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typewritingyip · 3 months ago

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Arcturus Three

Part Two - Pasts

Part One

Warning: Mentions of Real Events

———

In the two years since the launch of Arcturus One, the world had changed and not necessarily for the better in every case. The increased number of attacks was starting to frighten the public and there was still no discernable end in sight.

From the time that the crew of Arcturus One, there was a never ending stream of news worthy events;

On July 18th Detroit declared bankruptcy, Prince George was born on July 22nd, September 16th led to 12 deaths in D.C Navy Yard, both Serena Williams and Sebastian Vettel claimed their fourth championship titles on October 27th, and Nelson Mandela died at 95 on December 5th.

In 2014, on February 22nd ‘El Chapo” is apprehended, Malaysia Airlines Flight 370 disappears on March 8th its 200 people aboard; confirmed non-Quintesson attack, an avalanche kills 16 on Mt. Everest on April 18th, in October Malala Yousafzai wins the Nobel Peace Prize at the age of 17,

For the first part of 2015, on January 20th a musical by Lin-Manuel Miranda hits the stage called Hamilton, a pilot intentionally crashes a plane and kills 150 on March 24th, April 25th holds a 7.8 earthquake which kills thousands in Nepal, Ireland legalizes same-sex marriage on May 23rd, and same-sex marriage is then legalized across the United States on June 26th after reaching the Supreme Court.

The world kept turning and events continued occurring. Hundreds of thousands of innocents were killed in the time post launch. Miami, Edinburgh, São Paulo, Sanghai, and Stockholm were all coastal cities which faced attackers between the summer of 2013 and the summer of 2015. Further multiple inland cities were attacked. Over a million civilians were confirmed dead with another million or more remaining missions. Billions in property damage were done.

There had not been a moment of rest for 90% of pilots across the world, many of the experienced pilots with more than a year of service in have started experiencing overuse while new pilots attempt to reach the survival rates of the first and second generation pilots.

The third generation of pilots has only a 3% survival rate.

—

Most of headquarters was quiet, all the engineers working away in the warehouses and everyone else was watching the attack off the coast of New York. Three mecha were assigned there currently, which was a drastic increase from even a year ago.

The number of attacks was increasing rapidly and the number of new pilots was too, even though only one or two new suits were made every year. That number was only really replacing the suits that faced a catastrophic failure. The number of new pilots was trying to replace those lost in catastrophic failures too.

They were starting to lose this fight and there wasn’t a legitimate way forward, everything they tried was just getting more people and pilots killed each day. The only hope that currently was held, laid in the hands of the Arcturus pilots.

People were even loosing hope in that, after the public announcement of Cliff’s disappearance and then the lack of information released the further Arcturus One was getting from Earth. There was a few conspiracy theories about that crew, some people were pulling together the released footage and comparing it to the last few years, saying it was the same.

Not very many people know that Arcturus One was also technically missing, certainly it was kept from the public and their families, but a few pilots knew. How could they not?

Jesse was walking through the halls of MECHA, trying to find literally anyone to talk to. Ever since the announcement it felt like other pilots were avoiding him like the plague, other than those a part of the mission. Maybe they were starting to be seen as bad luck, he really couldn’t tell you.

All of the offices he’d been to were empty, most of the staff watching the attack on New York as if it were a sporting event. To be fair, they had to watch the attacks to ensure that the suits didn’t face a failure or start machining parts before they got back. It was becoming more and more stressful to be a mech engineer.

Brushing a hand through his hair, Jesse peaks into another office before sighing deeply, it was a ghost town. Turning back around, Jesse starts towards the hanger, it wasn’t the place he really wanted to go but he couldn’t stand being alone while an attack was happening.

It was hard for most pilots to sit and watch the attacks, new hardwiring instilling a strong desire to be out there fighting, a new instinct. Jesse certainly wasn’t the right person to talk about it, maybe Percy, it was loosely explained at the beginning of compatibility testing but who really paid attention to that.

—

Nine Years Ago - March 2006

There were certain things about this world that felt like they were falling apart and rebuilding at the same time, mostly cities and people. People were trying to rebuild their lives and cities were trying to rebuild everything else. Jesse Nelson, sixteen, had seen the cities around him fall and rise then repeat the cycle.

When you grow up in the ruins of a less than cared about city, it’s something that becomes normal, watching everything around you be rebuilt while nothing changes for you.

Oakland California had been almost burnt down in the first attack on the bay, what little was rebuilt was where most of them lived. Even twenty something years later. There were clear road ways and a few schools, it was labeled good enough.

Jesse had grown up in the rubble with his mom, dad having died in a different attack, but the two of them were enough in his eyes. With his backpack slung over his shoulder, Jesse was making his way through to school, ducking under the breezeways built into town.

It was mostly washed up convex boxes from the port that they were using to protect the major thoroughfares for the city.

There were a few of his classmates loitering in the dark, more than likely reading the news or making illegal bets on the next battle. It made Jesse’s skin crawl sometimes, seeing how people forgot that most of the suits that were trying to save the world had people inside of them.

With a deep sigh, the entrance to his high school was mostly blocked, pulling his bag off he tossed it onto the security table before lifting his arms up to go through the metal detector. Security around the so called next generation was high, even from themselves. No one could bring in anything metal, flammable, or sharp.

When the scanner beeped, Jesse couldn’t help but swear and a few other people who lined up behind him laughed. Stepping aside, his bag was grabbed by the security guard and he shuffled off to the side, it would be at least thirty minutes before he’d be let in.

Lowering his head, Jesse stared at the floor, scowling at it.

The metal detector went off again behind him and not even looking up, he slid along the bench to make room for whoever was behind him.

After a minute, when no one joined him, he looked up and back towards the security checkpoint.

A man stood there in the nicest suit that Jesse had ever seen, wearing a bright smile, and for a long moment, Jesse wondered how he got here without being mugged. He was still talking with the security guard, hand in pockets, smiling and looking around at everyone as they went through security. His eyes wandered over to Jesse and paused there, smile turning more so into a smirk, before looking back at the security guard.

“What’s his crime?” The man pulled a hand from his pockets, hooking his thumb towards Jesse, “He set off the metal detector, we have to wait for the principal to clear him.” The man just simply shook his head, “He’s with me.” It took a moment for the security guard to actually respond, “Sorry?” His smile returned, “He’s with me,” he looks over and gestures, “Come on kid, I’m springing you.” Jesse gawked before grabbing up his bag to follow.

That was the moment his life changed forever.

The man started into the school and towards the gym, Jesse just caught up, “Uh, who exactly are you and why am I with you?” With a light shrug, the man tucks his hands back into his pockets, “I’ve gone by my call sign for the better part of my life, so call me Swindle.” Jesse whistled lowly, “Damn, that’s unfortunate.” Swindle grinned.

“Yeah, I hear that all the time, so kid, what’s your name?” Jesse sighed deeply, “Jesse.” Swindle nodded, opening the door to the gym for him, the door was blocked off by a curtain and the room was dark, “Well Jesse, I think you may want to sit in on this assembly today. How old are you?” Ducking under the curtain, Jesse looks around slowly, “Sixteen.” Swindle hummed, “And family?” Jesse glances back, “It’s just my mom and I, why?” Nodding a bit, Swindle ducks under the curtain and looks around the space, “Cause I think you’ll want to sit in on this assembly.” He moves into the room.

Slowly, Jesse follows, looking around the darkened gym, “What’s it for?” Swindle checks the podium and picks up a packet from it before offering it to him, “MECHA is recruiting, offering benefits for your family, college education rebate, the works. If you’re found compatible, you could be the person that saves your city next.” Taking the packet, Jesse stares at it, “Wow.” He opens it and stares at the number on the first page before moving to sit down, getting out a pen.

Swindle smiled sadly, watching as he had done dozens of times, as someone far too young signed away their life.

By the time June had rolled around, out of the hundred and four students who had signed up for compatibility testing, less than a hundred passed the written test, then only six passed the full testing.

—

Each hanger had a slightly different layout, the one at headquarters was the largest and could hold twenty mecha. At present, it only had the three Arcturus Three suits plus suit eleven. Vortex was still going through reconfiguration after the catastrophic glitch that had happened with Felix behind the wheel.

Jesse, Hot Rod, wandered in and tried for only a moment not to swear before shaking his head, “Fuck man, I was hoping for pleasant compant.” Rusty grumbled, checking through a tool box, “And I was hoping to be alone.” Jesse grinned and walked over, stealing the stool to sit on, “What are you doing here man? Thought you only agreed to be on the Iliad if the people here left you alone.” Rust hummed and closed the lid to his tool box, looking up.

He frowned lightly, “Kid…” to be honest, Jesse looked exhausted and hadn’t been sleeping well. His own reformatting was scheduled a few days from now to adjust for the new tech in his suit, “I’m fine Ratch, just tired.” He attempted to lean back and nearly fell off the stool.

Rusty was quick to grab hold of him, “You’re dead on your feet, you’ve been wandering around avoiding TV’s, haven’t you?” Rolling his eyes, Jesse resituates himself on the stool.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rusty grumbled before grabbing the toolbox, then the front of Jesse’s shirt, “Come on kid, we’ll both get away from the news for a while.” Jesse shook his head, “Hey, come on Ratch.” But Rusty shook his head, “No.” and kept pulling.

Jesse stumbled a few times, trying to get Rusty to let go of his shirt and nearly slid in the mud once they were outside.

The familiar sprinter vehicle brought Jesse a bit of relief, knowing he wouldn’t be alone with Ratchet did make him feel a bit better, glancing at Rusty he was finally let go.

He almost dove into the passenger seat, “Hey trouble.” The engine purred lightly, a small screen on the dash lighting up.

“Hey yourself, fragger.” Jesse couldn’t help but laugh even as Rusty got in and scowled at the screen, “Both of you, behave.” Shaking his head a bit, Rusty puts the tool box in the back seat and buckles in, “We’re just going back to the warehouse kid.” The engine revved lightly before they backed out of the space.

The cab turned comfortably cool even with the humidity outside, the ground soft from that morning's rainfall.

All news on the radio stayed off.

—

One of the suits was destroyed, two of the pilots died, and one was in the hospital under critical condition. They were losing and not quickly, but a slow and agonizing loss.

Arcee had watched the attack from her barracks, a nearly empty room besides for a handful of cots, a futon which she sat on, and the old school CRT television in the corner. The space wasn’t much, but it was home, the same as hundreds of other barracks had been to thousands of pilots.

It was hard to help it, she held her head in her hands by the end of the massacre. It was painful, watching those you cared about get utterly destroyed. Most pilots tried to get to know each other, even if it was for the comforting thought that you’d have at least one person at your funeral.

She’d known Daniel, his dad and grandfather had been pilots too and now they all were gone.

Leaning back slowly, she drags a hand through her hair and sighs shakily. This way of life, the people you had the pleasure of knowing, was getting harder and heartbreaking.

They were dying faster and younger, surviving a year or two was becoming a rare state of affairs and anything more than that was making you a legend. It used to be surviving more than five years, there were only a handful left that survived ten years, who were still alive at least.

Picking up the legal pad that was on her coffee table, she stares at the pilots of the previous Arcturus missions.

To be perfectly honest, she didn’t know most of them very well besides Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, that was only because the twins were such characters. Breakdown was a legend in the east, but most of his family was. Then there was Hound, he was the model of a hybrid-class adaptation. Cliff was, well, Cliff. It was hard not to know the guy.

Even with all of that, before she had become hybrid-class herself, being in the rescue class didn’t leave much interaction with striker class pilots. Especially not in her patrol region.

—

Washington DC was projected to be an early target of the Quintessons; name still unknown on Earth, invasion.

It being the capital of the first country attacked, there was a lot assumed back then. A warehouse was built quickly and ready to be equipped with anything from military units to eventually mecha suits.

Three strikers, along with three rescue class were scheduled to be in that area at all times. As the years passed that number dwindled to two strikers and one rescue.

It had taken Arcee years to be allowed to test for compatibility, her mentor blocking it for ages, until Arcee had finally seemingly accepted the fate of being unable to test. Of course once his guard was down she went in for the written test in New York on an off weekend and when she came back with a near perfect score, even he couldn’t block compatibility testing.

Compatibility testing is something no pilot would ever willingly repeat and they choose to rarely speak on it, or their experiences with it. According to some related pilots it was slightly different between them but it was not a commonly talked about subject that would go into detail.

Acree of course, had passed with flying colors, which made her a prime candidate to be in the rescue class with a ‘score’ that high. The higher compatibility the more drastic the class.

DC had been beautiful once, before the war, though now it was just the bare essentials and what wasn’t was put up by the civilians for the sake of it being broadcast every other week.

The day not long into her career where both strikers were incapacitated and she was the only thing standing between the enemy and civilians, well, she pushed her suit to do things it wasn’t supposed to do.

It was meant to be a bright sign of hope, in its shining white and pink, that day it was stained green and was mostly broken when it was all over.

Her career as a rescue had been short lived, too much potential to waste it, even when her friends and family begged. The light white and pink traded for grey and fuchsia, not perfect but hers. Her suit and life, the work for the sake of the world, it was a calling for some like Acree and a demand of others.

—

His fist had left an imprint on the metal table in front of him, it was bleeding and he tried to ignore the light electrical shocks shooting into his fingertips.

All the scientists and engineers had to watch the attacks, had to watch the suits and people they put together for this be torn right back apart time and time again. It was for the sake of science, or so said Shockwave.

Perceptor scowled at the screen, shifting his glasses back up his nose. His hand was bleeding lightly, but both were shaking.

It was painful to watch the suits of fellow pilots be torn apart, it was painful to watch all the hard work that he’d put into it be destroyed, the funding wouldn’t let him repair and replace that exact suit and neither would Shockwave.

Someone new and more horrible would have to take its place.

Rubbing between his eyes, Percy’s glasses were shoved up on his forehead. Taking slow and deep breaths, it was hard. This job was hard and there was nothing that he could do about it.

Turning off the monitor, he sighed slowly before standing back up, shoving his glasses back on and moving across the workshop.

Shockwave was not in the lab today, last seen stalking around after Swindle and Blur for whatever reason. It was his newest pastime and most of the engineers didn’t seem to miss the man in the welders helmet.

It took a moment, standing there and looking around at everyone else who was still watching the attack for Perceptor to remember that he needed to breath. Lightly scratching at his implants, he bites his lip slightly before retreating for his locker.

Most of them wouldn’t get it, they saw their hard work being destroyed and the loss of some acquaintances, maybe friends. But for Percy, it was different, it would always be different.

His implants itched from the anxiety of it all, one of the many side-effects he’d experienced in the last few years. The implants that started at the base of his skull, like many pilots, to the extension wires that ran from them down to his hands.

On the days when he was nearly pale with illness, the wiring was almost visible through his skin.

Grabbing up his bag from his locker, Percy was trying to keep breathing evenly. Trying not to panic. There were very few he would willingly be around when in a state like this and he was thankful that they were part of his Arcturus crew.

The lock slammed back into place as he started down the hall.

Though his bag hung at his side, his bleeding fist was wrapped around the shoulder strap, he couldn’t think about anything but the past.

—

He’d been found compatible when he’d come over to the United States, looking for work in the field after he got truly tired of the mess in England’s system. Percy wasn’t a soldier and didn’t want to be. Not for the British army, not even remotely.

With his mother being from India, it was more than just a sore spot for them, and he tried to move past it.

Science had always been a big interest of his, miniature microscopes and wiring kits were the toys of his childhood. Labeled the nerd very young but content with the quiet reading time and long hours at home.

When he was young and his parents had worked with one of the few private companies for mecha design in the UK, they had lived in London, the first few attacks on the city had never reached the deeper parts of it. Not close enough to the post-war apartment blocks he’d called home.

It was the attack of 97’, when Percy was ten, that sent them to the countryside. As if the war was again sending children out of harm's way but it was him and his mother. He would always be grateful that she came along, even after the train lines were destroyed and contact with his father was limited. So long as he had her, it was easier to bear.

Being the nerdy one out there, that had been harder, and being the son of an immigrant made that even worse emotionally. Life isn’t easy for those who chose the path that they did, but he was thankful for it, grateful for it.

Through primary and secondary school, Perceptor just kept his nose down and walked the halls like a shadow. It was where it was comfortable and certainly where his bits of happiness lied. Though university is where he thrived, electrical engineering, nuclear engineering, mecha design, physics, and computer science. Just to name some.

It was the job offer from MECHA in the south-eastern United States that changed it all, the written test in the contract was just a bit of fun to it all.

He’d rather never mention his compatibility testing.

From there, it was just doing the work and loving the work. Even though his work was often destroyed in battle, there was too much effort and care put into it to give up. Arcturus had simply stared him long and hard in the face, before his name joined the list of dozens of pilots.

So many of which were no longer with them.

He knew, deep down, that there was something they could find out there, he just had to see it for himself.

—

The warehouse was loud with both Deadlock and Hot Rod in the secluded corner. Ratchet was currently working on a piece of equipment, hopes for more things that could hide the kid when they were launched into space. It was idiotic, sent to space to die when staying would lead to death regardless.

There was a crash and both the kids behind him swore, he sighed slowly and lowered his head to the worktop.

This wasn’t going to work, there was no way that they could get Deadlock into space without the other pilots finding out. Him and Perceptor going was bad enough, but adding the kid into the mix was just making everything more complicated.

One of the doors at the front of the shop banged open, “Rusty, I would appreciate a word, did you watch the attack, I—“ Everyone in the space stood frozen, staring at each other.

As if the day couldn’t get any worse, Ratchet moved over and pulled Perceptor in through the door, slamming it shut. So much for the big no trespassing sign Swindle insisted that he had, he’d had more visitors in the last few weeks than he’d had, well, ever.

Hot Rod was gawking and Deadlock had dropped his obscenely large hands in front of the redhead, angry that Ratchet was out of his reach and conversing with the outsider, the stranger.

Perceptor was staring, though his hand was throbbing where it was still bleeding, Ratchet took one look before slowly directing him back across the space, “We are going to discuss what you see in a moment, the fuck did you do to your hand?” Ratchet shoved the poor scientist down onto a stool, none-to-gently.

He was still gaping like a fish when Deadlock started to growl, “I, I hit a table.” The staring contest dragged on.

Swearing, Ratchet went about wrapping Percy’s hand, being careful, shooting looks that screamed, ‘Shut the fuck up’ over his shoulder and Deadlock continued to growl and his hands muffled Jesse’s voice.

It was going to be one very long night.

———

A/N

I did not originally plan for the chapter to end this way, so sorry for the cliffhanger as it will probably be another few weeks before the next chapter is posted of this.

This week is apparently the week of delays to my Monday and Friday schedule… I knew I was going to be busy yesterday, I just thought I’d have more done than I actually did. And today is when I’d usually start the work on part 33, but I’ve got so much to do. So that might also be delayed till Tuesday, if not just postponed till Friday…

Anyways, I am going to be making a post about re-vamping my tag list this week, so keep your eyes peeled.

Tags

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU

#transformers #maccadam #the arcturus missions #tf mecha universe #tf mecha au #mech pilot jazz au #mecha pilot jazz au

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ya-zz · 1 month ago

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Coolant and Snow

Ramattra x Reader (gen)

A/N: I am so sorry for what you're about to read and I won't lie, I teared up writing this... Wish I could say enjoy- Word count: 2220

It was the anniversary of Mondatta’s death. You and Ramattra did your yearly visit to Nepal to pay your respects, however, it wasn’t at the monastery with the other monks. He took you to the one spot in the mountains where he built a small shrine to honour his master.

Hours pass by and he didn’t move, sitting in the snow, reminiscing on the past with Mondatta and his own failures. He asked for strength, for some guidance on what he should do but there was never an answer. It was a moment of solitude, one that you didn’t dare break. You gave him his space, offered nothing but comforting smiles whenever he glanced in your direction but you remained standing behind him.

The first shot echoes through the wintery mountains of Nepal, but Ramattra was quick to react, his body shielding yours. The bullet hits the metal bracing of his body, ricocheting into the stone beside you. Your eyes were wide with panic, the bullet just missing your ear.

The omnic could see the fear in your eyes, the way your body began trembling and not because of the cold. He speaks quietly to you, a tone of comfort and reassurance.

“I have you. You are safe.”

Though, he had a feeling it was far from over. Of all days, it had to happen here and now. Inconsiderate fools. Ramattra holds back a scowl as he continues to shield you from any more potential shots. If it weren’t for his already damaged servos from a previous situation, he would double the shield, but the complications made it harder to repair and he was still waiting on a replacement circuit.

His optics scan your face and your body, the only concern was the rising heartbeat, but you were unscathed. He knows that he can’t relax until you were safe from any and all harm, and he did not know if it was one person or multiple that were targeting him and you. The mountains were a vantage point from all angles.

He was trapped.

All he could do was run and hope that neither of you would get shot.

With one final runthrough of his plan, he looks at you and then at the stone behind you. The incense still burned, the rosaries were placed and the moment of prayers were over. He makes a mental note to come back another time to pay proper respect to his master, Mondatta.

“Get on my back. We are going to run.” He simply states, optics locked onto your eyes.

“Down a mountain? Do you know how dangerous that is?” The panic and fear was rising.

“Would you rather get shot at again?” He notices that you go to speak, but he cuts you off. “Did not think so. Get on my back. That is an order.” Ramattra removes his cowl, placing it over your shoulders and bundling you up within it. His actions were hasty, and for the first time, you feel the panic within the omnic.

“It’s okay.” You try to reassure him, scrunching the fabric between your hands. “We’ll be okay.”

“I do hope that you are right.” He comments as he picks you up, putting you on his back. “Keep an eye out. I do not know how many there are.”

You hold onto him tightly, nodding at his request before he begins moving. He slowly picks up speed as he works his way down the mountain, the snow and rock making it that much more difficult.

“You’re not following the path.” You narrow your eyes as you look around, the hood partially obscuring your vision.

“I know where I am going.” He spits, the tension high.

Another shot rings out, the echo bouncing around the mountain tops as the bullet hits the ground in front of the pair. Ramattra feels your hands tighten on him, your heartbeat spiking.

“Hang on. I will get you out of here.” He mumbles, feet crashing against the rocks beneath as he continues to make his way down the hazardous mountainside.

You notice that he only mentioned you and your eyes widen at the implication. “No, you are getting out of this too. You are not leaving me, Ramattra. Do not play the hero.”

The omnic scoffs, sliding down a few feet in the snow before finding his balance again. “I was never a hero, just a fool who wanted peace, much like Mondatta did. Now, I pay the price.” He glances to the side occasionally as he tries to pinpoint any and all attackers.

Ramattra knew that his time was coming. It was inevitable. Just like a human life, an omnic was no different. Everyone had an end just like everyone had a beginning. What he didn’t anticipate, however, was that he was going to die before you. It made him panic in that moment, he was scared. He vowed to protect you thinking that he was going to outlive you, but what a stupid thought it was.

A third shot rings out and a cry follows, but, it didn’t slip from your throat. The omnic staggers, but still manages to keep upright as he continues the descent.

“Ramattra!”

“I am fine. It did not hit anything of use.” He tries to reassure you, his hand gripping your thigh tight as he holds you against him.

“It still hit you!”

“I know!” He meets your raised voice, not wanting to dwell on the wound in the black armour of his chassis. His vision becomes obstructed by errors, his coolant leaking into the snow behind him.

��Shouldn’t that be inside of you?” You notice the trail of purple coolant in the snow behind you as you look around for the attackers, your panic growing.

“Considering the cold temperatures, it is of no use right now.” Ramattra glances at you, almost daring you to continue, but when you look at him and then ahead, he returns his focus on the escape. He was hoping that you wouldn’t worry if he claimed that he was okay, but he knows that his coolant was preventing him from freezing in these harsh conditions. It was a special blend, suited for colder countries.

You could, however, tell that he was panicking, his movements less precise. “Focus, Ramattra. If you continue to panic, we’ll both die.”

If he could roll his eyes, he would. “You are supposed to be looking out for these attackers of ours.”

“I am.” You mumble, eyes darting around. “Can’t they just leave you to grieve before attacking us?”

Ramattra chuckles. “If only that was the case. It was a moment of weakness, vulnerability, and they succeeded. But yes, I suppose they could have been nicer about it and attacked later.”

A small smile appears on your face before you catch a glimpse of a reflection to the left. You point towards it as the fourth shot is fired, narrowly missing.

“Whoever it is has surprisingly bad aim.” You comment.

Ramattra has to hold back a laugh. “It is harder to hit a moving target than it is to hit a stationary one.”

“Yeah, I know that.” You playfully slap his shoulder, a slight ease in tension.

Ramattra hums before a fifth shot rings out.

Your eyes widen as you’re thrown to the rock and snow below, barrelling forward several feet before coming to a stop. Cuts and grazes litter your arms and face as you lay there, your breathing staggered and shaky as you cry out in pain.

Ramattra lays in the snow, his optics flicking over to you to make sure that you were okay. Seeing only the minor injuries, a sigh of relief escapes him and he tries to stand. With his coolant leaking out and into the snow, the errors that rattle his vision, he manages to make his way over to you and offers his hand.

“Get up, we are almost there.”

“Yeah, I’m okay, thanks for the concern.” You groan, accepting his hand as he helps you up. You were resilient, he had no doubt about that.

He pulls you onto his back as he resumes the descent to the base. He focuses on his current mission, not the fatal errors that are clouding his vision. It’s only when he begins stumbling do you pick up on the fact that he’s getting worse.

“Ramattra? Where were you hit?”

No answer.

You pull on the nearest cable which produces a grunt from the omnic. “Answer me.”

“I vowed to protect you and that is what I am going to do.”

Your eyes widen, your grip tightening. “Cut the shit.” When you feel something warm against your legs that are wrapped around the omnic, the fluid seeping through the thick fabric of your pants, your panic returns. “Ramattra.”

“I do not have long. Your safety is my utmost priority.” It’s all he says for the moment before his voice grows quiet. “Please, do not make this any harder than what it already is.”

“Can we not-”

“The nearest repair shop is in the main village centre, I will not make it.”

The words get stuck in your throat, your heart feeling like it was going to stop at any moment. “No, there’s one at the base of this mountain. We pass it everytime we come this way.”

Ramattra quickly goes through his systems, his optics scanning for the supposed repair shop. You were right, there is one…

“It has not been in use for years. I doubt the owner is still around.”

“We can still try!” You choke back tears, clinging onto the omnic as if it was the last time you would ever hold him.

With a weary sigh, Ramattra continues the descent, his optics flitting around but there was no sign of the attackers. Either they deemed his fall a successful kill, or there was something more, either way, his own panic started to bubble back up.

He notices that you remain silent, your hands tight against his metal frame. Your heartbeat was still fast, but when the broken sob breaks through, he can’t help but feel guilty for the situation that was ongoing. He wanted to take your pain away.

The base was in view, the rundown repair shop in his line of sight. He staggers, almost tripping over the coarse rocks that were wet with snow. As he reaches the stone pillars that mark the outskirts of the small village at the base of the mountain, he stumbles forward.

You land on the floor with a harsh thud, grazing your knees in the process. Looking back, you see Ramattra laying on the floor. He wasn’t moving. There were no mechanical movements, just a soft humming coming from his chassis.

“No…” You crawl over to him, pulling him over and onto his back. His faceplate had cracked from the fall, optic exposed.

“I told you that I would get you to safety.” He mumbles against static. He goes to speak again but is cut off with you shouting for help. His hand comes up to hold yours, his optics watching your tears fall and your voice strain. “Your safety-

“Shut up.” You choke. “Shut up about my safety. It’s my turn to worry about getting you some help.”

Ramattra scoffs, an amused hum following. “You really are stubborn.” The tears that fell down your cheeks only hurt him more alongside the pain in his chest. Oil and coolant leaks onto the cobble path as his vision begins to fade. The errors slowly clear as his system works on shutting down, his grip loosening on your hand.

Several villagers come out and help him up, dragging him to a nearby vacant room. It was warm inside, candles lit and a fire burning in the furnace. You stay beside him, never letting his hand go as they work on trying to help the omnic.

His voice comes out amidst static, words unable to be heard. He’s trying to stay alive for as long as he can but the damage was too great.

You rest your forehead against his, tears dripping onto the white ceramic. “Please don’t go…” You squeeze his hand, but there is no response. The humming of his fans quieten, his chassis no longer emitting noise.

“Please… Don’t…”

One hand is felt on your shoulder but you don’t react. You know what it means. The room falls silent as they leave. It was just you and Ramattra.

You squeeze his hand again, hoping that somehow, he would come back to you. There was no response, there won’t be a response. He was gone. Tears continue to fall, your body trembling with pain from losing the one omnic who meant everything to you, the one who you had fallen in love with.

He was gone.

Sobs wrack your body, a scream follows, your hands balling into fists as you stay knelt beside him. He promised to protect you until you had passed, what a stupid promise he made. Now, you’re left picking up the pieces of your own heart, unable to face the upcoming battle on your own.

You needed him as much as he needed you and he wasn’t going to be there anymore.

“Come back… I can’t do this alone… Ramattra…”

“Please… I need you…”

---

KOFI

Debating a part two... either revenge or we work some miracle magic or just something completely different, idk

#overwatch #ramattra #ramattra x reader #overwatch 2 #overwatch fanfiction #yazzfics

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bcacstuff · 6 months ago

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Sunrise somewhere near the east coast of Brazil.

I’m not sure what time it is, or really where I am. Somewhere near the coast of Brazil, I know that; sometime during my birthday - I know that, too. I've flown past the Hindu Kush Himalaya, Pamirs, Caucasus, and Atlas Mountains, and will soon cross the Andes. I'm headed to Chile to meet my family after a long time away. A blessing, to be sure, and made even more sweet coming as it is on the heels of an incredible adventure in Nepal.

I’ve spent much of the 12 hours since Istanbul sorting through photos, visual portals into experience far away yet close at hand, pixel-born reminders of a trip, a trail, impact and experience and immersion.

I’m never quite sure how to share tales of any adventure, less so one with such meaning (to me at least) as this past one. The standard travelogue seems too mundane, too pedantic, to capture it all. Some deep and philosophical tome equally missing the mark.

So, perhaps neither, maybe some of both, a hope of struck balance, or at minimum translation of time and place and experience and people. And not all at once: Like any expedition, these things must be savored, a bit at a time, building and percolating and settling and expanding yet again. So, first, the beginning…

Me on the Kongma La back in 1993, wondering about remote valleys less-trodden than Khumbu.

I guess it was about 31 years ago - December 1993 - that Stuart Sloat and I bashed our way across the lower Khumbu Glacier from Lobuche and, laden with heavy packs, made our way to the Kongma La. We had no map, just a vague point from locals and the knowledge that there was a lake up there somewhere. We found only a puddle and a frigid night, but awoke to a splendid sunrise and the Star Wars zaps of sun-warmed ice cracking, alerting us to the real lake on the east side of the pass (as opposed to our mud wallow on the west). Glorious views, backlit Lhotse and Nuptse and countless more unknowns behind, peak on peak and valley on valley leading who knows where. I knew someday, maybe, I’d get into those valleys, wander the paths away from it all.

Thirty years later, I sat in a teahouse in Chheskam, the northern triumvirate of Mahakulung, with Jhanak Karki and Harka Kulung Rai, talking about opportunity over a steaming mug of tongba. We had just trekked parts of the Mundum Trail from Phedi over Silicho to Mahakulung visiting dZi Foundation work and communities; and then we went up above, following the Hunku Khola just enough to get a taste, an idea of what may lay above. The townspeople and government were excited as we were, having had the same idea for years: create a trail up the Hunku, connecting Chheskam to Kongme Dingma and the quite-popular Mera Peak trek.

It was all possible, all doable, but like the proverbial tree falling silently in the woods, this new trail would be all for naught if no word got out about it. But, I had an idea, and it seemed possible.

Two months before, I shared coffee in a small cafe in Glasgow with Sam Heughan. We’d “met” months earlier on Zoom calls for an ill-fated film project, and then I stalked him down in Scotland; he was, as is his manner, kind enough to indulge me rather than call the cops. I mentioned this idea, going to Everest Basecamp, but doing it the back way, the hard way, the way no one would know or understand or really care about, but the way that would be far deeper, more profound, more meaningful and purposeful and fun. He was game, but I needed to see some of it, understand it more, before committing to guiding anyone up there.

Tongba steaming and heads spinning, Jhanak, Harka, and I knew now it was doable. A route possible, something that promised to bring meaningful tourism and tourist dollars to this long-forgotten part of Nepal, so close to Khumbu and yet utterly left out of the economic boon of the Everest economy. Now I just had to convince Sam.

Trekking to Basecamp is not for the faint of heart, even doing it the standard way from Lukla up the Khumbu Valley. There’s long days, cold nights, high altitudes and dry air and new foods and more. It kicks people’s butts with glee. But this route? It promised much more: camping rather than lodges; an unknown trail through unknown country (How steep would it be? How long each day? Would we find water where we needed it, flat ground?); a 19,000-foot, semi-technical pass to cross into Khumbu; and more.

As I thought and hoped, though, Sam took little convincing. An adventurous soul with a heart of gold, he was excited immediately about it all and was on board. And, to be honest, my little coffeeshop meeting was both to suss out his interest and let him meet me (and judge me) in person, but also, more importantly, to feel him out. Guiding for me is not simply an economic thing, transactional, but about time and people and experience. I’ve done too many “off-the-shelf” trips in the past to have zero tolerance for sharing the mountains with people whose goals and values are misaligned with mine. It took but minutes with Sam to know our worlds, while vastly different, were built upon similar ideas and ideals and approaches.

And so, on December 3, we met in Kathmandu, a year’s planning finally coming together.

Unfortunately for Sam, I don’t really believe in the sugar-coated version of Nepal; fancy hotels and windowed views of life are little more than television with smell. I want people to see the real Nepal, wander the back streets, immerse in the smoky incense of dawn on cobbled streets, bells chiming and dogs barking, ambling through the visceral reality that is Pashupatinath, taking in the respite of Bodhanath, embracing the comforting chaos of alleys and backways of Lalitpur.

Sam rose to it all, never flustered or bothered, always interested and engaged and inquisitive. We had but 24 hours in the Valley, but Sam saw and did and digested a lot.

And then we were off, an Altitude Air B-3 piloted expertly by Moreno whipping us up and out of Kathmandu, through the clenching smog of the city to sprawling views of the Himalaya: the Ganesh and Langtang ranges, on to Dorje Lhakpa and Gauri Shankar as we fluttered high over Kavre Palanchok. Then the jumbled jags of Rolwaling and behind, finally, the Everest range, giants piercing the morning sky, Cho Oyu, Nuptse, Lhotse, Everest. Makalu behind, hiding a bit, masked by multitudes, a distant Kangchenjunga almost a mirage eastward.

Before long, some 40 minutes, the show was over, the reality about to begin. We dropped down, our mark Chheskam, a small village clutching the flat ground hundreds of meters above the Hunku Khola, a river raging and carving down from above. Moreno, Swiss to the core, politely but abruptly ushered us out with our duffels and, counting fuel minutes, was off in a jiffy.

We were here, and town was ready.

Going into this trip, I knew Chheskam was excited. A new trail represents economic possibility for the village, the chance to not just be small pawns in the bigger Khumbu trekking economy, but rather to capture some of that themselves, to control it, to reap the benefits and build it out in a way that fits and flourishes.

I guess, though, I didn’t know how excited: We were met at the chopper by many, locals and officials, all adorning us with kathas and warm welcomes. We then walked around the village, Sam getting to see firsthand the impact of dZi Foundation’s work here, projects like one house-one tap, one house-one toilet, kitchen gardens, and more resulting in a very self-sufficient, healthy, clean, place with relative prosperity. Thanks to Jhanak’s connections, we met the oldest man in town as he demonstrated traditional weaving of nettle fabric, sipped raksi in our friend Prashanta’s house, and briefly sat with wedding guests tipsy from revelry. And then we were summoned to the local school for a bigger gathering.

Our team ready to leave Chheskam for the Hunku Khola valley and the new Muddhi-Kongme Dingma trail.

It was huge, much of the town was gathered, hundred of school children, the local government officials, and more, all in the school grounds. We were run through the welcome gauntlet of ceremonial recognition, our necks strung with dozens of kathas and marigold garlands before being treated to local cultural dances and speeches of excitement and gratitude and welcome. Gratitude and ceremony are big in Nepal, and it was strong enough in Chheskam to feel a bit awkward: after all, Sam and I and our team were here just to walk up the valley. We had no guarantees of success - for us or for the future trail. But, the point I think was far bigger than either of us, any of us; the celebration on that day was one of excitement for the future, of possibility, of potential signified by the two of us being willing, caring enough, to come and do this and see where it leads, literally and figuratively.

Thirty-one years before I stared off into these valleys, selfishly hoping that one day I’d wander them, filling my personal cup with some adventure. It took a long time, and was beyond gratifying to finally be here, but doing so with great people, a great team, and a goal beyond anything personal.

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andrewlloydwebber · 5 months ago

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RIP to Broadway Legend Merle Louise

April 15, 1934 — January 11, 2025

Merle Louise Simon, 90, of New York, passed away on January 11, 2025. Born on April 15, 1934, in New York City, she was the beloved daughter of the late Alvin and Merle (Barnes) Letowt.

Merle will be lovingly remembered as a dynamic force of nature-energetic, funny, adventurous, and full of life. An avid traveler and scuba diver, she explored the world with curiosity and vigor, journeying to Africa, Nepal, and beyond. Among her greatest adventures was her climb to the base camp of Mount Everest. A gifted entertainer with a beautiful voice and an undeniable stage presence, Merle's life was a testament to her passion for the performing arts.

Merle was also deeply proud of her education, graduating from Marymount College later in life with a degree in Psychology. Her studies reflected her intellectual curiosity and her deep understanding of the human spirit, qualities that enriched her relationships.

She began her journey in theater at the Drawing Room Theater and Pennsylvania Playhouse, both in Bethlehem, PA and traveled to New York City for auditions. Merle, who performed under her birth name Merle Letowt early in her career, made an indelible mark on Broadway. She debuted as "Thelma" in the original cast of Gypsy (1959), later stepping into the lead role of "Dainty June" for much of the Broadway run and the first national tour. She went on to star in several Stephen Sondheim musicals, earning acclaim for her nuanced performances. Her portrayal of "The Beggar Woman" in Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (1979) earned her the Drama Desk Award for Outstanding Featured Actress in a Musical. She was also celebrated for her roles in Company (1970) as "Susan" and Into the Woods (1987), where she memorably played "Cinderella's Mother," "Granny," and the "Giantess."

Merle also originated roles in La Cage aux Folles (1983) as "Mme. Dindon" and Kiss of the Spider Woman (1993) as "Molina's Mother," a role she performed in London's West End, Toronto, and on the national tour. Off-Broadway, she created the role of "Cecily MacIntosh" in Charlotte Sweet (1982) and was widely lauded for her performances in classics by Shakespeare, Chekhov, Molière, and Shaw.

Her theatrical legacy extended beyond the stage, inspiring the creation of the game Six Degrees of Merle Louise, a Broadway-themed twist on the popular Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.

Merle's on-camera appearances were equally memorable. She was featured in the televised production of Into the Woods and a documentary about the recording of the original cast album of Company. She made guest appearances on TV shows, including Law & Order, and continued performing into her later years. Highlights included roles in Cabaret, A Little Night Music, and The Full Monty. In 2007, she appeared in Luke Yankee's award-winning play The Jesus Hickey. She also appeared in Billy Elliot.

Merle will be dearly missed by her daughter, Laura Simon; daughter, Heather Simon; and son, Matt Simon. She is also survived by her sister, Jane Halteman, and her husband David Halteman; and a brother, Alvin "Butch" Letowt, Jr. She was preceded in death by her sister, Christine A. King' brother-in-law, Walter I. King and nephew Adam D. Halteman.

Merle's legacy extends beyond her illustrious career. She will be remembered for her warmth, humor, and zest for life. She enriched the lives of those that she encountered, leaving a profound impact on the theater community and all who knew her.

#merle louise #sweeney todd #stephen sondheim #into the woods #broadway

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half-developed-frontal-lobe · 6 months ago

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Blizz, ouch. Ouch, my heart. How could you do this to me?

Do yOU SEE HIM WAITING OUTSIDE THE NEPAL? THE BRIGHT LIGHT IN THE DISTANCE AND THEN ZEN SHARING THE HOLIDAY SPIRIT INSIDE?!

Part of me wonders if Ramattra is aware of his errors against the Omnics, or more importantly, if the lights in Nepal are on in memorial for the omnics suffering in the Invasion.

I don't know the status of what's been happening across the world, considering all I got from heroes ascendant was short storied but no actual arc if Null Sector was fully beaten.

But could you imagine if the invasion was going on during the holidays? No one would be as lax. So maybe it did end? And Ramattra is having a completely missed redemption arc?

If anyone has anything regarding invasion that I need to read up on, please let me know.

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #overwatch lore #overwatch null sector #overwatch 2 null sector #null sector #tekartha ramattra #overwatch ramattra #ramattra #tekartha zenyatta #overwatch zenyatta #zenyatta #overwatch 2 zenyatta

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balkanradfem · 7 months ago

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So my roommate flopped. She moved her things in, and then I haven't seen her for a week. She didn't contact me either. I figured something went wrong, and that she's probably not going to live here, and then she called me, telling me she's moving out. Turns out that day after she moved in, she got fired, because she was an extra to the company, and she has to move back home with her parents.

I wasn't too upset because I did not enjoy her company at all, but, I did have to go back to searching for a roommate. The plant lady helped me this time, and she found a woman who needed to house an immigrant worker who worked for her – a woman from Nepal. I immediately said yes to this, because that is too cool, I would get to talk to her in english! And I would learn something about a foreign culture, I love that. Her employer came to see the place, and did not give me a good vibe. She asked if heating could be turned off to save on bills. I shut that down quickly, our heating is charged by the square meter. She told me very sternly to save as much as possible on utilities, which I already do, but then to also tell her employee to save up too. I didn't like that.

She came to move in the next day, and I was nervous. But then I saw her and she is so sweet! She struggles to speak english, but could understand what I was saying very well. So while she knew exactly what I was saying, I had to ask her to repeat things to me multiple times, sometimes missing the meaning because I couldn't grasp her accent. She asked me if I could teach her Croatian, and I said yes.

I took her to her workplace to show her the quickest route, and she told me that she has a working husband and two children, so she's working in here and sending her salary back home. Her mother is taking care of the kids because they're both working. She kept asking me if I'm married, or have a boyfriend, or children, and why not, and I could not put any nuance in my explanations, so I just said I liked freedom.

Then she asked me what age I was, and I already knew that we're the same age, because her employer told me she's 34 as well, but she didn't know my age, and was shocked when I said 34! She thought... she thought I was 17 T_T. It must be cultural differences because I do not look like a teen, I swear. I was wearing a silly hat, I think that must have done it.

I was showing her how to use everything in the kitchen and bathroom, and realized it's almost time for winter decorations; so I asked her what winter holidays she celebrated. She didn't know how to answer that, so I asked her if she celebrated hindu holidays, because I had read that 80% of Nepali people practiced hinduism. And she goes 'No, I'm Christian', and I'm like WHAT. What were the odds of that? So then I had to explain to her that I am the one out of two of us who doesn't celebrate Christmas, which is so funny, and ironic, but it's where we are. I'll put up a little tree anyway, I'll just say it's for the Winter Solstice.

I'm pleased with my new roommate. I made sure to learn to say her real name – she uses a simple made-up name because most Croats struggle to pronounce the real one. I'm constantly worrying she doesn't have all she needs so I am giving her gloves and clothing and letting her use my stuff until she has her own, but it's also fun for me to be able to interact with someone who came from so far away. All my experiences with foreign women are so nice!

#new roommate #nepali roommate #story #having some fun meeting new people

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ill-kidnap-all-the-stars · 2 months ago

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Aang

[ image description: a digital drawing of Aang from Avatar: the Last Airbender in my style. He is a light-skinned man standing on one leg and leaning on his glider as he laughs. He is wearing yellow trousers, brown boots, a red belt, and orange fabric draped over his upper body. His arrow tattoos are visible on his head and right shoulder. He is standing in front of a brown Air Nomads symbol ]

prints ✨ commissions

Fun fact, this is the only one of the project that I dislike. It just feels like big blocks of colour :/ the intention was to respect the simplicity of Buddhist clothes, but I just don't think I went about it in the right way ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ info about cultural influences and inspiration under the cut, with the usual warning that stack on stacks on stacks of nuance is missing since Instagram slides don't really allow you to properly condense thousands of years and miles worth of cultures:

A Bit of Background:

The Air Nomads' culture is based largely on Himalayan cultures (such as those of Tibet, Bhutan, and Nepal) and different schools of Buddhism (for example, Shaolin Buddhism, Sri Lankan Buddhism, and early Mongolian schools of Buddhism). There are also influences from Hinduism; the most notable of these are the seven chakras. All of these influences can be seen in the Air Nomads' culture. For example:

the Air Nomads are a monastic society, whose bald heads, meditation practices and sex segregation closely resemble those of Buddhist societies;

Air Nomads practice vegetarianism, which is also practiced by many Hindus and Buddhists;

the Air Nomads use a set of four toys or relics to find the next Avatar, which is similar to how Tibetan Buddhists find the next Dalai Lama;

the Air Nomads' architecture resembles real-world brick pagodas similar to the famous “pagoda forest” of the Shaolin Temple in China;

the Western Air Temple was primarily inspired by Bhutanese monasteries, which are built in the Dzong style.

Air Nomad Clothing:

Aang's clothing in the first two seasons resembles that of Shaolin monks, particularly the trousers and shoes he wears. The shades of red, orange and yellow, which are characteristic of the Air Nomads, are also significant. In Buddhism, the robes worn by fully-ordained monks and nuns are called kasaya, named after the saffron dye traditionally used. Now, many Buddhist monks all over Asia wear shades of yellow, orange, or red.

Aang's clothing in the third season resembles that of the Dalai Lama. Traditionally, the right arm of the Dalai Lama is kept uncovered, as is Aang's. In addition, the beaded necklace he wears in the final episode resembles the prayer beads used by Buddhists.

My Design:

Aang's clothes in the third season are based on the Dalai Lama's. Since it's in this season that Aang grows into his position as a spiritual and cultural leader, I decided to draw inspiration from photos of the Dalai Lama in my design, while still preserving some influence of the Shaolin monks from his earlier clothing. So, Aang retains the distinctive shoes and trousers of the Shaolin monks while his upper body is more similar to the draped fabric rectangles worn by the Dalai Lama. Unlike my designs for Katara and Sokka, I decided not to embellish the clothes with embroidery or anything else. This is because Buddhist monks' clothing is typically very simple, symbolising that they have renounced worldly attachments. In fact, Buddha taught that clothing should be made from discarded or unwanted cloth, which would then be sewn together into large enough rectangles and dyed with available plants (giving it the distinctive yellow-orange or saffron colour). It was this simple construction and design that I attempted to capture.

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space-mermaid-writing · 2 months ago

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Of monsters and men [IronStrange]

Summary: Some kidnappers fucked up big time and now Tony is bonded to this strange demon he continues to summon by accident.

Tags: demon!Stephen Strange, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Whump, body horror, protective Stephen Strange, Stephen Strange needs a hug

Author's note: A short interlude chapter, because life is full of coincidences. Beta by @harpywritesfic and @kvjjjjjj.

Read it on AO3 | Masterlist | Word count: 0.7k | Previous | Next

Chapter 12: A piece to the puzzle

At some point, Tony crossed paths with the Order of the Mystic Arts. It was by complete accident.

Tony stepped outside into the bustling streets of his city, a steaming take-out bag clutched in his hand from a small, bustling Thai restaurant.

Suddenly, without warning, a figure hurtled out of a shimmering portal that appeared before his very eyes. The man collided with Tony, knocking him backwards.

Time seemed to hang in the air for a brief instant as Tony froze, his mind racing to comprehend the surreal situation unfolding before him. The attack on New York had been years ago, but the fear of portals – of the threat that lurked behind it – had been burned into his very soul.

Hot on the heels of the first man followed two more figures, chasing him. They were clad in some kind of robes that looked awfully familiar in style. With fluid movements and an air of practiced skill, they threw sparkling discs of some kind of power through the air. They crackled with magic as they zipped past Tony, barely missing him.

Of course, because life was never just about enjoying take-out.

Tony decided to get involved.

Of course.

____________

After the fight, Tony swiftly intercepted one of the magic ninja monks before they could disappear. He wasn't about to let them slip away without some answers.

“I’ve seen this kind of power before. You wouldn’t happen to have people in Nepal, would you?” Tony queried, hoping to draw out some information. It was where Stephen had been last seen.

The sorcerer - an Asian man - looked at the Avenger with a cautious eye, carefully assessing his demeanor and intentions. “We might,” he replied, his tone measured and guarded. “But it depends on why you’re asking.”

Usually, Tony would appreciate a good mystery but this guy was clearly hiding something.

“I know someone who possessed skills very much like yours,” he admitted, his voice low and serious. “He just so happens to have vanished without a trace. In Nepal.”

The sorcerer scrutinized Stark. Judging by his stoic face, he wasn’t easily impressed by celebrities. Rather the opposite. So he couldn’t play that card; it would likely do him no good and might even work against him.

“I just want to know what happened to him,” he added, the urgency in his voice unmistakable now. “It’s very important." Clenching his fists, he leaned in slightly closer, his eyes searching for comprehension or even a flicker of sympathy in the man's expression.

The sorcerer’s face softened, if only a bit. “Tell me his name, and I’ll see if I know something about him.”

Well, that was at least something.

“Stephen Strange.”

The way the sorcerer instantly reacted to that name, told Tony that he knew something. It was surprise, but also grief.

It was a moment where the air seemed to shift, hinting at a past connection or a shared history between the sorcerer and the demon.

“I knew Stephen,” the sorcerer said. His somber recollection added a layer of solemnity to the conversation. He raised a hand, on which he was wearing an obnoxiously big and antique looking ring.

“But I’m afraid he is no longer on Earth with us.”

His words carried a sense of finality that echoed through the silence.

He moved his hand and an orange glowing circle opened. The sorcerer stepped through it, but before the portal closed, Tony spoke up again.

“Yeah, I know. And I want to know why. Or how that happened,” Tony persisted, his voice resonating with frustration.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you more.” The guy ended the conversation by closing the portal in Tony’s face.

Tony ignored the rudeness in order to get his pulse and anxiety down to a reasonable level.

“Friday…”

“On it, Boss.”

It was a new lead. And when Tony wanted to get to the bottom of something, he was like a bloodhound, chasing it.

______________

We all know that was Wong.

#ironstrange #demon Stephen Strange #tony stark #stephen strange #doctor strange #marvel #whump #angst #hurt/comfort #fluff #demon!Stephen Strange #of monsters and men

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loriache · 1 year ago

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Notes on the World Map: Melini

I'm kind of annoyed the complete World Bible doesn't have a version of the World Map with Melini filled in... unless it does and I missed it, but I literally bought it and looked at the relevant pages for this post! Anyway, I think this is the closest we have. I'm looking at this and -- Kahka Brud literally doesn't have a coast anymore. No wonder they're pissed!! Any industry involving the sea, trade, fishing, etc. is basically impossible now - you'd have to get to the coastline on the west side of the continent. That's probably miles!

Speaking of miles... how big is Melini?

This is where I got... really unwell. So first off, let's assume the official Dunmeshi World Map is a Mercator projection. I think the stage cartography in the Dunmeshi universe is at, it's going to be most important that maps are useful for marine navigation. So we can't just drop an approximate scale onto the grid and leave it at that; we have to work out where the equator is.

The way I've done that is via two places that seem like they have a close(ish) real world equivalent - in terms of climate and culture - Utaya and the Island of Wa (Toshiro's home). The Island of Wa is obviously Japan, and I've seen plausible arguments that Utaya is probably a climate/location similar to Nepal.

So, here's the (approximate) location and latitude of those places on a Mercator map of Earth:

If we arbitarily superimpose the two maps, asssuming they're the same size, we can draw a theoretical equator line that puts the two places at the same latitude, though on a different side of the equator. Putting them on the same side as Earth made the equator really low. I feel like that's ... unlikely, so we're going with this.

That puts Melini at a rough latitude of .. ~55? which would, using the same scale as the previous map, make two squares (at that latitude) about 600 miles. Very roughly calculating the size as given on the map based on that, that gives a width of (approximately) 250 miles and a length of 400, coming in at a bit less than 100,000 miles² due to the shape. Probably it's between the sizes of the UK and Aotearoa.

That really helps me visualise what Laios is working with here when I think about post-canon. Though I reckon what I've done here is "Just enough research to really annoy an expert". Sorry if you're that expert. I really don't know much about cartography <3 It's like that xkcd comic:

On distances, as someone who lives in the UK; with a car, you can get almost anywhere in a day if you're prepared to drive until late. But they don't have cars, so getting from one end to the other would take multiple days of travel. It'd take about 7 days to walk the approx "length", 400~ miles (from the top of Scotland to Liverpool) (according to Google Maps) and 2 days cycling, so probably 3-5 days with horses, depending on how you pushed them. That'd vary a bit depending on terrain, of course.

#og post #dungeon meshi #dunmeshi #world map notes #dungeon meshi meta #melini #if anyone DOES have the knowledge to work this out better than i have #please do! please tell me the answer!#but i just couldn't rest until i had an approximate area to work with #when i'm imagining the characters dealing with administration of remote territory #populating and partioning out land; crop failures and ensuring central storage of grain and other staples; collecting taxes and so on #kahka brud is literally a port. this is such a diplomatic nightmare. lmao. not even getting started on the monsters!#good luck with that kabru honey #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #dunmeshi spoilers

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kmomof4 · 4 months ago

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X Never Ever Marks the Spot - A Birthday Fic for @zaharadessert

We're back and it's time to bring in Emma!!!! This chapter was so much fun to write and I so hope you enjoy it!! Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me!! It means more than I can say!!!

Thank you again to @snowbellewells for her beautiful banner above and her beta expertise!!! And to @hollyethecurious for the title and helping me out with grammar questions.

Rating: M for smut and scary moments.

Words: 2727 of approximately 24k

Tags: Inspired by Raiders of the Lost Ark, Birthday Fic for Zahara

On ao3 From Beginning / Current Chapter

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you want to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615

@donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells @djlbg

@lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica

@laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter

@ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie

@soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jonesfandomfanatic

@elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779 @kymbersmith-90

@suwya @veryverynotgoodwrites @myfearless-love

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Ch. 2 The Threshold of Adventure

Killian approached the wooden building nestled in the mountains of Nepal as a long stream of men came toward him, heading for the village he’d just left down below. Killian watched as they passed him by, paying him no notice whatsoever as the weather around them worsened.

The wind whistled, fresh snow - eager to join the layers that were already hard packed on the ground - swirling in the gusts that threatened to blow him off his feet. Once the last two men passed him by - holding each other up by the looks of it - Killian continued toward the bar on the edge of the remote mountain village.

He came to the door and rested against the door jamb for just a moment before she noticed him. A smirk touched his lips as he observed her cleaning off the tables, her back to him. She was bent over slightly, her jeans stretching enticingly across her backside.

She stilled suddenly, looking up at the wall she faced where his shadow was clearly visible. She quickly turned toward him, her eyes widening in shock, her mouth dropping open slightly as a quiet gasp passed her lips. Killian stepped inside the building.

“Hello, Emma.”

“Hello, Hook,” she replied after a moment. Her nickname for him. Well, it had originally been bestowed upon him by Cleo; first, because of his knack for finding things, and second, because she was the one who taught him to use his head instead of his fists - specifically, his right hook - to get what he wanted. The former term of endearment made him smile in fond recollection. He hadn’t heard that moniker in a decade and he realized… he missed it.

A smile slowly bloomed on her face as she took a step toward him. “I always knew you’d come back through my door. That somehow… you’d find me again. I never doubted that.” She took slow steps toward him, like a cat. “What are you doing here in Nepal?”

Killian stepped toward her, a charming smile on his face. “I need one of the pieces Cleo collected.” He’d turned his face away from her slightly when he spoke, and so missed it when her fist swung and connected with his jaw.

She packed quite a punch, and Killian couldn’t hide his stunned surprise.

“I’ve learned to hate you in the last ten years.”

The venom in her tone surprised him, but when he turned to face her, she couldn’t quite hide the deep and abiding pain in her eyes, no matter how much she may have wanted to. She always had been an open book to him.

He couldn’t face her. She didn’t know the truth about why he left without a word to her. At least, he assumed she didn’t. He didn’t think Cleo would throw him under the bus like that, but he couldn’t be absolutely certain unless Emma, or Cleo, told him herself.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said. It may have been true, but he was many years past the naiveté necessary to believe his behavior a decade ago hadn’t done exactly that. It was nothing more than a paltry platitude he extended to her now, and they both knew it.

“I was in love.” Her words were coated with pain, the anger still coloring her voice, but the venom no longer as potent. He could almost detect a note of defeat underneath everything she was trying to hide from him. Maybe Cleo had told her. “And you left us without a word.” Killian searched her eyes. He could almost hear the personal pronoun me in place of us in that last statement. “Why?”

Well, he was apparently wrong. Cleo obviously hadn’t told her about the ultimatum she’d given him when she found out there was more to their relationship than just harmless flirting between her two students.

He hated that he was now in a position to throw Cleo under the bus without her here to give her side of the story, but facing the only woman he’d ever loved, he owed her the truth. And he would give it to her.

“It was Cleo,” he confessed. “She found out about us, and she let me have it.” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, remembering in vivid detail the tongue lashing she’d given him. “She told me I had a choice to make. If I was going to remain under her tutelage, I had to give you up. You had a brilliant future before you in archeology, and you wouldn’t reach your potential if you were involved with me.” Killian scratched behind his ear in a nervous gesture he’d had as long as he could remember. “I knew I couldn’t give you up. Not being around you every day, working together, but not able to be truly together. So, she sent me to Archie.”

She was silent for a long moment, then nodded, her lips pressed together in a thin line. “So neither of you thought that I should at least be consulted as the two of you made decisions about my life.”

“Cleo loved you like a daughter, Emma, and she wanted what was best for you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Again,” she said, fury back in full force, “MY life.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” she replied bitterly, turning back to the tables behind her.

“Look,” he said, taking a step in her direction. “I need a piece from Cleo’s collection. A bronze piece, about yea big,” he said, forming a circle with his thumbs and pointer fingers, “It had a hole in the middle, off-center, with a crystal. Do you know it?”

“Yeah,” she bit out.

“Do you know if Cleo still has it? Where is she anyway?”

Emma carried her tray full of shot glasses back to the bar and closed her eyes at his question.

“Cleo’s dead.”

“What?” He couldn’t keep the shocked dismay out of his voice.

“Got on the wrong side of the wrong people,” Emma murmured.

“And you’ve been hiding here.”

“What of it?” she snapped, turning to go back to cleaning off another table. Killian didn’t know what to say to that, so he went back to the reason he was here in the first place.

“I need that piece, Emma,” he repeated as she approached the bar again with another fully laden tray. As soon as she set it down, Killian grabbed her hand and stuffed a roll of hundreds into it. “Three thousand. And I can double it when we get back to the States.”

She stared hard at him for a moment. “I’ll have to find it. Come back tomorrow.”

Killian searched her gaze, but she didn’t flinch away from his scrutiny. He gave her a sharp nod and walked out, closing the door behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Emma pocketed the money and walked over to one of the long tables in front of the roaring fire in the open hearth and sat down, pulling on a chain around her neck and drawing out from under her blouse the medallion the love of her life was looking for.

She took it off and turned it this way and that, letting the fire reflect off the surface. Cleo had been so excited when she found this piece, bringing her one step closer to finding the lost city of Tanis. She’d given it to Emma for safekeeping, but the Nazis didn’t know that when they paid Cleo a visit a year or so ago. So far, Emma had managed not to attract their attention, but she knew it was only a matter of time before they found her. Giving the piece to Killian would guarantee her safety, but it would put him in the bull’s-eye instead. She wasn’t sure she could bring herself to do it.

Suddenly the fire flickered and a gust of wind blew through the now-opened door. Emma laid down the medallion and turned toward the entrance. A thin man walking with the aid of a golden handled cane stood there, two taller men behind him. He was about her height with shoulder length, straight hair, but something about him - the glitter in his dark eyes, or the way he smiled - made a shiver go down Emma’s spine.

“The bar’s closed,” she called, trying not to let her nervousness show.

“Good evening, Fräulein.” He chuckled as he stepped further into the room. “We are… not thirsty.”

His German accent was thick and Emma’s blood ran cold. They’d found her.

“What do you want?”

His steps into the empty room were slow and deliberate, the men behind him keeping to his pace. Emma licked her lips and prepared herself for a fight. If only she hadn’t sent Killian away already. She could use a second pair of hands, or the firearm that she was reasonably certain he carried.

“I want the same thing your friend, Dr. Jones, wanted,” he informed her. “Surely he told you there’d be other interested parties.” His voice was oily. Not much different from what she’d always imagined the serpent in the Garden of Eden sounded like.

“No, he didn’t.” Emma’s eyes darted around as the man with the cane moved toward the fire, and the other two men took steps toward her.

“I hope, for your sake, he has not yet acquired it.”

“For my sake?” She couldn’t show any fear. Fear in the face of a predator virtually guaranteed attack. She’d don her armor and hope they bought it. “Look, I don’t know who you are, or who you think you’re dealing with, but you’d better not be threatening me here in my place.”

The man chuckled as he picked up a poker and stirred the burning coals in the giant fireplace.

“Oh, it is not a threat,” he assured her, still facing the fire, his back to her. “Do you still have it?”

“Yes… but I’m not going to just give it to you. Killian has offered me six thousand dollars for the piece. Are you willing to offer more?” She kept the other men in her sights as she backed away toward the bar, her arm behind her, ready to pull out her gun if they made a move toward her.

The man with the cane stood - the now red hot poker still in his hand - and faced her. She pulled out her gun from her waistband and made the mistake of aiming for him instead of his companions, who were much closer to where she stood.

One of them grabbed her wrist, making her drop the gun, and pulled her against him, holding her still as the man with the cane slowly made his way toward them.

“I was,” the man murmured. “But no longer.”

His dark eyes were dancing with delight as he got closer, and Emma knew that he would kill her slowly. And he would enjoy it.

“Please,” she whimpered, the poker now inches from her face. She shut her eyes, unable to stand looking at it or into the depths of depraved madness in the man’s gaze.

“Please, what, Fräulein?” he asked.

“I’ll give it to you,” she whispered. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“Yes,” he said, and she could clearly hear the smile in his words. A smile that no doubt matched the evil in his eyes. “Yes, you will, Fräulein Swan.”

The door blew open again, and Emma’s eyes snapped open just in time to see Killian’s whip wrap around the man’s wrist and pull taut, causing him to throw the deadly instrument across the room where it landed on the floor. The man dropped the cane, grabbed her away from his minion, and held her in front of him. A loud whoosh sounded near where the poker had landed, and Emma could just see out of the corner of her eye one of the drapes covering the window begin to burn.

“Let her go,” Killian growled.

Emma was accustomed to rescuing herself, and even prided herself on the fact that no one saved her but her, but at this moment, she would gladly hand that mantle over to him.

Emma watched as Killian’s attention was drawn over to her left, where he took aim and pulled the trigger of his pistol, machine gun fire going off briefly before coming to a stop. Emma elbowed the man who held her in the ribs until he let her go and she ran for where she’d dropped her gun.

She hid under the bar as gunfire erupted around her, only peeking out occasionally and taking aim at anyone who got anywhere near her. The fire was spreading, but no one paid it any mind as the back wall was now consumed in flames. The table where she’d been sitting when the Nazis got here was turned over and used as a barrier to hide behind by one of them. He took aim at Killian over the edge of the table, but Emma shot him in the back before he could shoot. Flames shot up from where the shot glasses and bottles of alcohol she hadn’t cleaned up yet had fallen on the floor when the table was turned over.

Machine gun fire went off again, but Emma couldn’t see where it was coming from. She crawled to the area behind the bar, trying to get to a place of relative safety and cover. Suddenly, Killian’s face appeared above her, where he was being held down on the bar by someone behind him.

“Whisky?” he rasped.

She handed him a nearly full bottle, and he swung it behind him, hitting whoever held him down on the head. As soon as he stood up, he looked back down at her and grinned.

“I don’t mean to upset you, Emma, but I think we make quite the team,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

Emma couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She looked at him again to see someone swinging a flaming torch at his head.

“Look out!”

Killian ducked and grabbed the man by the arm, slinging him into the still-raging fire in the fireplace. His screams and the stench of burning flesh had to be blocked out since she couldn’t give in to the horror that threatened to overcome her senses. Emma rose up from behind the bar to see the ringleader reaching over the overturned table he was hiding behind. She was nearly out of bullets, or she would have shot him herself. But she knew, now that Killian Jones had barreled back into her world - and that the Nazis were after them both - she should probably hold onto some ammo, not knowing what kind of adventures awaited them.

Suddenly, the man straightened up, screaming, holding something in his hand. Even from where she hid - behind the bar and facing his back - it was obvious to her that he had her medallion in his hand, and that he’d plucked it out of the fire that was consuming the table he was hiding behind.

His fist released and he ran out the door still screaming, holding his hand to his body. Killian appeared above the bar again and held out his hand to her.

“Come on! We’ve gotta get out of here.”

“My medallion!”

She took his hand and climbed over the bar, then grabbed a rag, and ran to where her captor had dropped it. Grabbing the chain with the rag wrapped around her hand, she nearly stumbled as Killian dragged her out of the burning building that had been home for over a year.

Once they were safe from the flames, she turned and looked at him. She barely had time to notice the fear in his eyes as he gathered her in his arms and crushed her to his chest.

“Are you alright, Swan?” he asked. He stroked her hair tenderly, and Emma suddenly realized that he still loved her and had probably never stopped.

She nodded into his chest. “Yeah.” She pulled away from him and searched his eyes. “Some things never change. Adventure follows you wherever you go, Killian Jones.” She grabbed his hand and dropped the still-warm medallion into it. “Now you owe me another three thousand when we get back to the States.”

“Yep,” he agreed, pulling her close again and kissing her on the crown of her head. “But first, we’re heading to Cairo.”

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! I'd love to hear what you think! We are heading to Cairo on Monday! See you then!

#x never ever marks the spot #krystal writes #bday fic for zahara #art by marta #inspired by raiders of the lost ark

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