Armonia with her staff and patients, long before she could have ever even had the chance to suggest this. He should have told her to leave the city, she would have listened -- need to keep up appearances, after all, she wouldn’t have blatantly protested or outright disregarded an order where the others could have seen her do so.

The whole thing had been her idea, once they’d realized that Charon would leave the city if they knew that he had. She’d been trying to buy them time, she’d been meant to lead the mercenaries around, lose them, and then overload the reactor controls and slip out of the city before the reactor blew. They’d switched plate armor, so that she’d be able to not only catch the pirates’ eyes, but pass as him from a distance, while moving quickly through the city. She was several inches shorter than him, and was noticeably slighter, so it wouldn’t be enough to fool someone up close, or to trick Locus if she crossed paths with him, but it would buy them the time they needed. She would keep the mercenaries distracted, lead them in circles. They’d switched her hardlight shield into his armor, it ran better and covered a larger area, standard issue for Federal medical personnel in order to shield patients in the field, and he’d given her his better-maintained sidearm, so that she’d have a fighting chance should she be cornered.

It feels… almost unreal. He… still can’t believe it. It had all been going according to plan, but then…

“Emily -- Y-You can’t--!”

“I’m sorry, General Doyle! I know it isn’t perfect. Oh... there we are. The timer on this detonator barely lasts a minute. You need to get out of the city while you still can!”

Kimball throws her weapon to the floor of the Pelican as she speaks, shouting now, even though the other general knows it won’t do any good. “Damn it, Grey! Don’t--”

“Chorus needs you both. When this war ends, they’ll need skilled leaders more than they’ll need another doctor. You’re no good to Chorus dead!”

He just stands in quiet shock, gripping hard on a grab bar close to the bay doors as he hears that cheerful voice on the other end of the line, so matter-of-factly explaining, rationalizing, her situation as if it was a simple lab experiment. He can hear Kimball shouting over the radio, but a private message over his own comm. line drowns her out.

“... I’m so sorry. If there were any other way…” He hears her breath hitch, hears her voice shake. And it breaks his heart to know that there’s nothing he can do. “... look in my left-side storage pocket. I left you something just in case. I love you.”

He doesn’t have time to answer her, doesn’t have time to tell her that he loves her, doesn’t have time to say goodbye or anything else: there’s a deafening roar of an explosion, one that shakes the transport. But he isn’t sure if it’s the impact or the grief that snatches his knees out from under him and sends him crashing to the floor .

Emily’s “just in case” had turned out to be the very same things Locus had brought him after the massacre at her outpost, just about. Except, she’s left him both of her identification tags, with her ring neatly dropped onto the ball chain and hanging beside them.

“… Doyle?” a voice asks from somewhere outside his vision. He tucks the tags back into the pocket from whence they’d come: he doesn’t want anyone to see them. “… oh, you’re still in here.”

Tired blue eyes crack open finally at the sound of someone calling him, catching sight of the helmet at his feet. He closes them against the tears as they start again, and he swallows. He knows that voice. He knows precisely who’s speaking to him, and he also knows full well that he can’t exactly ignore the speaker. But he just can’t bring himself to look up. It takes a great deal of effort simply to speak aloud.

“... unfortunately.” His unconscious choice of words spikes emotion in his chest, but he swallows it, shuts his eyes against it. He can… he can deal with that later. “... do… do you... er… do you need me for something?”

Vanessa is quiet, the silence heavy in the air between them. For that long moment, he’s sure she’s about to begin shouting, telling him that of course she needs him for something. But she never does. Instead, her response is quiet. Almost… concerned. “... It can… wait.”

“... ah… are… erm… are-are you certain?”

“... yes.” Her footsteps approach his position slowly. Carefully. Once she stops walking, he hears the sound of a helmet seal breaking, and feels her sit down next to him. When she doesn’t say anything further, he finally forces himself to open his eyes again, to turn his head and look at her. Vanessa’s face, so young still but aged prematurely around the eyes by the stresses and horrors of war, is normally tired and sort of angry-looking, or at least, it has been the few times he’s seen it. And she still looks tired now, but… the anger is gone. Her curly hair is coming out of the hurried little bundle she appears to have put it into to keep it out of her face. He can see the very badly-faded lock of what was once ice-blue hair that hangs somewhere in the middle of the right side of her head, it’s come out of the bundle completely and is hanging down away from the other fugitive tendrils.

“... Sarge told me you two seemed close,” she finally says.

“... closer than he knows, I believe. I… spent quite a lot of time in her medical bay, after all, quite, er… quite prone to fainting spells. We… got to be… yes, quite… quite close.” He swallows. “... I shouldn’t have let her go. She never should have been out there, she… she should have left with her patients.”

“... you heard her on the radio. I… really don’t think you could have said anything to stop her.”

“You’re… entirely right. Emily is… w-was … a very willful individual. One of the many things in my life I had absolutely no control over. But that… always seemed to work in my favor. If I’d managed to find my spine for two minutes maybe I could’ve… talked some sense in her…”

Kimball’s hand settles on his wrist, and he pulls his hand away. As a reflex, he stands, shaking his head wordlessly, intending to physically move away from her -- from the conversation. He doesn’t get far on trembling knees and his sprained ankle, though, and winds up crumpled on the floor of the pelican about three feet closer to the bay door than he’d started. And it’s there that he stays.

Good god, he’s pathetic.

Kimball’s beside him in a moment, but doesn’t move to touch him yet, just stands beside him and waits for his next move. When he doesn’t make one, she takes a knee beside him. He finally manages to look up, face lined with years of worry and etched deeper with fresh sadness, eyes tired and empty and heartbroken, brimming with restrained tears. He can’t manage to say anything yet -- just stares. Stares, then turns his eyes almost sheepishly to the floor.

Kimball sighs. “… Look. I… I don’t… I didn’t know Doctor Grey as well as you did. So… I’m not going to sit here and pretend to know what she’d really want. But… if you two were that close, then I can promise you that she wouldn’t want you to think that way. She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. I understand how hard this is for you--”

“ Do you.” The statement -- absolutely not a question -- is uncharacteristically harsh. The bark of a much larger dog than he’s previously shown himself to be. And it absolutely does not come with an immediate retreat and profuse apology, though neither does it come with an aggressive posture. It’s more addressed to the floor than to the other general. “ Do you understand.”

“Yes, I do!” Kimball snaps back. “You’re not the only one who’s lost friends because of this war.”

… friends. Right. Of course she couldn’t have known: he and Emily had been very careful to keep that information private. If anyone has figured it out, he’d’ve assumed it was Agent Washington: most of the soldiers at the outpost avoided Emily like the plague and probably assumed that he, while possibly afraid of her, felt bad for her that she was so isolated.

He doesn’t correct her. It doesn’t matter now.

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

“Ducking out early?”

He stops in his tracks as he makes it to the door, and turns over his shoulder to see Vanessa leaning against a wall not very far from him, a cup of coffee still gently steaming in one hand. He just gives a bit of a nervous chuckle, reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. “… and here I thought I was being quiet.”

“You were. But I know you by now.” She stands straight, taking a long sip of her coffee, and makes her way closer to him, which isn’t hard, considering that he doesn’t move. “I’d offer to make you some eggs, but I get the feeling you’d say no.”

“H-Huh?”

“Nothing. You got somewhere to be?”

“Ah, er… well, I… yes, I do. But… but I--” He’s caught. He knows he’s caught. He’s got no excuse. So he just slumps. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to just… disappear like this…”

Vanessa laughs , and of course it’s not malicious. It never is, with her. At least not to him, not anymore. They’ve… come quite a ways in the several months since the war ended. “You at least gonna tell me who it is? I feel like you owe me that much.”

“I-I…”

“I’m joking . What you do once you leave here is your business.”

He stammers further, as if looking for an excuse even though one isn’t required, but eventually shuts his mouth and looks down, clears his throat to reset his stammer. It’s been dreadful these past few months, after so many years of speech therapy and an entire adult life with little discernible trace of the horrible thing. But… well, he’d been warned that the stress and trauma could bring his speech impediment back.

He is, however, thankfully spared from answering as Vanessa continues to speak. “… I’m happy for you. You know that, right?”

“Ex… e-excuse me?”

“You’ve been… down. Really down. I’ve noticed. And I get it. You… we’ve all been through… well, a lot. You, me, Chorus… and… you know, some people haven’t been able to come back from that and be happy and connect with people again. It’s good to see that you’re finally getting back out there.” There’s that teasing smirk again. “Even if it means I get to see less of you.”

“ Please don’t say it like that. I…”

“Like what?”

“Like this is your apartment and… a-and I’m sneaking out after something illicit !” It’s quite a bit louder, and quite a bit harsher, than he’d like, but the jokes -- and he knows she’s joking -- have made him uncomfortable for quite some time, and… well, today of all days he just… he really, really can’t take it. In his frustration, he twitches, his fingers flex, and he drops his helmet to the floor with a loud clatter that snaps him out of his moment of unprompted rage . “… I-I… I’m so sorry, I…”

Vanessa is, of course, unfazed. “Doyle, I’m gay . You very much aren’t my type. Well, you’ve kinda got the right hair color, but otherwise--”

“I know that! I…” He just shakes his head. He knows that. He’s known that for nearly a year now, since he first caught her eyeing Agent Carolina while the former freelancer was making use of the weight room at the training facility. “I-I know that. I’m sorry. This… this is just a very… strange day. For me, I… I’m very sorry. I… I need to go. I, er… finished the last of the major projects I’d been working on, those are on my desk.”

“Cool. I’ll get to them in the morning, I’m about done with mine.”

“There’s no rush.”

“… mind if I ask what you’re headed out to do?”

“… not at all. I…” He pauses, stoops to pick his helmet up, and straightens again, tucking it securely under his arm. “… it’s… ah… anniversary.”

“Anniversary?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate beyond that. It’s another brief moment before he turns away from her, and puts his helmet on, with shaking hands. “… good night, Vanessa.”

She doesn’t say anything further, simply watches him leave. Once the door closes behind him, he’s off down the back staircase -- he’d normally take the lift, but that’s not… he’s better going down stairs than up them. It also allows him to avoid people. Not that there’s anyone left in the building at this hour, he and Vanessa are almost always the last to leave.

He sees a familiar, teal-armored someone lurking in the lobby once he emerges from the stairwell, and he gives her a polite nod. “Hello, Agent Carolina. Er… waiting for Vanessa?”

She gives a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement.

“She should be down soon, but I can key you into the lift if you like.”

“… I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”

He nods a bit, tosses his head toward the lift and turns to lead her to it, keying in the code and letting her in in order to send her up to the offices. Once he bids her a good evening and the doors close, he sighs, and turns to head out of the building.

The walk home is short. Of course it is, his apartment -- they’re all in apartments, even him and Vanessa, it was… it was the most efficient solution to the housing issue -- isn’t far from the offices. Not a long walk at all. Not quite enough time to let his thoughts run away from him. His apartment is in the basement of the building, so there’s no zoning out in the lift and staring into space while his mind runs unchecked. Just a short flight of stairs down into the basement hallway, then a few more feet to the only occupied apartment on this level -- there’s an empty one across from him, no one’s cared to move into it, it reminds a lot of them of the barracks, and he understands that. It’s not at all why he found this one comforting, in fact, it makes his skin crawl just thinking about it that way, but it had been the sense of solitude that had come with it.

And there it is. Once the door closes, all the sounds that come with existing beyond these walls cease entirely. No traffic noise, no humming of industrial ventilation keeping air moving through the hallways. He finally lets out a heavy, exhausted sigh, letting the tension drop out of his shoulders as he leans back against the door. It takes him an inordinate amount of strength to reach up and remove his helmet, and even more to reach and set it down on the table beside the door.

It’s slow going to change out of his armor, but he manages it. Manages to start dinner too. He’s not sure how much of it he’ll eat, but he’ll try. He’s just sitting down on the sofa when the chirping alert tone of an incoming call comes in from the radio console on the end table. He considers not picking it up, letting it ring out. But he doesn’t let it go, he reaches over and taps the button to answer. “Yes?”

“ It’s me .”

“Hello, Vanessa. Did I leave something at the office?”

“ No, uh. Look, I feel bad about… you seemed upset with you left. I just… wanted to make sure you were okay .”

“Oh. Yes, I’m. I’m alright. Just a strange day, I told you.”

“ … Carolina and I are going to get some dinner, if you want to join us .”

“Ah. Already in for the night, actually. Thank you, though.”

“… what um. You mentioned an anniversary. Anniversary of what, exactly? ”

“… I… well, er…” He swallows. He’s… very carefully avoided discussing this with Vanessa. He’d had no reason to do so. When he speaks, his voice is… different. Far more tired than he’d sounded before, an incredible feat, really. “… did you know I was married, before?”

“… uh… no, you, um. You never mentioned that .”

“Mm. I asked her to marry me while I was having a panic attack. I-I thought one of us would die before we got the chance.” Doyle’s laugh is humorless, more like a scoff as he realizes how stupid it must have sounded at the time, though his fear would prove itself to be real several years later. “She probably shouldn’t have agreed to it.”

Kimball remains quiet for a moment, which he expects. He doesn’t hear Carolina in the background, but he knows she has to be there. “… do you want to… um… tell me about her? ”

“I don’t want to intrude on your evening, Vanessa. If you’ve plans with Agent Carolina, then you should keep to them.”

“ It’s… um, it’s okay. No, we… we can wait a minute. You um. You sound like you need to talk. ”

“I’m alright.”

“ Not even a name, huh? ” Her joking tone is back, and normally, it’d be… sort of welcome. But it isn’t. “ Come on. Some good memories to balance out the sadness, huh? ”

“… well, you did meet her.” He reaches up and closes one hand around the identification tags he’s kept wearing even after the war. One of them is his, the other Emily’s. Her ring settled right alongside them. “I’d be surprised if you remembered her quite as fondly as I do, though, no one really seems to.”

“… who was she ?”

He pauses. He’s not sure why the question stings so much. “… right, I didn’t think y… y-y… didn’t think y-you did. I’m… not surprised. Emily could be… a bit off-putting. I admit that.”

“Emily? … wait, Doctor Grey?”

“Mm.” He leaves that answer as it is for a moment. He hears Vanessa make a small sound of acknowledgement, but she doesn’t speak. His grip tightens around Emily’s tags, so much so that it shakes. “... she deserved so much better. ... she wasn’t always l… wasn’t always li… l-like that. I… I di… didn’t… didn’t realize there was something wrong until it was… far too late to stop it. She deserved someone who could have helped her… before she got so bad. Perhaps if she’d been in her right mind--”

“... I don’t think she’d be very happy to hear you say that ,” Vanessa says, thankfully cutting him off before he can really finish his thought. “ I think she’d be insulted to know you think she must have been out of her mind to do what she did .”

“You… y-you’re very right.” Doyle shuts his eyes again. Good lord, he’s absolutely awful. How can he think so poorly of Emily. And what’s worse… what’s worse is the part that he’s forgotten in his grief. That his voice cracks and shakes on admitting, even after the usual throat clearing in order to stop himself from stammering. “... her greatest fear was that she would lose her mind entirely, you know.”

“… I think that’s a perfectly rational fear .”

“… as did I,” he simply says. “… I’m… dreadfully sorry to have ruined your evening, you had… you had plans, didn’t you?”

“ … no, it’s… i-it’s okay. I don’t mind. You’re upset, and you, um… it’s not a problem .”

“No, I… you should enjoy your evening. Well, er… a-as much as you can after dealing with me, anyhow.”

“ Wait, no, it’s--it’s fine, really .”

“… thank you for listening, Vanessa. I didn’t realize how much I needed to… ‘get that off of my chest,’ as it were.”

“ Hey, listen, it’s still early, Carolina and I can come get you, you can come have dinner with us. I don’t feel right leaving you alone like this. ”

“No, thank you. I’m not much for company right now. I… think I’m just going to go to bed.”

“ Doyle, wait-- ”

“Good night, Vanessa.”

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

Doyle doesn’t come in on time the next morning.

Doyle is never late to work. In fact, he’s always early, settled into work for the day by the time Vanessa makes it in. So to see no trace of the man in the building after the rest of the staff is mostly in in the morning is jarring and almost frightening to begin with.

Vanessa has her suspicions.

Something about the dark office, the empty desk, the memory of just how tired Doyle had sounded on their call last night makes her feel sick and worried. She remembers how he’d very uncharacteristically snapped at her before leaving work the day before -- he’d apologized, true, but still… and last night had been… a hard date for him. Something’s wrong. She knows it.

But she waits. She waits five, ten minutes before she can’t stand it anymore. She doesn’t bother with a call. She just rushes from her office and down the back stairs, because taking the elevator will take too much time. She barely stops to apologize to Matthews after knocking into him on her way out the front door, and it’s hell to push upstream through the foot traffic for the two blocks between the offices and Doyle’s building, but she manages it.

His building had chosen to go for non-powered doors, far easier to build than the heavy steel sliders, though with far less security. Which is useful for Vanessa, considering it only takes her two minutes to break the damn thing off its hinges.

She’s only been to his apartment a handful of times, and every time, she’d noted how bare it was. Hardly looked lived-in. She’d thought that it was because all he did was go to work and then come home to sleep, he didn’t take days off. He didn’t have a lot of time for decorating. But now… she’s not so certain that’s the real reason. Now… it sort of feels like he didn’t plan to stay long.

“… Doyle?” She shakes her head, reaches up and pulls her helmet off when she sees his still sitting on the table by the door. “Doyle, it’s me.”

Nothing.

“Doyle? You home?”

Of course he’s home .

There’s only two doors in the apartment: she knows one to be the bathroom, which also has a door into the bedroom. So it’s this second door she tries when she finds the one to the bedroom locked. And it’s not only unlocked, but slightly ajar.

She had been afraid of what she might see once she reached his apartment. Her mind had given her a hundred possibilities: that lanky figure hanging from a ceiling figure by the neck, the coffin-sized bathtub overflowing with bloody water, a body slumped against a wall with gore smeared behind it and a gaping gunshot wound. Or worse, no trace of the man at all.

So when she sees the shadowed shape of a body in the bed, it’s… both something of a relief, and sucker punch to the gut that knocks all the breath from her body. She’s hesitant to cross the small room and turn on the overhead light, but she does, and it cuts off the third attempt to call the man’s name entirely.

Vanessa knows he isn’t going to answer her.

He left the empty medication bottles on his bedside table. Two of them, both prescribed to him by Doctor Grey, but… obviously a little out of date.

She’s seen her share of dead bodies. But all of them have gone out violently, or in mental anguish that still showed on the corpse. But Doyle… looks peaceful. Really like he’d gone to sleep. No fear, no pain, nothing. Just… peace.

She looks for a note. She doesn’t find one.

She calls whoever she needs to. Reports it. Suzy, the medic-turned-doctor, who Emily had trusted with her patients. Jensen and Smith, they’re… cops now, they have to be called. She stays while they look around, tells them what she knows. What he said. How he didn’t leave a note that she can find. They find he’s holding a set of military ID tags, with a gold ring dropped onto the chain. One of them is his. One of them is Doctor Grey’s.

When they finish up, she goes back to the office. She’ll… have to think of something to tell the people now. It occurs to her to check his office on the way by, check his desk for the projects he’d said he’d finished. She’ll have to clean it out anyway. She finds the files right where he said they’d be, but on top of them is something else: a piece of paper, marked with his flowing, elegant handwriting. Not messy, not hurried. Absolutely clear to read.

I’m very sorry I lied to you, Vanessa. I didn’t want to waste your time with a long goodbye. You had an appointment to keep, I had dinner plans. But if you’ve found this, then I suppose that you already know what those plans truly were.

Do you remember what I said, at the skirmish in Armonia? The outpost that was destroyed? It was our primary command facility, and the location of our field hospital. Where Emily was stationed. After the massacre there, Locus reported it to me in Armonia. He put her ring into my hand, and told me that he’d found her lying in the snow. That she’d already bled to death by the time he’d gotten to her. There was nothing he could have done. I still wear her tag. And her ring, on the chain.

Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was what I thought she must have looked like by then. And when it came to light that Locus had been lying to us… I was hoping that he’d lied about her too. And he had, which in all honesty came as nothing short of the most intense relief I think I’ve ever felt. I thought back then that I didn’t know how I’d ever get along without her. When you met me in Armonia, I was greatly considering letting you take your shot and end everything. I didn’t want to live without her. I’d considered doing it myself, but I couldn’t have done that to the soldiers.

Please don’t be upset with yourself. Or anyone else. Of course no one saw the signs. I made certain there weren’t any signs to show. I didn’t go a romantically poetic route and go all the way to the old Armonia site and let the radiation get me if the medication didn’t because I didn’t want to be stopped by some soul on the street and distracted. I didn’t want it to be loud and messy, or dramatic. I wanted this to be over. Rather appropriately, I am just so tired. I’ve been an insomniac since I could spell the word. I just want to sleep. This has been months in the making, Vanessa, there was never anything you or anyone else could have done to stop it.

Tell people whatever you like. Tell them the truth, tell them I was too weak to go on, too selfish to live without the woman I loved. Lie to them and tell them the trauma of war took its toll in other ways and I wasn’t strong enough to take it -- well, that part’s sort of true, I suppose. Or don’t tell them anything. It doesn’t matter in the slightest.

Do me a favor, would you, and make sure that whatever happens to me, they leave me with Emily’s things. There was nothing of her to bury but her plate armor, and I’ve had that since it happened. If we can’t be buried together properly, I’d like to do whatever we can .

She doesn’t know how long she spends standing there, reading and rereading the paper in her hands. She doesn’t know how long her radio chirps for before she notices it, and answers, her voice shaky and broken.

“Yes?”

“ General Kimball? It’s uh. It’s Smith, ma’am. There’s kind of a crowd out here, some reporters. Uh. What do you want us to tell them? ”

She pauses. “Don’t tell them anything. Not yet. I want to handle this properly.”

“ Yes ma’am. ”

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

Suzy comes to visit around dinner. To check in on her, mostly, see how she’s holding up, but also to deliver some news.

Preliminary results of the autopsy say that it was the medication overdose that killed him, she’s confident to call it a clonazepam overdose right now. But there’s something else. Sort of an ultimate cliche, really.

His medical records all indicated a rather weak heart. But the heart she’d seen when she’d checked him over had been… different. There had been some swelling, she says, a specific swelling of the left ventricle that indicated something called takotsubo cardiomyopathy . It’s stress-related, and rare, and it mostly affects women between sixty and eighty. Dying from it is nearly unheard of, but if it goes untreated in someone with such high stress, well, it can cause other problems. If he’d ignored it, or had never noticed, it could have contributed to heart failure.

It’s the common name that almost, darkly, makes Vanessa laugh. Some people, Suzy tells her, call it broken heart syndrome .

“The physical broken heart didn’t kill him,” Suzy clarifies. “But by all accounts, it was probably going to.”

[boarix]

Wraith in the Ruins: Meanwhile, Back in Goodneighbor III

The Straw

A look back-in-time, before Wraith woke up.

Trigger warnings: canon language/drug & alcohol use. Attempted suicide

Game Spoilers!

Please enjoy!

 “Checkmate!” Fahrenheit’s triumphant yell startled Harold, the Neighborhood Watch sanding guard at the door. He had been drifting off and her jubilation had made him spaz comically. Hancock pretended not to notice as he reached forward with dramatic slowness and resigned his king.

“You got me. Good match Fahr… hey… where…?”

As soon as the crown touched the board Fahrenheit had walked briskly around to Hancock’s private bar. Helping herself to a tumbler and what she knew for a fact was his best whiskey, she proceed to pour herself a very generous portion.

“Careful with that! That’s way more…”

Downing it like a shot, she was immediately overcome by a gasping, coughing fit, “Whasser! Hag erk!”

Laughing at her, Hancock provided an unnecessarily exuberant pat on the back before passing her a container of water, “Heh. Tried to warn ya. That there is a ‘sipping whiskey’. A deal is a deal I suppose, but I feel you’re a little young to be drinkn’ the hard shit.”

“I’m eighteen, Hancock.”

“Are you really? Christ am I getting old!” He felt a small pain in his heart; she was all grown up. “So when you movin’ out?”

Rolling her eyes, she smiled at him before pouring a more sensible portion, “Oh no! No way. You would get into way too much shit without me here.”

They heard footsteps coming up the stairs before Harold stuck his head in the door, “There’s a courier for you Mayor Hancock.”

“Ah, that would be a letter from Morningstar.” Hancock had recently been in correspondence with a huge player in the Capital Wasteland: Nyx Morningstar owned a majority share in the trade caravans that moved in and around the ruins to the south and Hancock wanted Goodneighbor to be part of her expansion north. Apparently, in addition to moving a vast array of goods, she also moved “packages” for the Railroad. Deacon had been pivotal in establishing the link, which was something that severely nettled Hancock.

Taking the proffered envelope, he tipped the courier before tearing it open, “Oh… It’s from Nick…” Color drained from Hancock’s face almost as soon as he began reading. Stumbling backward toward his desk, he missed his chair completely and fell heavily to the floor.

“Hancock!” Rushing to his side, Fahrenheit took the letter from his outstretched hand and began reading:

John,

It is with deep regret that I must inform you on the death of your parents.

I took the liberty of looking into their passing and could find no evidence of foul play. As you may know Patrick had fallen ill recently and as will sometimes happen, Martha followed him shortly to her rest.

Mayor McDonough had their remains cremated as is the custom.

If you need anything from me, or would like me to follow up, please don’t hesitate to ask.

Your friend,

Nick Valentine

Fahrenheit placed a hand on his shoulder, “John…”

Flinching at the contact Hancock’s voice was husky, “I need… I need you to go…”

Trying her best to be understanding, she left him in his office, shutting the door behind her. She told Harold to direct all future concerns to her and that the mayor was “Not to be disturbed!”

She expected him to go on a bender. She expected him to have a bedroom full of men and women at all hours of the night and day. Fahrenheit expected Bedlam. What she got was… nothing. Within 24 hours Hancock was apparently back to his normal self and it terrified her. When she finally worked up the nerve to ask him about it he had smiled and said, “These things happen.”

The letter from Morningstar came 3 days after Valentine’s. In it Nyx informed Hancock that she herself would be making the journey to Goodneighbor to finalize the trade agreement. Jumping into the preparations with almost hyper-like enthusiasm, Fahrenheit had a suspicion that Hancock was keeping himself together just to make sure the deal went through.

 As soon as Nyx stepped through the gate Fahrenheit could tell that this was a woman in power: confidence and strength emanated from her like rays of light from the sun. She was tall, built like a brick house and with blue-black hair and golden eyes she was strikingly beautiful. As if she wasn’t impressive enough on her own, she was accompanied by her personal bodyguard Charon, an absolute mountain of a ghoul.

If Hancock was intimidated he didn’t show it in the least. Emanating his own aura of confidence and charisma he greeted his guests with arms open wide, “Welcome to Goodneighbor my friends. May you find whatever it was you are looking for, even if you didn’t know you were looking. I trust your trip in was pleasantly uneventful?”

Shaking his offered hand, Nyx unleashed a devastating smile and the two fell into an easy banter as if they had been close friends for years. Hancock introduced Fahrenheit as his second and Nyx turned her smile on her like it was a weapon. The strong handshake and eye contact left Fahrenheit fighting flushed cheeks.

Fahrenheit decided she really didn’t care for Nyx Morningstar.

Over the next few days Hancock kept Fahrenheit with him as he danced the political dance; making sure she had a chance to observe a master at work. He welcomed any questions she had, even during actual haggling sessions. She felt pride in the level of trust he was showing her.

She was taken down a peg however when she realized the trade agreement wasn’t the only deal Nyx had going down in the Commonwealth. There were several meetings with key Railroad members, some of which Hancock was party to that Fahrenheit was not.

Fahrenheit decided she really didn’t care for Nyx Morningstar.

 She found the first broken mirror 2 days after the Morningstar caravan left. When she asked Hancock about how his bathroom mirror had been cracked he laughed it off, “Heh. These things happen.”

He was sleeping alone. Hancock almost always had a bedfellow.

The glass was broken on the portrait of the original John Hancock that the mayor kept in his office. The day after she had asked about it the picture vanished along with all the glass from the display cases throughout the State House.

He was destroying his reflection whenever and wherever he saw it and had taken to wearing gloves to hide his bloody and bandaged knuckles.

Fahrenheit wanted so badly to help him, but she couldn’t get him to talk to her. All the lessons he taught her on history and music as well as combat and arms in no way supplied her with the tools to help someone who was clearly on an emotional downward spiral. She even went to Daisy; one of the people that she knew for a fact actually cared about the mayor as a person.

“He won’t talk to me either, honey. Lord knows he’s hurting… maybe just give him some more time.”

Hancock made sure his internal struggle was invisible to the rest of the people of Goodneighbor by going about his mayoral duties as if nothing was wrong. The Morningstar caravan from Underworld to Goodneighbor was a huge success and goods and Railroad packages moved smoothly between the two cities.  In fact, to an outside observer, Goodneighbor had achieved a renaissance and Hancock was its da Vinci.

As if she wasn’t worried enough as it was, Fahrenheit’s anxiety got a major boost the day Hancock officially made her Captain of the Neighborhood Watch. He even had a small ceremony, (much to her embarrassment) followed by a large party at the Third Rail (where she was even more embarrassed).

A week later she couldn’t find him.

Keeping it quiet wasn’t easy. She didn’t ask around, she just patrolled in more specific areas of town where one might find a wayward mayor. Finally giving up she went back to his office. She found the note pinned to his coat on the seat of his desk chair.

She couldn’t even open it. Fahrenheit stared at the envelope as if it were a monster. If she turned away it may devour her, but if she continued to look at it there was no denying its existence.

“Where would he go…? He wouldn’t do it here.” She knew the note wouldn’t tell her. Hancock didn’t want to be stopped. This wasn’t a cry for help; he was looking for an end. “The ocean museum!” It hit her like a thunder-bolt. Grabbing his coat she sprinted out of the State House and ignoring the calls from her subordinates, she flew out of the gate and into the ruins.  

 It was dark by the time she entered the dry-dock warehouse just south of the Nahant Oceanological Society building. Hancock loved being close to the ocean and would often “threaten” Fahrenheit with potential fishing trips. She knew he would be there. Somewhere…

“…people who own little businesses of their own, the safer… the people who have a stake in their country and in their community are its best citizens…” She could hear Hancock’s voice, but it sounded odd; coarser than normal. Fahrenheit recognized he was repeating some of his favorite John Hancock quotes. “We must be unanimous; there must be no pulling different ways; we must hang together!”

When she finally saw him her heart froze and she dropped to her knees: he was standing naked in the center of a room wreathed in an iridescent green flame. Even as she watched he seemed to diminish, almost melt, before her eyes. His once shining mane of blond curls had all but fallen to the ground and his proud Roman nose was hanging by a shriveled piece of skin. He had stopped speaking for a moment and was watching the flames run up and down his arms as if entranced.

“John… no…”

He was beyond hearing her; lost in the high of whatever chem he had taken to cause his transformation. And transforming he was; Fahrenheit had grown up around ghouls and knew, without a doubt in her mind, what his end shape would be.

“John… why?”

“Resistance to tyranny…Harrrk” Choking on his own blood, he crouched into a fetal position as he coughed, “AAAGGHHHOO HAGGkkkk. Oh! IT HURTS! IT HURTS!” Fahrenheit flinched and stood up when he suddenly jumped back to a standing position. Throwing his hands out wide, he continued his rambling quotations, “There! I guess King George can now read my name without his spectacles, and he can double the reward on my head!”  

“Please John… Can you even hear me? Don’t you see me here? JOHN!”

Turning to her he took a few steps toward her extending his right hand as if pleading for help. But as he was still burning, she shied and backed away from his touch. Dropping his arm he stared at her with his now coal-black eyes, “I see you Fahr. Look! Now I’m as ugly on the outside as I’ve been on the inside all along. Along. Along… Inside is the outside as is the inside-out!” He turned away and continued his speech to an assembly only he could see, “I am a friend to righteous government, to a government founded upon the principles of reason and justice; but I glory in publicly avowing my eternal enmity to tyranny.”

“Please stop! Please don’t… you can’t do this to me. YOU FUCKING CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!” She was crying now, openly sobbing, “You selfish fucking coward! Why did you do this? You can’t kill yourself!”

“I killed them all Fahr. They are all dead because of me.” The flames were beginning to dwindle as he walked back to stand in front of her.  He was now fully a ghoul and completely unrecognizable, “And you’re right Fahr; apparently I can’t even kill myself. That government is best which governs the least, because its people discipline themselves.”

“That’s wrong. That wasn’t John Hancock... that one was Jefferson.” She brought his coat up and buried her face in it, “Why would you try? Don’t you know what your death would have done to Goodneighbor?”

“You are all better off without me. Why th’ fuck did you come here? Why’d you bring that thing?” He pointed at the frock coat with obvious irritation, “I never earned the right to wear it anyway.” His eyes narrowed and he ran at her growling terribly, “HAAARRRRGGGGGGGAHHH!”

Rather than draw her side arm, she faced him down. Standing her ground, she called his bluff. His scarred face inches from hers, he continued to roar at her until he suddenly became fascinated by a boat in the corner. Running over to it, he climbed in and standing on the seat like it was a stage, started to hum Orange Colored Sky. Fahrenheit’s favorite song.

“I remember when you showed up with this,” She was looking down at the frock coat and had tenderness in her voice, “you looked so silly because it didn’t fit you, even as skinny as you are, but you still had your arms in it… all backwards… I was mad because you had cut yourself. I can still see you and Daisy sitting back-to-back, I sewed your hands back together while she let the coat out. You were making faces… trying to get me to laugh… oh John…” Crying bitterly she dropped to a crouch with the coat held to her face.  

“I’m sorry Fahr. I… I fucked up again. I thought that I could atone this way… I hurt you instead. I don’t ever want to hurt you. I knew there was a chance that I could survive, but end up as a ghoul. I thought I didn’t care which way it went.” He had come to sit next to her, legs crossed and hands in his lap he had made an effort to cover his nudity, “but maybe this will have to count for something.”

“Does it hurt? I have Med-X with me.”

“It hurts like a mother fucker! But… I deserve every second of this pain. I’m a Goddamn fool. I can’t ask ya to forgive me for this. I wouldn’t deserve it.”

“I… I’m really mad at you right now and I’ll be mad at you for the foreseeable future, but you know I love you so… Now what?”

“Now… I’m not sure.” Running a hand across his head, he realized perhaps for the first time, that his hair was gone.

“If you need some time to… heal? I can look after Goodneighbor for a bit, but I think the town needs you John.”

“Ya don’t think the people will have a few questions as to why their mayor is missing his nose?”

“I’m not sure most of them would be lucid enough to notice. The ones that do… they’ll know it’s you.”

“Who’s ‘you’? Who am I supposed to be now Fahr?”

She stood up and draped his coat around his shoulders, “John McDonough is officially dead. You killed him today.” Smiling sadly down at him she offered him her hand, “Your John Hancock of course.”

  Thank you for reading! Like what you read? Looking for more? Please see my Wraith in the Ruins master-link in my bio. =^..^=

[olympus-summit]

Shinobu | re_Birthday Truth | Trial 6.7 | re: Charon, Setsuna, Atropos

[ CW: Discussed murder by cremation, emotional abuse from teachers, and suicidal ideation ]

Shinobu looks a bit sheepish when Charon corrects them – they still 100% believe the Titan Administration would blow this airship up as a last resort to destroy the rogue councilors – but his follow-up comments earn a glare.

“Sakura Arai spent her last hours cursing your name because she also thought you’d start a war! And Atropos told her your plans didn’t have to end in one! W-Which tells me you all did think through the possibilities a-and went ahead with this anyway. So… now you're worried about exposing the truth b-because of the risks…? I-I don’t want another w-war, yes, but I just… I want to understand what you expect to happen now.”

Not that the councilors are bound to follow the conspirators’ advice, especially since it sounds like not even they are in complete agreement of what should happen and who should be the scapegoat. But it’ll be good to know what resources they have, how hard the Administration would fight back, and what possible outcomes there are.

Shinobu backs out of the conversation, expecting that an answer won’t come when people are venting off more pain. Some part of them wants to mediate, but... But right now, they doubt they could give an effective defense for anyone.

Instead, they get up, messenger bag upon their shoulder, and place their turtle dolls at the respective altars. They don’t return to their own throne, instead sitting on the empty side-table next to Nemesis’s chair. It’s a narrow fit, and Shinobu has to recenter themself several times to maintain balance, but the table seems to hold their weight. Settling in, Shinobu puts a gentle hand upon Nemesis’s back to help steady him.

They’d hug him, but… Shinobu is very acutely aware that they are surrounded by widowed partners and spouses, ex-lovers, and whatever Elliott and Leland might be now. Any further public displays of affection would not be wise. Not that the Doctor has ever said anything about being uncomfortable seeing them express affection so soon after the complete destruction of her own relationship, but Shinobu’s anxiety (even now, there’s a part of them that fears her judgment) makes them wonder nonetheless.

For now, Shinobu pulls their hands back to themself, picking at their bracelet as they soak in the last few things said. They… don’t know what they can say to Setsuna, given how profoundly different their views on death are, and they don’t want to fight her. But one thing sticks out painfully to them.

“They didn’t do just ‘some’ bad things; that’s for someone who starts a fist-fight. Th-they picked through all our traumas and triggers made us relive them. They deliberately chose to do this – o-or most of them, I-I don’t know how much Menai knew and when—?”

Would it be better or worse if Menai learned the full truth early on and had chosen to keep supporting them anyway? At least if they had known, it meant they’d made an informed decision when they stayed with Elliott and hadn’t been continuously lied to. Shinobu… can’t find themself resenting them as much as they resent the others, mostly because they worry if they’re watching their own ancient history repeat again.

Shinobu groans, running their hands up and down their face. They don’t want to think of anyone as their enemy anymore. They try again, this time speaking softer.

“…Look. I don’t believe that people are born bad or good. I-It’s their experiences and how they react to it that shapes them. O-Of course, we’re… a special case. I’m sorry i-if I don’t understand new research from the 2200s or even 2090s. But anyway.

I-I want to believe we can be decent people, we could have been and still could be. And I think… that they still deserve to live. Nemesis is still right, though: It isn’t enough to feel guilty. I-It’s not enough to have good intentions or fighting a greater evil or anything like that. It’s what you do and what it does to people that matters most.

They can be forgiven. I-I’m not going to deny anyone who does, b-because that’s part of healing. But I a-am not obligated to forgive them.They’ve suffered, and th-they chose to end that suffering at all costs. But that doesn’t erase what it did to us.

They know that. I know that. I gain nothing f-from yelling at them. And… if they really are standing o-out of our way now, I’m not gonna fight them anymore. I’m tired. I-I just want to focus on living now.”

It’s not that Shinobu fully buys into the whole ‘if you kill them you’ll be just as bad as them’ concept that old stories they read would pull out, but… but they do believe people deserve a base level of dignity, and that death is not the answer. Though they aren’t really sure if that choice is in anyone’s hands now: They’ve noticed Atropos’s health deteriorate, and while she was cagey about what was wrong with her, Shinobu can’t help but wonder if there’s another reason this was their last chance to end the Summit.

They hope she is watching the way they stare at her.

“…The file said I was – the other me was in his late 70s when you spoke to him, right? And my real birth year is apparently '38…? Then, that means you contacted me a-after you’d started working here as s-staff.”

Had there been a Shinobu among the councilors in those first two decades? Was Shinobu one of those ‘popular’ ones that had been brought back first, so beloved by the citizens that the Titan Administration gave them the honor of dying in a furnace, unaware why they were burning, unaware that the Administration had already reversed all the good things that they and people like Mitsu and Evren and Mina had done for the world?

A clattering noise interrupts Shinobu’s denouement, and they glance down to see red beads scattered all over the floor – they’ve finally torn their bracelet apart, the snapped string gripped tight in their trembling hand. Shinobu loosely wraps the strings around their fingers, and shakily continues speaking. There’s a smudge of blood on their lips, from biting back on their terror.

They have to… If Atropos is deteriorating regardless their decisions, if this becomes the last time they will ever meet, then Shinobu will force themself to talk even through the pain. Even the bravest and smartest of Shinobu’s incarnations stayed silent when it mattered most. Shinobu can’t let it happen again.

“…b-b-but… Y-You asked me to h-help you restructure sports and their ethics. To make s-sure athletes are treated w-with dignity physically and psychologically. To let kids be kids and not trophies f-for their coaches to show off.

You… understood, didn’t you? What my coaches did to me? H-How they’d nitpick all my flaws and tear down my self-worth u-until I’d rather die than fail a-another test, all because they thought an angry and desperate student would work harder th-than a happy one? I-I’ve… seen the photo. Were we friends, once?”

Which Shinobu was that in the photo, chatting happily with Atropos over lunch? The second? The third or the fourth? Some other initialization of SM2038 Nike.ai that Shinobu doesn’t even know about? How much had she shared about herself and her own history? Had she genuinely wanted to bond over their similar experiences, or was she just passing time until the day Shinobu would die and forget once more?

“I w-wouldn’t know. But you would. You know what my coaches did to me. You know how ‘breaking’ us is just her philosophy on a grander scale. You know why I can’t forgive you.”

They watch her, now without any of her weapons and her pride, and Shinobu finally realizes something: More than they hate Atropos, they pity Clarice.

They project themself upon her, and they wonder: Could they have become this, given a hundred and twelve years of resenting their own extended existence? They know why she accepted the Forge the first time around – she hasn’t told them, but they know deep in their weakened bones why she did that. Could that have been Shinobu too, if they had chosen someone else to be Clotho or Lachesis? Could Shinobu, after a hundred years of sending people to their deaths, have become so willing to inflict a few months of torture on others just to break the cycle?

But people are shaped by their experiences, and Shinobu did not become that person. Calista and Iris did. Clarice did. And Shinobu cannot forgive how she, in her own way, perpetuated the same cycle they had both hated so much.

They still hope she lives. They hope she gets to live long enough to watch these final councilors thrive without her.

“I want everyone here to live.”

There’s nothing more than can be said now. Shinobu doesn’t want to feed into the circular arguments any longer. They go quiet, hand back on Nemesis’s shoulder, and hope that maybe now, they can all finally begin to reclaim their humanity.

[mechagalaxy]

John T Mainer 28840: Meat Shields

Meat Shields

The war was not going well. Rockets Raccoons were up against the Mullah's of Mayhem, a threepeat gold clan in the division the Raccoons had found themselves advancing into as the fresh meat. Out of the gate the Mullah's of Mayhem issued a fatwa calling Racoons trespassers in Division X and an abomination in the sight of the Craftsmen. They were ordered to burn their own mecha, or burn in them. The Racoons washed down a plate of bacon with a fifth of bourbon and told the Mullah's of Mayhem where they could insert their gold medals, and offered a boot to pound it home. They expected to have some time to scout before things got hot, that is the way things worked in Division W. Turns out Division X is more intense.

The second the clock struck O murder hundred, the Mullah's struck. Rolling out of the darkness in a tide of niode powered intolerance, they cut through Rockets Raccoons like a Galaxy Eye through an open cockpit. Two of the Raccoons were in specialist lineups to go hit the Mullah's scouts, just a few minutes from ready to hit the badlands to go hunting, but caught in tens and twenties when the Mullah's Kami, Notas, and Charon tore through, freezing, burning and stomping everything in their path.

My job is usually pretty chill. I pilot a third rank Magnus in Chubby's Cherubs. Me (Grinner) and Sweet Meat Stevenson act as flankers for Isabella in her Regis. We have a bit of niode gear here and there, but our guns are pure crystal. Best guns forward is the Raccoon creed, but each of our lines is designed to fight as a line. Me and Sweet Meat have pretty decent freeze, good trample, hit hard with missiles or cannon. Sweet meat has a lot of forking missiles, nothing super hot, but it spreads the love around. I pack a mix of good crystal cannons and OK crystal cannons. We keep being promised upgrades as soon as we score some loot, but every time I get a good one, I get a new weapon slot, so retiring my third rate guns keeps getting put off.

Isabella though, her Regis "Body-Count" is a real killer. I mean, sure her guns do less damage than mine on paper, but her lizard is a real laserbrain, and gets almost as much extra out of them as a Red Ant would, and packs about three times as many. It also loves to kill. I mean its not the fastest beast out there, but it loves to get the pure kill shot, often passing up an opening to wound to wait for the clean kill. Grinner and Sweet Meat our Magnus are sluggers, but Body Count is a pure killer, so is Isabella. We make a good team. Or we did until the Mullah's of Mayhem hit us. Isabella was shut down by trample before we even knew the second rank was under fire. I had my Lightning Shield on, so I lived, but I got frozen by the forking hit on Meat Shiled and never got my guns to lock on before both my legs got taken out by some kind of advanced plasma weapon I have never seen before. Some kind of Vortex crap that I will be having wet dreams about owning probably forever after seeing it burn through my Magnus legs like hot coffee through a sugar cube.

Sweet Meat got off three shots before he fell. One miss, two clean hits, one forking, and the Mullah Notas and Charon didn't even notice. The hits exploded all over the shields in their niode perfection and didn't even break their concentration. No weapon we had could touch them. They were just outclassing our crystal machines, too fast, too many guns, and shields we could not even scratch. There was literally no point in my Grinner and Sweet Meat firing at all.

As we were getting anti-radiation chelation therapy at the aid station, I made the mistake of bitching to Isabella about how useless we were against those bastards.

"We can't beat their shields, what is the point of even trying?" I complained.

Isabella slapped me so hard my head just about hit my shoulder it snapped so far around. She was furious. All five two of her. She should have looked ridiculous, little her tearing both my own six two, two forty, and Sweat Meats six even three fifty a new exhaust port, but all she looked was fierce and intimidating, because she was not intimidated. Her response was pure Isabella, as irrational as it was inspirational. She had a point.

"Sheilds? You are worried about their shields? I will teach them to fear MINE!" Isabella shouted.

Sweet Meat kneaded his temples, the big Chinese pilot looked like a defeated Buddha, and his words were filled with dump shock and despair.

"I know you have some good fire shields, but honestly each of us has one niode shield, but the rest of yours are nothing to write home about, I mean my own Magnus probably has better shields than you when you crunch the numbers" Sweet meat was a bit of an analyst, as well as manic depressive, magnus pilot, and avid gardener. What can I say, a weird dude.

Isabella gripped both of us by the back of the neck and pulled our heads together against hers in a fierce hug. She continued her rant low and intense, practically the same height standing as we were sitting getting our blood cleaned of the radiation from our engine breaches.

"No you morons, not my mecha shields, my meat shields. You two losers are going to keep me alive long enough to EAT THEIR SOULS!" She was scary intense sometimes, but there was a reason she anchored the third line, if we were needed, it was bad, and when it got bad, you needed somethign scarier on your side. We had Isabella. She kept on, finally getting through to us. "OK, so they are faster, stronger, tougher than we are. So what? I will swap out my niode shields with you guys for anything you have against trample and fork. I am maxed out to do two things, strike first, and kill things. You losers only have to stand upright, look, big stupid and ugly, to keep their attention while I tear their hearts out. It almost like you are over qualified!"

Sweet Meat and I started to laugh. What could you do? The Mullah's of Mayhem had read from their Scrolls of Holy Ass Whooping, so now maybe it was time to read them a passage from The Book of Payback. Payback is a bitch they say, and her name is Isabella.

This time we were the ones attacking. Not the brightest idea in the world, but Raccoons are curious critters by nature, and there was loot to the victors, if you had the nerve to dig for it. Nerve we had, so dig we didl.

Our front line can match anyone out there. The boss is a badass. We always wondered why he stayed with us when the big outfits kept offering a place in their own ranks. He laughed it off. He got through the first two of their ranks before they got him. With the front rank gone, that was 70% of our niode weapons, all our niode BFM, the next rank was niode heavies, but the gear was mixed, the weapons were mostly crystal. They were pretty chewed before they stepped to the line, and only got one kill before they got eaten alive. A smart man would have made a career change at that point, but I stopped thinking when Isabella screamed.

"EAT THEIR SOULS!" She screamed as her Regis roared and charged forward.

I opened up my own engine amplifiers wide, Race Engines spooling up pure power for my engines and guns, Lantern engines howling power into my limbs and overcharging my capacitors (also making me a huge target for any wandering missile, but life is like that). We charged at her side, two gun metal grey Ogers flanking a hunting dragon. We got hammered. Something called a Rift Beam hit Bubba on the left wing square, and the Xango that fired it milked every erg out of it. Damned thing had so much power that after blowing him right the heck up, it tracked right to take me where I was shielding Isabella's flank.

Alarms went off everywhere, my gun capacitors overloaded and exploded. I had NO GUNS. I had no sensors operating beyond peeking out the cockpit and seeing bad guys that a way. I was able to move because I needed no external data to do that, but was helpless as a newborn babe. Helpless, not useless.

Isabella cut loose with a Galaxy Eye and caught a Kami that had just ignited Sweet Meat's Magnus. Her beam was a pale thing against the bright fury of the flashing niode powered laser shields that fed that monster, and even healed it as they did so. On its own, the Galaxy Eye lacked the power to even warm the Kami's paint. Isabella on the other hand was a matadora. In her hand a slender blade that you could stop with a thick button could slide into and out of the heart of a charging rhino before it even realized it was dead. That Galaxy Eye flowed through an eddy where shield emitter zones interfered with each other, splashed against a plasma charging chamber feeding the Kami's own guns and caused a dissonance in their own shielding. The plasma to punch through shields, armour, and still have enough power to devour two mecha at a time was released INSIDE the Kami, and it died in a shattering explosion.

Isabella and Body Count screamed their joy to the world, and we, her meat shields, howled with her.

The Xango pilot was a veteran, and spotted the threat, swinging his Planetary Defense laser to take her under fire. It could punch through her laser shields and blow her reactor core through the rank behind her. It could not punch through her meat shields and do it. I stepped my tottering and shut down Magnus into the path, and snapped my arm cannon mounts up to bring his cockpit into line with their gaping muzzles. Reflex triggered his burst before thought could interfere. His coherent light death beam wasted itself in incoherent frustration as it screamed through my already shut down mecha. Sure, it gutted me and shut down the Yallan to my rear (poor tyke looked like it was about to trip and fall on my exploding ass too), but Isabella's splash shiled shrugged off the hit like rain on a dragons arse as she triggered a Vulcan Phaser. The Xango did not live long and prosper.

The Charon did not take that well and closed with its great claws to tear Isabella in half. His Leviathan punched with killing force, but Sweet Meat took it on the chest plate. Freeze fractures shattered his chest and took his right arm when he tried to take a step forward. The Charon's claws were deep inside Sweet Meat, ripping his torso off his legs when the Flavian Spear took him in the armpit. Nanobots contained in the great tanks flash activated from the laser energy bleed and instantly absolute zero was achieved in the crystal metal matrix of the bones of the mecha. DIfferential cooling of the couplings caused the unstoppable power of the Charon to be, well, unstoppered. Charon got to ride his own ferry across the Styx as Isabella gave him a taste of what he fed Sweet Meat.

The Apatotron that remained in the line cut loose with a Heartbreaker missile swarm, and without us to shield her, what little armour remained on her Regis failed under the 75mm armour piercing warheads coming in two converging swarms to overwhelm her point defense lasers and ECM lures of her missile shields. She fell, but not before gutting that line. The fourth line buried the Apatotron in fire, as it spent its last rockets on a Yallan that was already shut down anyway. Our boys carried the fight. It wasn't pretty or cheap, but it was a win.

We pulled Isabella from Body Count, what was left of her noble Regis. She was bleeding and laughing (she was that kind of girl) and hugged us as we slapped trauma patches on the bits that were spurting not dripping. She was almost shouting before the trauma patches drugs took her into unconciousness.

"Meat shields over niode shields boys! Those bastards got Raccooned! We got it done"

Sweet meat listened to her rambling as she drifted into unconciousness. He was grinning his soft Buddha grin. He looked at me and said what we both were thinking.

"She's crazy as a bed bug. She's right too,, but crazier than a pet raccoon" He held up his fist to me.

"Meat shield!" He said.

I banged my fist into his

"Meat shield!" I swore.

Welcome to Mecha Galaxy. Prepare to be Raccooned.

John T Mainer 28840