#cartridge thunder

[fancypantsrecords]

Takayuki Nakamura & Takenobu Mitsuyoshi - Virtua Fighter | Cartridge Thunder | 2023 | Blue Translucent

[silks-up-my-sleeve]

Scrolling the Nintendo eshop and I saw games for toddlers/kids.... only for my brain to go "I don't think kids should have a switch." BRO YOU BOUGHT A DS AT 9 YEARS OLD WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???

[tinycartridge]

thunder cracks, mysterious rattling sounds ⊟

door creaks, rectangular form standing in doorway silhouetted against the intermittent flashes of lightning

unknown figure shuffles into the light of the room, revealing Tiny Cartridge, risen from the grave

DUDES there's a slime pet bed now

[via Noisy Pixels, thanks bdorf!]

[thebrickinbrick]

Passing Gleams

In the chaos of sentiments and passions which defend a barricade, there is a little of everything; there is bravery, there is youth, honor, enthusiasm, the ideal, conviction, the rage of the gambler, and, above all, intermittences of hope.

One of these intermittences, one of these vague quivers of hope suddenly traversed the barricade of the Rue de la Chanvrerie at the moment when it was least expected.

“Listen,” suddenly cried Enjolras, who was still on the watch, “it seems to me that Paris is waking up.”

It is certain that, on the morning of the 6th of June, the insurrection broke out afresh for an hour or two, to a certain extent. The obstinacy of the alarm peal of Saint-Merry reanimated some fancies. Barricades were begun in the Rue du Poirier and the Rue des Gravilliers. In front of the Porte Saint-Martin, a young man, armed with a rifle, attacked alone a squadron of cavalry. In plain sight, on the open boulevard, he placed one knee on the ground, shouldered his weapon, fired, killed the commander of the squadron, and turned away, saying: “There’s another who will do us no more harm.”

He was put to the sword. In the Rue Saint-Denis, a woman fired on the National Guard from behind a lowered blind. The slats of the blind could be seen to tremble at every shot. A child fourteen years of age was arrested in the Rue de la Cossonerie, with his pockets full of cartridges. Many posts were attacked. At the entrance to the Rue Bertin-Poirée, a very lively and utterly unexpected fusillade welcomed a regiment of cuirrassiers, at whose head marched Marshal General Cavaignac de Barague. In the Rue Planche-Mibray, they threw old pieces of pottery and household utensils down on the soldiers from the roofs; a bad sign; and when this matter was reported to Marshal Soult, Napoleon’s old lieutenant grew thoughtful, as he recalled Suchet’s saying at Saragossa: “We are lost when the old women empty their pots de chambre on our heads.”

These general symptoms which presented themselves at the moment when it was thought that the uprising had been rendered local, this fever of wrath, these sparks which flew hither and thither above those deep masses of combustibles which are called the faubourgs of Paris,—all this, taken together, disturbed the military chiefs. They made haste to stamp out these beginnings of conflagration.

They delayed the attack on the barricades Maubuée, de la Chanvrerie and Saint-Merry until these sparks had been extinguished, in order that they might have to deal with the barricades only and be able to finish them at one blow. Columns were thrown into the streets where there was fermentation, sweeping the large, sounding the small, right and left, now slowly and cautiously, now at full charge. The troops broke in the doors of houses whence shots had been fired; at the same time, manœuvres by the cavalry dispersed the groups on the boulevards. This repression was not effected without some commotion, and without that tumultuous uproar peculiar to collisions between the army and the people. This was what Enjolras had caught in the intervals of the cannonade and the musketry.

Moreover, he had seen wounded men passing the end of the street in litters, and he said to Courfeyrac:—“Those wounded do not come from us.”

Their hope did not last long; the gleam was quickly eclipsed. In less than half an hour, what was in the air vanished, it was a flash of lightning unaccompanied by thunder, and the insurgents felt that sort of leaden cope, which the indifference of the people casts over obstinate and deserted men, fall over them once more.

The general movement, which seemed to have assumed a vague outline, had miscarried; and the attention of the minister of war and the strategy of the generals could now be concentrated on the three or four barricades which still remained standing.

The sun was mounting above the horizon.

An insurgent hailed Enjolras.

“We are hungry here. Are we really going to die like this, without anything to eat?”

Enjolras, who was still leaning on his elbows at his embrasure, made an affirmative sign with his head, but without taking his eyes from the end of the street.

[ironborealis]

Blooding Rite 1/1

The first time Alastor sees a man die, he's surprised.

He'll laugh himself sick much later at the very concept of being surprised at someone dying in a trench, on the front lines of the battlefield, in the middle of what the newspapers are starting to call 'The War to End All Wars'.

Not now though, as he stares at the bloodied remains Lt. James' jaw, hanging off his face as he stumbles back from the radio, his headset miraculously still attached, pulling the entire damned radio down on top of him as he collapses.

Lt. James, from Cincinnati, who moments earlier had been shouting that Alastor best be prepared to go over the top with the antenna, because their reception is absolute dog shit down here what with it pissing rain.

His mind is focused on how this scenario doesn't make sense: He's halfway out of the trench waving a metal baton in the air, desperately searching for a signal, while only James' head is visible -- how did James end up catching the bullet and not him?

There will be time to ponder later about the fickle proclivities of Death, but in the moment he's far too distracted about being tackled down into the trench himself by a blur of gray wool.

Animal instincts take over as soon as his back hits the dirt. Even with the wind knocked out him he's biting, clawing, kicking at the fucking Gerry on top of him. He can feel the kiss of the knife's blade against his palms and forearms as he struggles to protect the softest parts of himself, when he's not being clobbered over the face with the butt of a pistol.

The first time Alastor kills a man is only a few breaths later when he manages to get his own pistol out of the holster and blindly aim for the bastard's temple.

He hits his mark. The Gerry's body sags down on top of him, pushing him deeper into the mud. He's taking large, open-mouthed gasps of air, like a stunned fish out of the water -- at least until the gore coating face starts dripping into his mouth. That returns him to reality in a real jiffy.

He shoves the body off of him, rolling into a crouch as he swipes at his face with his sleeve in a futile effort to clean it. Tries to listen between the thunderous beat of his heart to what is going on around him.

Battle -- gunshots and screaming -- close but not too close, not near enough to him to panic. When he can stand, a quick glance over the top reveals no more Gerries waiting to pounce in the clearing fog, and he can hear his heartbeat start to quiet.

On impulse he pries the Gerry's pistol from his hand, and checks the cartridge.

Empty. Last bullet for Lt. James.

Makes sense, he supposes -- kill the radio operator, cut off communications, then kill the damned fool playing flag pole...

Better luck next time, old chum.

He tosses the pistol down as the sounds of the radio start to filter into his ears.

The radio is still working, that's good.

He pulls the antenna out of the muck and stumbles towards the operator's desk.

Stabs the antenna into the soft dirt on top of the trench.

Rights the operator's desk.

Hauls the radio back onto the desk as gently as he can considering how heavy it is.

Checks his sightlines for any imminent enemy incursions; finds none.

Hauls Lt. James' corpse to lie to one side of the desk.

Reconnects the cable connecting the battery cell to the antenna.

Pulls on the headset.

Ignores the tacky-wet sensation as the ear piece drags across his cheek.

Takes a deep breath.

Remembers that the northerners back at base camp will not understand him unless he talks in that flat, nasal accent they taught him back in special training.

Turns the microphone on and reports in.

"Ni-yen Too Easy, Report. Ni-yen Too Easy, Report." Base command replies.

Microphone's broken. Well fuck.

He slams the headset down in frustration, only for a loud squawk to emanate from the ear pieces.

"Ni-yen Too Easy, was that you?"

Microphone's only mostly broken then... He can work with that.

Pulls back on headphones.

Still ignores the tacky-wet sensation on his cheek.

Uses his pocket knife to start tapping out a message in Morse code on the mouthpiece of the headset.

"Copy that, Ni-yen Too Easy. Gerries sighted on the Eastern flank."

Well, no shit.

He can hear the battle drawing closer.

It takes twelve hours before Alastor finally receives the order to retreat to hand off to the runner to give to command. There's no other signalman close enough to lend him a spare headset, let alone relieve him from his post for as much as a piss break.

Twelve hours tapping out updates and confirmations in the alphabet he learned at his mother's knee, hiding under her desk as she worked.

None of them know Morse code like he does anyway.

By the time he's loaded up the radio and jumped into the back of the transport truck his head is throbbing with the mother of all headaches. His ears feel like they're bleeding. He does his best to hide the trembling in his limbs.

It takes hours to get back to base, and even though he's dead on his feet, he's more ravenous than tired, and lines up outside the canteen.

In a few days, once the casualties are accounted for and word spreads from the signal battalion about his field improvisation skills, they'll start calling him 'Radio Demon' because only someone in league with the Devil himself would have decided to stay in that hellhole, at his post for as long as he had, instead of retreating somewhere safer.

They make it sound like some altruistic act for his "brothers" -- in truth, he hadn't been thinking clearly enough to even realize that retreat was an option. If he had, he would have booked it as fast as possible away from the front line.

Tonight, though, the Radio Demon is rewarded for his heroism with a plate of congealed chipped beef on soggy toast and directed towards some damp benches, sitting out in the rain. The storm's onslaught has taken down one of the base's two mess tents, and Command cannot abide the idea of white officers having to eat with colored officers.

Only the finest for all these brave men dying on the front lines after all.

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

Dark Side Of The Moon

Masterlist pt 1

Masterlist pt 2

*3rd Person POV*

There were lots of empty beer cans that surrounded the floor of the motel room the Winchesters and (y/n) were staying at. Dean was lying on his left side, left hand under his pillow while his right hand was draped over (y/n) who was lying on her right side. She had her face nuzzle up to his chest and her left hand on his waist while her right hand was also under the pillow.

Both of them heard a noise and their hands start to search under the pillow, still pretending to be asleep. "Looking for this?" A voice said and the couple wake up and see two masked men inside their room.

The first masked man pops the cartridge out of a handgun and tosses it aside. Dean turns over and looks at Sam who also has a gun pointed at him, while (y/n) sits up. "Mornin’." Dean greets, sarcastically. "Shut up. Hands where I can see 'im." the first man said and Dean and (y/n) raise their hands up as Dean lifts himself up.

"Wait a minute. Is that you, Roy? It is, isn’t it." Dean said as the first masked man freezes a bit. "Which makes you Walt. Hiya Walt." Dean said as he turns to the second man. The two men look at each other until Walt removes his mask.

"Don’t matter." Walt growls as Roy lifts his mask off his face. "Well, is it just me, or do you two seem a tad upset?" Dean asked but they ignore him as Walt turns to Sam. "You think you can flip the switch on the Apocalypse and just walk away, Sam?" he asked and Sam furrows his brow.

"Who told you that?" he asked. "We ain’t the only hunters after you." Walt said and he pumps his shotgun. "See you in the next life." he said. "Hear me out. I can explain, okay? Please." Sam pleads but after a pause, Walt shoots Sam. "Sam!" (Y/n) screams while Dean jumps to go to Sam.

But Roy shifts to follow Dean’s movement. "Stay the hell down." Roy ordered and Dean stops then he and (y/n) share a look of fear before they both look at Sam's body. "Shoot 'em." Walt said, nodding to the couple. "Killin’ Sam was right but Dean and (y/n)…" Roy said, unsure.

"He made us and we just snuffed his brother, you idiot. You want to spend the rest of your life knowing Dean Winchester and (y/n) (l/n)'s on your ass, ‘cause I don’t. Shoot 'em." Walt demanded and Dean and (y/n) turn to face them. "Go ahead, Roy, do it. But I’m going warn you, when I come back I’m going to be pissed. C’mon! Let’s get this show on the road." Dean growls but Roy seemed like he could do it.

"Come on, already." Walt said, impatiently, and he steps forward and shoots (y/n) then Dean.

Dean was sitting in the Impala, sleeping, and was wearing his leather jacket over his normal clothes. Thunder sounds out which wakes him up. He gets out of the car and shuts the door. The trunk closes and Dean turns toward the sound. Teenaged Sam and (y/n) are there holding a crate of fireworks between them.

"Sammy? (y/n)?" Dean said, confused. "Come on, let’s go." Sam said as he and (y/n) walk off. "Weird dream." Dean mutters a she follows them. The two place the fireworks on the ground and (y/n) pulls out one for her then Sam pulls out two. "Got your lighter?" Sam asked Dean, who checks his pockets and pulls out an old lighter.

"Whoa, I haven’t seen this in years." Dean said, looking at it, while Sam hands him the other firework. "Fire 'em up." (y/n) said, excitedly. Dean lights Sam’s firework then (y/n)'s then his own. They go off, shooting red sparks into the sky, and Dean smiles.

"I remember this! It’s Fourth of July, 1996." Dean said then the fireworks die. Dean looks down at Sam and (y/n), they look over at him and he could tell they were happy. "Dad would never let us do anything like this. Thanks, Dean. This is great." Sam said then he hugs Dean. "Yeah, thanks, Dean." (Y/n) and she hugs him too.

Dean is startled by this then he hugs both of them back. The two teens pull away and (y/n) lights all the fireworks then runs away. "Fire in the hole!" she shouts and the fireworks start to explode.

The trio back away and all of them laugh with joy before Sam takes (y/n)'s hand and both of them go out on the field to dance under the sparks. Sam nods to Dean, acknowledging the special moment, and Dean nods back. "C'mon, Dean! Join us!" (Y/n) said to him. But then there was an especially loud explosion, then another, and Dean flashes back to the hotel room and being shot by Walt. Then he’s back in the field but Sam and (y/n) and the fireworks are gone.

"Sam? (Y/n)?" Dean calls out and he goes back to the Impala and leans on the roof. The radio comes on, very staticy. "Dean!" a voice calls out through the radio. Dean leans in the driver’s side window. "Cas?" he asked. "Yeah, it’s me." Castiel replied and Dean gets back in the car.

"You gotta stop poking around in my dreams. I need some me time." Dean said. "Listen to me very closely. This isn’t a dream." Castiel said and Dean looks around. "Then what is it?" Dean asked. "Deep down, you already know." Castiel said and Dean flashes, again, on Walt shooting Sam, then (y/n) then himself. 

"I’m dead." He said, finally. "Condolences." Castiel said. "Where am I?" Dean asked. "Heaven." Castiel said. "Heaven? How did I get to heaven?" Dean asked. "Please, listen. This spell, this connection, it’s difficult to maintain." Castiel tells him.

"Wait. If I’m in heaven, then where’s Sam and (y/n)?" Dean asked, worried. "What do you see?" Castiel asked him. "What do you mean what do I see?" Dean said, confused. "Some people see a tunnel or a river. What do you see?" Castiel asked. "Nothing. My dash. I’m in my car. I’m on a road." Dean said. "Alright. A road. For you it’s a road. Follow it, Dean. You’ll find Sam and (y/n)." Castiel said then the radio starts breaking up. "Follow the road." Castiel said before the radio dies.

Dean starts the Impala and drives down the dark highway, the moon is huge and the sky is purple-toned and odd. Minutes later, he pulls up to a familiar looking house and Dean realized that this was one of (y/n)'s safe houses and the moon quickly shifts to daylight. He looks around but there is nothing but the house.

Meanwhile, (y/n) was sleeping until she heard a loud noise. She jolts awake only to see a 13 year old Sam holding a noisemaker. "Happy Birthday!" Sam exclaimed as (y/n) sits up. "Sam? What the hell?" She asked as she wipes away the sleep in her eyes. "Come on! Dean and I have got something to show ya!" Sam said, excitedly, and he grabs her arm while (y/n) shakes her head from this weird dream she had. A flash of Sam getting shot then the gun aimed at her. 

She blinks a few times as Sam leads her out of her room when (y/n) looks down and noticed that she was wearing shorts and a light blue t-shirt. Normally, she would be embarrassed but at this point she was too groggy to care.

"Sam, where are we...?" She started to ask when Sam leads her downstairs and into the kitchen to see a birthday cake with candles on and 17 year old Dean standing by the counter where three wrapped presents stood near the edge. "Surprise!" Both boys said and (y/n) let's out a small laugh.

I remember this!! This was my 13th birthday. she thought as she looks between the boys. "What do you think?" Dean asked her. "Guys, this is...this is amazing." She said, shocked. "Well, c'mon, birthday girl, go blow out the candles!" Dean said and (y/n) giggles then blows out the candles and the boys applaud.

"Mmm, nothing like birthday cake for breakfast." (Y/n) said as they each get a slice a cake. "Yeah, your dad left us some money and we can order pizza later." Sam said and (y/n) smiles. "That sounds awesome." (Y/n) said as Sam grabs a small present. "Here." He said as he hands the present to her.

She takes it and opens it to see it was a small blue velvet box. She opens it and sees a silver cross necklace with a small pearl in the middle of the cross, her jaw drops slightly. "Oh Sam, this is beautiful." She said and Sam smiles and she looks up at him. "I love it." She said and she immediately puts it on. 

"Glad you like it." He said. "Alright, my turn!" Dean said and he hands her another small present. She opens it and sees a cassette tape with the label that reads Happy Birthday, (y/n). (Y/n) looks up at Dean, her heart beating hard against her chest. "Did you make me a mixtape?" She asked him, shocked. "Yeah...I took notice of which ones were your favorite songs and put them in this tape here." Dean said and a smile slowly forms on her face.

"Don't Stop Believin'?" 

"Yep."

"Don't You (Forget About Me)?"

"Yep."

"Take On Me?"

"Yes."

"Wanted Dead Or Alive?" She asked, smiling. "Even though sometimes I question your taste in music, you're lucky that song is awesome. But yeah, those and more are in there. Plus, I might've added a few of my personal favorites." Dean said, looking proud, and (y/n) laughs. "Thank you, Dean. I know I'm gonna love it but...I can't wait to play it." She said and Dean smiles at her. Then she noticed another present but this one was a bit bigger than the boys' present.

"What's that?" She asked and Dean slides it to her. "It's from your dad." He said. "Yeah, he'd had hoped he'd be back by now but he told us to give this to you if he didn't make it back." Sam said and (y/n) nods and opens the present which was a long t-shirt box. She opens the box to see a note over it and she picks it up and reads:

Sorry if this doesn't fit but hopefully you'll grow into it.

Happy Birthday!

Love,

Dad

She looks into the box and sees a black leather jacket. "Oh my God!" (Y/n) mutters as she stares at it. "This is awesome!" She exclaims and she puts the jacket on.

"I remember that." A deep voice said behind her. (Y/n) jumps then looks behind her to see Present Day Dean standing there. She looks at him then looks at the 17 year old version Dean then back at Present Day Dean. "Dean?" She said, confused, and goes over to him while the younger Sam and Dean continue on the conversation as if she hadn't left.

"What are you doing here? What's going on?" She asked him and he looks down at her outfit and smirks. "Nice shorts." He remarks and she looks down at them. "Oh, haha. But, seriously, Dean, what are you doing in my dream?" She asked him. "(Y/n), you have to listen to me. This isn't a dream, it's Heaven." Dean said and (y/n)'s eyes widen.

"Heaven? So, that means....we're...dead?" She asked and Dean nods. "So, what? Is Heaven just us reliving our favorite moments in life?" (Y/n) asked him and Dean shrugs. "I don't know, maybe but...we need to find Sam." He said and (y/n) nods. "Okay, I'll follow you." She said and they walk out of the house.

As they left the house, (y/n)'s clothes changed into her normal clothes, which was jeans, boots, white t-shirt and her leather jacket, and they get into the Impala and take off. "So, what moment did you wake up in?" (Y/n) asked Dean as they drive along down the road. "Fourth of July, 1996." He replied and (y/n) smiled.

"Oh, yeah, I remember that. That was such a fun day, shooting off those fireworks." (Y/n) said, smiling as she reminisces. "Yeah...you know seeing your memory did remind me...what happened to that tape I made for you?" Dean asked and (y/n) looks over at him. "Oh that's in my tape player in my room at that safe house. When we get out of here, I can show you." She said and Dean nods as they continue down the road.

Eventually, they pull up in front of a nice three-story house, slightly old-fashioned looking, lights are bright inside it. Dean qnd (y/n) climb slowly out of the car then look around but there is nothing but the house.

Inside, a man is carving turkey and he places a huge piece on Sam’s plate. Sam is dressed in a white shirt and tie. "Thank you." Sam said. "So, Sam. I hear you’re new to McKinley." the man said. "Um, yes sir. Two weeks." Sam replied. "Stephanie over here just can’t seem to stop talking about you." the man said as he gestures to his daughter, who was sitting next to Sam.

"Dad, shut up." Stephanie said and she smiles at Sam, who smiles back nervously. She grabs his thigh and Sam jumps. "Ummm." he said, nervously, then he looks up to see Dean and (y/n) walking into the dining room. "Wow. Just wow." Dean said.

"Dean? (y/n)? What are you two doing in my dream?" Sam asked and Dean just makes a face in response. "Boy, do we have a tale to tell you." (Y/n) said as she scratches behind her head.

The conversation in the dining room continues even though Sam is no longer seated at the table. He is in the living room with Dean and (y/n). "Heaven." Sam said, stunned. "Yup." Dean said. "Okay, how are we in heaven?" Sam asked. "All that clean living, I guess." (y/n) said, sarcastically, and Sam shakes his head.

"No, no. Okay. You two…I get, sure. But me? Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’ve done a few things?" Sam said. "You thought you were doing the right thing." Dean tells him. "Last I checked, it wasn’t the road to heaven that was paved with good intentions." Sam said. "Yeah, well, if this is the Skymall it sucks. I mean, where’s the triplets and the latex, you know? C’mon, a guy has needs." Dean said, with sarcasm, and (y/n) elbows him on his side. "I was kidding, baby." He said. "Mm-hmm." She said, unimpressed.

Sam looks at Stephanie’s family, still eating dinner as if he’s there. "You know, when you bite the dust they say your life flashes before your eyes." Sam said. "Your point?" Sam asked. "This house, it’s one of my memories." Sam said.

"When I woke up, I woke up in one of my memories. The Fourth of July we burned down that field?" Dean said and (y/n) nods. "And I woke up to my thirteenth birthday." She said. "Maybe that’s what heaven is: a place where you relive your greatest hits." Sam said and (y/n) turns to Dean. "See? I told you." She said.

"Wait, so…playing footsie with brace-face in there? Then that’s a trophy moment for you?" Dean asked Sam. "Dean, I was eleven years old. This was my first real Thanksgiving." Sam said, exasperated. "What are you talking about? We had Thanksgiving every year." Dean said. "We had a bucket of extra-crispy and Dad passed out on the couch." Sam sighed.

At that moment, there was a rumbling noise from outside. Dean, Sam and (y/n) look around. "I don’t remember this." Sam said then the lights go out but the family continues eating. The house then begins to shake. "Hey." (y/n) said then they look at the family. "We should, uh…" she said and Dean nods. "Definitely." Sam said and they run to the far corner of the room. Sam stands up beside the window, Dean and (y/n) duck behind the couch. The glass in a picture on the mantle breaks.

A searchlight streams through the window. Dean and (y/n) drop down lower as more furniture falls over and more glass breaks. Then the searchlight disappears. The lights come on in the house and Sam, Dean and (y/n) leave their hiding places. The family is still eating and talking in the background.

Dean sees a radio and goes to it while Sam and (y/n) follow. "Okay, what the hell was that?" Sam asked. "I don’t know, but we are taking the escalator back downstairs." Dean said then he hits the radio. "Cas!" Dean yells.

"What are you doing?" (y/n) asked him. "What’s it look like?" Dean said to her. "Like you’ve lost your mind." Sam adds and Dean gives him an exasperated look. "Cas talked to me before using this phone-home radio thing, so I— Cas!" Dean yells and the TV behind them starts to flicker.

"I can hear you." Cas' voice said and the trio move over to the TV. They can see Castiel but the picture rolls and is filled with static. His voice fades in and out and is sometimes distorted. "Cas. Hey! So I, uh, I found Sam and (y/n) but, but something just happened. There was this weird beam of light." Dean explains.

"Don’t go into the light." Castiel warns. "Okay. Thanks, Carol Ann. What was it?" (y/n) asked. "Not what, whom. Zachariah. He’s searching for you." Castiel said. "And if he finds us?" Sam asked. "You can’t say yes to Michael and Lucifer if you’re dead, so Zachariah needs to return you to your bodies." Castiel said. "Great! Problem solved." Sam said, relieved. 

"No. You don’t understand. You, hm. You’re behind the Wall. This is a rare opportunity." Castiel said. "For what?" Dean asked. "You need to find an angel. His name is Joshua." Castiel replied. "Hey, man, no offense but we are kind of ass full of angels, okay. You find him." Dean said. "I can’t. I can’t return to heaven." Castiel said. "What about Ariel? Can't she talk to him?" (Y/n) asked. "She's tried but they won't let her back in Heaven." Castiel said.

"So what’s so important about Joshua?" Sam asked. "The rumor is, he talks to God." Castiel said. "And, so?" Dean said, shrugging. "You think maybe—just maybe—we should find out what the hell God has been saying?" Castiel asked, annoyed. "Jeez. Touchy." Dean said, a bit offended. "Please. I just need you to follow the road." Castiel pleads.

"What road?" Sam asked. "It’s called the Axis Mundi. It’s a path that runs through heaven. Different people see it as different things. For you, it’s two-lane asphalt. The road will lead you to the Garden. You’ll find Joshua there. And Joshua…can take us to God." Castiel said then the pictures starts to break up badly. "The Garden. Quick. Hurry." Castiel said before the TV dies.

Sam takes a deep breath then the trio turn to each other. "So...What do you boys think?" (y/n) asked them. "I think we hit the yellow bricks, find this Joshua cat." Dean said and Sam looks at him, surprised.

"Really?" He asked. "What? You don’t?" Dean asked. "No, uh. I’m just surprised you do. Last time I checked you wanted to break God’s nose, now you think he can help?" Sam asked. "He’s the only one who can. I mean, come on, Sam. We are royally boned. So prayer? The last hope of a desperate man." Dean said and (y/n) turns to Sam. "He has a point." She said and Sam sighs.

Dean opens the front door followed closely by Sam and (y/n). They stop, look around only to see there’s nothing but forest where the road used to be. "Wasn’t there a street out here?" (y/n) asked them. "There was." Dean said then they walk back into the hallway and Dean starts looking around.

"Dean. What are you doing?" Sam asked him. "Looking for a road." Dean replied. "You…" Sam started to say until Dean opens the closet under the stairs. "You think the road is in a closet?" he asked as Dean turns on the light. "We’re in heaven, Sam, okay? I mean, our memories are coming true. Cas is on TV. Finding a road in a closet would be pretty much the most normal thing to happen to us today." Dean said as he noticed something on the floor.

It is a small Hot Wheels set on the floor which Dean makes a face at and bends down to it. "What?" (y/n) asked him, curiously, as Dean picks up a blue car. "I used to have one of these…when I was a kid." Dean replied then he puts the car on the track and sets it in motion.

Suddenly, Dean's position has changed, he is now wearing sneakers with one shoelace untied, a T-shirt and a flannel button-up. The leather jacket is gone. Sam is back in his normal hunter clothes. "That was the road?" (y/n) asked, confused. "I guess." Dean said and he looks around and see that they are in a room suitable for a young boy. They stand up.

"Kind of trippy, right?" Dean asked the others. "Yeah." Sam and (y/n) said, in unison then Sam looks at Dean’s shirt. "More trippy. Um. Apparently, you wuv hugs." Sam teased and (y/n) notices the shirt as well. "Aww, how cute." She teased and Dean covers his T-shirt. "Shut up." Dean grumbles, making Sam and (y/n) laugh.

They look around the room until Dean realizes something.  "Wait a minute. I know where we are." he said. "Where?" Sam asked. "We’re home." Dean replied.

"Dean…" a female voice said and the trio turn to the doorway to see Mary standing there looking young and pretty in a tight, white dress. "Hey, Dean. You hungry?" she asked him as all three of them stare at her.

Next thing they know, Dean is sitting at the kitchen table and Mary is pouring him a glass of milk and he has a sandwich in front of him. He smiles at her as she looks at him. "You want the crust cut off?" she asked him. "Yeah. I’d love that." Dean said and she does as he asked.

"Mom?" Sam calls out but there was no response. Dean looks at Sam and (y/n), then at Mary. She looks at him but not at Sam or (y/n). "I guess this is not your memory, Sam. Sorry." Dean said. "Dean, uh. We should…go. Keep looking for the road." Sam said. "Just…just give me a minute, okay?" Dean said.

"Dean…" (y/n) whispers. "(Y/n). Please. One minute." Dean pleads to her and she gives him a sympathetic look then nods. Mary ruffles Dean’s hair as she moves away from the table. The phone rings and Dean turns to watch her answer it. "Hello?…No, John.…We’re not having this conversation again. Think about what?…You’ve two boys at home." Mary said into the phone.

"I remember this. Mom and Dad were fighting and then he moved out for a couple days." Dean said as they all watch Mary. "Dad always said they had the perfect marriage." Sam said. "It wasn’t perfect until after she died." Dean added. "God..." (y/n) whispers as Mary continues to argue on the phone.

"Fine. Then don’t. There’s nothing more to talk about." she growls and she hangs up the phone and turns away from the table. She sniffs as if she’s fighting back tears. "What happens next?" (y/n) asked and Dean goes to Mary and hugs her. "It’s okay, Mom. Dad still loves you. I love you, too. I’ll never leave you." Dean said to her as she hugs him back.

Sam looks enlightened and (y/n) gives a small, sad smile. Mary and Dean break apart and she cups his cheek in her hands. "You are my little angel." She said as she smiles, widely. "How 'bout some pie? Okay." she said and she moves away to get the pie and Dean goes to where Sam and (y/n) are waiting.

Sam shakes his head, sadly. "What?" Dean asked him. "I just never realized how long you’ve been cleaning up Dad’s messes." Sam said and Dean frowns. "Whatever. Let’s keep moving." Dean mutters and Sam nods and starts to look.

Dean begins to walk too when (y/n) grabs his arm. "Dean..." she said, softly, as he turns his head to her. "I'm sorry." She said. She didn't know why she said it but she just had a weird feeling to say it and the two share a look for a moment before Dean nods, slightly. "C'mon..." he said and she nods and the two join Sam on looking.

They search the house, opening cupboards and drawers when (y/n) noticed something on the table. A single red rose that she knows wasn't there before. "What the...?" She said as she picks it up and noticed a little card attached to it. "What?" The boys asked as (y/n) picks up the card.

To: (y/n)

Thank you!

"I know this..." (y/n) said and she raises her head to see they are not at Sam and Dean's house, they are now outside of a movie theater and it's night. Dean was now in his normal hunting clothes, wearing his canvas coat and not the leather one, but (y/n)'s outfit was different. She looks down to see she was wearing a black skirt that was just above the knees, a sky blue tank top with an elastic strap, her black leather jacket and white sneakers.

"The Mummy?" Sam said and (y/n) looked up to see the sign on the theater that said Now Playing: The Mummy. "Holy crap!" (Y/n) exclaims. "What?" The boys asked her. "I know where we are." She said and before any of the boys could ask her a voice calls out to her.

"Hey, I got our tickets." A male voice said and she turns to see the familiar face of a teen boy with light brown hair and gray eyes, it was Elijah. "Oh, great!" (Y/n) said as Sam and Dean watch this. "C'mon, we better get in before all the good seats are taken." Elijah said and (y/n) chuckles. "Yeah, I'd hate to sit at the very front and give myself a neck cramp." (Y/n) said and Elijah laughs then he holds out his arms to her and she, nervously and reluctantly, takes his arm and they head into the theater, (y/n) looks over her shoulder at the boys and they follow her.

Once inside, Elijah looks over at the concession stand and pats (y/n)'s shoulder. "Hey, you want something? I can get a couple of drinks and we can share a popcorn." He said and (y/n) nods. "That sounds awesome." (Y/n) said and Elijah smiles and pulls his arm out of hers and goes to the stand.

"Isn't that Elijah?" Sam asked her and she turns. "Yes, it is." (Y/n) said and she notices Dean looks a bit upset. "Why is this one of your good memories?" He asked and she scoffs. "It was my first real date, Dean! Sue me!" She said, exasperated, and she looks down at her outfit. "I mean, you can tell it was my first date...I'd never wear this outfit on a date nowadays." She jokes.

"Why did you wear that?" Sam asked and (y/n) shrugs. "It was among the only nice clothes I had back then." (Y/n) said. 

"Here...I got you a Coke." Elijah said as he comes back and hands one of the cups to (y/n) as he holds his cup in one hand and the bag of popcorn in his arms. She turns and takes the cup with a smile. "Thanks, Elijah. I mean, you didn’t have to do...all of this." She said, gesturing to the rose and the theater around her. "Hey, I wanted to thank you for saving my family, plus...I like you." He said, blushing a bit, and (y/n) smiles, embarrassed. 

"Well, thanks. I-I-I like you too." She stutters, although Dean could hear a bit of unsure in her voice as she said this. "Well, we better go." Elijah said and (y/n) nods and he leaves but (y/n) stays.

She then walks over to the counter and sets the rose and drink down. "Come on, boys. We better get to looking." She said and the boys nod and they search around the lobby.

Minutes later, Sam pulls out a drawer out from the concession stand and finds a postcard that says Route 66. "I’ve seen this somewhere before." Sam said and Dean and (y/n) come up to him. "Where?" Dean asked and the scene changes as they are now in front of a wall covered with postcards all from Route 66. Dean steps in front of them and (y/n), wearing her normal clothes with her jacket still on, stands next to him. Sam’s clothes have changed as well: different shirt, slightly different coat.

"Where are we?" (Y/n) asked, confused, and Sam turns. "No way." Sam said as a golden retriever enters the room. Sam bends down, excitedly. "Bones! Hey, c’mere! C’mere!" Sam said and the dog comes up and licks his face. "Hey, hey, hey, hey…" Sam said to the dog and (y/n) smiles. "Aww, cute dog." She said.

"Bones?" Dean asked. "Yeah. Bones was my dog. Hey." Sam said and he stands up and goes to a cheap coffee table. He opens up a pizza box. "Your…your dog?" Dean asked. "Yeah." Sam said as he sits on the couch, pulling pizza out of the box. Bones is right beside him, tail wagging.

"Didn't know you had a dog." (Y/n) said while Dean is looking around, not happy. "Is this Flagstaff?" Dean asked Sam before he could reply to (y/n). "Yeah." Sam said and he pets Bones. "Hey, boy." he said to the dog.

"This is a good memory for you?" Dean asked Sam, who laughs. "Yeah. I mean, I was on my own for two weeks. I lived on Funyuns and Mr. Pibb." He said and he feeds Bones some of his pizza.

"Wow." Dean said, unimpressed. "What?" Sam asked. "Well, you don’t remember, do you? You ran away on my watch. I looked everywhere for you. I thought you were dead. And when Dad came home…" Dean stops as he looks upset and turns away. "Dean..." (y/n) said, softly, to him as Sam looks guilty.

"Dean, look, I’m sorry. I never thought about it like that." Sam said. "Forget it. Let’s roll." Dean said and he strides out of the room leaving Sam and (y/n) behind. "I think I remember that. John called my dad asking if you were with us and when Dad said no, I remember hearing John shouting in the phone. I couldn't understand what he was saying but...he was loud and angry." (Y/n) said and Sam looks down, the feeling a guilt hitting him stronger.

"C'mon, Sam." She said and she walks out. Sam watches her leave then he gives Bones a final treat before standing up to follow Dean and (y/n). Bones follows him so he bends down to give the dog a last pet. "Stay. Bones-y, stay." He said and he walks out the door.

Dean and (y/n) had walked outside into daylight, but it’s now night. Sam joins them in the middle of the street across from an old house with a wrap-around porch. When they turn to look at the shack they’d just left, it’s gone. Sam obviously remembers where they are and is confused by it while takes Dean a moment but he also figures it out.

"What memory is this?" (Y/n) asked the boys. "No idea." Sam lied then he sniffs. "Alright, come on." Sam said but Dean doesn't move while (y/n) goes over to Sam. "Dean…Road. God. Remember?" Sam said to Dean, who continues to look around.

"Wait a minute. Wait a minute. This?" Dean said and he looks at Sam, accusingly. "This is the night you ditched us for Stanford, isn’t it? This is your idea of heaven?" Dean asked him, angrily, while Sam stands there. "Wow." Dean mutters before he laughs painfully. "This was one of the worst nights of my life." Dean said, as he turns away. "I can’t control this stuff." Sam said then Dean turns back to face Sam.

"Seriously? I mean this is a happy memory for you?" Dean asked as he walks up to Sam and (y/n) stands in between the boys and placed her right hand on Dean's chest and her left hand on Sam's chest. "I don’t know. I mean, I was on my own. I finally got away from Dad." Sam said and Dean turns away and (y/n) lowers her hand.

"Yeah, he wasn’t the only one you got away from." said Dean. "Dean, I’m sorry. I just, uh…" Sam said. "I know. You didn’t, you didn’t think of it like that." Dean said. "Dean!" Sam said, upset. "Boys, please." (Y/n) said and Dean turns to Sam, sharply. "C’mon! Your heaven is somebody else’s Thanksgiving. Okay. It’s bailing on your family. What do you want me to say?" Dean yells.

"Man, I never got the crusts cut off my PB & J. I just don’t look at family the way you do." Sam said. "Yeah, but I’m your family." Dean yells. "Boys!" (Y/n) said, alittle louder, but the boys keep yelling. "I know…" Sam said. "I mean, we’re supposed to be a team. It’s supposed to be the three of us against the world, right?" Dean asked as he gestures between the three of them. "Dean, it is!" Sam shouts. "Is it?" Dean asked and Sam looks at him, devastated.

"Boys, please, stop!" (Y/n) shouts but before either of them could say anything, a searchlight hits them. They look up for a moment then they start running toward the trees at the side of the road.

"Go! Go!" Dean shouts as they run through the darkened woods, eventually jumping over a log and hiding behind it. They breathe hard as a man, walks after them, in nice, shiny dress shoes. It is Zachariah. "Wow. Running from angels. On foot. In heaven. With out-of-the-box thinking like that I’m surprised you three haven’t stopped the Apocalypse already." he said and he his fingers, making it daytime.

"Guys. What’s the problem? I just want to send you back to Earth, that’s all." Zachariah said as the trio peek over the log to see Zachariah standing a few yards away with his back to them. "I mean, that is, after I tear you a cosmos of new ones. You’re on my turf now, boys and girls. And by the time I through with you, you’re going to be begging to say yes." Zachariah threatens and the trio take off running.

Zachariah turns and sees them then smiles. Dean, Sam and (y/n) are running flat out but stop abruptly because Zachariah is in front of them. "Guys, c’mon. You can run but you can’t run." Zachariah said but the trio turn around and run back the way they came.

This time they come to a halt when confronted by a slim figure in a colorful mask and a gold cape. The figure lifts one finger to his mouth to indicate they should be silent. "Shh." He said and he waves them forward. "Hurry! This way." the figure said and he leads them to a small wooden shack.

He scribbles some symbols on the rusted door then opens it and runs inside. Dean, Sam and (y/n) follow. "Wait. Who are you?" Sam asked as they enter the room, which was dim and had tables and chairs visible in the light from windows on the far side.

The figure pulls off his mask and his cape, it was Ash. "Buenos dias, bitches." Ash greets. "Ash?" Dean said, confused, and Ash claps his hands twice and the lights come on. He spreads out his arms. "Welcome to my blue heaven." he said.

Dean looks around, stunned, while Sam and (y/n) smile. They’re in Ellen’s Roadhouse. "Good God, the Roadhouse. It even smells the same." Dean said as Ash picks up his cape and mask. "Bud, blood and beer nuts. It’s the best smell in the world." Ash said and he walks behind the bar and snaps his fingers. "How 'bout a cold one? Up here? No hangover." Ash asked and Dean, Sam and (y/n) sit on the bar stools.

"So…no offense…" Sam started to ask but Ash interrupts him, knowing what he was going to ask. "How did a dirt bag like me end up in a place like this? I’ve been saved, man. I was my congregation’s number one snake handler." Ash said and (y/n) smiles. "And you said this was your heaven?" she asked. "Yup! My own…personal…" Ash said and shotguns his beer while the trio watch. He burps.

"And when the angels jumped us? We were…" Sam said. "In your heaven." Ash finished. "So there’re two heavens?" (y/n) asked. "No. More like a hundred billion. So, no worries, it’ll take those angels boys a minute to catch up." Ash said.

"What?" Dean asked, confused. "See, you gotta stop thinking of heaven as one place. It’s more like a butt-load of places all crammed together. Like Disneyland except without all the anti-Semitism." Ash said and the trio still look confused.

"Disneyland?" Sam asked. "Mm-hmm. Yeah. See you got Winchesterland and (l/n)land." Ash said as he holds up his hands to indicate the bar. "Ashland." He points all around outside the bar. "A whole mess of everybody-else-lands. Put them all together: heaven. Right? At the center of it all? Is the Magic Kingdom. The Garden." he said. 

"So everybody gets a little slice of paradise." (y/n) said, understanding "Pretty much. A few people share—special cases. What not." Ash said. "What do you mean special?" Dean asked. "Aw, you know. Like, uh, soul-mates." Ash said and Dean and (y/n) share a glance. "Anyway. Most people can’t leave their own private Idaho’s." Ash said. "But you ain’t most people." (y/n) said.

"Nope. They ain’t got my skills. Hell, I’ve been all over. Johnny Cash. André the Giant." He listed then he turns to Sam. "Einstein. Sam, that man can mix a White Russian. Hell, the other day? I found Mallanāga Vātsyāyana." He said. "Who?" Sam asked. "He wrote the Kama Sutra. Huh, that boy’s heaven? Ah, sweaty. Confusing." Ash said. 

"All this from a guy who used to sleep on a pool table." Dean jokes and Ash nods. "Yeah. Now that I’m dead, I’m living, man, a whole lot more." he said.

"So how’d you find us?" Sam asked him. "I rigged up my very own holy-rolling police scanner." Ash said as he pulls out a laptop then hits the power button and it starts up, displaying a mess of sound graphs and making an annoying piercing sound.

"That’s angels. Blabbing Enochian, okay? I’m fluent." He said then he turns it off and puts in back under the counter. "I heard that you were up. Of course I had to come find you. Again." He said. "Again?" (y/n) asked. "This ain’t the first time here. I mean, you three die more than anyone I’ve ever met." Ash said. "Really." Dean said, surprised. "Ah, yeah… you don’t remember. God! Angels. Must’ve Windexed your brain." Ash said.

"So, uh. I mean, have you found anybody else? Ellen and Jo?" Sam asked him and Ash look taken aback. "Ellen and Jo are dead?" he asked and (y/n) looks upset and doesn’t answer. Ash looks to Dean and Sam. Sam looks guilty and sad while Dean turns his head away.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah. A few months now. Sorry." Sam said and Ash takes a minute to compose himself. "Um, hmm. Uh, they went down fighting?" he asked and Sam nods. "Yeah. 'Til the end." (y/n) tells him. "Yeah, a lot of good it did." Dean said, bitterly, then he looks back at Ash.

"How ‘bout our folks?" Dean asked him. "I’ve been looking all over for John Winchester, Mary too, but so far: nada. Same thing for (f/n) and (m/n). I’m sorry. But hey! There is somebody that wants to jaw with you. Hold up." Ash said and he leaves the bar and goes into the back room that used to be his. There are symbols on it like the ones he chalked onto the door of the shack.

It only takes moments before he’s returning with Pamela Barnes. The trio look happily surprised. "Pamela!" Sam said. "Nice to see you three again." Pamela said, her eyes were normal now. "Ooo." Ash said, fake shivering.

Later, Sam and Ash are sitting at the bar as Ash is working the laptop. "So this is how you get around up here?" Sam asked him. "Hm, more or less. It’s awesome to finally have an application—a practical application—for string theory." Ash said while Dean, Pamela and (y/n) are sitting at one of the tables in the raised section.

"So!" Dean said. "So." Pamela said before she reaches over and swats both of them lightly on the head. "That’s for getting me killed." She said to them. "Yeah. That’s…probably less than we deserve." (y/n) said. "Makes you feel any better, we got Ash killed too." Dean said while, at the bar, Ash raises his hand in a rock salute. "I’m cool with it." He calls out as he snaps his fingers.

"He’s cool with it. So you…you good?" Dean asked Pamela. "I’m good. Really. Remember my death scene? Gut shot. Coughing blood. You told me I was going someplace better." Pamela said. "I was lying." Dean said. "You were right! My heaven? It is one long show at the Meadowlands. It’s amazing! You should see it." Pamela said, happily.

"Yeah." Dean said as (y/n) shrugs. "You two don’t believe me." Pamela said, questioning. "No, we do, it’s just, you know. Spending eternity trapped in your own little universe while the angels run the show, that’s lonely. You know. That’s not Nirvana. That’s the Matrix." (y/n) said. "I don’t know. Attic’s still better than the basement." Pamela said.

"Yeah, but you know this place feels real, but it’s Memorex. Real is down there." Dean said as he holds his hands out. "Yeah, well, close enough. Look, guys, I’m happy. I’m at peace." Pamela said.

"What? Are you trying to sell us a time share? I mean, what’s with the pitch?" Dean asked her and she chuckles. "I know that Michael wants to take you out for a test drive." Pamela said. "Pamela…" Dean interrupts but Pamela shakes her head. "Just saying. What happens if you play ball with them? Worst case." She said.

"A lot of people die." (Y/n) said, eyeing her. "And then they come here. Is that really so bad? Look. Maybe…you don’t have to fight it so hard. That’s all I’m trying to say." she said just as Ash and Sam turn on their seats.

"Hey! Found a short cut to the Garden." Sam said and Ash gives them a thumbs up, Pamela returns it. "Oh yeah." He exclaims.

Underneath a Come In We’re Open sign, Ash draws another sigil-formula. "All Access Pass to the Magic Kingdom." he said as Dean and (y/n) stand behind him. "Good." Dean said and Ash turns to look at him. "Not good?" (y/n) asked. "That Zachary fella’s going to be watching every road to the Garden." Ash warns them while Sam and Pamela hug.

"Watch your ass." she tells him and Sam nods and leaves. "It was nice seeing you again, Pamela." (Y/n) said and Pamela nods before the two hug then she goes and hugs Dean. "You better keep an eye on him." Pamela said to (y/n) as she points at Dean. "I will." (Y/n) said as Ash finishes his formula and stands up.

"Ah, gentlemen and lady. I don’t mean to be a downer or anything but…I’m sure I’ll see you again soon." He said. "Well, keep a sixer on ice for us." Dean tells him. "Yeah." Ash said, nodding, and he opens the door and they walk through, Sam first.

It’s the house in Lawrence, which is dark, empty and kind of spooky, a train’s whistle could be heard. "What the…Why are we back home?" Dean asked. "I don’t know." Sam said as he looks around.

"So what are we going to do?" (Y/n) asked. "Keep looking for the road again, I guess." Dean said when Mary appears behind him. She’s in her nightgown, the same one she was wearing the night she was killed.

"Honey. Why are you up?" Mary asked and Dean turns to her. "Look. I’m-I’m sorry. I love you but you’re not real and we don’t have time—" Dean said but Mary keeps going. "Did you have another nightmare? Tell me." she said.

"I gotta go." Dean said to her. "Then how 'bout I tell you my nightmare, Dean? The night I burned." she said and blood appears on the nightgown above her stomach. "Guys, let’s get out of here." Dean said in a shaky voice and they turn to go.

"Don’t you walk away from me." Mary growls and Dean stops. "I never loved you. You were my burden. I was shackled to you. Look what it got me." Mary said and she blinks and her eyes turn yellow, which made everyone stand frozen in place.

"Dean." Sam and (y/n) said. Dean turns to them, looking devastated. Then the lights in the house change color, taking on an unhealthy green hue. The room changes around them; and the doors are gone. Mary blinks and her eyes are her own again. "The worst was the smell. The pain, well. What can you say about your skin bubbling off? But the smell was so…You know, for a second I thought I’d left a pot roast burning in the oven. But…it was my meat." Mary said as Dean moves away.

He goes to the wall to investigate where the doorway used to be. It’s bricked over. "And then, finally, I was dead. The one silver lining was that at least I was away from you." She said and she takes a big breath. "Everybody leaves you, Dean. You noticed? Mommy. Daddy. Even Sam. And eventually, (y/n) will grow bored of you and walk away." Mary said as Sam looks very upset at her words but he doesn’t say anything. (y/n) shakes her head at this. "You ever ask yourself why? Maybe it’s not them. Maybe, it’s you." Mary said to Dean then she chuckles.

"Easy now, kitten." Zachariah said as he walks in behind Mary while she smiles in evil glee. "You did this." (y/n) accused. "And I’m just getting started. I mean, guys. Did you really think you could just sneak past me into Mission Control?" Zachariah said. "You son of a bitch." Sam growls.

Then very large angel goons appear behind Sam, Dean and (y/n), holding them easily in place. "You know, I’d say the same thing about you, Sam, but I have actually grown quite fond of your mother. Or at least the Blessed Memory of her." Zachariah said and he moves Mary’s hair then bends down and kisses her neck.

Dean has to look away. "I think we’re going to be logging a lot of quality time together. I’ve discovered she’s quite the...MILF." Zachariah laughs. "You can gloat all you want, you dick, you’re still bald." Dean retorts. "In heaven, I have six wings and four faces, one of whom is a lion. You see this because you’re…" Zachariah said as he run his fingers down Mary’s arm. "...limited." Zachariah said then snaps his fingers and the image of Mary disappears.

"Let’s brass tack this, shall we?" Zachariah asked. "You gonna ball-gag us until we say yes? Huh, yeah, I’ve heard that one too." Dean said and Zachariah steps up to Dean, gives a small chuckle then turns, quickly, and slams his fist in (y/n)'s stomach. She folds over with a pained groan.

"(Y/N)!" Dean and Sam yell. "I’m going to do a lot more than that. I’ve cleared my schedule. Get her up." Zachariah demands and the angels get (y/n) up and he punches her again. The boys struggle against the angel holding them. "Leave her alone, you son of a bitch!" Dean shouts, angrily.

"You know, I noticed that this little girl is both of you boys' weakness. Especially you, Dean. And maybe...hurting her..." Zachariah said and he punches (y/n) again, making her scream out in pain again. "...will break you two." He said and he punches her again.

"Let me tell you something. I was on the fast track once. Employee of the month, every month, forever. I would walk these halls and people would AVERT THEIR EYES!" Zachariah said and the house rumbles and shakes. "I HAD RESPECT! And then they assigned me you. Now look at me." Zachariah said, gesturing to Dean, then he chuckles unhappily. "I can’t close the deal on a couple of flannel-wearing maggots? Everybody’s laughing at me…and they’re right to do it. So! Say yes, don’t say yes; I’m still going to take it out of your asses. It’s personal now, boys, and the last person in the history of creation you want as your enemy is me. And I’ll tell you why. Lucifer may be strong, but I’m… petty’. I’m going to be the angel on your shoulder for the rest of eternity." Zachariah said and he goes to raise his fist again to (y/n) but a voice makes him stop.

"Excuse me. Sir?" the voice said and  Zachariah turns to face the newcomer, A slightly, older, black man. "I’m in a meeting." Zachariah tells him. "I’m sorry. I need to speak to those three." the man said. "Excuse me?" Zachariah said, shocked. "It’s a bad time, I know, but I’m afraid I have to insist." the old man said. "You don’t get to insist jack-squat." Zachariah spat but the newcomer doesn’t back down, just stares at Zachariah. It seems to unnerve him.

"No, you’re right. But the boss does. His orders." the man said. "You’re lying." Zachariah tells him, uncertain. "I wouldn’t lie about this. Look, fire me if you want. Sooner or later, he’s going to come back home and you know how he is with that whole wrath thing." the man said and Zachariah looks at the trio.

He looks back at the man but ths old man doesn’t back down. There’s the fluttering of wings and Zachariah and his goons have disappeared. (Y/n) gasps and groans as the boys go over to her. "You okay, (y/n)?" Sam asked her as Dean gives her a look of fear and worry. "Never better." (Y/n) said and they help her up to see they are no longer in the house with its creepy green lighting.

They are in a verdant, green garden—a conservatory, surrounded with the sounds of a forest. They walk down stone steps, approaching the old man who saved them. "This is heaven’s Garden?" Sam asked. "It’s-it’s nice…ish. I guess." Dean said. "Kinda peaceful looking." (Y/n) said. "You see what you want to here. For some it’s God’s throne room; for others it’s Eden. You three, I believe it’s the Cleveland Botanical Gardens. You came here on a field trip." The man said and Sam nods in agreement and remembrance.

"You’re Joshua." (y/n) said and Joshua nods. "I’m Joshua." he said. "So, you talk to God." said Sam. "Mostly, He talks to me." Joshua said. "Well, we need to speak to Him. It’s important." (y/n) said.

"Where is he?" Dean asked. "On Earth." Joshua replied. "Doing what?" Dean asked. "I don’t know." Joshua said, shrugging. "Do you know where on Earth?" asked Sam. "No, sorry. We don’t exactly speak face-to-face." Joshua replied.

"I…I don’t get it. God’s not talking to nobody so…" (y/n) said then Joshua speaks over her. "Why’s he talking to me. I sometimes think it’s because I can sympathize—gardener to gardener—and, between us, I think he gets lonely." he said. "Well, my heart’s breaking for him." Dean said, disgusted.

"Well, can you at least get him a message for us?" Sam asked. "Actually, he has a message for you. Back off." Joshua said, which makes the trio taken aback. "What?" Dean said, shocked. "He knows already. Everything you want to tell him." Joshua said.

"But…" (y/n) said but Joshua shakes his head. "He knows what the angels are doing. He knows that the Apocalypse has begun. He just doesn’t think it’s his problem." he said. "Not his problem?" Dean said, stunned. "God saved you already. He put you on that plane. He brought back Castiel and Ariel. He granted you salvation in heaven..." Joshua said then he turns to face Sam directly. "...and after everything you’ve done too. It’s more than he’s intervened in a long time. He’s finished. Magic amulet or not, you won’t be able to find him." He said.

"But he can stop it. He can stop all of it." Dean said. "I suppose he could, but he won’t." said Joshua. "Why not?" (y/n) asked. "Why does he allow evil in the first place? You could drive yourself nuts asking questions like that." Joshua said.

"So he’s just going to sit back and watch the world burn?" asked Dean. "I know how important this was to you, Dean. I’m sorry." Joshua said. "Forget it. Just another dead-beat dad with a bunch of excuses, right. I’m used to that. I’ll muddle through." Dean said, emotional. "Except…you don’t know if you can, this time. You can’t kill the Devil, and you’re losing faith, in yourself, your brother, your girlfriend and now this?" Joshua said and Sam and (y/n) look at Dean, realizing just how desperate and depressed Dean really is.

"God was your last hope. I just…I wish I could tell you something different." said Joshua. "How do we know you’re telling the truth?" Sam asked. "You think that I would lie?" Joshua asked, stunned. "It’s just that…you’re not exactly the first angel we’ve met." (y/n) said. "I’m rooting for you three! I wish I could do more to help you, I do! But...I just trim the hedges." Joshua said, truthfully.

"So what now." Dean said, questioning. "You go home again. I’m afraid this time, won’t be like the last. This time, God wants you to remember." Joshua said as he raises his hand. There’s a whooshing sound and a bright light, similar to the one at the convent, blinds them.

Sam’s eyes open and he sucks in a huge breath and sits up in shock. He pants as two more whooshing sounds are heard again and Dean and (y/n) sit up on the second bed. Dean coughs and looks down at his chest as (y/n) takes in a deep breath and pants as well.

"You guys alright?" Sam asked them. "Define alright." Dean said and he reaches over and picks up his cell phone. He stands up as he dials and (y/n) could see his back is covered in blood from the exit wounds.

Castiel and Ariel, looking lost and without hope, lean against the divider while Dean, Sam and (y/n) pack up their gear in the background. "Maybe…maybe Joshua was lying." Castiel said and the trio look at him. "I don’t think he was, Cas. I’m sorry." Sam said then he sighs.

(y/n) watches as Ariel moves into the entryway then looks up. "You son of a bitch. I believed in…" she growls, with anger, as she searches above for any sign, anything…There is nothing. Cas looks up as well, as if he'd get answers but nothing as well.

Ariel lowers her head, hits the side of her fist against the doorway, hard but not hard enough to do damage, and Cas turns back to the trio, looking at Dean. He pulls the amulet from his pocket. "We don’t need this anymore." he said as he tosses it to Dean who shakes it out to look at it. "It’s worthless." Castiel sneers and he turns away.

"Guys. Wait." (y/n) calls out to them but the sounds of wings were heard and Cas and Ariel were gone. Sam tosses his shirt on the bed, angrily, (y/n) places her hands over her face, letting out a long sigh, while Dean hasn’t looked up from the amulet in his hands.

"We’ll find another way. We can still stop all this, Dean." Sam said and Dean looks up at him. "How?" he asked. "I don’t know, but we’ll find it. All three of us, we’ll find it." Sam said but Dean doesn’t look like he believes him and Sam knows it, as does (y/n).

Dean picks up his bag and walks past Sam and (y/n) without saying anything, he doesn’t even look at them. At the door he pauses and drops the amulet in the trash then opens the door and leaves.

Behind him, Sam takes a deep breath, looking sad, but determined, and he walks out. (Y/n) stands there for a moment then walks over to the trash can and sees the amulet. Part of her wanted to leave it but...she couldn't.

So she bends down and picks up the amulet and stares at it. Then, quickly, pockets it and heads out of the room, shutting the door behind her and heads over to the Impala.

@rach5ive @kitsun369 @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @ellie-andthemachine

[stromuprisahat]

Siege and Storm- Chapter 17 (Leigh Bardugo)

They might not stop the nichevo’ya, but they would slow them and kill anything in their range, no matter the side. I won't even start on bullets bouncing off the surface and hitting something else...

Siege and Storm- Chapter 12

But I guess if they can be shot at by ordinary soldiers, they can die under fire of brand new repeating rifles too...

Tolya and Tamar opened fire. It was a sound like I’d never heard, a relentless, skull-shattering thunder that shook the air around us and rattled my bones. It was a massacre. The nichevo'ya plummeted from the skies around us, only to reassamble themselfves on the ground among the pilgrims. Bullets followed closely, hitting humans and monsters alike. Chests were blown open, limbs torn from bodies. The spent cartridges pinged to the floor of battlements. The sharp burn of gunpowder filled the air. Two hundred rounds per minute. So this was what a modern army could do.

Siege and Storm- Chapter 8, adjusted

If there are preparations made for a battle, shouldn't those people be evacuated? But then again they don't want to be elsewhere, they want their Saint- trying to send them away wouldn't work, would it? Perhaps not even at gunpoint, so what does it matter how will they die during the Darkling's attack, right?

[flamingwordsinthesky]

SpideyTorchweek Day 4 - Villain Au

@spideytorchweek

The water’s murky surface reflected the red mask back at Peter as he waited. He stared at his reflection to help ignore the sounds of destruction and screams that echoed through the air. He should be out there helping but he’s here waiting for Firestorm.

He ignored the first message he left in the sky. A simple, ‘Spider-Man, meet me at the ruins of the Statue of Liberty’. The second message was just a question mark. The third was a threat ‘In One hour. A block in Queens will Burn. Meet me at the Statue of Liberty before then.”

So here he waited for what could only be his end. But he clicked the cartridges in his webshooters. Peter listens as the whooshing of air and crackling of fire and unbearable heat Firestorm finally descended from the sky in a human shaped wildfire. That’s all Peter knew him as, the human incarnation of destruction and fire.

So it surprised him when the flames extinguished themselves to show a man. Pale blonde hair perfectly pulled back into a low blond ponytail. The man could have been attractive once upon a time, butlarge black bags under his eyes on a taunt face. It made him look like a shell of a once handsome man. He gave Peter a shadow of a smile, like he knew what it was but couldn’t replicate it on his face. It sent a chill down his tense spine, but he stood firm.

“You’re actually here.” Firestorm said in such a way that it reminded Peter of Mary Jane. Her beautiful smile was engulfed in flames. Peter grit his teeth but stood his ground.

“You threatened what's left of my home.” Peter said through the mask, letting his authority Spider-Man voice get some use. Firestorm smiled again, this time a little closer to an actual smile. As if he was actually happy to see him.

“How else was I going to get your attention?” Firestorm asked as he sauntered closer to him. Peter wanted to step away but he’s on the edge of Lady Liberty’s head and he doesn’t feel like taking a swim, not when he might be able to finally take down at least one member of the Frightful Four. "You're just so elusive,"

Peter glances at the smoking city across the Hudson bay and looks back as Firestorm eyes seem to be looming at his body. He finally meets the eyes of Peter’s mask with a doe-eyed expression that Peter didn’t think a villain like him could do.

“I’m just so happy to finally meet you.” Firestorm said in a dreamy tone that it froze Peter in place. The second Firestorm’s gloved hands sprayed across his chest and gave a quick firm squeeze. Peter gripped Firestorm’s wrists and pulled him off. Firestorm lips pursed as he flexed against Peter’s grip, as if testing the strength that held him. “You’re so strong, just like I imagined.”

Peter didn’t let go. He gripped harder, just short of breaking his wrist.

"What do the Frightful Four want with me?” Spider-Man asked as Firestorm chuckled. A dark impression of a human emotion on his face.

"It's less what they want and more what I want." Firestorm said, his words also dripped with want as bright blue and wet gazed at him. "That's why you're the only one she hasn't killed...yet."

Spider-Man said nothing. Rain and blood fill his memories as the heavy weight of Daredevil, his last true ally, laid limp in his arms.

Shatter. Beautiful, cold, icy blue eyes and a stone cold face that would kill millions in the blink of an eye. The most powerful member of the four. Killer of the Avengers. Let him go that night but not Daredevil.

The last thing she said to him was.

"My brother doesn't like it when others touch his things."

The slam against the still standing crown of Lady Liberty made a loud thunderous bang. Firestorm gasped and almost shuddered at the strength of hands on his heaving throat. Hands gripped and he thought about how easy it would be. To take down one of them. To take someone Shatter loved just like she did to him.

If she was capable of something like love.

"Enough! I'm sick of your games!" He yelled, loud enough he was sure the survivors of New York City. "What do you want with me?!"

Firestorm laughed through crushed windpipes as a hand grasped his wrists.

"You haven't figured it out? You really don't get it?" The searing heat burned his wrists. He yanked away. Strangled deep breaths turned to labored laughter as Firestorm stood.

"You wanna know the worst form of torture?" His voice suddenly dropped to a cold low tone that Peter was unsure that his voice came from the same man. He held out a fire hand to Peter, who stood across him crouched and ready to pounce as his Spidey sense rang around him.

"Solitary confinement?"

Firestorm tsked as that same sham of a smile creeped along his face. "You are smart."

"Now. What do you think happens to someone, when there's nothing but white walls, no sound, no people, nothing, for a week? Maybe a month? Maybe a year?" Firestorm's voice is flat. Matter of factly, his blue eyes glaring down at him but Peter didn't falter.

So Firestorm kept talking "Before I was able to finally control my flame they kept me there, alone. No idea how my sister was doing. The scientists said I was in there for a month. But time doesn't matter when you're cut off from the people you love."

Peter wanted to ask if the Frightful Four even knew what love was. But he still said nothing.

"Do you know what it's like when the very first voice you hear after agonizing days of nothing; is your sister screaming in pain?" Firestorm gets angrier as he moves fast and close to Peter and captures his jaw in his hand. His other holding fire close to his face.

"I burned that facility to the ground when Reed freed us. It felt so good because they hurt us. They hurt us real bad. But I had a shining light. Something to keep me going. Can you guess what that was?" He asked like Peter didn't connect what he was getting at.

"When they dragged me out to experiment on me. I saw you. On the tv, always going, always fighting, always free. They called you a menace but I knew better. I knew you were a hero."

Firestorm's hands suddenly held him in his hands like he was everything to him. The world, his light, his love. It caught him off guard because it was the most human Firestorm looked since they met.

"I was so alone. But I saw you, you told me to keep going, to fight past the pain, to fight back, and I should never give up." Firestorm's eyes swam with so many emotions that it seemed they overwhelmed the villain.

"Don't you see? You kept me going. You are the reason I'm still alive.

"I don't control your delusions." Peter bit out before thumbs slid under his mask.

"I don't care what you call them. That doesn't change the fact that you kept me going." Peter had been so caught off guard that it didn't register that Firestorm had ripped his mask until cold air smacked him in the face.

"It doesn't change the fact that I love you."

Peter lunged after Firestorm and had his hands back on his throat. Imagining all the people who died when Firestorm made his debut.

Harry, Flash, Aunt May, all the innocent people who couldn't escape the flames.

Mary Jane.

All burned when he was too busy fighting Boulder and Doctor Doom. All because he was too slow. All because he ignored Firestorm when he first flew past him that day.

"SHE'S DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!"

"Who?"

"My wife you monster!"

Firestorm furrows his brows as if Peter isn't about ready to snap his neck.

"Wife? You had a wife while messing around with another man?"

"I would never do that to her." He yelled as he slammed Firestorm against the hard metal floor. Just for suggesting such a thing. Peter would always love Mary Jane. She completed him, she was his rock and his confidant. She reminded him he was human, never taking him seriously and always reminded him to smile.

Then she was gone.

Daredevil surprised him by how much he grew to love him. What started as a way to soothe their shared pain blossomed into something more. The night they tried to attack Shatter, Matt said he loved him. He still regrets never saying it back.

How Firestorm found out about them, he would never know. But it didn't matter if he could just will himself to snap Firestorm's neck.

He loved Mary Jane. She died by Firestorm's hand

He grew to love Matt. He died by Shatter's.

Both Storm siblings with the blood of his loved ones on their hands.

"I'm going to fucking kill you." Peter said through gritted teeth. There was a flash of flame as Peter was blown back and against the crown again as Firestorm was standing a flame.

Peter stood up and placed his feet firm on the ground and raised his fists.

"Oh my love, it would be an honor to die by your hand," Firestorm extended a hand and there was a flash of heat that almost burned his face rushed past him. "But I'm not gonna make it easy for you,"

[skybrushus]

Princess Luna inserted a reloaded magazine into the grip of the massive semi-automatic pistol. Cycling the action she raised the pistol and started to take aim, but then paused and lowered the weapon. Remembering the first magazine she'd fired from the behemoth pistol her horn flared and small force wall appeared in front of her face. Once again she raised the weapon and pressed trigger. 

   The pistol roared and rocked in her hand as it sent a 11.45mm projectile rocketing downrange. The alicorn was very happy she'd remembered to erect the force wall as she watched the spent brass casing bounce of it instead of her face. The first time she'd fired it several of the spent casings had struck her. 

    The giant pistol thundered 7 times and then went silent. Calm returned to firing range. Removing the now spent magazine and confirming the chamber was empty Luna set the still smoking pistol down on a bench and looked over at the pony who was creator of this monstrous mechanical creation. The stallion anxiously smiled as he addressed the princess. 

    "So your highness! What is your opinion? Would you consider the possibility of your security forces adopting it? Yes it is a rather large pistol, but with a shoulder stock attached the pistol can also operate as a small semi automatic carbine. So it is multi-purpose system, and 11.45mm cartridge is without equal at this time!"

     The Prussian Blue alicorn looked back at the pistol on the bench and then over to it's creator. She arched an eyebrow as she spoke. 

     "The problem I see sir. Is that I haven't test-fired a very large pistol today, but instead a very small field gun. The weapon is large to the point of encumbrance. It fires an excessively powerful cartridge for the job. It has more parts than my pocket watch. Even worse it has an alarming tendency of hurling spent cartridge casing into face of the operator with great gusto."

     At this moment Luna glanced down and noticed there was a spent cartridge casing lodged down in the cleavage of her breasts. Reestablishing eye contact with the stallion, the mare casually reached in with one hand and extracted the wayward piece of brass. She then flicked it away. 

    The stallion swallowed and looked the princess eyes. "So, um. That's a no."

    Note. The pistol in this drawing is a Gabbett-Fairfax Mars pistol. They were a series of early 20th century pistols. The Gabbett-Fairfax Mars, not to be mistaken with several other pistols from other period manufacturers that were also called Mars, never went into proper manufacturing. Instead the Mars were a series of unique, handmade, prototypes. Each one slightly different from its brethren with a wide range of features, calibers, sights and barrel lengths.  

     Ian McCollum at Forgotten Weapons has in the past has done a couple of video about it. Link. Link. 

[overwatch-does-stuff]

Bad Memories

Summary: The first time Bastion saw the armor, they ran. The second time, they froze. And present at both was a man with more compassion than common sense.

(Author's note: this fic was written before the story announcement trailer showed that Reinhardt was not, in fact, okay with Omnics, so that's the reason he's fairly out of character here.)

---

The first time Bastion saw the armor, they ran.

The day had otherwise been peaceful. Happy, even. Two new friends had arrived, friends of Torbjorn’s, which of course made them both Bastion’s friends by default. There was the tall, enormous man named Reinhardt, with a loud voice and a big smile. Then there was his smaller companion, a woman named Brigitte, with long red hair and a smaller but still muscular build. Torbjorn seemed equally fond of both. 

After the introductions, Brigitte and Winston had brought something in from the outside. Something big and covered in a tarp. Brigitte had smiled and pulled the tarp down. Silver glinted off metallic angles, twinkling, catching Bastion’s attention. They couldn’t look away.

The crested helmet and bulky frame crawled from their optic and into the deep recesses of their memory bank. It reached in and pulled forth shambling strings of a memory that might not have been their own, pulling, pulling, until the fire licked the edges of their vision and warnings spilled throughout their most primal systems.

Crusader.

It was suicide to turn one’s back on a Crusader. Bastion’s systems told them that. Their legs did not want to move and their torso did not want to turn, but a last-ditch override took care of that. Diverting power from threat analysis to hydraulics was also a horrible idea, but they did so anyway.

Active processing began to null as more power transferred, their speed picking up. The door ahead did not open so they tore it down with their momentum.

They were bathed in sunlight and their optic adjusted to the outside. They barreled past further buildings in the complex before thinking to take shelter. Too many open angles, too many lines of sight. They turned, sliding across the ground as they readjusted their trajectory, to an alley between buildings. 

The alleyway ended in a solid wall which housed a decrepit dumpster, which they noticed too late. Bastion crashed into it and it crinkled like a leaf underfoot in the fall. The impact rattled loose the protocol they had been trying their hardest to avoid.

The transformation sent old damage warnings shooting up their frame as they configured into sentry mode. Their barrel swung around to the entrance of the alley.

The Crusader was coming, it had to be coming, but Bastion couldn’t tell whether the thundering they heard came from its footfalls or from their own shaking as they spun their barrel up.

No threats registered. No threats registered. As long as it stayed that way, then they wouldn’t do something that they knew they would regret.

Footsteps from the other end of the alley.

“Bastion, luv. Bastion! Where did you go? No need to be scared. It’s all okay.”

A blink of blue. Target registered. Bastion fired.

The vibration of their firing pins hitting the ends of cartridges, one by one by one, was a well-oiled symphony. It felt familiar. Bastion hated how it almost felt good. It was their purpose, after all- raining metal hell upon whatever was down range.

The chorus stopped. Their clip had run out. 

Nothing followed but silence.

The urge to reload was mounting the longer they stayed configured, but a quick justification- the target is gone, must go find -let them transform back to recon mode.

But they did not investigate. That urge was far more easily quelled. Instead, they turned to face the wall. With no visuals to distract, they focused on turning off their combat protocols. They dug in their memory banks and brought up images of the forest. Sunlight filtering through trees. Butterflies sunning themselves on rocks by a stream.

With a click, their targeting overlay disappeared. The commands keeping their body rigid disappeared, and they sagged forward, letting their gun arm sink towards the ground and putting their hand against the wall to steady themselves. They stayed there until their cooling fans spun on, venting the heat from the strain from their systems. 

A small background notification appeared and they let it through without thinking. Target confirmed eliminated?

Bastion jolted and turned their head down the alley. Immediate visual scans did not turn up a body. 

“B-bastion, luv?” called a meek voice from the other end of the alley.

A head poked around the corner, just revealing a set of eyes, before jerking back again. Then it crept out once more.

Bastion didn’t know what to do.

“Lena, get away from the thing! Now!”

Bastion recognized Torbjorn’s voice. It scared them to hear the man so angry and afraid.

The peeking person disappeared. There was more conversation in quieter tones that Bastion could not pick up on, so they came forwards. They at least tried to muffle their footsteps.

Bastion peered out of the alleyway. Torbjorn and- their processor finally cleared enough to recall -Tracer huddled against the front of the building. Her chronal accelerator glowed only a faint, dusty blue.

The blink of blue. She was. . . unscathed.

Bastion let out a whine of relief. This caused the both of them to turn. Torbjorn flinched and his mouth opened, curses pouring out. Bastion ran back into the alley. They thought up pictures of the forest again, as a precaution. Just in case. Just in case.

There was a pitter patter of footsteps. Torbjorn had followed.

“Damned Omnic! You were supposed to be peaceful! You weren’t supposed to have any battle protocols!” He shook his fist in the air.

Every declaration bit into them worse than a bullet ever could.

“You could have killed her!”

Bastion turned off their audio sensors. They watched as Torbjorn circled around them, his eyes wide with anger, his mouth opening and closing in sharp rhythms that caused him to spit. 

He stopped mid-syllable, before giving a glare. Then he pointed a finger right into Bastion’s chest and yelled. The vibration traveled through their plating and they flinched away at the unexpected sensation. Torbjorn’s fury only grew. Soon he was pounding a fist against their leg.

They knew they deserved this. He had every right to be angry. They had lost control. 

Bastion slowly turned their audio sensors back on to ease into the man’s voice again. At a certain point they realized that they were whining out loud. They silenced themselves. 

“So you’ve finally decided to listen again, hmm?” Torbjorn said.

Bastion made a sad, downturned noise. A noise of regret. There had been no place for regret in a vocabulary made for war, so they had invented the noise in the forest. They had given it to the animals many times. It was the first time they had given it to a human.

“So sorry, aren’t you?” Torbjorn’s tone was mocking.

Bastion nodded.

“Like I’d believe that. You’re one of mine. I should have known you were programmed like the rest.”

Bastion shook their head.

“Come on. No more frolicking around for you. You’re going into my workshop and staying there.”

Bastion knew they deserved it but they didn’t want to go.

“I said, come on, you lump of lugnuts!” 

Torbjorn was behind them now, and kicking at their back legs.

“Did you turn off your audio sensors again? Damn tin can-!”

“My friend, stop.”

Bastion whirled their torso around. A new person had come around the corner. It was the tall man, Reinhardt, only he was not smiling now. 

“Reinhardt! What are you doing here? You need to get out of here. It might kill you if it gets the chance!” Torbjorn shouted.

“Says the one who’s kicking the Bastion.” Reinhardt replied.

This caused Torbjorn to pause. “Touche.”

Whereas Torbjorn was all hard lines and tension, Reinhardt was calm. He was muscled and large, trained for combat, Bastion’s targeting system added unhelpfully, but he didn’t register as a threat. His movements were slow and thoughtful and the only defined lines on his face weren’t from a harsh expression- they were wrinkles, wrinkles from smiles and laughter past, gently juxtaposed with the scar that went down his eye.

Reinhardt walked towards them. Bastion stepped around to meet him.

“Hello, friend.” Reinhardt spoke to them. His tone was as gentle as wind ruffling the grass.

“Wait, are you talking to it?” Torbjorn said.

“I’m sorry to have scared you.” He continued.

Bastion at first thought the apology was meant for Torbjorn, but the man’s steady gaze into their optic told otherwise. Bastion could only cock their head in response.

“The armor holds many bad memories for you, doesn’t it?”

Crusader. Bastion chirped as the word appeared again in their processor. They nodded.

“Reinhardt, it wasn’t scared. Don’t be silly. Given its origins, it’s programmed to engage combat protocols when it sees your armor.” Torbjorn huffed.

“Then why did it run?” Reinhardt asked.

Torbjorn opened his mouth to retort but no words came out. He shut it again and frowned, before kicking the ground.

The hostile motion caused a flutter of activity in Bastion’s threat analysis systems. They began to glance around and realized they were cornered.

“Easy, my Omnic friend! You are not trapped.” Reinhardt took one step aside.

Bastion took a small step. Torbjorn conceded his space as well and went beside the wall. Bastion walked forward, exiting the shade and dark of the alley and entering into the bright sunlight once again.

It was late afternoon, they noticed. The wind whistled across the rooftops, carrying the songs of birds from the sea below. Details they hadn’t noticed before.

“Better?” Reinhardt asked from behind.

The pavement lined with metal had some cracks, from which dandelions grew. The walls of the buildings were soft gray with accents of blue and orange. There was a peculiar pattern in the wall right ahead, many holes upon holes-

The realization was instantaneous. Bastion sunk down with a long, dull whine.

“You are ashamed.”

The statement was not framed as a question. It was a statement of fact, to which Bastion did not know how to respond. They were somewhat certain that regret and shame were similar, but where one ended and the other began was a mystery.

“The war left its impact on us all.” Reinhardt continued. “It took me some time before I could look an Omnic in the optic. Forgiveness comes slow. It can take even longer for the fear to fade.”

The statement, though softly spoken, was unsettling. Bastion looked at Reinhardt’s height again, this time taking an exact measurement. They recalled Torbjorn’s use of a certain possessive in regards to the armor. The armor. Its height. The measurement.

His armor.

“Crusader?” Bastion sputtered in Omnicode, their first comprehensible code in a while.

Reinhardt gave a sad nod. “You used that phrase when you saw my armor. I take it you figured out who I am?”

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense. The man before them was kind and gentle. He couldn’t be, it couldn’t be.

“Does it make you afraid?”

Bastion looked him up and down. They tried to run a threat analysis, but it fizzled out when they saw his face where a steel helmet should be. They started the program again, and again, and again, but there was no conclusion.

Eventually, they shook their head.

“That is good to hear.” Reinhardt placed a hand upon their shoulder pad and grasped it firmly. “It means we have a place to start.”

 Bastion tensed. They did not move.

“That is alright as well. I understand you may not be ready to be too friendly yet.” He dropped his hand.

“Are you done coddling it?” Torbjorn asked.

Bastion turned their head around and realized Torbjorn was behind them. Likely, he had been back there for some time.

“Maybe. Are you done scolding it?” Reinhardt replied.

Torbjorn gave a huff. “Yes.”

“Very well. I shall give it back to you.”

Torbjorn came in front of Bastion. “You’re following me. Back to my workshop. Clear?”

Bastion gave a glance to Reinhardt, before nodding.

Without another word, Torbjorn marched in the direction of a nearby building. Bastion hesitated, before urging their legs to move.

“Wait, my patient Omnic friend!”

Bastion turned their torso around to look.

“Take good care of Torbjorn for me. Make sure he doesn’t stay up all night working on you!” Reinhardt laughed, before growing serious again. “And when you are ready to try and overcome your fear, I am here.”

Bastion paused. Reinhardt wore a close-lipped smile. There was something in his eyes. Something knowing. Bastion nodded.

“Come on, rustbucket!” Torbjorn called.

Bastion turned back around again and jogged to catch up. Torbjorn opened a big steel door and they followed through. The door shut behind them, sealing the sunlight away. There was only the dim light of fluorescent bulbs overhead. Torbjorn began to navigate down the many halls.

“. . . I suppose he thinks he’s getting closure.” He mumbled as they both traveled.

Bastion gave an inquisitive chirp.

“Nothing. Forget it.”

But Bastion did not forget.

---

The second time they saw the armor, they froze. 

It was a few weeks after the first time. Bastion had gained their peaceful reputation back, for the most part. Tracer was quick to forgive (“Poor thing, just startled, that’s all”) and the armor had been hustled away to some deep recess of the Watchpoint, out of sight and out of processor. 

So Bastion did not have any incidents and was allowed to leave Torbjorn’s workshop.

They did notice, however, that people kept an eye on them. There were more people now. Torbjorn didn’t know all of them. New members, he called them. The only thing they all had in common was that they all looked at Bastion whenever they entered a room.

Humans told a lot of emotions through their eyes. Bastion was programmed to read eyes for hostile signs, so they knew a thing or two about what the eyes said. They knew that some eyes were kind and some eyes were angry, but everything else was more difficult to discern.

The constant gaze of the eyes, demanding to be read, was exhausting. They did not spend much time among the others during what was considered their ‘down time’. Instead, they set about exploring the complex they now called home base.

That was when they had found the auxiliary workshop. That was when they had found the suspicious-looking tarp, with its telltale peaks and valleys, laid across a platform.

Bastion turned the lights on. The room was bathed in lights brighter than those out in the halls. Light beams reflected off of the plastic-coated tarp, accentuating the mass that laid beneath. 

They were not stupid. They knew that shape. Their threat analysis systems ticked on in the background, heightening their senses. The buzzing of the light bulbs above was the only sound, and the tarp, like any normal tarp, lay unmoving.

Bastion walked forward. They grabbed the edge of it.

They pulled.

Their systems screamed in perfect harmony as the glint of an orange visor appeared. Threat analysis, targeting overlay, engagement protocols. A thousand different strategic choices bombarded them from every direction- stay, fight, transform, run -and in an instant their processor had selected for them the best course of action. This action, of course, was to fill the room with lead.

They did not want to do that. They remembered the consequences.

Their systems scrambled to find an alternative. Target within melee range. Door is four meters away.

Bastion dismissed those thoughts and every thought that followed with the same reasoning. Consequences.

And they stayed very, very still.

Moments passed like great big clouds rolling across the sky on a sunny afternoon. Their targeting reticule, an angry red symbol brimming in omnicode threats, remained trained on the helmet of the armor. There was no movement. There was no other sound besides the buzzing of the bulbs.

The buzzing became louder. Louder. Their audio sensors maxed their limits. Missing a single sound could mean death. 

But there was nothing more than the vibrations that traveled through the floor as the building shifted on its foundation. Nothing more than the faint whistle of air circulation units. Nothing.

Their targeting reticule faded from red, to orange, to a dull yellow, but it did not disappear. It was still a threat. . . but not an active one. 

Bastion realized their cooling fans had spun on, providing some relief from the tension in their frame. With a deep intake of air, they continued pulling off the tarp.

They disposed of the tarp to the side. The Crusader lay bare before them on the platform. They poked at its side, and their targeting reticule flashed back to red, causing them to flinch backwards, but the armor did not move, so they approached it again. They prodded it again, more firmly. Nothing.

They picked up one of its limbs. It did not resist, and as far as they could tell, it contained no power or life. They let it drop out of their hand and back onto the platform. The sound boomed in their audio sensors before they recalibrated back to normal levels.

They traveled around to the helmet. They tapped the orange visor with their finger. They grabbed the crest that extended from its forehead and pulled. Without much tension, the helmet popped from its mounting. 

Their targeting reticule disappeared. Target eliminated. Bastion could only chirp in confusion.

They looked down to the helmet, then back to the rest of the body. There was no obvious connection port as far as they could tell. They picked the helmet up off the ground and examined it. No results either.

They pressed the empty opening of the helmet back against the empty hole in the armor, but this did not cause the two to join. They pushed harder, then let go, but it fell to the floor again. They tried twisting it, turning it, tilting it, all to no avail. When gravity reunited the helmet with the floor once more, Bastion beeped and kicked the thing with their foot.

It bounced along the concrete floor before rattling to a stop. Bastion beeped at it again for good measure.

“Having fun?”

Bastion flinched and turned to look. In the doorway stood. . . Reinhardt.

They walked over to the helmet and picked it up again, bleating out apologetic noises as they did so. They glanced over to Reinhardt and the power of the man’s gaze pinned them to their spot.

“I. . . understand if that’s how you feel about me.” He said, his voice like a winter wind.

Bastion jerked and shook their head. “Negative, negative,” they told in Omnicode.

They walked back towards the armor. With every step, they looked back to Reinhardt. His expression did not change. 

Bastion pressed the helmet back onto the hole, then let go. The helmet fell down again. Bastion then gestured at it with their hand and made the same beep they had at the helmet before.

Reinhardt’s features unfroze. The corners of his eyes crinkled as his lips formed a smile. He let out a laugh that rang from floor to ceiling, punctuated by thuds as he slapped his hand against his thigh.

Bastion found that they were imitating a giggle as well.

“Ha! That helmet never stayed on right.” Reinhardt pointed as he strode into the room.

He was filled with such vigor and speed and volume that Bastion took a step back. Reinhardt paid no mind, grabbing the helmet out of their hand. He held it out, the crest pointing towards his chest and the open end presented to Bastion.

“See, right here?” He pointed to the rim of the inside. “There’s a little lever you must push.”

If Bastion focused their optic, they could see a tiny mechanism flipping back and forth as Reinhardt pressed on it. They nodded.

Reinhardt tossed the helmet in his grip before aligning it with the rest of the armor. With both hands, he shifted it until the two finally joined. When he let go, the helmet stayed in place.

“A finicky thing, that helmet is!” Reinhardt gestured. 

Bastion nodded. They looked at the complete armor, then to Reinhardt, then back again.

Their targeting overlays sputtered on and off again, never on the man, but on the armor. With the head back on, it was a full suit again, and therefore dangerous, but other observations clearly contradicted that conclusion. With one final notification, the overlay turned off, and stayed off. Bastion could relax again.

When they looked to Reinhardt again, he had taken a step back and his expression no longer bore such joy. Bastion took a step towards him and gave an inquisitive chirp.

“Your optic.”

Their optic. What about it? They reached their hand up and trailed their fingers across the glass of their optic. They couldn’t detect any changes. They repeated their chirp.

“You do not know?”

Bastion brought their hand back to their side, then imitated a shrug.

Reinhardt laughed, but it was a different laugh than before. Something much shorter and more abrupt, but it eased the tension in his shoulders. Then he brought a hand to his chin.

“Bastion, did you know that your optic has a habit of turning red?”

Bastion knew a bit about what they looked like, based on what they saw of their reflection in ponds and streams and what they could see when looking down. They knew that their optic was about the same blue hue as the sky. 

Then again, Reinhardt hadn’t said ‘just red’. He had said it ‘turned’.

Either way, to answer the question, Bastion shook their head.

“It tends to do so whenever you are, shall we say, distressed?” Reinhardt continued.

The targeting overlay. It had to be the targeting overlay. With the way it changed their vision and how sometimes there was a distinct clicking noise when it turned on and off. Bastion nodded, and imitated a noise they had seen Torbjorn do whenever he made a realization.

“Ah, you are aware!” Reinhardt nodded along. 

Bastion searched their vocabulary for a string of codes they could use to tell him exactly what they meant, but all they could pull together was “Danger-warning-moving-sensor.”

Reinhardt’s eyebrows furrowed. Bastion repeated the phrase and tapped their head.

“Apologies, but I only know a few phrases of yours.” He said.

Bastion gave a warm tone with no meaning and nodded. Reassurance, hopefully.

He seemed to get the intent. “Thank you.”

They stood in silence for a few beats, before Reinhardt stooped down to pick up the tarp from the ground. He talked as he did so.

“Brigitte always covered my armor in this tarp when we transported it in the van. I, at first, objected. Who would not want to see such a shining beacon of justice?”

He shook the tarp with one motion, and specks of dust went flying into the air. 

“But as we traveled, she proved to be correct. Some of the places we traveled were not so hospitable. They did not want our help. It hurt, seeing my own countrymen reject me.”

He reached over to lay the tarp back down across the armor, but stopped.

“I realize now that I- my face, the armor, my legacy -only reminded them of the hardships of the past. When they saw me, they only saw the war. I cannot blame them for that.”

With great care, he spread the tarp across the great frame. The silvery metal disappeared from the light. Reinhardt put a hand on where the armor’s shoulder pauldron was.

Bastion brought up their own hand. They closed it into a fist, then opened it again. They then looked to their other arm. The arm that caused people to scream and run whenever it even twitched. 

They remembered the barrel on their back that everyone else could see but they could only notice if they turned their head around. They remembered how others would flinch at the sound of their footfalls.They remembered just how tall they were compared to most humans, and that alone was enough to make them shrink away. 

Yet, they certainly weren’t laying under a tarp in Torbjorn’s workshop.

Bastion grabbed the edge of the tarp and gave a tug. Reinhardt let go, startled.

“Are you sure?”

“Affirmative,” they coded with a nod.

Reinhardt joined in unveiling the armor. This time, there was no target overlay. No threat analysis, no combat protocols. The metal was empty, and there was no fear.

[fancypantsrecords]

Tetsuya Kawauchi & Haruyoshi Tomita - The House Of The Dead Soundtrack Collection | Cartridge Thunder | 2022 | Red Translucent with Black Swirl + Blue Translucent with Black Swirl

[boredtechnologist]

"Sol Deace" (aka Sol Feace) for the Genesis console originally developed for the Sharp X68000 in Japan, is a classic horizontal-scrolling shoot-'em-up that showcases the evolution of the genre during the early 90s. It was later adapted for the Genesis platform, introducing gamers outside Japan to its challenging gameplay and sci-fi narrative.

Graphics and Audio

One of the standout features of "Sol-Feace" is its graphical presentation. The game utilizes the Sega Genesis hardware to deliver detailed and vibrant sprites, which were quite impressive for the time. The backgrounds are richly layered, creating a deep sense of space and movement that enhances the overall atmospheric effect of hurtling through space at high speeds. The transition from the Sharp X68000 to the Genesis resulted in some changes, with the Genesis version showcasing slightly less detail due to hardware limitations; however, it still managed to impress with its effective use of color and animation.

The audio is another strong point for "Sol-Feace." The soundtrack, composed by Motoi Sakuraba, features a range of compositions that fit well with the game’s space theme. Each track complements the intensity of the gameplay, from pulsating synths during high-action scenes to more somber tones during moments of brief respite. Sound effects are adequately punchy, providing satisfying feedback with each enemy explosion and weapon upgrade.

Gameplay Mechanics

"Sol-Feace" adheres to many standard conventions of the shoot-'em-up genre, such as power-ups that enhance the player's weapons and shields. The control scheme is straightforward, allowing players to focus on strategy and movement rather than complex inputs. One notable gameplay feature is the ability to adjust the positioning of the side pods on your spacecraft. These pods can be aligned to shoot forward, backward, or spread, adding a strategic layer to how players approach different enemy formations and obstacles.

The game’s difficulty is pitched at a challenging level, typical of the genre, which can lead to a steep learning curve for newcomers. However, this also provides a satisfying experience for those who master its nuances, making repeated playthroughs rewarding.

Innovations and Influence

While "Sol-Feace" may not have introduced groundbreaking innovations, it did refine several aspects of the shoot-'em-up formula. The adjustable weapon pods, combined with solid level design that encourages strategic thinking rather than sheer firepower, offer a deeper gameplay experience. This feature likely influenced later titles in the genre, which incorporated similar mechanics for more dynamic combat scenarios.

Cultural and Historical Context

Released during a time when the shoot-'em-up genre was highly popular, "Sol-Feace" had to compete with contemporaries like "Thunder Force" and "Gradius." Its release on the Sega CD as a launch title also positioned it as a showcase of what the new add-on could do in terms of storage capacity, allowing for higher-quality audio tracks and more detailed visuals than typical cartridge-based games.

Conclusion

Overall, "Sol-Feace" on the Sega Genesis represents both a culmination and a refinement of early 90s shooter mechanics. It offers a robust challenge, detailed graphics, and an engaging soundtrack that should please any fan of the genre. While it might not have broken new ground in terms of gameplay innovation, it polished existing concepts to a high shine. For those looking to experience a piece of gaming history or just enjoy a well-crafted shoot-'em-up, "Sol-Feace" is a worthy addition to any gamer’s library.

[dailycharacteroption]

Gun Chemist (Alchemist Archetype)

(art by Shrinecat on DeviantArt)

Guns and chemistry go hand in hand. After all, one could not accelerate small bits of metal at high velocity without a propellant!

It only makes sense, then, that there would be archetypes that blend both gunslinger and alchemist together. While the gunslinger has the firebrand, today we’re tackling things from the other end with an archetype specializing on using alchemy to enhance the shots of their chosen weapon.

These characters might be weapons engineers devoted to perfecting alchemical weaponry, or they may simply be experts applying their craft in what they believe is the best outlet, but regardless, they can be quite potent combatants even without being warriors first and foremost.

Whatever their role, there are few better experts when it comes to ballistic sciences as they are understood in the quasi-medieval world of Pathfinder.

Rather than use bombs, these alchemists mix their reagents into the gunpowder they use to fire their shots, giving them an impressive amount of wallop to a single foe. While not as potent when used with scatter guns, they are nevertheless quite effective, and can even be improved with various discoveries that affect bombs.

Of course, all of this would be useless without a gun to fire the charges from, and these alchemists have such a weapon in their arsenal, and like a gunslinger, are able to construct such weapons and mix gunpowder on the cheap.

Of course, there are also special discoveries they can potentially take, such as one that improves their weapon’s stability, or one that causes shots to detonate on impact, dealing splash damage to nearby foes, or even one that improves the efficiency of their loading to unleash alchemical shot after shot in a short span.

Their mastery of alchemical arms doesn’t stop at their special brews either, their mundane alchemical cartridges being especially potent as well.

They also learn to reload their firearm much faster as well, increasing their overall rate of fire.

Firearms are already quite potent on their own, but the ability to combine them with the high damage of bombs means these alchemists can be quite potent damage-dealers, assuming they hit and don’t misfire, of course. Whether you go longarm and blast foes from afar, spread the love as a scatter gunner, or fire rapidly with a pistol, they certainly have options for builds. That being said, you should probably use your mutagen exclusively for a dex bonus, and prepare buffs with your extracts, with perhaps a minor in blasting as well.

It's fairly tempting to give these chemists a bombastic sort of personality, what with their focus on the actual chemistry behind their gun. On the other hand, it can be fun to make such a character more chill and collected, using every opportunity to test a new batch.

When an overly embellished story from a water naga caused her brother to die in a horrible misunderstanding, Vasah vowed revenge. However, the young iruxi knew she could not handle the serpent’s magic on her own, so she has spent several years refining her alchemy to produce a powder that could turn a bullet into an especially deadly projectile.

The vine leshy Gripbranch has a mystery on his hands, finding several animals and a few of the forest fey thay constitute his neighbors dead from strange wounds. It’s clear enough they are bullet wounds, but the area around the wounds is covered in scorch marks, as if the slayer used far too much powder, or a particularly volatile mix. If any in the party uses such a weapon, he immediately accuses them.

Someone has gotten ahold of the Staff of Ages, and is assembling an army across time. Reports of strangers wielding new weapons of fire and thunder are being reported, but tracking down their leader is only the beginning.

[itsgeecheebitch]

Until Darkness descends

CHAPTER: 33

FANDOM: Final Fantasy XV

RATING: Explicit

MAIN PAIR: Ardyn Izunia x Reader

SEC PAIR: Gladiolus Amicitia x Reader

    Ardyn looked through the binoculars, at the blue flames that lashed at the skies like a mad beast clawing at its confines. It was coming from the disk of Cauthess, a destination he knew you and your group would be interested in right about now. 

     With the titan now awake, thanks to the Oracle, the god no doubt plagued his chosen king with visions, drawing him to the area like a moth to a flame. Like the mysterious benefactor Ardyn paraded himself to be, he will be the one to escort the prince and his entourage to the Archaen’s door. 

      The pieces of his plan were falling into place one by one. Before long, all of Eos would crumble under the weight of his wrath. He could almost taste it, envision the destruction that would be his macabre playground till the end of time. 

      Yes, that plan was coming along, but you on the other hand was proving to be a more challenging task. Ardyn was there when your group ventured into the cave, wanting to watch the events unfold with his own eyes instead of from a distance. Disappointment curled his mouth into a scowl. 

       He was also there to watch you fall to your death. Like a fool in love he watched as your body fell apart with a fist in his stomach. Ardyn gritted his teeth, his blood turning into a simmering vat of hot oil, causing his hand to shake when he balled it into a fist. 

      The sight of your body bloody and broken shouldn’t have vexed him, shouldn’t have caused him to come out of the shadows to hold you in his arms. But the fear was a noose around his lungs at that moment, and if he didn’t gather you in his arms quick enough, he was sure he would’ve choked on that rope. It was irrational. He intended to do much worse to you in the coming months, and he knew you wouldn’t remain dead for long. 

      But that didn’t stop him from cradling your mangled body close to his chest, willing you to come back to him, to open your eyes. Ardyn hissed at the memory. How was he supposed to destroy you if he was this weak?  Anger at himself, at you, at the gods, raced through him like black ink, spilling out of its cartridge and onto his lungs and gut until he was drowning in it. 

       He moved on instinct in that moment, an instinct that refused to be purged. No matter how many times Ardyn reminded himself that you really weren’t her, that you were a mere puppet fashioned to mirror her likeness, he couldn’t stop himself from seeing his wife lying broken and lifeless on the ground. Covered in so much red it was like Ardyn was reliving the day his brother betrayed him all over again.

       The sounds of multiple footsteps thundered in his ears and he banished the thoughts to the back of his mind. Now wasn’t the time to languish in his woes. He had a job to do and you will not get in the way of it. 

       Squaring his shoulders, he plastered a relaxed smile on his face before welcoming your friends. “What a coincidence.” He said as he turned to greet them.

       Gladiolus, your boyfriend, sneered at him. “I’m not sure if it is.” He said. Ardyn’s lips twisted into a mocking smirk until he fixed it just as fast. Once he made quick work of Noctis he would be sure to visit the Amicitia next. He could already feel his hand warm with the weight of Gladiolus’ entrails, envision his heart splattering on the ground like a fallen tomato, and his eyes bulge out of his skull like two ripe grapes. They would make the perfect ornaments for a fallen Eos, but only after he drew out the man’s death for as long as he could, afterall, it was what he deserved for touching what was not his. 

      Ardyn replied. “Aren’t nursery rhymes curious things?” He took languid steps towards the wary crew. “Like this one, from the deep the Archean calls, yet on deaf ears the god’s tongue falls. The king made to kneel in pain he crawls.” 

      “So how do we keep him on his feet?” The blond one asked. Ardyn stared into his wide innocent eyes, far too bright for a man with as many secrets as him. And what great joy Ardyn would find in exposing all of them. 

     “You need only heed the call, visit the Archean and hear his plea. I can take you.” 

      A pensive sort of air swallowed the five of them. They huddled around each other to debate amongst themselves. It didn’t matter. Ardyn knew they would accept his aid, after all what other choice did they have?

      Just as he expected, they agreed. He led them to the parking lot while giving them his first name. A strategic decision, give them just enough information to lower their guard and build familiarity. They will continue to distrust him, but not enough to not accept his aid. Soon, he will have all of them right where he wants them, including you.

      Once in the parking lot, Ardyn turned to face them. “Allow me to do the honor of assigning your driver.” He said. “I choose you.”

     The prince folded his arms in front of his chest and glowered at the regalia as though it offended him. “What if I ride with you?”

            “I’m afraid you would find the fee to be more than you bargained for.” 

            “What if I did?” Ardyn turned his head to you. Looked like you finally decided to step out of your boyfriend’s shadow. He arched his brow. This was an interesting turn of events, the girl who was skittish and distant towards him as of late was volunteering to spend time alone with him. 

      You didn’t willingly seek his presence anymore, not since he sowed seeds of distrust in your mind years ago. A mistake he intended to correct. What he has intended for you requires your unwavering trust and open heart. How gracious of you to give him an opportunity to rectify it.

      But your boyfriend had a different thought. “Why would you wanna ride with him?”

             “More leg room, and besides that would mean more room for you and Noct in the back.” You said.

             “No way I’m gonna let you ride in some weirdos’ car on your own.”

             “Come on, babe.” You said, placing your hand on his chest. “It’s only for this drive, and besides, nothing's going to happen. And if anything, I’m more than capable of handling it on my own.”

        A beat past while Gladiolus stewed in his thoughts. Sighing, his shoulders relaxed but he still sported a dissatisfied frown on his face. “Fine, but if he does anything slick you let me know.”

        Ardyn had to fight the rumble of miasma that threatened to spew out of his pours at the sight of you kissing the other man. He looked away, willing the scourge to settle. He’s definitely going to enjoy tearing Gladiolus limb from limb. 

        Snapping out of his thoughts, he opened the passenger door for you before settling in the driver’s seat. After instructing Noctis to follow him without fail, he took off. The three story buildings of Lestallum’s architecture melted into acrid dirt and unobstructed skies. 

        You sat silently in your seat, questions racing through your mind so loudly it was causing Ardyn’s own head to spin. He had a feeling you had your reasons for driving with him. Perhaps you wanted to revisit the question you had for him two nights ago, one he prepared for a long time ago. Or maybe it had to do with your visit to the cave. Ardyn left soon after you revived, so if there was anything you found of interest while you were there he wouldn’t know about it. 

        But after visiting that place a thousand times, Ardyn knew there was nothing of significance, besides the tomb, to be found behind those frigid walls. Whatever you had to say wouldn’t have anything to do with that cave. Five minutes passed when you were finally ready to air your thoughts.

               “I thought about what you said.” You started. “The thing about the gods trying to speak to Noctis. Do you think they’re trying to do the same to me? Maybe that’s why I get migraines.” 

         Now that he wasn’t expecting. His grip tightened on the steering wheel. Ardyn didn’t mean to reveal a piece of the puzzle to you, place the answers in your head that would surely lead you to the truth of your destiny. Of your purpose. In hindsight, he had no choice. It was the only way to bait Noctis into accepting his assistance. But now Ardyn was left with a mess on his hands, one that could turn into a big, big problem if he left it unaddressed.

               “There are a myriad of reasons that could be behind your affliction, my dear. Just because the cause remains unknown does not mean it is the work of the gods.” Ardyn said. 

               “But what about my visions? What could possibly be the cause of that?”

                “I reckon it derives from the same source. You will discover the cause soon, my dear. But there is no point in trying to find answers in things that have nothing to do with you.” 

        You become quiet for a moment, but Ardyn isn't foolish enough to believe that was the end of your musings. That was when a warm fuzzy glow enveloped your hand, morphing into the shape of a book. He stared at it curiously before returning his eyes to the road. A nagging sense of dread bludgeoned the back of his skull. This couldn’t be good. "I found this recently while I was away with the boys." You said while holding up the book so he could see it. "It's about a disease, I think, that fell out of the sky along with a star. And something called Adagium, but I'm still not sure what that is. But here's the weird part, it's written in an ancient language but I was able to read it. I think the gods wanted me to find this."

        Ardyn turned away to hide the grimace on his face. He could feel the tendrils of the scourge wrap around his organs like a sea monster pulling him down into its murky depths. For as long as he knew you, the gods only supplied you with brief flashes of the past, nothing too detailed to suffice as even a crumb of the truth, but this? This wasn't just a crumb, but a full meal waiting for you to gorge on. 

        His anger heated his blood to a boil but you didn't seem to notice. Just like he didn't notice that book was in the cave all along, just waiting for you to find it. The slick games the gods played, but fortunately for him he knew how to play dirty as well. "I believe I'm familiar with what you are describing. It's the black star tale, I assume? It's nothing but an ancient myth to explain away the existence of daemons in our world. It has nothing to do with the gods, my dear."

        You shook your head, "no, it's more than that. It has to be…"

             "I'm sorry, dear, but it's not."

         Turning in your seat you threw your hands in the air, your frustration evident in the way your eyes sparked. "Then why tuck it away in a secret room? Why give me the sudden ability to read a foreign language if it's not important?"

        Ardyn mentally chastised himself for not looking for that secret room you spoke of. If he conducted a better search he wouldn't be having this discussion with you. He wondered where that room was located in the cave. How many times did he walk past it without realizing it was there? Ardyn wasn't a careless man, he wouldn't have raised through the Niflheim ranks and played both nations like a fiddle if he was. There was only one answer, the gods made sure he would never stumble across it.

         Surely if he did he would've burned the place to ash. Ardyn sighed heavily through his nose before stopping the car. The gods thought they could be a thorn in his side and thwart his plans. While it may be too late to destroy the book before you could find it, it was never too late to distort the truth to his liking.

          Extending his hand, Ardyn said, "allow me to have a look at it." You handed it over and he breezed through the pages. Most of the words were smudged, if not completely faded due to age and lack of care. But he saw why it was so critical to the gods for you to find this chronicle. The two most important passages were left unblemished and mostly intact, enough so for you to glean a morsel of the truth from them.

           But if Ardyn was any good at his job, which he was, you wouldn’t glean anything but a fictitious story trapped inside a leather book. "Hmm, this is Proto-Lucian, so not necessarily a foreign language. Its written form is close enough to our modern tongue to decipher some of the text." He looked up at you and delighted in the disappointment that slashed through you. Closing the book, he handed it back to you before delivering the final blow. "And it appears that some of the text remains intact, enough for you to decipher it using our modern alphabet. Nothing divine is happening, my dear, at least not to you." 

          Restarting the car, he barreled down the empty street before the boys could catch up and make a fuss. All the while you were as silent as a mouse, his words taking effect in the frown on your face and the droop of your shoulders. 

          But of course, knowing you, you are never at a loss for words for too long. "But-". He stopped the car before you could finish what you were going to say. The wheels screeched against the hot pavement as the jolt of the car forced stray hairs into your face.  

          Climbing out of the car, he circled around to the passenger side and opened your door. "We will be staying here for the night." He said, as was his plan from the start. It would take another night for the MT forces to reach the disk. He couldn’t have the five of you barreling through the Achean’s door before the stage was set.  

          The frown deepened on your face as you stared at his hand. "But it's only 3 p.m"

           Before he could retort, the regalia’s soft purr greeted his ears. Ardyn looked up to find more angry faces glowering at him. 

                 "What's the hold up?" Gladiolus was the first to ask.

                 "Ardyn wants us to stop for the night." You replied.

                 "Why? we still got plenty of daylight, this is a waste of time."

                 "There's no need to fret, the Achean's not going anywhere!"

                 "And neither are we under your stewardship." Ignis grimaced.

                 "So we make camp…with Ardyn." Came Prompto as he, and the rest of his crew, climbed out of the car. A symphony of protests followed his statement.

                 "Oh, I'm afraid I've never been one for the outdoors. I will foot the bill, so let us stay at the caravan over yonder?"

[thebrickinbrick]

The Heroes, Part Two

The assailants had numbers in their favor; the insurgents had position. They were at the top of a wall, and they thundered point-blank upon the soldiers tripping over the dead and wounded and entangled in the escarpment. This barricade, constructed as it was and admirably buttressed, was really one of those situations where a handful of men hold a legion in check. Nevertheless, the attacking column, constantly recruited and enlarged under the shower of bullets, drew inexorably nearer, and now, little by little, step by step, but surely, the army closed in around the barricade as the vice grasps the wine-press.

One assault followed another. The horror of the situation kept increasing.

Then there burst forth on that heap of paving-stones, in that Rue de la Chanvrerie, a battle worthy of a wall of Troy. These haggard, ragged, exhausted men, who had had nothing to eat for four and twenty hours, who had not slept, who had but a few more rounds to fire, who were fumbling in their pockets which had been emptied of cartridges, nearly all of whom were wounded, with head or arm bandaged with black and blood-stained linen, with holes in their clothes from which the blood trickled, and who were hardly armed with poor guns and notched swords, became Titans. The barricade was ten times attacked, approached, assailed, scaled, and never captured.

In order to form an idea of this struggle, it is necessary to imagine fire set to a throng of terrible courages, and then to gaze at the conflagration. It was not a combat, it was the interior of a furnace; there mouths breathed the flame; there countenances were extraordinary. The human form seemed impossible there, the combatants flamed forth there, and it was formidable to behold the going and coming in that red glow of those salamanders of the fray.

The successive and simultaneous scenes of this grand slaughter we renounce all attempts at depicting. The epic alone has the right to fill twelve thousand verses with a battle.

One would have pronounced this that hell of Brahmanism, the most redoubtable of the seventeen abysses, which the Veda calls the Forest of Swords.

They fought hand to hand, foot to foot,

with pistol shots, with blows of the sword,

with their fists, at a distance, close at hand,

from above, from below, from everywhere, from the roofs of the houses, from the windows of the wine-shop, from the cellar windows, whither some had crawled. They were one against sixty.