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mydeardeath · 3 years

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Forever mine

TimDamiWeek day two : League of Assassins

Sorry for any mistakes, this was not proofread.

Also on AO3

Tim is no longer a vigilante, not really. He still worked as the new oracle on a regular basis, but he was rarely on the street himself. Most of his time was dedicated to WE and to creating a better future. He had abandoned his role as CEO to work for the research department, putting his brain to good use. While most of his projects were for clean energy, he also worked on better equipment for the bats.

It had been weird to hang up his cape, for him and the family. He had been the first one to abandon the R peacefully and chose his own replacement. He hadn't known Duke that well at the time, but he never regretted choosing him. The man had easily fit into the family, Bruce hadn't complained much, and Jason had been accepting of the new Robin.

A few years had passed since he had hung up the cap, and he had picked up his habit of following the dynamic duo at night. He did not indulge in it that often, but they were nights where he would climb on rooftops and watch the action from afar. Tonight had been one of those nights. Tim had finished his most recent project and had taken a few days off. He sat upon a building overlooking the diamond district, offering a great view of the fight going on below. It still amazed him to see Dick flying through the air, even after so many years spent working alongside the man.

A few months back, he would have been tempted to jump in to fight alongside Dick, but now he just appreciated the show. Dick is going up against a major threat, just kicking the ass of a few wannabe robbers.

The night is somewhat calm for Gotham, and Tim doesn't see the attack. One minute his eyes were on the street below, the next he's swaying dangerously on the roof's edge. He had barely time to regain his footing that another blow came to hit him in the back. He thankfully managed to avoid the next one and rolled back to a safer place. It doesn't take long for his attacker to come at him again, but this time he's facing him. It took a split second for Tim to identify his opponent as League of assassins. His memory takes him back to his meetings with Pru, Z, and Owen. He had not hesitated to fight them. This man, even standing alone, seemed more dangerous than they were. It's obvious by his stance that the guy has proper training, but what made Tim anxious were his own abilities. Tim was still dangerous himself, but he imagined that this man trained more frequently than him recently. Probably studied Tim's fighting style before attacking him, knowing the level of preparation the league put behind its assassination attempts. Tim can't afford to make a mistake. Hell, he should call Bruce or someone, but he doubted the assassin would let him make a call or even reach for his phone.

They danced around each other, exchanging a few blows. Tim could see that the man was holding back as if he was playing with his prey and waiting for him to get tired. He needed to find a way out of it, quickly.

His biggest hope might be to catch Dick he was still near him, but that would mean giving his back to that guy, and Tim didn't like that idea much. He still decided to attempt it. He packed a powerful punch toward his assailant before taking off to the next building's roof. Tim had never been the strongest in the family, but he was fast. He also had the advantage of having spent years on those rooftops and knew them better than this man. In the end, it didn't matter at all. The man didn't try to catch up to him, just threw a small knife to his leg that made him lose his balance. Then the man jumped after him. He was on Tim in no time, katana in hand. He managed to avoid the first slash but, soon, he felt the blade sliced through his skin. The wound wasn't deep, but the assassin kept going, covering his body in cuts.

Tim retaliated with a few blows of his own or attempted to anyway. The man was more than good. He could read him so easily, and Tim stood even less chance as time passed as his movement became slower and sloppier while his assailant was moving with grace, dancing around him. Tim fell to the ground a few minutes later, hitting his head hard on the floor. He tried to stand, but a harsh blow to the head made his vision blur, and all he could do was try to crawl away.

That was not how he had imagined dying.

***

Tim startled awake to the sound of his alarm clock. He attempted to reach for his phone, but searing pain stopped him midway. Yesterday's fights came back to him, and Tim wondered how he was still alive. It had looked like an assassination, not a kidnapping.

Tim slowly pushed himself in a sitting position in the bed, in arms straining under the effort of carrying his aching body. His wounds had been tended to and bandaged. Some painkillers were even waiting for him on the nightstand, next to his phone and some clean clothes.

Somebody had taken him to what seemed to be a hotel suite and taken care of him. Whoever it had been, wasn't part of their family or they would have taken him to the batcave. It didn't seem that Tim would have an answer quite yet about his mysterious savior. He couldn't hear a sound in the suite, and unless his savior was hiding, he was completely alone.

Tim didn't want to stay in bed too long and force himself up despite his body's protests. He needed to inform Bruce of what had happened. He wasn't a fool, the league didn't like to leave jobs unfinished, and the whole fiasco of the previous was proof enough that Tim couldn't protect himself from that threat. The realization had not been pleasant. But keeping in shape was apparently not enough, not against that kind of opponent.

Once he managed to gather the energy to get dressed and inspect the room(to no avail, there was no clue of who had brought him here), he hailed a taxi to drive to the manor. He was far too tired to make the trip to his own house and take his car.

Tim hoped that the driver hadn't recognized him, he didn't need to make the front page while looking beaten up. That would be hard to explain to the press, and Tim still didn't like dealing with them despite how many times he had to.

Tim gave him a good tip before exiting the car, hoping he would keep silent about dropping off a beaten up man at Wayne Manor. Then he made his way to the front door where Alfred had appeared. The butler led him straight to the medbay with a somber expression. He knew that Tim wasn't the kind to get in a fight. That was not supposed to happen to him now that he was retired.

The cave was empty at this hour. Bruce was probably sound asleep at this hour, and nobody else was living at the manor nowadays. Tim let Alfred examine him in silence, still tired and preferring to wait for Bruce to start speaking. He was sure to get a thorough interrogation, so he didn't see the need to tell Alfred every detail right now, simply informing him that it was the league of assassins.

Tim was glad to learn that he didn't have any kind of internal injury. He had hit the ground pretty hard, but he was not concussed. The only problem Tim could have to face now was septicemia because of his weaker immune system. Alfred would keep an eye on him to check he didn't forget his medication, and that would give even more of an excuse to make him stay at the manor for a while.

***

Tim couldn't shake off the feeling that he was being watched. He had already checked his room twice for cameras, and even though he had found none, he still felt observed. It was hard to tell if the presence if was feeling was a friendly one, watching his back, or an enemy waiting to strike him down.

He knew that Bruce was worried about the league of assassins. Batman hadn't run into Ra's Al Ghul in a while, and Bruce couldn't decipher why he would send his men after Tim now. Tim's works with Wayne Enterprise didn't interfere with any of the league business. There was nothing he could think of that would explain the sudden interest in Tim.

Everyone was worried about him. Bruce had demanded that Cass came home. She was by far the best fighter in the family and had been assigned as his unofficial bodyguard. Wherever he went, she was never far.

Usually, Tim would appreciate the time spent in her company, but he could tell she was tense. She was better at hiding than most, but they had known each other for a while, and Tim had been getting good at reading her microexpressions.

Not that Tim was faring better. Barely a day after he had gotten to the manor, he had received a gift elegantly wrapped. Bruce had been the one to open it in the batcave, not trusting a mysterious package arriving shortly after the attack.

The box hadn't exploded as they opened or anything of the kind. It simply held a dagger on a velvet pad. A very ancient and beautiful one, that was still sharp and ready to use. Guessing the origin of the dagger wasn't a hardship, especially considering the note that accompanied it. "You should always be prepared, Timothy."

That was a warning, Tim was sure. The assassin was playing with him. He wanted Tim to offer a bit more of a challenge.

Bruce had taken the note and analyze it thoroughly, from the type of paper to the handwriting. It was a lot of effort for nothing. It was unlikely that any of Ra's assassins would be in the cave database. Bruce didn't like not knowing why Tim was suddenly targeted by the league and not being able to predict when the next attack would come.

The next days passed in a tense atmosphere. Tim tried to relax and appreciate the time he got off work, but there were always shadows or doors creaking that made him jump to his feet, ready to fight for his life. That was not the greatest time off Tim could have had.

Tim was glad to be back at his office, finally able to take his mind off the attack to concentrate on his work, even if it meant waking up thirty minutes earlier than usual to put on make-up to cover his bruises.

Tim smiled at his secretary as if he was perfectly rested and had an awesome time during his break. She returned it with a knowing smile as if she was on a secret. Tim was pretty dumbfounded. He didn't think he had fooled her enough that she would actually think he had had that sort of fun while he was away. She seemed pretty excited nonetheless and Tim finally understood why when he entered his office. There was a beautiful bouquet of red tulips waiting for him in his office. Tim wasn't an expert when it came to the language of flower but it was pretty sure that red was the color of passion or something like that. It was doubtful that it was the company or a client sending it to him to say "good job".

Tim dismissed his secretary and gave a suspicious glare at the flowers. He had not been on a date in a while or even flirted with anyone recently. There was no reason for him to receive such a thing. Tim was almost tempted to send the flowers to be analyzed in case there were hiding poisonous spores but he would most likely pass as a madman to his employees. Still, he put in a far corner of the room, near the windows with the prepared excuse that flowers needed the sun to thrive. In a few days, it would be deemed acceptable for him to throw them away without generating gossip about him turning down an affectionate lover.

Tim spent most of his time working in the labs instead of his office, all to avoid the bouquet. Maybe he was just paranoid, but he preferred to be careful. Plus, that allowed him to also avoid his secretary who seemed to make him want to spill interesting details so that she could report them to the rest of the employees. Not that there was any to give. Tim just preferred to avoid the subject.

***

A week after he had gone back to work, Bruce deemed it safe enough for him to go back to his own loft. Alfred had dropped off some casseroles while Tim was still in his office, so Tim could sink onto his couch to eat a delicious meal while watching some shitty tv show.

It's only the following morning that he noticed the flowers in his room. A bouquet of purple hyacinth this time, according to the quick search he made.

Somehow, he doubted those had been from Alfred too. There was a note accompanying it this time, still handwritten in the same beautiful calligraphy. "Please accept my sincerest apologies, Timothy."

That had Tim wondering. Had the assassin not been sent by Ra's? He hadn't thought of one of Ra's agent going rogue. It could explain why he had never come back. Betraying Ra's often meant death.

Ra's Al Ghul wasn't the kind to lie, not like that anyway. If he had been the one threatening Tim's life, he wouldn't have tried to pretend otherwise. And the man did have a weird obsession with Tim at some point that could explain the tulips.

Tim wasn't one hundred percent sure that his life was no longer in danger, but he did finally start to relax.

Three weeks after the initial attack, Tim's peace was once again shattered. It was a different assassin this time. Not one trained by the league or with any real experience, Tim was sure of it as the man started to taunt him instead of doing his job, telling him how much money he would make from killing him and what he would do with that much in his pocket. His obvious excitation was short-lived as a bullet pierced his skull right in front of Tim. Tim saw the man's eyes widen suddenly in stupor just before he fell to the ground, lifeless.

Assassins were a daily occurrence after that, Tim having up to three attempts to his life in the span of twenty-four hours. Not that Tim expected anything else when he learned how much his head was worth. It seemed that if Ra's hadn't been behind the first attempt to his life, then it had given him an idea.

Weirdly enough, it seemed that all his attackers were taken down by the league's own agents before they could do any harm to him. It was as if Ra's was trying to eliminate all competition. But, Tim hardly understood why he had to be involved in that business.

It went on for weeks. Weeks spent worrying about an attack that may never come. Tim didn't understand why the league was stalling this much to finish the job. So he decided to finally act instead of waiting for assassins to attack again.

Without warning anyone of his intentions, Tim boarded a plane headed to Ra's latest known location. The probability that the man was still in a known base was very low, but Tim would try nonetheless.

Tim hesitated once he landed. He didn't have much of a plan, beyond demanding an audience with Ra's. He could be killed as soon as he crossed the threshold, and none would be the wiser. Tim wondered if he had really been the smarter Robin once upon a time, sure didn't felt like it now.

Tim took a hesitant step out of the plane before steeling himself. Showing weakness would do him no good, the least he could do was appear confident.

Guards watched him climb up the stairs without a word, not showing any signs that they would try to stop him even going as far as opening the door for him, slightly bowing as he passed. Tim's face was blank, seeming emotionless, but he was freaking out. It was almost as if his arrival had been expected, awaited even.

The White Ghost himself came to greet Tim quickly. It was yet another one. Ra's had gone through a few in past years. None had last long since his son's death.

Tim was lead to a grand room where a man that on a throne. The first thought when Tim's eyes felt on him was that the man looked regal in his green robe. The second he said aloud: "You're not Ra's Al Ghul."

The man seemed familiar even if Tim couldn't pinpoint from where, but not the leader of the league Tim knew. Definitely too young, the pit never made Ra's rejuvenated that way. Could be that Ra's soul had been transferred to a new body. He really hoped not.

"Ra's Al Ghul is the title of the one leading the League of Assassins, which I am. The man that preceded me is dead. For good."

"Did you kill him?" The question was out of Tim's mouth before he could stop himself. But the man didn't seem offended by the accusation.

"I did. Grandfather wanted to use my body as a vessel for himself. I choose to take his empire instead. It was my birthright, after all."

"You are Talia's son." They hadn't been aware that the Al Ghul family had expended. Tim hoped that hadn't been done with just the idea to provide a new body to Ra's. That would be twisted and horrible for the guy to be born for that sole purpose. And despite the moral instilled by his mentor, Tim found it hard to condemn Ra's murder.

"And Bruce's. I think you know my father rather well."

"What?"

Tim was having a hard time processing that bit of information. The man didn't seem to be lying, but how could the 'greatest detective' have ignored that bit of information.

"I believe you did not come to talk of my lineage, Timothy. I would like to reiterate my apology for hurting you the first time we met."

"That was you?"

"I'm afraid that yes. I had just taken control of the league, and I wanted to consolidate my power by eliminating all that Grandfather had seen as potential successors. Thankfully I saw your mark before my mistake became irreparable. I see now that you are not a threat to my reign. I will never again cause you harm. And I doubt any other will after all that tried in the last few weeks and failed. The world must have gotten my message."

"I'm not quite sure I understand."

The man stood to cross most of the distance separating him from Tim, stopping only a few feet away. His face only showed determination as he took the hem of his clothes in his hands and started to divest.

"Ra's." Tim stammered out, not quite knowing how to refer to the man.

"You may call me Damian, habibi."

Tim didn't react to the pet name, his eyes fixated on his mark adorning Damian's skin. Their soulmark.

Tim gaped inelegantly, short of words to express his emotion. He was beyond shocked. He hadn't given much thought to his mark in years. Not many had one, and finding one's match was rare as most people preferred to ignore it to make their own choices.

"I would like to offer you a place at my side to lead the league."

Tim was about to answer but Damian shushed him.

"Do not think of what the league had done so far, but what you could do with its many resources. Take your time to think about it. I will in Gotham in a few days, you can tell me your answer over a date."

Damian escorted back to his plan, bidding his goodbye to Tim with a single blossom of red salvia. A token of his intentions.

Tim was quite relieved that Damian didn't insist he stay longer. He had a lot to think about and some time alone would do him some good.

A true partner of Batman should have said no right away, but Tim saw all the possibilities, all the changes he could bring to the world with the league shaped to his image. The proposition was tempting and Tim was already making plans in his mind.

Tim wasn't quite sure what to make of Damian. The man's apparent desire to date, since he was not based on anything relevant. But Tim's love's life had been non-existent since Tam and he could admit that sometimes he got pretty lonely. He could even admit that Damian was easy on the eyes when he wasn't trying to kill him. It wouldn't hurt to go on a date.

The only problems were Damian's role as the leader of a criminal organization that his family had often fought against. And that he was Bruce's son.

Tim rolled the flower between his fingers, a soft smile on his face. For once, he would take time to enjoy his life and worry later. He didn't have to tell anything to his mentor and let Damian deal with it when the time came. It sounded like a good plan.

#TimDami #timdamiweek2020 #damitim

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the-swedes-knees · 3 years

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Identifying the Swedes’ Guns

I recall seeing an in-depth post on Otto’s gun at one point, but couldn’t find it again. But through some sleuthing was able to find what I believe are all their weapons.

Otto

Starting off with big man, big gun!

Otto uses a PPSh-41, a magazine-fed submachinegun that can be loaded with either a box or drum (which Otto does use). It was in service with the USSR armed forced between 1941 - 1960s.

During World War II, approximately six million of PPSh-41s were manufactured, making it the most produced submachine gun of the war. It is a durable, low-maintenance weapon made of low-cost, easily obtained components, and the drum is able to hold 71 rounds.

In the postwar period, the PPSh was delivered in large quantities to Warsaw Pact countries and China. In the mid-1960s, the USSR gradually replaced the PPSh with a Kalashnikov assault rifle.

Axel

Onto this monster... which was actually the easiest to find since it’s SO specific and extra.

What Axel has here is the PM-63 RAK, a hybrid child of a self-loading pistol and fully automatic submachine gun. It was first made in 1963 Poland, and was originally designed as a personal defense weapon. This weapon was only mass produced between 1967 - 1977, where it was used in service with the People’s Army of Poland and it’s police force.

There were several reasons why PM-63 production only lasted a decade, with roughly 70,000 being made. The most glaring issue most people faced with the gun was the exposed slide-style breechblock. As the weapon fired, the slide would go rapidly shoot back and forth toward the user’s face.

Oscar

Oscar’s was... trickier to say the least. I couldn’t find many detailed shots and for the most part it’s not as unique as the previous two.

It’s a pump-action shotgun with a 14″ barrel... that’s about all I’ve got. From pure visual inspection I narrowed it down to two candidates:

The Mossberg 500 (first manufactured in 1960)

and the Remington 870 (first manufactured in 1950)

Both are American in origin and are still produced today with slight variations to the original design. Of the two, I lean more toward the Mossberg because of the more rectangular shape of the trigger guard.

Since it’s introduction in 1960, more than 10 million Mossberg 500 shotguns have been manufactured. The gun was made with as few parts as possible, making it extremely affordable and particularly robust.

Not much more to say here... it’s a no frills, reliable shotgun that continues to be used by soldiers and hunters alike.

What this could mean:

So callback to TUA S1 when the police department was easily able to link Five’s fingerprints on a knife back to a cold case in 1938, raising suspicion and interest in the case.

That was just one set of fingerprints. Think of the disaster and suspicion it would raise if Commission assassins were just allowed to use any gun they wanted.

Guns that hadn’t been invented yet, or even very old ones that at that point would be considered vintage or very rare... either wouldn’t align with the secretive nature of their organization.

Since Axel’s is so specific to the Cold War and the other two have what would be fairly popular models, I think the Commission assigns “Era Approved” weapons that range from several different countries of origin.

Either the Swedes chose them themselves at HQ, or they retrieved a package containing weapons like Hazel and Cha-Cha.

This could also be why they’re honestly pretty bad at shooting their targets... Otto and Axel are still getting used to these specific guns, and Oscar is the best shot since his choice of firearm remains relatively unchanged across several decades.

Disclaimer, I am no firearms/history expert by any means. Please feel free to add on/correct me!

#the swedes #the swedes headcanons #tua otto #tua oscar #tua axel #tw gun mention #fun fact the russian nickname for ottos gun is 'daddy'

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kamari333 · 3 years

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Got tagged by @starsgivemehp for this meme!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

I'll go backwards from last update, if thats okay? First paragraph of each first chapter...

mind the tags and be responsible <3

iNVaDeR FeLL: The Nightmare Begins :: The Irken Empire (which had retained its name even after the shift in management brought about by the events of Operation Impending Doom I) was more alive than it had been in years. Signs replayed message after message redirecting convention-goers how and where to attend the Great Assigning in the Main Convention Hall on Conventia, one of the many planets conquered and repurposed for the good of the Empire. The teleporter ring was blazing almost as brightly as it once did before OID1, only this time, it brought to the surface not Irkens, but Monsters; creatures of every shape and size. They came not only from the 'kingdom' that had overtaken Irk (they called themselves 'Fell'), but those from the 'kingdoms' of conquered worlds as well, which had been expeditiously subjugated in a fashion worthy of the Irken Empire.

How Dance Got a Picture of Lust Covered in Kittens :: "there's sammaches in th' fridge," Red mumbled, feeling the lunchbox lid click shut under his claws. "'r if ya want some'n lighter, there's soup in th' freezer. just gotta nuke it..."

Burlesque Noir :: Lust peeked around the curtain to look out at the crowd, as he had done so many times before the last few days. The speakeasy was full and vibrant and alive as it was every night, as swanky a joint as Grillby could make it and still keep it safe. As packed as it was, however, Lust didn't see any sign of his favorite patron.

It Could be Worse :: Life... Could be worse.

An Anthology of Dreams :: Sans was at his desk, as always, analyzing his latest attempt at a synthetic soul compound. His last two-thousand-and-twenty trials had been devastating failures, but even Dr Gaster was intrigued by his steady progress.

The EMV Anthology :: Red had a love-hate relationship with the holiday season.

An Anthology of Nightmares :: Sans stumbled out of his room just in time to escape. He had no idea what was coming, he only knew his years of fighting for his life underground was screaming that he had to move his bony ass if he wanted to live. Just as he crossed the threshold of his bedroom into the hallway, there was a loud crash. When he looked back, his whole room was gone.

A Growing Future :: Red stumbled out of the house, squinting at the glare of sunrise peaking like a glinting knife over the neighbor's rooftops. The air had a crisp chill to it, made all the more shocking by his lack of a shirt, but he knew it would be overly warm in only a few hours, and there was a lot of work to do.

Kinktober 2020 : Kamari333 Edition :: HI FOLKS! Beyond this point you will find 72.5k words of pure, unadulterated, self indulgent, Undertail-themed SIN, ~57.7k of which was prewritten in September, the rest in October, all written and published for Kinktober2020. This year, due to conflicting schedules, the sin was written in September, to be published on time in October. Please note that there may be plenty of typos, although I will/have since gone back and fixed some of them since I'm garbage and read my own stuff, and this year I have been indulging in the use of my lovely betas!

A Night in the Woods :: Red bit back a curse as he once again had to detangle his phalanges from the flimsy tent material. Stupid-ass cheap plastic bullshit, so thin he could breathe on it wrong and watch it disintegrate, but the packaging said it somehow kept out wind and rain, and that was honestly all he could have asked for. That, and perhaps that the piece of shit stop snagging on his claws every five god damn mother fucking seconds, fuck-

Arum :: The room was pitch black, save for a nearly indiscernible ambiance that glowed low and dim like the twilight right before the true darkness of night. The walls and floor of the room oozed with a viscous substance that stank of fermentation and rubber. At the end of the room, upon a throne of black stone, sat a diminutive figure from whence the slime seemed to originate, itself drenched in it to the point of blackness save for the singular glow of one lavender eyelight, shining like poison in the darkness.

Poignance :: Sans Blueberry pulled on his modified gloves, rolling his shoulders to make sure his makeshift pauldrons were cinched tight enough. The scalemail he wore under his chestplate made a soft noise, not quite the clink of chainmail, but not quite the hiss of cloth or leather either. He fingered at the tiny plates over his torso before pulling his bandanna back on around his neck, grateful to Alphys again for donating her sheds, and Undyne for reinforcing them so they wouldn't turn to dust.

Those Feelings at the Bottom of a Bottle :: Ink carefully managed his supply of emotions, keeping his usual level of orange (excitement) and yellow (happiness) as he made his way back through the house. The crowd of people, with their ever-vivid colors and gold-glittered eyes, made it easy to blend in and keep himself inconspicuous to the ever watchful guardian. It was like a game of hide-and-seek: Ink hid, and Dream looked for anything potentially amiss.

A Skeleton Plague Doctor in Lord Dream's Court :: Falsi woke up from a restful sleep on his examination table, shifting under his thick black blanket (one of the few luxuries he was allowed, usually kept hidden away in his bedroom with all the other small luxuries he had managed to keep, like his collection of skulls, his beast fur pelt, his mask, and the tapes and videos of a more personal nature he had collected over the years). He slid down to the floor, thankful once again for the mercy of a windowless apartment, as he folded his blanket and stumbled into the adjacent room: his bedroom.

Bad Day :: Edge was used to getting ominous messages from Red at odd times. It was just the nature of any relationship Red was involved in.

Burlesque (Censored) & (Uncensored) :: Of all the bars Red frequented in Ebott City, this was his favorite.

Happily Ever Laughter :: It was almost midnight. Papyrus had been sitting at Muffet's bar, enjoying his third (or was it fourth? Fifth? Hard to say) glass of Spider Cider, when he got the call. He pulled out his phone, surprised. That was his brother's ringtone. He flipped it open. "heya, bro. wazzup?"

Egg on Arrival :: Slinky could feel it in his bones: the hum of his future, the tremble of his soul. Even if it was still cold as balls outside the nest, his internal clock said it was spring.

I think I'm Paranoid :: Red came back into the livingroom, popcorn in one hand and a six-pack of coke in the other. He lingered, taking in the scene in front of him.

Another Me :: Lust fiddled with the TV remote idly as he mentally went through the available channels in his head. He didn't dare cable surf, not when He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named was so prominent, and Pink's relentless job searching made his schedule so erratic that he could show up at any minute. The sight of the blackout curtain over the bookshelf (which served as the house's movie collection's honored display) reminded him of how understanding Papyrus had been of the need for temporary censorship.

...oh my some of these are terrible for catching the readers attention XD (why are all my hooks like 3 paragraphs in gdi).

EDIT: i forgot to tag folks! um... @deku-lily @silverryu25 @bonerpuns @msmkcreates @jellyficsnfucks @jellyfish-swims-through-gold @tkwolf45 @nanenna @dana-chan325 @skerbaderbadoo @keelywolfe ...im terrible with names and can't remember anyone else's handles ;-;

#kamari333thoughts #kamari333fanfiction #invader fell #burlesque *ship #burlesque noir #ebott is a multiverse #it could be worse #thats just the fic name #dr33mtal3 #kinktober mention #is this nsfw?#burlesque *fic #aint this more than lust #aint this a lamia

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ladylynse · 3 years

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Chapter 6 [FF | AO3] of Down the Rabbit Hole: Wirt had heard a lot of stories about college, but somehow, he still wasn’t prepared for one of his roommate’s crazy friends to smuggle a hatchet into their dorm room.

beginning | previous

-|-

Toby had hung up without giving more of an explanation, but from the look in Wendy’s eyes, Wirt knew she didn’t need one.

“You grab the kit from the kitchen,” Jazz said. “I’ll get the one from under my bed. Danny, there’s one in the top drawer under the bathroom sink.”

“On it,” he said, not questioning why they would possibly think they’d need three first aid kits between the two of them.

When they were all back with the kits and Wendy was pulling on her shoes, Wirt saw Danny glance at Jazz and Jazz’s answering nod. “Wirt and I can catch up,” she said without even looking at him for confirmation even though they were all gathered near the doorway now. “Wendy?”

Wendy paused long enough to look at Danny. “If it’s safe for me, then yes.”

“You’ll be fine,” Danny said, handing Wendy the other two first aid kits when she finished getting her shoes on. She cradled them against her chest as he picked her up with ease—how the heck was he so strong when he looked so slight?—and then they vanished.

Just like Danny had back in the library.

“H…how—?” Wirt could see Danny being able to do that with himself. Lab accident. Okay. Fine. But with Wendy?

They hadn’t even opened a window, let alone a door, but Wirt knew they were already gone.

“Lab accident,” Jazz said, as if that explained everything. “That was your next show of proof, by the way. Now come on. They’ll be there by the time we get out the door at this rate.”

“When…when you talked about Danny flying in earlier,” Wirt said as Jazz shooed him out the door and locked it behind them, “was that supposed to be literal?”

“I would’ve meant it literally even if I had meant on a plane,” she said, which Wirt supposed was answer enough. He just….

“What else can your brother do?”

Jazz was already heading down the stairs, but she glanced back without missing a step. “How much research did you do on Amity Park?”

“Um….”

“Just give me the cliffnotes version.”

“It’s a nice place to live?”

“I’m serious.”

“Ghosts attacks are common.”

Jazz made an irritated noise and started moving faster, forcing Wirt to take the stairs two at a time to keep up with her. “Read anything about our town’s protector?”

“The ghost hunters, you mean? Your family?”

There was a beat before Jazz answered, “I don’t just mean Mom and Dad.” He joined her on the landing, and she immediately turned and led the way out the door, setting off at a quick clip for the residence hall he and Toby had been assigned.

“The other one, then?” He had to practically jog to keep up with her. This was ridiculous. This was not a fast walk, whatever she made it appear to be. “The one with the jet sled?”

“I’m talking about Phantom.”

“So there really is a ghost that fights other ghosts?”

“Yes.”

“And that matters right now because—?”

“Danny Phantom.”

“What?”

“That’s his name. Danny Phantom.”

“So—?”

“My brother is not very original.”

“What does Danny have to—?” Wirt broke off as Jazz’s meaning sunk in.

This had to be a joke. She couldn’t seriously mean that.

Even if it would explain her brother’s cryptid remarks earlier. And the reason he could turn invisible and get into locked room and apparently fly.

But…but Danny was solid. Real. Wirt had touched him, seen him touch other very real, very solid objects. Jazz’s brother couldn’t be some spirit clinging to this world after a tragic lab accident, however dramatic he’d tried to make that seem. Ghosts weren’t tangible—

—except in Amity Park.

“Danny’s dead?” Wirt hissed.

“Not exactly.”

That made even less sense.

“So he’s a demon?”

There really wasn’t another option. Plus, it might be the real reason Jazz never came to any of Wendy’s apocalypse training sessions with them. Wendy wasn’t big on demons. Not that Wirt would have expected her to be, but—

“No.”

Okay, he was completely lost now. “Then what the heck is he?”

“Just think of him as a human with ghost powers. It’ll be a lot easier on your head.”

“How is that supposed to be easier?”

“Do you really want me to launch into a spiel about what I think Danny’s molecular structure looks like right now?”

“I—”

“Because it is all speculation. I haven’t exactly put him under a microscope. I don’t even need to ask him if he’s comfortable with the idea because I know he isn’t. Who would be? We have no reason to believe he’s in any danger; not more than anyone is who does what he does, anyway. He’s stable. He’s not broken. He’s different. That’s not a bad thing.”

“He’s dead.”

“Not dead. And not demonic. Just because that was your experience, doesn’t make it Danny’s. Or mine.”

He’d played along with this whole thing for too long to ask if Jazz really meant that Danny had been the first person to give Phantom a name, hadn’t he? Because somehow being the reason Phantom took the name Danny—whether Danny Fenton gave him that name or if Phantom fancied it and adopted it, in honour of Fenton or not—didn’t explain anything. That would just be wishful thinking, especially after what Jazz had said.

Besides, Wirt knew that things that couldn’t be explained could actually happen.

He had simply never expected that they had genuinely happened to anyone else.

Particularly while they were still in this dimension.

“I just can’t….”

“You wanted to help Toby, didn’t you? So stop saying you can’t. Just roll with it and do the best you can. Life gets weird sometimes. You should’ve learned that by now.”

“I was fifteen!”

“Danny was fourteen.”

There was no way he could argue this like a sane person and actually come out ahead, was there?

Wirt swallowed his retorts, deciding to save his breath as Jazz picked up the pace again. Geez, that girl could run. By the time they got to the residence hall, he could taste blood and was gasping for breath in between coughing fits that somehow made the stabbing, burning pain in his side worse, and she wasn’t even winded.

He was still fumbling for his keys when someone else walked out, giving him a weird look but holding the door long enough for Jazz to grab it. Wirt pretended that his face was flushed only from exertion and not the fact that he was pretty sure that kid lived just down the hall from him and that he’d have to live with the fact that this guy was always going to remember him as this out-of-shape weirdo who—

“Come on. You can catch your breath when we get to your room. Probably.”

Jazz didn’t bother knocking when they got there. The knob turned when she tried it, and she shoved him inside before following and locking the door behind her.

Wirt wasn’t sure what he expected to see when they got there.

Someone injured, sure. That made sense. Toby had asked for a first aid kit.

But somehow, Wirt had never expected that said injured, uh, creature would not be human.

A quick glance told him that Jazz wasn’t the least bit fazed by the giant thing sprawled across Toby’s bed. It looked like it was dressed in armour, too. Without a helmet but with horns. Wirt shuddered, too reminded of the Beast not to immediately think demon despite the vastly different horn type. He looked for Wendy, but she was just perched on his desk, digging through the first aid kits, one balanced on her lap and two open beside her; she showed no signs of going for the hidden hatchet and trying to kill the thing, so that had to be a good sign.

Not that that gave Wirt much of an idea of what the creature was if it wasn’t a demon.

He didn’t really want to ask.

It did explain why someone had covered the window, though. Not so much as a shaft of sunlight was peeking through, so there was no way someone from outside could just happen to glance in and see…that.

“What—?”

“Jim and Claire are hurt,” Toby said, and Wirt tore his eyes away from the beast and finally realized that Jazz stood with Toby over a figure on Wirt’s bed, this one in that purple armour Claire had been wearing.

Was still wearing.

Toby was still wearing his armour, too. Wirt was pretty sure he wasn’t imagining the blood on it. He shivered, suddenly cold despite the fact that he knew he was still sweaty from that run. There was just…so much here he hadn’t known. And that creature….

He hadn’t realized that anything could give him chills like this. Since the Unknown, horror movies and such had never given him the creeps. They weren’t real, and he knew that, so he just never let himself be bothered by it. But this?

This thing was real.

And definitely not human.

And probably not a demon, since Wendy had no problem with it. At least, it wasn’t glowing. Its eyes might be, if they were open, but they weren’t, so—

No. He couldn’t go down that rabbit hole now. This one was bad enough. Wirt swallowed. “Badly?”

“Bad enough,” Wendy said as she hopped off the desk to give Toby whatever she’d been looking for in the kit. “A home stitch job isn’t going to make a concussion go away.”

“Let me, I’ve had a lot of practice,” Jazz said, reaching for something from Wendy. It wasn’t until she’d ripped open the package and fished out the contents that he realized it held sterilized needles. That wasn’t standard for first aid kits, right?

“This is crazy,” Wirt said. “We need to get her to the hospital.” He moved to stand at the end of his bed and tried to ignore the monster who lay on Toby’s in his peripheral vision. He stared at Claire’s armour instead, noting the smoothness of its joints and trying not to see what the others were doing. A quick glance had told him entirely too much. “She needs actual medical care. Last I checked, none of you guys have graduated med school.”

“No, but I’d wager we’re all experts in home treatment,” Wendy said. “Toby never flunked that part of the apocalypse prep courses, if you’ll remember.”

“I thought that was just your idea of first aid on steroids.”

“We don’t need an audience,” Jazz interrupted, and Wirt didn’t need to lift his head to know she hadn’t looked up from threading her needle. “Go help Danny.”

Wirt hadn’t actually seen Danny, so he glanced around the room again. “Where is he? Trying find someone to help?”

“He’s checking over Jimbo,” Toby said quietly. He was still looking over the piece of armour that was jutting out of Claire’s arm. Her arm. Speared by what Wirt could only assume was her own armour, though he couldn’t imagine how. He could see her losing a piece of plate, sure, but having it come back, sharpened to a point and tearing through her flesh— No, he couldn’t think about that right now. He quickly looked away, staring at Toby’s helmetless head instead and realizing how much sweat had plastered down his hair. “He and Claire got it bad. Jim can shake off a lot, but there was some dark magic in this mix.”

“Jim,” Wirt repeated. He remembered that name. “He was that other kid you were close friends with in high school, right? Tall, lanky? I think you raved about his food?” In truth, the last was the only thing Wirt remembered. Toby always raved about Jim’s food. Apparently, he made a mean omelet. “Did you at least drop him at the walk-in clinic or—?”

Toby finally met Wirt’s eyes. He looked…drained. That was the only way Wirt could think to describe it. “He’s on my bed.”

Wait.

What?

Wirt looked. The monster was still very much there. And now that he looked a little higher, he could see Danny hovering above him. Literally hovering. Maybe two feet from the ceiling. He’d paused in whatever examination he’d been doing to stuff his hand in his mouth and try to stifle his laughter, but he lost that battle the moment he realized Wirt had seen him.

“This is a prank,” Wirt said, coming to that conclusion again. That was the only thing that made sense. They’d finally done it. He didn’t know how they’d done, but they’d gotten him good, and he’d admit that. “Good one, guys. You really had me going.”

“This blood isn’t faked,” Wendy said bluntly. “Trust me, Wirt, if we were going to prank you, we’d all be laughing.”

“Sorry,” Danny whispered as he dropped down to Wirt’s eye level. “I just…. When I realized you hadn’t seen me, I couldn’t resist.” The smile dropped off his face as he added, “They’re right, though. This is serious. Definitely worse than the time Sam got hit by some of Skulker’s shrapnel.” His feet finally hit the floor again, and he pointed at the mon—at Jim. “Look at the way the armour impacted. It’s like he ran into a wall. Which he wouldn’t do, because when his eyes are open, they actually function. My guess is Jim has a lot of internal injuries, even with that stoneskin of his. Plus, y’know, the sheer amount of magic it would’ve taken to knock out him out. I’m surprised they were strong enough to bring him back here. He would’ve been dead weight.”

He turned away from Wirt, leaving Wirt to stare at the creature’s—Jim’s?—face and try to see something other than solid stone.

And trying to see the human face of the kid he’d thought had been Toby’s friend Jim in there somewhere.

However, Wirt was not so absorbed that he didn’t hear Danny’s utterly ridiculous question. “You guys can open portals to the Ghost Zone, right?”

How could this be real? It shouldn’t be real. It was even more insane than the Unknown, because he could pretend that that had just been a dream, complete with singing frogs and magical curses and nearly dying ten times over. There was a legitimate nightmarish monster lying on Toby’s bed that was apparently Jim, the amazing cook, and Jazz’s little brother had been floating, and—

“I mean, it doesn’t look like the Shadow Realm,” Toby said slowly. “Have you ever heard a name for it?”

“No,” was the hissed response, and Wirt blinked. He hadn’t realized Claire was conscious, even though he didn’t know who else Toby could have possibly been asking. “Haven’t seen anyone else there. Wouldn’t ask them where we were if I had.”

“Wait,” Wirt said. “What are we pretending happened here?”

“We’re not pretending anything because we’re not telling anyone else,” Wendy said without looking back at him. “But you should be able to guess what happened. Claire came to get Toby because they needed help. It went poorly.”

“Can I just see your staff?” Danny asked. “If I’m right and it does open portals to the Ghost Zone—and I really think I am—then I know someone who might be able to help Jim.”

“I’m willing to try anything. Claire?”

“Yeah.”

“Wendy, can you—?”

“I’ve got you covered,” Wendy said, smoothly swapping places with Toby.

Wirt backed up until he hit the door and tried not to think about how much blood was on Toby’s hands right now. He felt…out of place. More out of place than usual. Even more out of place than he’d felt in the Unknown, and this was the real world.

His friends were all taking this easily, like they’d known each other’s secrets all along, but his gut told him they hadn’t. His gut had been wrong before, admittedly, but this time it was backed up by how Jazz and Wendy had reacted to each other’s bits of dropped knowledge earlier. There had been curiosity and consideration, but there hadn’t been doubt.

“You know how to work that thing, right? I can carry Jim. Heck, I can carry both of you if you can’t manage a portal to a specific spot in the Ghost Zone.”

“Claire’s the one who really knows how to work this thing, not me, and getting back here took enough out of her. I can make it open a portal but I’m not good enough to do a place, especially not to somewhere I haven’t seen.”

“Okay, I can carry you piggyback so I can hold Jim and you can have a hand free to work that staff. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

Toby reached over Claire to grab something from the bed, and Danny…changed.

Wirt had closed his eyes against the bright light, but when he opened them, he recognized Danny Phantom from the pictures he’d seen while researching Amity Park.

“Awesomesauce,” was all Toby said before lifting up some kind of baton that glowed and grew into a staff and—

That was definitely a portal in their room, opening up as quickly as if reality were tissue paper that Toby had just stabbed through with his finger instead of gestured at with that staff.

It was a huge, vividly green portal that pulsed brightly enough to make the overhead light seem dim, and it apparently led into the Ghost Zone, of all places….

Jazz’s little brother, who was none other than Danny Phantom, with Wirt’s armour-wearing and staff-wielding roommate Toby on his back, picked up and cradled the giant monster that was somehow Toby’s friend Jim in his arms before flying all of them through that portal.

It winked out behind them as it had never been there.

“Wirt, Danny put some ice in the bathroom sink. Can you wrap some in a towel and bring it here?”

Where had Danny gotten ice? It wasn’t like this was a hotel and there was an ice machine down the hall or something. The cafeteria was in an entirely different building, but maybe he’d gone there for some. Even if it was winter, there wasn’t exactly a lot of ice or snow outside.

Then again. Danny Phantom. Wirt had a vague recollection of a reference to ice powers.

Wirt moved robotically, trying not to be surprised by the fact that the sink was full of perfect ice cubes that weren’t melting, or at least weren’t melting enough to stick to each other yet, and scooped a handful into a hand towel that he hoped was clean. Those had never gone missing like the socks, but they weren’t always remembered come laundry day, either.

He came out and handed the homemade ice pack to Wendy, trying not to stare at Claire’s pale face or the bruises already beginning to blossom on it. There was no sign of the helmet she’d been wearing earlier, though that cut that came entirely too close to her eye might be the reason for its absence, if someone had gotten in a lucky strike with a spear—

“I’ll be fine,” she hissed between clenched teeth when she noticed him. “I’ve had worse.”

Having had worse didn’t mean she was fine now. She shouldn’t be conscious. Well, she at least shouldn’t be this coherent, shouldn’t be able to read his expression and know his thoughts so easily. Was he really that transparent? Wendy had been worried about a concussion. Maybe—

“Go get some air,” Jazz said. “We don’t need you fainting on us, and we can handle this ourselves.”

He hadn’t been thinking about fainting. If anything, he’d been debating running away from here and just never coming back. This kind of stuff was supposed to be reasonable and stay in dreams and stories instead of invading perfectly logical or rational realities. Or maybe he just needed to talk to someone who wouldn’t judge him for what would sound like wild fantasies. A real therapist, not Jazz.

“Hey, you still with us?”

That was Wendy. She would not appreciate Wirt saying no. “Yeah,” he croaked out.

“Good. Then go. Get yourself a drink. Take a moment for this to sink in. Then you can come back and we can talk.”

He didn’t want to talk.

He didn’t want this to be real.

Why did this have to be real?

The Unknown was just supposed to be a dream. He didn’t want to admit that, yes, he’d actually travelled to another dimension or stumbled into some limbo between life and death or whatever it had been—

Maybe he really was losing it. Maybe none of this was real and it just felt real. Though, if he was delusional, this went way beyond his friends supporting him. This was…. Either this was enabling him or none of this was real and—

“Wirt.” Jazz again. “Seriously. Talk to us. What do you need? Would you rather just lie down for a bit instead?”

Right. Lie down where the monster that was Jim had been. Since that bed was free now that he and Toby and Danny had left through a portal in reality.

“Yeah, he’s not okay.” Wendy. “Hold down the fort. I’m going to wash up and get him out of here.”

He didn’t register that Wendy had moved until she was steering him out the door with still-wet hands. She paused only long enough to close the door behind her before pushing him forward.

It took entirely too long for him to realize that they were going to her favourite hidden corner on campus, a bench on the path that passed the bio and chem buildings that was half-hidden by bushes and trees in a little alcove by the northwest entrance to bio that Wirt had never seen anyone use.

“Sit.”

Wirt sat.

Wendy dropped down beside him. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

There was really no point in lying. Wendy would call him on it. He spoke in short, halting sentences, not so much because he didn’t know what he was thinking as because he wasn’t sure of a sane way of wording any of it. But that was the crux of it, really. Sanity didn’t factor into any of this. So, he just told her the truth, as best he could.

Wendy, being Wendy, never laughed at him. Never denied any of this. Never reassured him that it wasn’t real or that she hadn’t seen what he had.

“Yeah,” she said when he’d stopped for long enough that it was clear to her he didn’t intend to continue. “That about sums it up, I guess.”

“How does this not….” He swallowed and tried again. “Did you know?”

“About what, Jazz and Danny? Not really. I never bothered doing research on her or anything. I just knew she could take care of herself, and that was enough for me. I learned the details when you did.”

“Toby?”

She grimaced. “I knew something was there. I didn’t know it was this big. Trolls weren’t something I’d encountered in Gravity Falls. Don’t get me wrong; they’re probably there. And from what I know about the Gremloblin, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s related.”

“The what?”

She shrugged. “Half-gremlin, half-goblin. Makes you see your worst nightmare if you look it in the eyes. Dipper captured it once. Or at least one of them, if it’s a species and not just a rare hybrid.”

She didn’t look like she was kidding.

Wirt groaned. “This can’t be real life.”

Wendy raised an eyebrow at him. “You are lucky Mabel isn’t here for this conversation or she’d take that as a cue to start singing.” When Wirt didn’t say anything else, she continued, “Look, I know this is a lot. You’ve obviously been in denial for a long time. But if we’re going to be able to help Toby and Claire and Jim, you need to pull yourself together. Like it or not, this is real life. It’s your life, it’s my life, it’s all our messed up lives. You can choose to walk away from this. I know Toby won’t judge you for that; he’s a better person than I am. But if you want to walk away, you need to be prepared to either cut us off completely so you can ignore everything that’s going on in our lives or cover for us when this stuff does come up, even if your involvement ends there. It’s your choice, but you need to make it soon.”

“But—”

“This isn’t me trying to pressure you into making a decision. It’s me telling you that we don’t have time for you to weigh every pro and con about every feasible scenario you can think of. We’re in the middle of this now, and we need to know if you’re in or out.”

“I don’t know—”

“That’s why I’m going to let you think it over and figure it out. Unless you want me to stay here and listen some more?”

She was more use to Claire than she was to him, so he shook his head.

“Okay. Text me if you wanna talk one-on-one with someone before you come back. As far as your decision goes…. We’ll do what we can to protect you either way, but I’m not going to promise you that you’ll be fine. I don’t know if you will be. I don’t know if I will be. I don’t know enough about what’s going on despite what Toby told me when Danny and I got there, but even if I did know, I still couldn’t make that guarantee. We’ll never be able to give you that guarantee.”

“I just…. I don’t know if I’m ready for any of this.”

“No one is. Well, I like to think I was more prepared for my first apocalypse than the average person, but for the most part? No one is.”

“Wait, what do you mean, first apocalypse?”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I helped save the world once. And I don’t think it’s a lie to say I’m not the only one, so it wouldn’t be a stretch to think I might wind up helping stop a second.” Wendy got to her feet. “Just think about it. Take some time to clear your head and sort things out. We’ll be in your dorm room until Toby gets back, and one of us will text you if we leave before you show up.”

“I don’t think I can do this,” whispered Wirt, looking away so he didn’t have to see Wendy’s face when he admitted that.

“Then you don’t have to. But don’t give up until you give it some real thought, okay?”

“Okay.”

He didn’t look up as she walked away.

(see more fics | next)

#otgw #danny phantom #trollhunters #gravity falls #toa trollhunters #fanfiction #crossover #my writing #ladylynse #snippets #crossover snippet #dp snippet #trollhunters snippet #otgw snippet #gf snippet

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club-crimsyn · 3 years

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August 20, 2009

I was finally able to make these as a non-replacement mesh, so here you go. These are for MALES & FEMALES, TEEN THROUGH ELDER. They're enabled for all clothing states (though I've yet to figure out how to accessorize a nude sim, so they're technically not shower-proof), plus maternity for the girls. I was originally going to have these all in one package, but I thought I'd go ahead and just do them as separates.

The piercings are lovely little things, and move perfectly with a sim's facial expressions. They will also fit on almost any facial sculpt you come up with. Known Issue: On some sims made with slider hacks you may run into distortion on the lip ring. There was no way to get around this with the meshes due to the way I set up the bone assignments, but you can fix the distortion if you're using a core mod that allows the 'editsim' cheat. Messing around with the lip sliders should 'snap' the lip ring back into the correct shape, and you should be able to recreate your sim's facial features more or less to how they were. This only came up in testing twice, so the chance you'll encounter this issue is slim, but I wanted to put the warning out anyway. Note: These are not multi-layerable, and are only available as the set shown here. In the future, I'll be happily recreating my multi-layerable piercings from TS2, but these aren't they. You can couple these with any other female earrings, and males can use these with either the double earrings, or the right earring. They won't layer with the left earring. DO NOT UPLOAD THESE TO ANY PAYSITE. Other than that, I don't care what you do with them. But when the night is over and the walls start burning, when fire starts to matter and the clock is churning, cliches and other chatter keeps our minds from learning. + DOWNLOAD +

#clothes #male #female

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aitaikimochi · 4 years

Text

Final Fantasy 7 Remake Ultimania Book Interview with Nomura, Kitase, and Nojima

This is the full interview from the Final Fantasy 7 Remake Ultimania Book where Director Tetsuya Nomura, Producer Yoshinori Kitase, and Scenario Writer Kazushige Nojima discuss the Final Fantasy 7 Remake, talking about how the game’s development, ending secrets, and more! Enjoy~

PART 1: This is the fifth installment within the Compilation of FFVII.

—When did the FFVII Remake project start?

Kitase: Actually, this project has been in existence for a very long time.

Nomura: When we developed the Compilation of FFVII, the installments included Advent Children, Before Crisis, Crisis Core, and Dirge of Cerberus, so we knew that we wanted to make a fifth installment. However, we were a bit short on resources as I was the only one heading the project, and since we were busy with other things, the project was put on hold.

—If the project was put on hold, what made it come back officially?

Kitase: When the Final Fantasy series almost reached its 25th Anniversary, I thought about what we should do to commemorate that milestone. That’s when I thought that if we were to go through with the FFVII Remake project to coincide with the 25th Anniversary of the Final Fantasy series, we would have to start it as soon as possible. That’s what got the ball rolling. After that, we had a meeting with producer Shinji Hashimoto as well as Tetsuya Nomura to discuss the details of the remake. Hashimoto was also the one who said he wanted to correct some of the graphics from FFVII Advent Children, and that’s the stage where all three of us decided that we should officially start this project.

—Initially, the project was to be made using staff from external divisions, right?

Kitase: Of course the company’s staff were still involved in the development, but most of the team that had worked on Final Fantasy series were assigned to other projects, so we started the Remake project with other external division staff. However, because we wanted to upkeep the quality of the Final Fantasy series, we decided that we still needed members who had experience working on Final Fantasy. Because of this, we had to do a major shift of staff positions to accommodate for this project.

—Since the Remake will be comprised of multiple parts, when did you decide that the first part will take place up until the escape from Midgar?

Nomura: We made that decision at the start of the project. Midgar stands as a very recognizable symbol of the world of FFVII, and for the Remake Project, we wanted to expand on that. The first installment will establish the root of the battle system as well as the type of basic structure, data assets, etc. that we needed to prepare, so it would take some time to do so. On that note, we had to accommodate in terms of the scale. Since the game would cover up until the escape from Midgar, the contents we needed to develop, such as the world system, level designs, etc., would increase, so we had many reasons to make the decision that we made [to create the story into multiple parts]. When we announced that the project would take on multiple installments, there were many who were worried about how we would be able to make a whole game based solely on Midgar, but I didn’t think it would be a problem. I’ve repeatedly watched videos of gameplay, and in the original game, it takes about 7 hours to go through the Midgar section. In the Remake, the map would need to be in 3D, so there would be much more information to account for as well as time that it will take to go from one point to another, and all that adds up. Since we knew that we would have to add scenarios to the story too, I knew that the overall gameplay of the Remake would be well enough to cover a whole game.

Nojima: We also felt that stopping it at this point would also allow for an adequate amount of story scenarios to be put in as well.

Nomura: After you leave Midgar, you move to a world map, and I mentioned this earlier, but level designs would have to yet again change. If we were to do that, we would also have to split up other scenarios and even if we add new gameplay, it would have to end in an abrupt point of the story. That’s why we felt that if we had everything focused in Midgar, we wouldn’t have to split up any of the story elements that happen there. We had requests to add more content or to make only one installment for the whole remake, but if you take into consideration the quality put into this game, I’m sure players would understand why we made this decision.

Kitase: The Remake is not something that we can finish all at once, so when we decided that the first installment would take place in Midgar, the FFVII Remake Project became a reality.

PART 2: The title “Remake” has two meanings…?

—Nojima-san was added to the team when the project was still being handled by the external division staff, correct?

Nojima: That’s right. I was the one who initially wrote the main scenarios, and the external division staff was responsibile for writing the sub scenarios as well. However, when we transferred the project to internal staff, Toriyama-san (Co-Director) joined and looked over the scenarios we had written up until that point. He then gathered all the scenes we had and rewrote them, and after looking over it myself once more, we decided that the project would take on this shape.

Kitase: After Toriyama joined, we were able to formulate the scenarios and input them into areas within the game itself, and in order to keep the integrity of the story, we let him rewrite some of the story.

—Nojima-san, in what degree do you write the scenarios and how specific do you make them?

Nojima: I lose myself in my writing a lot. I’m always concerned about keeping characters in character, so I constantly make corrections. However, after I finish writing the scenarios, Toriyama-san and his scenario team add revisions, which is then handed off to the dubbing stage, which also makes adjustments to the dialogue. So by the time the scenario reaches completion, I’m not even sure what exactly remains from my initial draft.

Kitase: Of course, the main story’s developments are usually left as how Nojima-san wrote them. The changes that are made are usually minor details that are formulated into the story.

—The title for the remake is just “Remake,” which is a bit rare to put in a title. Is there any specific meaning to it?

Nomura: I am the one who decided on the title “Remake,” but there are two meanings to the title. The first being that we wanted to quell the doubt that arised when we first announced that we were doing a remake. When the first trailer was released, there were people who weren’t sure if this installment of FFVII was merely a remaster or an actual remake, which made them worry. When we revealed the trailer at E3 in 2015, the reactions were as I expected, with some even asking if this was going to be a movie. That’s why I decided to clearly express to those with doubt that this is a complete remake of the original with the title “Remake” as well. In regards to the other meaning to the word “Remake,” well, I can’t answer that right now. Ask me again in a couple of years (laughs).

—The title’s logo with the Meteor is now outlined with a type of metal finish. How did you come up with this design?

Nomura: We wanted to put the Meteor in the title logo when we showed the trailer at E3, but we had not decided on the logo yet at the time the trailer was made. I personally wanted to have the Meteor be in a metallic finish to go along with the mood of this project, so when I conveyed my idea to the trailer editors, they came up with a design for me. The logo wasn’t just for use in the trailer, but it would be used for the main title logo as well. Also, during the E3 trailer, the word “Final Fantasy” isn’t shown, only the Meteor as well as the word “REMAKE.” This was because I wanted to make the announcement of the FF7 Remake with only the Meteor symbol. When the original Final Fantasy 7 was released, the marketing producer at the time suggested that the package design only have the Meteor and said to me, “Even if we don’t write the title, people would know that this is Final Fantasy 7.” Back then, we decided against that, but I wanted to have that idea come to fruition this time around.

PART 3: Wanting to Delve Deep into the Characters from these Realistic Scenes

—What part of the Remake did you pay extra attention to?

Kitase: In the original game, many people were able to live comfortable lives thanks to the power of mako energy; however, the same could not be said for those living in the slums underneath the plate, which left a great impression. In fact, I don’t really remember seeing much about the lives of those living above the plate where mako energy powered the cities in the original game. We wanted to draw out those details, such as in the opening movie where you see people and children riding bicycles throughout the city. The scene then turns darker where you see the effects of a lifestyle reliant on mako, where the light and dark contrasts. We wanted to brush upon this by having the player visit Jessie’s home above the plate.

Nomura: I wanted to keep the elements of the original story. In terms of the battle system, things like the ATB gauge or materia, limit breaks, etc. made up an important part of the game, and I wanted to try to bring over that to the remake. However, we had to consider not only the old fans of the game but the new ones as well. For the veteran players who knew the ropes already as well as the new players who were just getting into it, we wanted to create a satisfying experience for both. Not only did we take the original game’s structured elements and modernized them, but it was important for us to make it so that old fans would also be able to come to terms with the changes as well. Since the original game was released more than 20 years ago, if we were to change the styles to reflect modern ones, I’m sure people would accept them. However, let’s say that we changed Cloud’s hairstyle to not be spiky anymore- that would be weird, right? It was difficult to find a good balance [between realism and the original].

Nojima: When writing the scenarios in the game, I had to pay great attention to the fact that the characters that appear are no longer shown in cute graphics from the original game, but actual people now. For example, in the original game, there weren’t many houses shown in the slums, but in this game, there are tons of houses that allows you to strongly feel the presence of people living within a city. I thought to create scenarios where people are living and breathing in this space. Whether it be the AVALANCHE members or other characters in the story, I always dug deep and thought “Why are they living like this here?” when creating the backgrounds.

—One case of that would be when it was shown that Jessie used to be an actress at the Gold Saucer, right?

Nojima: I wanted Jessie’s mannerisms to be like that of someone who has experience in theater, and I delved into creating episodes about her past leading up to her current family situation. There were many plans to create these types of sub-scenarios for the game when the project first started.

Kitase: When we were in the middle stages of development, we decided to put as many sub-scenarios into the main story to give breathers and pauses from the over-arching plot. We put several sub-scenarios about the Turks as well.

Nojima: That’s right, we had conversations such as “What are the Turks doing right now…?” or “What kind of character from the Compilation of FFVII would appear here?” and etc. Other scenarios we thought of was Tifa asking her landlord to help her figuring out which dress to wear in order to infiltrate Corneo’s Mansion, among other episodes.

Kitase: For example, after Cloud fell into the Sector 5 slums, what was Tifa doing? How did she get into that Chocobo Wagon that took her to Corneo? We had a few things planned during the first half of production, but due to time restrictions, we had to cut it out.

PART 4: Cloud Tries to Act Cool like an Adult but Fails

—As we played through the game, Aerith’s lines left an impression on us.

Nojima: Aerith is the utmost important person in the FFVII Remake, and I was very careful with her lines. Each and every part of her carries a great meaning throughout the story, and I used that premise to write her character.

—In particular, during the nighttime flower field scene in Chapter 14, Aerith tells Cloud “You can’t fall in love with me. Even if you do, it’s not real.” For those who are familiar with the original story, this line carries a lot of meaning.

Nojima: To be honest, some staff actually told me that this line made it seem like Aerith was looking down on Cloud, so it got rejected a few times. If you know Aerith’s fate, then this line would really pull at your heart strings, but if you did not know what happens to Aerith, then you might interpret the scene in a completely different way. I thought the gap between the two interpretations was very interesting. On another note, in Tifa’s scene in the flower field, I wanted Cloud to not look cool in this scene. Even though Cloud and Tifa are close in age, he has a 5 year blank slate, and he doesn’t have enough life experience to consider himself an adult. Even though most of the characters are around 20 years old, there’s one guy, Cloud, who has the mentality of a 16 year old, and that person tries to be like an adult. I really wanted to write that into the story. After the Sector 7 plate fell, Barret comforted Tifa with the temperament of an adult, and Cloud saw that and wanted to do the same for her [in the flower scene], but it didn’t go as planned. I wanted to try writing him as being awkward.

Nomura: On that same note, when recording Cloud’s voice, we had his voice actor perform his lines slightly differently depending on who he was talking to. For example, when Cloud speaks with Aerith, he stands up and tries to act cool, with Tifa he loosens up a bit, with Jessie he sounds confused. When Cloud speaks with Aerith, he’s too self-conscious and gives weird replies.

Nojima: Cloud isn’t able to keep the distance between Aerith and him, right? (laughs). He seems pretty impatient with Jessie, but she finds that amusing and pokes fun at him for it.

Nomura: However, when we did voice recording, initially Jessie came off as a bit too nosy, more than we expected, which might have given the impression that she was being rude. In order to avert that, we had her say lines jokingly each time she teased cloud, giving off a sense of charm and attractiveness, kind of like a “haha, just joking” type of attitude. We decided these things in the recording studio.

PART 5: The Remake’s Scenarios Provide a Vast Setting for Events to Follow

—The Remake’s story has many new episodes that I thought followed the flow of the original storyline, but then there’s suddenly a huge plot device that gets revealed, and that surprised me.

Nomura: Is that so? (laughs)

Nojima: I’m sure you were thinking, “What will happen next?”

—How did this development come to being?

Nomura: When I requested a scenario to Nojima, I first thought, “if I am to create the FFVII Remake, I would like to do it this way.” I then conveyed my ideas to him. During that phase, I planned to make this be more than just a mere “Remake.” For example, the battle system this time around is in real timee instead of using an ATB gauge, and with that, the story itself took a turn that isn’t just the basic FFVII, but something new. That’s the kind of story I wanted to create.

Nojima: As for me, I knew that even though at the very core, this story is about Cloud, the works from the “Compilation of FFVII” have greatly increased [over the years], and I wanted to make something that takes all of those works and combine it into one. Each person who played the original version also has their own vision of the world of FFVII, and I wanted to preserve that too. The results of those feelings are shown within the Remake’s story. These were all the ideas I had, so in the beginning I would initially show it to Nomura-san, and I tried my best to explain them clearly to make sure he didn’t reject them (laughs).

—In regards to the story’s important key points, there must be a flashback scene from here on out, right?

Nomura: At first, the direction we took was that we did not want to put any of these hints while still in Midgar.

Nojima: Right, we originally planned to have the storyline diverge only slightly.

Nomura: We thought to have only a subtle change where in the ending you see Biggs alive, which makes you think, “Wait, this is weird…” and gives a slight sense of unease. But then the staff thought, well if there’s room for more scenes, then let’s just add it (laughs). When we did that, there were scenes that we had to say, “No this won’t do,” and removed it from the story. We didn’t add too many new things, but we did leave a few scenes in.

Nojima: I myself added about two or three scenarios to that too….I’m not too sure what happened to those scenarios at the end. (laughs)

—The scenes where Sephiroth appear in have also be greatly added into the storyline.

Nojima: In the beginning we didn’t plan to have him appear so often, more as an overlooming presence instead. During the middle of production, we changed our minds and decided to have him appear more frequently, and suddenly he was in a ton of scenes.

Nomura: At that time, Hamaguchi-san (Co-Director) quietly pulled me aside and said, “I want the characters to fight Sephiroth in Midgar” and consulted me with this idea. In the original story, Sephiroth exists in a different space, and apparently he gathered materials to persuade me to have the battle play out in this way, but I just said, “Okay sure,” and greenlit the idea. (laughs)

PART 6: Doubts that Arise from Things Not Explained in the Game

—In the Remake’s story, there are a few doubts that are left that I would like to brush upon…

Everyone: …..

Nomura: The story will still continue, so I don’t think we can answer much.

—Then let’s talk about things you can answer starting with the Opening Scene in the alleyway, which was also portrayed in the original game. What was Aerith looking at when she was crouching down?

Nomura: I remember someone saying that she was trying to gather warmth from it…

Kitase: I don’t think so (laughs). If you’re in front of a bonfire, you would see the embers pop, but what you see is the flickers of light from mako.

—In the Remake’s version of this scene, after she looks at the light, it seems like she’s running from something. Why?

Nojima: She felt the presence of the Whispers and wanted to run away from them. Perhaps it’s because Aerith had several bad experiences with the Whispers up until then?

—Why is it that Aerith knows about things that happen in the future or of things she hadn’t heard of before?

Nomura: I wonder why……Please wait until the next installment for that answer.

—At the end of the Midgar Highway, before you pass through the wall, Aerith says, “This is the point of no return. Destiny’s Crossroads.” What was she referring to?

Nojima: If Cloud and the others pass through the Wall of Whispers, then they will be outside the boundaries of the Whispers, meaning they will be going into a place where there is no predestined fate. She meant that they will be at a crossroads where they might or might not be able to cross.

—After you defeat the last boss, Cloud and Sephiroth have a conversation with just the two of them. What was the meaning of that?

Nojima: Exactly what their conversation said. Actually, the lines that Sephiroth said in that scene were written during the beginning stages of production where we did not know the exact placement of when they will be delivered.

—In the ending of the Remake, Zack is alive, which leads to a contrasting development to the original story. What is the meaning of that scene?

Nomura: That’s the biggest highlight of the mysteries that have been been set up in this scene, isn’t it? (laughs)

Nojima: And you can also clearly see the dog Stamp too…

—Stamp looks different in this scene though.

Nojima: Oh, does he know…? (laughs)

—Did you have plans in the beginning for the mascot Stamp?

Nojima: Yes, when we decided on the Remake’s storyline, we said “Well then, let’s have this loyal dog Stamp be the mascot.” Stamp is a popular mascot that everyone in this world recognizes, and we decided to also use him as AVALANCHE’s secret way of conveying messages.

Nomura: By the way, the Stamp that you see drawn by AVALANCHE members is actually the design that I was in charge of. I usually don’t get involved in these designs, but I felt that this character would be very important, so I decided to draw him myself.

—During the ending, Aerith murmurs, “The sky, how I hate it.” [English localization “I miss it, the steel sky.”] Is there some deep meaning to this?

Nomura: For Aeritih, the sky symbolizes sadness. The people who were dear to her, such as Zack and her mother Ifalna, had all returned to the sky, and the sky that she sees above her in the slums was covered by Shinra too. The calamity that destroyed the Ancients, Jenova, also fell from the sky. All of these incidents remind Aerith of the sky, which is why she says she hates it.

—At the end of the game, the words “The Unknown Journey Will Continue” show up. What does it mean?

Nomura: Initially, there was another sentence we were going to put instead, but under various circumstances, we decided to change it [to what it is now]. Kitase told me there should be something that connects to what lies beyond the ending. I also wanted to put something there too, so we ended up using that sentence. I think some might think that the meaning of the sentence is unsettling, but we’ve already taken that into consideration.

PART 7: Original Elements Expected to Happen but Do Not Want to be Erased

—After this first installment, the number of expectations must be very high for the next installment, but how many installments do you think the entire project will be?

Kitase: We have a general idea of how the story will play out, but we haven’t decided exactly how many parts, nor can we confirm anything.

—There has been talk that the story will be in three parts…

Kitase: We have not said anything concrete about how many installments this will be, so people are probably just speculating with no proof.

—The fans would like to know when the next installment will be released.

Nomura: It depends on how many installments we decide to make. If we divide the story into large chunks, then it will take a much longer time to develop. However, if we divide the story into smaller parts, then it might be possible to release them in a shorter amount of time.

Kitase: On that note, if we are to maintain the same quality and volume as the first installment, then it is unrealistic to say that we can churn out the next one in just one year.

Nomura: Personally, I would like to release them as soon as possible so we can take a breather. I’m sure the fans would also want the next installment to come quickly too (laughs).

—If we follow this Remake’s story, then the next installment might have major changes compared to the original, right?

Kitase: I’ve talked about this extensively with Nomura, but I’m sure fans of the original are expecting to revisit familiar locations and scenes, so we have strong feelings to not stray away from that. From here on out, we’re not drastically changing the story and making it into something completely different than the original. Even though it’s a Remake, please assume that FF7 will still be FF7 as usual.

Nojima: For me, I create scenarios that follow the general flow of the original story but with the assumption that the way things are presented or how events occur might be slightly different. Personally, I would like to include towns and areas that originally appeared first in Crisis Core FF7.

—Lastly, do you have any messages to the fans who have played the FFVII Remake?

Nojima: I’m sure that they had a lot of fun playing it and might have doubts on what will happen from here on out, but please remember those doubts you had since you’ll probably find your answer in future installments.

Nomura: This was a very popular game in the past, and since we are remaking it, the amount of attention it had garnered even before it was released was high, and there are many who voiced their concerns about the game too. However, those concerns did not affect our staff as we put in our all to create this work, and we just hope that people will be interested in it. The base for the Remake has been successfully established with the first installment, so we hope to meet your expectations in the next installment too! However, personally, I think there might be some who think “Since this is the Remake, I don’t need to play the original game anymore and just play the Remake instead,” but I want to prevent people from doing that. The original and the Remake are two separate entities. So even if you play FFVII Remake, I would also like you to play the FFVII original game afterwards as well.

Kitase: In this first installment, I think we were able to figure out the exact direction and shape we would like to take with the FFVII Remake. Within the Remake, many hints were strewn along, and we would like fans to get excited and think about on what exactly will happen in the next installments. The theories posted on the internet do reach us, and I think that type of communication between the fans and us will help in creating a story together for all to enjoy.

(Square Enix Interview recorded on March 19th, 2020)

#final fantasy 7 remake #ff7r #final fantasy vii #final fantasy vii remake #ffviir #final fantasy #square enix #tetsuya nomura #cloud #barret #aerith #tifa #red xiii #cloud strife #my translations

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snowdice · 4 years

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Folds in Paper (Chapter 2: Green Light)[Folds in Time Universe]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Janus/Patton, Remus & Roman, eventual Logan/Virgil (maybe more)

Characters:

Main: Janus, Patton, Remus

Appear: Remy, Emile, Virgil, Logan, Roman

Summary: Janus, a disillusioned senior agent working for the Time Preservation Initiative, struggles to find meaning in a world where time travel could change everything about your life’s history in less than a moment. When time distortions start popping up, threatening the timeline and the fabric of reality as he knows it, it becomes a race against the clock to fix the damage before everything unravels. And the problem with time travel… you never how long you have before the clock strikes 12 and your time is up.

With a partner who has more mysteries in his past than Janus had anticipated and an enigmatic free agent time traveler mucking about time always with a clever pun or a time appropriate pet name on his lips, Janus will need to figure out what went wrong with time, and more importantly, how to fix it.

Notes: Time travel AU, mystery, enemies to lovers, alcohol

“Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter – to-morrow we will run farther, stretch out our arms farther…” (F. Scott Fitzgerald in The Great Gastby)

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

Part 1

The morning was just as torturous as Janus had expected it would be. He chewed through another pop-tart, this time bothering to actually check and see that it was a cinnamon-sugar one and drank three cups of caffeinated orange juice. Then, he waved his hand through the air and selected the first saved location on his device. He popped up directly behind his desk where he’d been standing the night morning before.

Someone, probably Remus, had shut his integrator down. He swiped a finger across the power button, and it flickered back on, scrolling through its morning start up routine.

The machine scanned through all of the data in the three main system it was connected to and sorted all information into things that concerned him, could concern him, and did not before then sorting the first two categories into order of importance. As it did, he set up his screen reader so he would hopefully not start the day with more of a migraine than he already had. It took about 3 seconds for everything to turn on and settle.

Sitting down in his desk, he dismissed the notification that Remus had finished and submitted the report from their mission the day before, before looking through the next things on his list. A mission had been scheduled for him today, and the details were in his inbox. A piece of time travel technology had been accidently dropped by an archology student in the 1890s during a trip. It was an earlier model of emergency time travel given to time travelers that would dump them back into the Registration Office in the year they originated. It wasn’t extremely dangerous, but could pose some problems, especially if someone who didn’t know what it was activated it.

Surveillance agents had tracked it down and found that it had been picked up by a local and sold. Though no one from that time had known what it was, they had identified that it was made out of a precious metal and it had been crafted into an expensive necklace. Janus and Remus were supposed to retrieve it today. It had been pinpointed that the most opportune time for the extraction was 1923 during a masquerade ball held by those who had bought the necklace. It was a fairly low stakes mission.

He wasn’t set to leave for another couple of hours, so he clicked through the rest of the important notifications and then set off to meet his missions coordinator, Rhi, in her office.

Rhi and Janus got along fairly well. She was a well put together woman who took her job incredibly seriously. It was fair as her job was to organize all information and materials from every other department and make sure the agents she was assigned to got and understood all of it. A mistake from her could lead to an agent’s death or something far worse.

This, of course, made her relationship with Remus… interesting to say the least. Janus could never place whether they were nemesis, frenemies, or mortal enemies, and he doubted he would ever know.

“Okay, but it’s the 1920s America,” Remus was already in her office arguing when Janus arrived. “There were so many gangsters! I could be a gangster. I would make a fantastic gangster! Just give me a gun, a snazzy suit with a white hat, and a buttload of alcohol. I will be running Chicago with Al Capone in five minutes.”

“Al Capone didn’t become a crime boss until 1925 and you are going to 1923,” Rhi said, sounding bored, “you aren’t going to Chicago, and as I have already stated, your cover is already decided.”

“But-”

“It is nonnegotiable, Agent Clockson,” she said firmly. Remus pouted, but seemingly accepted his fate.

“May I come in?” Janus asked.

“Please do,” Rhi said. “You have been to the 1920s before, correct?” she asked Janus.

“Yes ma’am.”

She tapped the screen on her desk in response. “In the last two years?”

“About two months ago,” he responded. She tapped something else.

“Any blacks, reds, or yellows?” she asked.

“All green.”

“Great. Do you need a refresher course on basic cultural or linguistic procedures?”

“No.”

She pushed one more thing and then swiped the check-in document over to him. He glanced at the report stating he’d had no incidents of any level the last time he visited the 1920s and had opted out of the optional refresher course, and then pressed his finger against the screen to sign it with his fingerprint.

The document returned to her side of the desk automatically. “Okay,” she said swiping another document from her left over to be in front of her. She twisted her wrist to copy it and slid copies to Janus and Remus. “Here are exact details on the time, place, and event you are going to, as well as details about your cover.” Janus scrolled through his quickly. It wasn’t as detailed as some he’d had considering this was a brief in-and-out mission, but he still took care to memorize everything on the page.

As he and Remus read through their things, Rhi got to her feet and turned to the storage compartments behind her desk.

She grabbed out two packages and when they’d both signed that they’d read and understood the paperwork, she slid them across the desk to them. “These have everything you need,” she said. “Clothes, money, and an invitation to the party you’re off to attend. You are to get changed now, have a last check in with costuming to make sure everything is in order, and then report to decontamination in 23 minutes. You’re set to leave in 38 minutes. Any questions?”

“How much-?” Remus started.

“None, agent,” Rhi said.

“But-”

“No alcohol,” Rhi said. “It is the prohibition era in the United States anyway.”

“Like there’s not going to be alcohol at the rich people party,” Remus said sullenly.

She pressed her lips together. “It is an in-and-out mission,” she said to both of them, and then turned to glare at Remus. “Do not get arrested.”

“I don’t know,” Remus said joyfully. “I think I still have room for a 1920s mug shot on my wall.”

“Behave,” she said, “or I’ll report you for the cat you smuggled in from the 1800s.”

“You’d never,” Remus said. “You enjoy the cute pictures of Diesel Fuel I send you every day too much, and you know it!”

“Just… don’t get arrested.” She turned to Janus. “Don’t let him get arrested.”

“I’ll do my best,” Janus promised, standing. “Now come on, Remus, we need to get changed.”

“You just want to see me naked,” Remus replied with a wink, but he did stand.

“If I see you naked one more time in my life Remus, my eyeballs will fall out of their sockets,” Janus said, waving to Rhi as he pulled Remus out of the door.

“Kinky.”

Janus’s eyeballs almost did fall out right then and there with how hard he rolled them.

They got changed quickly, Remus complaining and saying if he couldn’t dress like a gangster, he should at least be allowed to wear a flapper dress. Janus had long ago learned to ignore his ramblings. He did seem enthused about the included mask for the masquerade. It was a silver fox shaped mask with green accents that reminded Janus of the Egyptian God Anubis.

Janus’s own mask, on the other hand, was only designed to take up the left half of his face. It was mostly golden with a black swirled design. Attached to the side, there was a plume of golden tipped white feathers. He had to give it to the costuming department, they did have good taste.

Once they were both dressed, they were poked and prodded by one of the costumers to make sure everything was accurate, fit right, and had been put on correctly.

After that, they went to the decontamination area to have themselves and everything they were taking with them sterilized so they didn’t accidently take any pathogens to the 1920s. They also received an oral vaccination to be sure they didn’t pick up anything from the 1920s and bring it back.

Then they were ready to go. The correct time-space coordinates had already been sent to their timepieces. With a push of a button, they were off.

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

#sanders sides #janus sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #moceit #analogical #(eventually)#virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #remy sanders #emile sanders #folds in paper #folds in time universe #adriana writes

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jjonyangdan · 4 years

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[ oneus / son dongju (xion) ] ; fluff | college au | 1.2k words

→ it’s been quite a bit of time since the last time you spent time with dongju like this.

→ a/n: to the anon who requested, i’m sorry this took time to get out;; it was supposed to be done yesterday but i lacked motivation TT i was debating on what to write, as this wasn’t what i originally planned, as i think i might be making that into a mini drabble set series? so i apologise if this isn't what you expected;;;

online schooling has commenced for me, so it might take a bit of more time to work on the ravn college au drabble, but it is planned to be written next! thank you for requesting and i hope you’re fine with wait for the other half of your request 💚

The crisp breeze strokes your cheeks as you’re making yourself comfortable on one of the metallic chairs situated outside the brightly lit store, setting down various food products on the circular table in front of you. You can hear the sharp sound of the legs of a chair scraping against stone, your companion entering into your line of sight as they breathe vapour in the cold air and mirror your actions.

There’s a smile decorating your face, your eager fingers immediately leaping for one of the canned beverages as a metallic snap rings in the air and a reinvigorating rush floods your mouth. A refreshed sigh is released from your throat and you place the drink back down, reaching out for another one of the items scattered before you. “This is just what I needed after finally completing that tedious assignment.”

Dongju, who sits across you, flashes you a small smile and does a little cheer. “You did well~” he says, following his compliment with soft—and fluffy due to his sweater-paws—claps. “Now we can celebrate with food.” With a radiance shimmering in his eyes, he searches for his own snack out of the assortments laid out on the table to indulge in.

You giggle endearingly at his excitement and bob your head in agreement, enveloped by a coat of ease. “Thank you again for paying for everything. You really didn’t have to.” Fingers fumbling with the packet trapped in your hands, it takes quite a few tugs to finally split it apart but once the flavour has dissolved in your mouth the struggle is history and you’re peacefully munching on more of the chips.

“Don’t worry about that,” he stubbornly reassures, “you worked hard, so you deserve this.” His eyes aren’t trained on you but the colorful package within his grasp as he focuses to rip it open. You know how this is only a distraction so he doesn’t get swept up in the waves of doubt and contrition that could sometimes creep over him. “I couldn’t do much for you, so I want to make up for that with this even though it’s not really anything.”

“Nonsense. What are you going on about, Dongju?” Your lips dip into a frown as you set your half-eaten snack down and slide your hand gently into his. You lace your fingers together as they snuggly connect, fitting as if they are two perfect halves. “Just with you there beside me is more than enough, as cheesy as that sounds.” Hums flow peacefully past your lips, wafting in ripples, as you beam at him. “And besides, how does buying me drinks and food at the cafeteria when you didn’t have to equate to not doing much? You’ve been constantly taking care of me!”

He manages a shy smile at your heartfelt adulations, looking down from your dazzling smile. “Thank you...” it comes out as a timid whisper, fingers applying pressure to your hand. He can hear your endearing laughter soothing his ears, cooling the bashfulness warming his cheeks. The sound lingers and circulates within his chest as he watches you steal another sip of your drink, a look of pure satisfaction spreading across your visage.

“I should be sorry instead of not being able to spend time with you.” There’s a pout clenching your lips, dejection swimming in the pools of your (e/c) eyes as you sway your hands together side-to-side in a serene rhythm. “This is more than enough. I’m just glad I’m finally able to return to our little midnight dates like this.”

He silently coincides, a warm smile blooming on his soft features, as you both return to filling your stomachs with the goodies you’ve purchased, exchanging bursts of conversation here and there and sharing laughs.

Days with Dongju would often consist of trips like these, strolls around campus while admiring the scenery amidst the varying seasons or soft cuddle sessions in either yours or his dorm. Each moment spent with him was peaceful and sweet, full of loving whispering and comforting snuggling and a lot of playfulness. However, for the past month, you’ve been occupied with completing an important task for one of your classes which had limited the time you could spend with him. But with that out of the way now, you could now return to the little activities you always did with him.

You’re both exchanging bites and peacefully feeding each other. With a smile you have your chin cradled in your palms as you admire his beauty illuminated by the store’s light. You don’t understand how he can manage to look so adorable, so ethereal, whenever and wherever you saw him. He could be doing anything and you’d instantaneously be enchanted by his delicacy and fluidity when handling things (that is, unless you were to agitate him in some shape or form but he’s still cute like that).

Dongju looks up when your dreamy giggle brushes his ears, noticing your fixation on him. His head slants slightly to the side, but he allows himself to observe your wide grin for a while more. It’s difficult to not burst out into small laughter, finding your state lovable. “What’s wrong?” he asks when his voice decides to show itself, earning a questioning hum from you, “you’re staring at me.”

The only answer he receives after is of you curling your palms directly against his cheeks, greeting his skin with a sheet of coolness as you cup his face. “Your cheeks are all red,” you comment, a smile in your voice. “I’m trying to warm them up with my hands.”

“But your hands are cold as well?” He snickers in amusement, visage draped in a veil of amusement

“Oh? They are?” You laugh as well but don’t move to lift your hands away.

He, in turn, doesn’t pull away and instead shoots you a sweet smile. He softly takes hold of your hands, covering them with the sleeves of his sweater as he encases them within its snug wool. Peeling them off his countenance, he resumes to hug them together on the table between you both. “I’ll give you my own warmth this time. Be thankful~”

“Thank you, Dongju. I love you~” You quickly bounce forward to land a swift peck on his lip, which causes him to giggle out of shyness.

You’re then exhaling, your breath materialising like fog toward the sky as you feel the winds begin to adopt a sharp blade that slices against your skin. “It is getting colder though. I think we should start heading back now,” you say with a hum before eliciting a noise of realisation. “You don’t have classes tomorrow morning, right?”

“Nope~”

“You know what that means? We can cuddle ‘till noon!”

He finds himself smiling at your excited tone, but he’s just as set on the idea as you are. His eyes are trailing your form that springs to your feet, your hands dancing on the table as you’re beginning to gather the mess to discard. You’re quickly shooting him a look, one that urges him to aid you, which he does.

Afterwards, you’re both ambling back to his dorm. You have your arms around him, a skip in your step. He’s wearing a smile, glancing fondly at you out of his peripheral. It’s chilly but it doesn’t feel like it when you’re in close proximity with him and he can sense your warmth nuzzling into his side. It’s beginning to pacify him into a state of drowsiness and he can’t wait until he’s able to embrace you tightly to his chest and take in your existence and the fluttering of your heart, having missed you dearly as well.

#oneus #oneus scenarios #oneus imagines #oneus fluff #oneus xion #son dongju #dongju #oneus dongju #xion scenario #xion imagines #xion fluff #dongju scenarios #dongju imagines #dongju fluff #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop fluff

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nazaninlankarani · 3 years

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Reducing the Impact of the Packaging

Watch brands are developing presentation boxes of recycled or green materials, a sign of their concern for sustainability.

Top, watch cases made from recycled PET (polyethylene terephthalate) fabrics from Adatte Design, a family-owned industrial design studio in Lausanne, Switzerland.

From Tiffany’s blue box to Cartier’s red one, product packaging can produce powerful brand associations and create a visual appeal that awakens desire for the objects inside.

When it comes to high-end watches, oversize boxes in glossy exotic woods or covered in leather are industry mainstays, less for their practical utility than to help build a sense of luxury and reinforce the perceived quality of the products they contain. In the resale market, they impart an added sense of authenticity for buyers, who assign more value to a watch that is sold with its original box and papers.

Now, with consumer attitudes in favor of eco-friendly products, some brands are thinking “outside the box” and making sustainability a central component of a business strategy in which the packaging itself is a selling point.

“Big glossy wooden boxes are so dated,” said Jeremia Adatte, a designer and administrator at Adatte Design, an industrial design studio in Lausanne, Switzerland. “Who wants to see trees cut down to make a watch box?”

Adatte, a family-owned business founded by Mr. Adatte’s father, Georges, has been producing packaging for clients in different industries since 1991. “Packaging is more important today than ever,” Mr. Adatte said. “Just look how popular unboxing videos are on social media.”

With 20 graphic artists and designers, the company designs and produces packaging, display accessories and corporate gifts made from recycled and nonrecycled material. A partner factory in Shanghai handles nearly all of Adatte’s production, with some sourcing and finishing done locally in Switzerland or in Italy, France, Germany, Spain and the Czech Republic.

“Coming up with an original idea takes years of research and development, whether it is a new concept or a design to meet specs for a client,” Mr. Adatte said. “Our approach is innovation-focused, both in design and in sourcing new materials.”

Adatte’s website lists a number of watch brand clients, including Breitling, TAG Heuer and MB&F MAD Gallery, and the company said it had designed a variety of innovative packages, objects and display options for them. However, Mr. Adatte said he cannot be specific about projects, and most brands, when asked, would not even identify their suppliers.

“When you are creating a box with ‘poor’ materials, like cardboard or upcycled plastics, you need a strong design and that is attractive enough for an expensive watch,” Mr. Adatte said.

But designing sustainable packaging is not just about image. It can have a financial impact on the brand’s bottom line, especially when the solution is scalable.

“Today, brands look for innovative packaging because their customers care about waste,” Mr. Adatte said. “But beyond improving their image, lightweight, easily transportable boxes save brands money.”

Last month, Breitling introduced a foldable watch box made entirely of recycled PET, a plastic from bottles.

The side and front wings of the box fold up and fasten with snaps to create a 3-D shape. A travel pouch, also made of recycled PET, is included.

Breitling’s chief marketing officer, Tim Sayler, said that reducing the company’s carbon footprint and its shipping costs were winning arguments in its decision to adopt new packaging. Last month it introduced a foldable watch box made entirely of recycled PET, or polyethylene terephthalate, a plastic from bottles.

“Transportation is always an issue in sustainability,” Mr. Sayler said. “Our new box ships flat so it takes less space.”

A functional piece, its side and front wings fold up and fasten with snaps to create a 3-D shape. An inside pocket was designed to store the digital certificate of ownership that the brand recently introduced for its watches. A travel pouch, also made of recycled PET, is included.

The box may be recycled again, according to Breitling, if it is taken to a facility that handles recycled PET.

“This box,” Mr. Sayler said, “was designed by our team of in-house designers who work on everything from watches to collaterals to boutiques, with external input from partners who advised us on design and material sourcing." He would not identify the partners, but said the design process took 18 months.

Next year Breitling expects to use around 200,000 of the boxes, made by a German packaging supplier in China, for new watches. And, in an effort to reduce shipments, the boxes will be dispatched directly to boutiques or subsidiary markets rather than to Breitling’s Swiss headquarters, Mr. Sayler said.

Breitling is not the first brand to take this focus. In 2018, IWC Schaffhausen designed boxes that “contain 90 percent less plastic than previously, and 80 percent of the plastic remaining is recycled,” Franziska Gsell, IWC’s chief marketing officer and chairwoman of its Sustainability Committee, wrote in an email. The weight and volume of the boxes also were reduced by 30 percent.

Nepto, a Paris watch brand, said it used only recycled cardboard and paper for its boxes.

Why not abandon plastic altogether? The Paris-based watch brand Nepto uses only recycled cardboard and paper for its boxes, according to its founder, Vincent Ifrah, 33, who holds a degree in materials engineering. Nepto makes about 1,000 watches a year, with a starting price of 189.90 euros ($224). “Our boxes are 100 percent recycled and recyclable, and they look good, so you will not want to throw them away,” Mr. Ifrah said.

“There is really no reason to use plastic to make watch boxes today since we get the same quality using cardboard,” he said. “Ours are made in France at a very low cost, proof that it is perfectly doable.”

Recycled cardboard also is the packaging material most widely used by Oris, a Swiss watch brand. And, according to Rolf Studer, its co-chief executive, the business will become CO2-neutral next year by managing travel, reducing energy usage and several other steps.

“When we started talking about sustainability 10 years ago, everyone would yawn,” Mr. Studer said from the factory in Hölstein, Switzerland. “Now everyone is talking about it.”

Oris, a Swiss watch brand, said it mostly used recycled cardboard in its boxes. The box for The Clean Ocean Limited Edition diver watch is made partly of marine algae.

In partnership with Pacific Garbage Screening, a nonprofit association building a floating platform designed to capture ocean plastics, Oris last year released the Clean Ocean Limited Edition diver watch in a series of 2,000 (priced at 2,200 Swiss francs, the equivalent of $2,400). The watch came with a case back decorated with a medallion of recycled PET and was sold in a box made partly of marine algae and covered with recycled paper originally used to filter algae in Venice’s Grand Canal. A travel pouch of recycled cotton is to be added next year. “We want to bring attention to the fact that trash can have a second life even in a luxury product,” Mr. Studer said.

“Everything about owning luxury is changing,” he said. “Investing in luxury product only makes sense today when it is in something you love and will keep forever.”

[Source]

#nazanin lankarani #watches #oris #nepto #breitling #packaging

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yourvirtualgoddessforlife · 4 years

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Criminal: Jäger

I’ve grown to love spending time in here. The humming of machinery and buzzing or power tools is actually rather peaceful when you get past how loud it is. I’ve been in here a lot recently just helping out here and there whenever I can. Since joining Rainbow Six I quickly took to the team, trying to gain as many positive relationships with my teammates as possible because well it’s always useful to have people who want you alive. Helping out in the workshops around machines is normally where I am now so I know who frequents these areas. Normally I just catch a glimpse of Echo as he wanders off to improve his Yokai or maybe I sometimes even see Mute who has a fascinating affinity with technology and electrical engineering. On an average day, I’m with Mira seeing as she’s busy and all being Director of Research and Development. She needs the help and she’s lovely to be around, sure she’s a bit loud but I enjoy her company. In fact, I was just running an errand for her. Elena needs to make sure everyone’s tech is perfect and that it is as good as it can be so she’s been asking people to write reports about their gadgets and well the only one I need to collect in now is Jäger’s report. Elena is going to love this, just because I know he’ll have gone off on a tangent.

From my time in the workshops and test labs I've managed to get quite close to Jäger or Marius as he’d rather me call him. He’s kinda like a puppy; he’s really hyperactive and energetic but he also loves everyone and wants everyone to get along and he’s cute (from a strictly professional standpoint please don’t think anything more of it). I’m still not used to him sending me news article links at three in the morning but I do enjoy the moments where we just take a break and watch whatever new documentary we can find. I actually find the fact he wants to learn endearing, the fact he loves finding out about the world around him and then trying to spread this knowledge. Other than that, I just know that he can’t quite catch on to social cues and he tends to make some rash decisions but after working with him for so long I think it’s sweet.

“Hey, Marius. Did you write that report Elena asked for?” I pipe up once I’m close to him and he just looks up from his ADS to give me an energetic grin.

“Jä, it’s on that desk over there.” He finally stands up straight to look at me and I do have to admit he is good looking (from a professional standpoint, I swear) with that tremulous smile and suave accent. “I’ll fetch it for you, don’t worry”

“Can I proofread it? Don't want Elena to have a go at you for missing anything. Plus I’ve seen her responses to reading these so I know what she’s looking for.” I gently accept the file and in response to my question, he just nods and gives me that dorky smile. Flipping through the pages I let out a slight sigh because after just reading the first two paragraphs I know Elena is gonna get tense.

Reads as follows;

‘Device: ADS-MK IV "Magpie" Automated Defense System

Operator: Specialist Marius "Jäger" Streicher

Evaluation Lead: Specialist Marius "Jäger" Streicher

Mira tasked me with the evaluation of my ADS0MKIV "Magpie." Spending hours in a test lab sounds like my type of vacation - no joke. I'm always on the look-out for where things can be improved. For reference, I have attached the field test data for comparison. Data-Data-Data!

Before we get to that, let’s explore the importance of studying defensive strategies alongside breaching techniques throughout history, as well as the evolution of tech -’

Mira is gonna have fun reading the rest of this. “Thank you for this Marius, I’ll pass it along to Mira immediately.” Since when was he standing that close, a look into his eyes and give him my best smile as I turn around towards the direction of the exit.

“Y/N would you mind helping me out now?” He shyly cast the question to me as he turned back to his ADS. I told him I would help him the second I gave Mira his device evaluation. So I danced along to Elena and bounced whilst handing her the report before skipping straight back to Jäger. It’s not like the idea of spending time with him makes me happy but… it’s important to form a professional relationship with your colleagues.

I spent the rest of that day helping Jäger make improvements to his gadget until we called it quits for the day and threw on a documentary on rainforest wildlife. Then we did it again, it happened a lot. Our friendly relaxation days lasted for a few months only interjected with missions or other duties on every other occasion but today was one of the rare days we were to be deployed on a mission together. The only reason I wasn’t thrilled was because it was to siege a warehouse so a small thing but, it was one of my warehouses. I really wanted nothing to do with the gang anymore because I was honored to have the chance to do good so a walk down memory lane won’t be well received. Oh well. Nothing I can do about it.

I helped with the planning of this and it reminded me of how much I missed organizing an operation. Contributing information and ideas, make people see me as vital. During the briefing, it was revealing a group seven would entering the building, clear the area and the four of us are to hold off reinforcements while the other three operatives move items of interest to an extraction point. Jäger was assigned to defense although that wasn’t surprising, I, however, get to pick up a more assault based role. I am going to be the first in the and also I get the pleasure of carrying stolen weapons to the extraction point. When we were deployed everything went to plan. Whilst Ash and Blitz checked our exit route was viable I helped Jäger, Frost, Kapkan, and Doc set up before picking up my first cache and running. Nearly fifteen minutes had passed and I just needed to carry one more package before I could help someone else although it was clear they were nearly finished as well.

I was prowling along the corridor back to our defense point cautious of my surroundings. Somethings changed about this hallway since I was last here but I can’t place it, the atmosphere just seems heavier. At the very least it should be secure, Kapkan had trapped all its exits and entrances as well as Jäger lifting me up to place an ADS on the ceiling. As long as I keep my guard up I’ll be okay.

Entering the room of the firefight it was clear which side will come out victorious. I admired Marius’ skill as he landed a perfect shot on an attacker just barely peeking out from behind a crate. Those left in the room where hiding behind cover clearly hesitant to risk moving from their impenetrable cover. I know better than to disturb them so I grab a duffel bag and turn back to the hallway I just left. I got about two minutes down the corridor by the time I realized it, an opened window. I didn’t think anything of it in the past but upon inspection it's obvious that a Kapkan trap was torn from that window and the dusty footsteps, leading towards the defense room.

I panicked and I ran.

It was a good call, seeing as I now get to watch a man pull the pin of a grenade behind Doc and Jäger. How haven’t they heard him? Fuck if it matters. I grabbed him which was stupid but what was worse was my decision to spin us into the hallway and wrestle a live grenade of him. I threw it because originally yes I had an idea of what I was going to do before grabbing him and that was for Jäger’s ADS mounted on the ceiling to destroy it, what I wasn’t banking on was for the ADS to have been destroyed.

I didn’t feel too much of the blast I’d managed to throw it away and if anything the guy in front of me is in worse shape. Actually is he still alive? Yeah, he is, okay, what do I do with him? The correct answer would have been to incapacitate him but I clearly didn’t think of that. I also didn’t think about the possibility of a knife getting involved and I just accepted the attack. I

So imagine this, you had to grapple a guy only for a grenade to go off meters away from you and then you get stabbed but when you expect the knife to get lodged in your heart it goes into your thigh instead. I’m not expecting anything at this point because I wasn't expecting Jäger to take the guy out but he did and now I have a stab wound and a lot of confusion.

Doc came to me a moment later and took to taking care of my leg whilst Marius covered us. During this time we got blessed with the information that we could now withdraw from the field. Jäger was even kind enough to carry me to spare me torturing my injured limb. Although it wasn’t until we were guarded in an armored vehicle he chose to speak to me.

“I was worried.” It was that small sentence that tugged at my heart. I don’t want Marius to be afraid or worried so to hear him say that caused me concern but still I smiled and pulled him towards me in a cramped side hug. He settled in my embrace and relented that; “I was scared because you nearly died. You did it for me, right? I’m sorry my ADS wasn’t able to help. I even told you not to worry about grenades.”

“Don’t feel sorry about it, there was an ADS but unfortunately our assailant took it out. If anything I should have found a better solution other than tackling the man with a live grenade. If anything I should have recognized the security breach before he approached the main room.” I let go of him purely so I can remove his helmet and glasses which he seemingly appreciates as he looks at me with pure eyes filled with care, it’s cute. “Listen, I’m normally trying to look at things from a professional standpoint but I believe things here between us could maybe more of an emotional thing, y’know?”

You know the look a dog gives you when it’s confused, that's probably the best way to explain how he’s glancing at me. If I want him to understand this I just need to be blunt but that’s difficult. It’s a lot to demand, me being upfront about an emotional problem just doesn't feel right but it would definitely feel wrong if I didn’t say anything. No, I’ll do it another time and with this decision, I tilt my head away from his intense gaze.

“Y/N, I don’t want you to get hurt again. I know it sounds strange but I feel sad when you aren’t with me when you’re sad or just even knowing you’re not okay.”

“Well from an unprofessional view I believe I feel the same way you might and I believe it;’s because I've fallen in love.” I can’t say it, it’s cheesy, cliche, just wrong. Oh, fuck it. “I love you, Marius.”

“I love you too, Mäuschen.”

#jäger x reader #rainbow six siege x reader

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not-a-space-alien · 4 years

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Anniversary - or the Horsepersons realise they can get together outside of work

Hi everyone, I just realized today that I never posted my work from this past holiday exchange! Here was my entry, hope you enjoy!

Title: Anniversary

Rating: G

Word Count: 6k

Summary: The horsepersons are summoned for a second attempt at Armageddon, but soon an irritating pattern emerges.

A note about my illustrations: I trace stock photos for a lot of my basic shapes because I’m not good at that and really only enjoy the detail work and coloring, so I consider my “art” more like photo manipulation than original artwork, so just keep that in mind! This one is also partially based in TV canon and partially in book canon fyi

On DW

On AO3

“Who exactly summons them?”

“Not my department.”

************************

The department that did, in fact, summon the horsepersons was not Gabriel’s department, which was the Department of Earthly Affairs. Summoning the horsepersons, overseeing the signs of the end times, the rains of fish, and all that unpleasant business was a job that nobody really wanted. It was thought of as something Hell was supposed to do, but Heaven had to take responsibility for it, roll up their sleeves, and make sure it was done properly. It was shunted off onto whichever angels were unlucky enough to be assigned to the Department of Armageddon, which Gabriel had actually fought tooth and nail to leave.

The Department of Armageddon’s entire purpose was to prepare for the end times: to meticulously plan it out and ensure it went off smoothly. As these things tend to go, the least desirable job got pushed off onto whomever was lowest on the command chain, or at least the one too polite or too much of a pushover to refuse the job. And nobody really wanted to interact with the horsepersons. The DoA was filled with poor souls who had been toughing out a job they’d hated for six-thousand years. It would take a toll on anyone.

The reader can probably imagine that Aziraphale is less popular with the Department of Armageddon than any other angels, who unfortunately already find him quite annoying.

But this story is not about Aziraphale. It’s not even about Ambriel, the angel responsible for summoning the horsepersons.

No, this story is about the horsepersons, who lined up for Armageddon in the year of 1991 with great fervor and excitement, giddily straddling their motorcycles, finally able to run wild. The way that one had fizzled out was quite a disappointment to them all.

Adam had banished them for a bit, and that had been no fun, but it’s impossible to do away with Famine, War, and Pollution as long as humans exist. So they eventually reformed, springing from the minds of men and being unleashed back onto the world.

Somewhere in Europe, freshly spilled blood steamed and boiled, and War rose up, with blood smeared over her naked body like a newborn baby. In Asia, in a field covered by vultures feasting on the carcass of an emaciated cow, Famine sat up, looking around disoriented and missing his fancy suits. On the West Coast of the United States, Pollution washed ashore, having drifted for a while after being spawned from the Great Pacific garbage patch. They picked seaweed out of their hair and took a few moments to orient themselves. The last thing they remembered was staring down Adam Young. And as they realised what had happened, they thought the exact same thing their two companions were thinking at that exact moment:

Aw, man!

*********************************

In August 1992, the brave soul known simply as ‘the deliveryman’ had been contracted once again. The request was again from someone named Ambriel, by whom he had been contracted at this precise time last year, and for the exact same reason: To make four deliveries in various parts of the world to varyingly strange customers.

He didn’t really want to go, but it was his job, so there he was braving the quite literally riotous streets of a war-torn country scouring the chaos for a particular woman.

War had gone back to doing her reporter schtick, but it was starting to bore her. She was interviewing an American soldier as he prattled on and on, pretending to write it down*, thinking about what her next possible career could be. Probably somewhere in the American Military-Industrial complex, she thought.

*******

*She was currently drawing a sketch of him decapitated on the battlefield.

*******

This is how the deliveryman found her. He doubled over panting from the exertion of running up to her, but managed to wheeze out, “Package for you, Miss.”

War turned to him, an intensely puzzled look on her face. “What?”

“Package for you.”

War turned her back on the soldier. “You again? Aren’t you the same…. You have another package for me?”

He held it out. It was suspiciously sword-shaped.

“But... “ She took the package and unwrapped it. It was indeed a sword, long and shiny polished metal glittering in the harsh sun. “But this means Armageddon is near. Again?”

The deliveryman held out the signature pad hopefully.

She looked at him.

“I need you to sign for it, miss.”

“But we just did this.”

“This, ma’am?”

“Receiving our artifacts. Riding to Armageddon. The whole nine yards.”

“I do recall delivering this same sword to you last year. Afraid I don’t know anything about it, though. I’m just the deliveryman.”

“Are we doing it all again?”

“Afraid I don’t know, ma’am. I just need you to sign for it, please.”

War held the sword out in both her hands, seeing her reflection in its length. “That was one year ago today,” she realised. “A year was all they decided to wait? It took six-thousand to get ready the first time.”

Hope fading, the deliveryman stretched his arms out to full length to get the pen and pad as close to her as possible. “Just need a signature, miss.”

War relented and took the pen, ripping the paper under the force of her signature. The deliveryman looked a bit put off and shuffled away, unenthusiastic about his next delivery, which would require him to pick along an extremely dirty industrial oil field.

The soldier waited around to hopefully continue bragging about how brave he was, but War ignored him. She simply continued to stare at the sword. All she said was:

“Huh.”

***************************************

“Here we all are, gathered together at last.”

Famine was the one to made this proclamation. He said this to both War and Pollution, who were uncertainly standing around their motorcycles. This time they had been summoned directly to the barren field of Armageddon, which was, as it had been at this time last year, distressingly empty.

“Just saw you last year,” said Pollution. “Not quite ‘at last’ anymore, is it?.”

Famine gave them a dirty look. “Yes, well, it’s what we said last year. Seems only right to say it again.”

“They’re trying to make Armageddon happen again on the anniversary of it failing,” said War. “Is that what’s up?”

“It is significant, isn’t it?” said Pollution. “I was thinking about having some sort of celebration anyway. One year and all that. Seems like we should commemorate it somehow.”

“That’s stupid,” said Famine. Famine usually hated commemorating things because anniversaries and celebrations always seemed to involve good food and drink. Eat, drink, and be miserable was usually how it went for him.

“Anyway,” said War, “what are we waiting for? The Big Guy’s not here yet, but shouldn’t there be, I don’t know, some sort of preliminaries going on? Wasn’t there all sorts of wacky stuff going on last year, storm in the sky, showers of fish and all that?”

A figure could be seen spiraling downwards from the sky, wings spread wide. Pollution shielded their face with their hand and stared up past the sun. “Who’s’at?”

The figure revealed itself to be an angel, a jaunty figure with a halo struggling to keep up with his erratic motion, floating just behind his head as he ran full-speed towards them.

“And who might you be?” said Famine.

The angel huffed and puffed. “The name’s--the name is Ambriel.” He caught his breath and looked around at the gathering. “Where is Death?”

As if on cue, Death appeared with a small pop of expanding air. I HAVE NEVER HAD TO KILL THE SAME HUMAN TWICE, said Death. AND I DO NOT ENJOY THE EXPERIENCE. NEITHER DID HE. WHATEVER YOU ARE PAYING THE DELIVERYMAN, YOU NEED TO PAY HIM MORE.

“Pay?” said Ambriel. “Oh, that’s right.” He snapped his fingers, and the deliveryman’s bank account balance was suddenly a few digits larger, for all the good it would do a dead man.

“So your name’s Ambriel,” said War. “But who are you?”

“I’m the one responsible for making sure the horsepersons are present at Armageddon!” he crowed.

Famine craned his neck towards the empty, blue, peaceful, quiet, decidedly-not-Armageddon sky. Pollution kicked a rock through the soft grass. War scratched her head.

WE ARE HERE, said Death.

“But where’s Armageddon?” said War. “We don’t start it. That’s the antichrist.”

“Ah,” said Ambriel, sweating. “Yes, well, we’re still working on that. It was supposed to happen a year ago, you see…”

“Yes, you summoned us on the anniversary,” said Pollution. “Are we going to do it again?”

“Turn the seas to blood?” said War, shaking her fists.

“Unleash ourselves upon the planet until nothing’s left but bones and bare rock?” said Famine, a sparkle in his eye.

“Bury humanity in the consequences of its own actions?” said Pollution giddily.

Ambriel grimaced as the three of them crowded in on him, pumping their fists in excitement.

THE FINAL REAPING, said Death.

“Yes,” said Ambriel. “Um, yes, for sure, about that…”

The excitement on their faces began to fade.

“Well, you see, I’d thought everything would be ready to go by now. The timeline they gave me for re-setting the Armageddon fittings was one year! It should be well underway by now, but…”

War and Famine looked at each other disappointedly. “But what?” said Pollution.

“But they’re not done with the paperwork yet,” said Ambriel, crumpling. “There’s been delays and delays and delays. Our field agent won’t cooperate. Hell won’t cooperate. The other departments won’t cooperate. It’s a bloody mess!”

“That sounds like your problem,” said War. “What do you want us to do about it?”

Ambriel wrung his hands. “Well, I...I don’t know.”

War pouted. “All right, well, this was a bust, then.” She spun on her heel and marched across the field. “Call me when there’s some action for me, then, love.”

“Wait!” cried Ambriel. “Don’t leave!”

“I’ll be down by the river,” said Pollution. “It’s been looking a bit too clean for my taste. Too many local community day cleanups, if you ask me.”

Ambriel nervously stuttered as Pollution sauntered away in the opposite direction. Then he looked at Famine. “I suppose you’re going to leave me, too?”

Famine checked his very expensive watch. “Well, my flight back to America doesn’t leave until five o’clock, so I might hang around a bit and see if you can kick off Armageddon in the next two hours.”

*************************************

August 25, 1993

Pollution was the first one to show up this time, bearing a wine bottle and a little party hat affixed in their pale hair. They’d worn the crown this whole time, so their head was starting to get a little crowded on top.

War had kept her sword. It was slung casually over her shoulder as she picked her way across the empty field where Armageddon ostensibly was supposed to take place. Only Famine had returned his artifact to Ambriel, because he thought modern electronic balances were much more efficient and chic than traditional balancing scales anyway, and he stood waiting to meet her empty-handed.

“Back again,” said War. “I just got a letter in the mail this time, no deliveryman. You?”

“The same,” said Famine. “They’re lucky I got it. Our mail gets filtered pretty thoroughly before it lands on my desk. Pretty rude too, I had to drop everything to run on over...I thin heaven should start reimbursing me for the travel costs.”

Death popped into existence beside Pollution. Ambriel was holding onto his arm, looking frightened.

THERE, YOU SEE? said Death. NO NEED TO KILL ANYONE TO GET A MESSAGE TO ME. WE CAN SKIP THAT AND HEAD RIGHT ON OVER TO ARMAGEDDON TOGETHER.

“Right,” said Ambriel. “Sorry.” He straightened his tunic and marched out in front of the semicircle of horsepersons. “Welcome to Armageddon!” he loudly announced. “It begins now!”

“I don’t see any signs of the end times--” Pollution began.

“Yet!” Ambriel thundered. “They shall begin any moment!”

Pollution popped open the wine bottle. “Yay.”

Ambriel, his hands still raised dramatically, began to sweat.

“The paperwork still isn’t done, is it?” said War.

“The paperwork still isn’t done,” said Ambriel, shoulders sagging.

“Then why did you call us here?” said Famine. “Look, I’m a busy man. I run a corporate empire, you know!”

“I thought it would be done!” said Ambriel, wringing his hands. “We’re just… We’re waiting on our field agent, Aziraphale. He hasn’t turned in his forms yet, and he won’t answer my messages.”

“Should we go find this Aziraphale guy and teach him a lesson?” said War.

“A lesson about punctuality in filling out paperwork?” said Pollution. “Are you sure you’re the best one to teach him that lesson?”

“All right, all right,” said Famine. “Look, Ambriel, is there anything we can do to move things along? This is the third time in a row--”

“The second anniversary,” Pollution interrupted.

“--Right, thanks, White--the third time we’ve done our ride and gone to Armageddon. It’s starting to get a bit anticlimactic.”

“That’s his job, not ours,” said War. “Pfft. Black, what’s next? You want to tempt sinners to Hell? Reap souls after death? Who else’s job do you want to do?”

Famine grew red. “I’m just saying--”

“Well, whatever,” said War, slinging her sword back into the sheath strapped across her back. She hooked her arm around Famine’s head and gave him a noogie. “We can kill some time while Ambriel finishes preparing for Armageddon.”

HMMM, said Death. YES...SINCE IT SEEMS LIKE TIME IS THE ONLY THING WE’LL BE KILLING.

******************************

August 25, 1994

Famine kept his scales this time. Their home for the next year was the corner of his desk in his office on top of 666 Fifth Avenue, right next to his extremely slim computer.

Famine played with the chain, strangely delicate and cold, when an email popped up on his computer.

To the Black horseperson of the apocalypse:

Please meet us at the appropriate place at the appropriate time. The end is nigh. The four horsemen shall ride and the world shall end in fire and blood..

Famine started to type a response. But before he could, his computer dinged with a reply: all to the previous email, from [email protected]:

Can I bring a plus one this time?

A few days and a few thousand miles later, Famine trekked over the dry ground of Armageddon with his scales in hand. Pollution and War were already standing in the middle of the field, the exact same place Ambriel had appeared the last three years.

War had a demoness hanging off her arm.

“Ah, Black!” said War. “Just in time. I was just in the process of introducing my girlfriend, Ashtarte.”

“Call me Ash,” said Ashtarte. A smile, too broad and with too many teeth that were too sharp, spread Cheshire cat-like across her features. She wore a punk mesh top, red boots, and had a little pair of horns and forked tail, like she was trying to impersonate a Halloween costume of a demon.

“Uh, okay, Ash,” said Famine.

“The Black horseperson of the apocalypse!” said Ash. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Big fan of your work!”

“Big fan?” said Famine. He straightened his tie. “Thanks very much.”

“We met over cocktails in a little bar in Saudia Arabia,” said War. “Making fun of the same reporters.”

Ash held up her hand in a “V” pose.

“None of us have ever really, uh…” said Famine.

“Had a girlfriend?” said War. “You don’t know that.”

Famine fidgeted. “So you have had a girlfriend?”

“Er, well, no, not really,” said War. She hefted Ash onto her shoulder and flexed her bicep; the smaller woman fit snugly into her shoulder. “But you should try it sometime! Armageddon keeps getting delayed, so we might as well enjoy our time here, right?”

“But what’s the appeal?”

“I think he doesn’t understand it,” said Pollution, “because he can’t even imagine how to get a girlfriend.”

Death appeared stormily, his biker boots thumping against the ground a bit too hard. AND WHERE IS OUR SUMMONER?

“Not here yet,” said Pollution, fiddling with the wine bottle they held. “But why don’t we have some drinks first? Enjoy our time here, right?”

They summoned a card table from somewhere, and Pollution pulled up a seat and patted the one next to them in the hope of coaxing Death to sit down. Famine ambivalently sat down next to War, who had Ash on her lap.

WE’RE NOT HAVING A PARTY, said Death. WE’RE HERE FOR BUSINESS REASONS.

“Sit down, big guy,” said Famine. “Nothing wrong with loosening up a little.”

Death remained motionless for a few moments, tense with annoyance. Then, his biker leathers crinkling, he lowered himself into a seat. BUT I WON’T HAVE ANYTHING TO DRINK.

“Aw,” said Pollution, popping the cork off the bottle. “Do you not like it?”

Death’s helmet visor reflected Pollution’s face impassively back at them as they poured drinks.

“Have you never drunk alcohol before?” said War.

Death didn’t answer.

“You haven’t, have you?” said Famine. “Do you want to try some?”

Death lifted his helmet off his head, setting it on his lap. Then he removed one leather glove, revealing his bony hand. The white stalk snaked out and curled around a glass, bringing it to his skeletal grin. The wine dribbled through his jaw and onto his leather jacket.

Famine grimaced. Pollution thought his jacket looked better with stains on it, but didn’t say so. They passed the next half hour in jovial conversation, the wine warming their bodies and lifting their spirits. Ash withdrew a deck of cards from her pocket, which entertained them as they laughed and joked.

They were all quite drunk by the time Ambriel arrived. He sprinted over at top speed, careening into the table. “What are you all doing?”

“We’re having a drink!” said Ash, waving her glass in the air and sloshing wine.

“Wh—” Ambriel took a second to look very confused at the appearance of a fifth horseperson, then shook it off and decided it didn’t matter. “Whatever! Get up, put this stuff away! Armageddon is starting!”

“For real this time?” said Pollution.

A second angel could be seen descending from Heaven. “Yes, for real this time!” Ambriel exploded. “The archangel Michael is on his way! Now get ready!”

War rolled her eyes and folded up the table. Pollution disappointedly retrieved the half-empty wine bottle, sipping from it as they walked over to Ambriel.

Michael touched down, his impressive dusky wingspan battering them with dusty clouds. “Ambriel, I was told the armies of Hell are gathering here, yes?”

“Yes!” said Ambriel. “The antichrist is coming. He’s on his way now.”

“He’s…” Michael looked over the the horsepersons. Famine shrugged. War examined her nails. Pollution continued to sip from their bottle. Death very stormily crossed his arms.

“He’s supposed to already be here,” said Michael. “I don’t see any of the signs of Armageddon…”

“I gave the antichrist Adam Young a very stern lecture about his role, and demanded he come to Armageddon,” said Ambriel. “And he said he was coming.”

Pollution cocked their head. “He said he was coming?”

“Yes. His exact words were, ‘Okay, Boomer.’”

Pollution choked, wine shooting out their nose.

***************************

August 25, 1998

“Can we meet at your restaurant next time?”

Famine turned to Pollution, the only other figure with him at the yet again empty field of Armageddon. “What?”

“The next time this happens, can we meet at one of your restaurants?”

Famine sighed. The first few times this had happened, he’d argued that they didn’t know there was going to be a ‘next time,’ but by now, the anniversary of the Apocalypse usually heralded them gathering to stand around for a while and not much else. “I doubt Ambriel would go for that. We’re supposed to be in this spot.”

Pollution shifted from foot to foot. “But the Newtrition corp has expanded, right? It has branches around here now. It wouldn’t be that far.”

“You don’t want to eat at my restaurant,” said Famine, trying to hide his shock that Pollution was so familiar with his franchise. He hadn’t thought any of the other horsepersons had cared about his silly little business. Although it was nice that someone was paying attention. “Why not?” said Pollution. “It seems nice. It produces lots of waste paper. And styrofoam cartons. Love those things.”

“It doesn’t serve actual food,” said Famine. “Just a bunch of nonsense. It has no nutritional value.”

“Well,” said Pollution. “We don’t actually need to eat, do we? Back in the forties, I went a good decade without eating. Too busy with the mills in Pittsburgh to stop and eat.”

Famine opened his mouth to deliver a snappy retort, only to find he didn’t have one.

“‘Course that was before I took the crown from Pestilence, so I was just a minor horseperson then. Well, my point is, it’s not like we’ll be affected by malnutrition. As long as it tastes good, right?”

Famine lit a cigarette. “If you want to look at it that way, I suppose.”

The rumble of a motorcycle filled the air, and War pulled up with Ash perched on the back of her bike.

“We can’t meet at my restaurant,” said Famine. “That’s inappropriate.” He wasn’t sure why the idea made him so uncomfortable, and he turned to greet War. “Red.”

“Black,” said War, dismounting. She put her bike helmet on the saddle as Ash fell off behind her. “Hey, you don’t have to call me ‘Red,’ you know.”

Famine stopped. “What?”

“I have a name.”

Famine bristled. “Whatever. Where’s that stupid little twig of an angel this time?”

“Geez, who pissed in your cereal,” said Ash, dusting herself off.

“I’m just getting a little tired of this!” said Famine. “I have to fly over from America every year in August only to be told to go right back home!”

Pollution opened a bag of crisps, savoring the grease. They looked disappointedly into the bag. “Black.”

“What?”

“Don’t ruin my crisps!”

“I’m not ruining your—” Famine suddenly realised he was ruining the crisps, because he was so damn frustrated by how inefficient Heaven and Armageddon and this whole thing was. He was used to running things like a well-oiled machine, and this….

“Black, stop ruining the poor kid’s crisps,” said War.

“You’ve never appreciated my work,” Famine snapped.

Ambriel chose this moment to appear. “All right, everyone!” he said. “This time I’ve really—”

“Black, I was very much looking forward to my crisps!” Pollution said.

“You all only notice how hard I work when it affects you!” said Famine. “I’m the only one putting real effortinto building an empire—”

“You’re the only one?” said Pollution.

Scared, Ambriel hid behind his clipboard, unsure of how to wrangle them.

Famine suddenly realised that War was gleefully egging on the fight between him and Pollution with her horseperson powers. “Red!”

The tension in the air immediately dissipated, and War slunk back, looking chastised.

His head more clear now, Famine smoothed out his tie. The booted footsteps of Death reverberated in the air before he made his appearance. AND HOW MANY ANNIVERSARIES IS THIS NOW? I’VE LOST COUNT.

“You’re late,” said Ambriel snootily.

Death turned to him. Even though he had no face to speak of, and still had his helmet on, everyone could clearly imagine the expression he would make.

“Seven,” said Pollution through a mouthful of crisps.

A second angel descended from the sky, this one unhurried, dragging its proverbial feet.

AND DO I HAVE ANYTHING TO BE LATE FOR THIS TIME? said Death.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” said Ambriel. “Because I have with me the field agent who was responsible for delaying Armageddon last time. So now he’s going to kick it off.”

A chubby angel with oodles of curly hair touched down, looking around guiltily. “Er, hello...I’m Aziraphale.”

“Oh, you looked nicer in a dress,” said Pollution.

“All right,” said Ambriel. “Let’s go, then. Go on.”

Aziraphale shuffled his feet.

“Don’t we need the antichrist?” volunteered Famine.

“The antichrist is unavailable,” said Ambriel icily. “We’ll have to make do without him.”

“Unavailable?!” exclaimed War.

“He means Adam Young doesn’t want Armageddon to happen,” said Aziraphale, who then shut up right quick at an elbow jab from Ambriel.

“You can make it happen without the antichrist?” said Pollution, crunching through a mouthful of crisps. “Thought was the whole point of him. So how does it work?”

“Ahem,” said Ambriel. “That is none of your concern. Just worry about your own part. Now, let’s begin.”

Ambriel stepped forward to direct the horsepersons. War kept looking up at the sky, noticing Armageddon didn’t seem to be happening. Pollution licked their fingers, other hand firmly stuck in their crisps packet.

“And now Aziraphale will--Aziraphale?”

While Ambriel had had his back turned, Aziraphale had scuttled off, wings drawn wide and flapping erratically like a prey animal running from a fox. “Ahhh! Get back here!”

Ambriel went off chasing him. War stood where she was, sword poised, and watched him go. “Um…”

Pollution finished their packet of crisps and dropped it on the ground, wiping their hands on their shirt. “Is he coming back?”

They stayed there for about half an hour waiting for Ambriel, and decided he wasn’t coming back. Ash sweet-talked War into hitting the bars after that. They managed to convince everyone but Death to come along, too.

*************************

August 25, 2001

“Hey, why does it take an apocalypse for us to get together?” said War.

Pollution picked idly at the tablecloth on the little picnic table they had summoned. They were trying to decide if ketchup or mustard would make better stains on it. “Hmm?”

War straddled the bench, picking at the picnic basket. “I mean, I know not everyone likes to spend time with their coworkers outside of work, but there’s nothing stopping us from getting together outside of Armageddon, right?”

Pollution stopped. “Hmm?”

“She’s saying she wants to spend more time with you guys,” said Ash.

“We can do that?!” Pollution said.

“Well, yeah, I guess,” said War.

Pollution’s eyes sparkled.

“Come sit down and enjoy this little basket you put together,” said Ash. “It looks lovely.”

The weather was fabulous, once again with no signs of the inclement weather heralding Armageddon, and a delicious breeze tugged at them and whipping waves through the dry summer grass. Pollution fished out some plastic utensils and set them out on the table.

Ash took a sandwich from the basket. It definitely had worms of some sort in it, but being from Hell, she was used to such things.

“Where’s Famine, anyway?” said Pollution, setting a pile of napkins on the table and watching them immediately blow away in the wind.

“Oh, he’s coming!” said War. “And he said he was bringing a plus one this year.”

“A plus one?”

“Sounds like he’s got a girlfriend too. Or boyfriend. Or what-have-you.”

Pollution scratched their head. “Wonder who it could be.”

With a rustle of grass, Death stood beside them.

“Come sit down!” said War. “We’ve been waiting for you!”

Death looked at them contemplatively. I DIDN’T RECEIVE A SUMMONS THIS YEAR.

“Huh,” said Pollution, letting their sandwich wrapper fall to the ground. “I just realised, neither did I.”

“Yeah,” said War, waving her hand dismissively. “But after doing this annually for ten years, I think we get the point, right?”

Death stood like a silent sentinel. Death was rarely the type to display any emotion at all, but to War and Pollution, it looked like he was fighting to not indulge in some unconventional display of sentiment.

A smile spread across War’s face. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

I JUST WANTED TO SEE IF I WAS NEEDED THIS YEAR, said Death.

“Well, Armageddon is probably delayed again,” said War. “So you’re not, really. You’re free to leave.”

Death stood still.

“Come sit down,” said Ash, patting the bench. “You’re always so serious.”

Death clomped over and swung his enormous legs over the wooden bench.

“Heard Famine’s got himself a new squeeze,” gossiped War.

OH, said Death. YES…

The grass in the field next to them dried up, swirling brittle pieces making a small tornado, and with a mournful nicker, a skeletal horse materialized. Its emaciated frame was oozing with dripping wounds and festering decay. Atop its back was a figure in a white robe with a long, beaked mask.

Famine pulled up on his motorcycle. “Fellas, good to see you again!”

“It’s been a very long time,” said the newcomer, although no, he wasn’t new at all…

“You brought Pestilence!” Pollution yelled. “He’s not a horseperson anymore! I replaced him!”

“Tsk tsk, you young punk,” said Pestilence, dismounting. “No respect at all.”

Pollution glared.

“He’s not here as a horseperson,” said Famine. “He’s my plus one.”

“That’s cheating!” said Pollution.

Pestilence winked, which was absolutely infuriating.

Pollution crossed their arms as Famine and Pestilence took their seats. “This looks delightful,” said Pestilence, taking a crisp from a bowl.

Pollution grumbled. Famine was a little disgruntled that they had set up a nice meal, but he muttered an echo of Pestilence’s praise.

“It’s just weird,” said Pollution. “It’s like you’re dating my dad.”

“I’m not your Dad,” said Pestilence. “We barely met before you kicked me out.”

“I think you just don’t like Pestilence,” said Famine.

Pollution bristled. “Maybe.”

Famine shrugged. Somewhere in the world, the minor horseperson of Awkward Interpersonal Issues felt their power surge.

“It’s because they’re afraid I’ll wrangle the job of horseperson #3 from them,” said Pestilence. “The anti-vax moms in the United States are making them nervous.”

Pollution’s cheeks went red.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that,” said Pestilence. “I don’t want to be one of the Main Four anymore. It’s quite dull. The humans’ attitude towards smallpox ruined the fun for me. Some of my best work, all down the drain. Feff.” He sipped some cola. “But you seem to be doing a splendid job. I hear nowadays everyone’s mad about straws, of all things.”

Pollution perked up. The atmosphere at the table was much lighter after that.

“Isn’t Ambriel going to show up?” said War. “Usually right about now is when he comes down, babbling about how Armageddon is really going to happen this time, and how we need to get ready.”

Pestilence scratched his head. “Ambriel? He’s the one who had to come tell me they were swapping me out for Pollution. He still works in the Department of Armageddon? Poor sod always got the worst jobs pushed onto him.”

Ambriel did, in fact, show up eventually. He had none of his usual bravado. He dragged his sandaled feet through the dirt and flopped down to join them at the picnic table. The four of them shared a look, then looked back at Ambriel. “Hey, kid, what’s wrong?” said Famine.

“Useless,” said Ambriel. “It’s all useless. Nothing I do ever works. No matter how hard I try, Heaven can’t get its crap together to make Armageddon happen. Oh, pardon my language.”

“Hey, cheer up,” said Pollution. “The first time we tried, the four of us got beaten by little kids with sticks and rocks. That’s way more humiliating than anything you’ve had to go through.”

Famine glared at Pollution. Pollution unwrapped a lolly, enjoying the crinkling of the wrapper.

Ambriel thunked his head on the table, groaning. “No use, it’s no use!”

“Well, we’re all having a lovely time anyway!” said Ash. “August 25 is my favorite day of the year now!”

“It’s supposed to be Armageddon,” moaned Ambriel. “It’s not supposed to be a celebration.”

War stabbed a little cocktail weiner with her Bowie knife. “We’ve been known to celebrate in unconventional ways.”

***************************

Present day

“1845.”

“No, that was you?”

Pollution sucked on their choco-whippy milkshake, eyes bouncing from War to Pestilence.

“Yep,” said Pestilence, leaning back, looking very pleased with himself.

“I thought for sure that was Famine,” said War.

“I wish,” said Famine. “I had been working in Ireland for a few years at that point, but hadn’t had much success.”

“Phytophthora infestans,” said Pestilence. “One of my favorites.

“He refuses to lend it to me,” said Famine. “Greedy bastard.”

“Not your jurisdiction.”

They all shared a hearty laugh.

“Oh, Pollution,” said War, snapping her fingers. “I just remembered. That science project we were talking about the other day, the bacteria that humans were cultivating to break down plastic.”

Pollution’s face screwed up in displeasure.

“I was working on trying to divert some of the NHS’s funding into more bioweapon applications. Maybe if you do me a little favor in return, I can get their funding pulled?”

Pollution nodded happily, sucking through their straw.

“Hey, here he comes!” said War, throwing up her hand.

Death strode over, standing at the edge of the table.

“Sit down,” said Ash, patting the seat. “We’re having a lovely time.”

I HAVE… said Death. If it were possible, he seemed embarrassed.

“What?” said Pollution.

I HAVE ALSO BROUGHT A PLUS ONE.

“What, a boyfriend?” said Pestilence.

NOT LIKE THAT…. said Death. He reached into his jacket and withdrew a small bundle of fur, which blinked and mewled.

Ash had stars in her eyes, putting her hands on her head as though to keep her brain from exploding out. “Is that a kitten?”

I FOUND IT OUTSIDE.

“It’s so cute!” said Pollution.

I HAD NEVER NOTICED THEM BEFORE, said Death. THEY ARE...NICE.

“Well, nothing wrong with enjoying the pleasures of the world,” said Famine. “Since it seems like we’ll be here for a while.”

Death sat down, putting the cat on the table. The minimum wage employees scrambling to make the food didn’t have the time to notice or care.

“We were just discussing some of the other anniversaries we have besides August 25,” said War. “Turns out we have quite a lot of them! We should share.”

Death was silent.

“February 14,” said War. “The start of the first War in Mesopotamia. That was my favorite one. I find the date so deliciously funny with what they’ve done with it now.”

“September 27,” said Pollution. “When the first mass-produced automobile left the factory.”

“What about you?” siad Famine.

“Black’s right,” said Pollution. “You must have one.”

Death hummed for a minute. Then: NOVEMBER 16. THE DAY THE FIRST MAN DIED.

“And kicked all this off,” said Famine. “I’ll drink to that.”

They clinked their glasses against each other’s.

“Hey,” said Famine. “You guys have been calling me ‘Black,’ this whole time, and while I guess it’s technically what I am…. Well, I picked a name. A more human name. You could use it, if you like.”

“Would you like that?” said Pollution.

“I think so. It’s Sable.”

“Raven Sable,” said War. “That’s right. I like it.”

“What about you?” said Sable. “Don’t you have one?”

“Oh, yeah!” said War. “Wouldn’t that just be great! Call me Carmine.”

“It’s such a good name!” said Ash joyfully.

Carmine beamed. She’d never known this would feel good, but it did.

Pollution shyly tapped their fingers on the table. “Chalk, please.”

All eyes turned towards Death.

“Well?” said Chalk. “Only if you want to.”

AZRAEL.

“It’s perfect,” said Ash.

Sable snapped his fingers. “Guys, hold on a second, I just remembered something.”

“Hm?” said Chalk.

“August 25. Armageddon.”

“So?” said Carmine. “That never happens anyway.”

“Well, we were so excited to meet we forgot we were supposed to go to Armageddon first.”

Carmine choked on the pickle she had been eating. “Oh yeah,” said Ash, very slowly. “I guess that’s fine, though. But, oh dear… Did anyone tell Ambriel?”

Azrael grinned, moreso than a regular skeletal grin. I’M SURE HE’S DOING JUST FINE.

“I’ve got it! I’ve finally got it!”

Ambriel, almost tripping over his robes, waved his papers in the air as he sprinted towards Armageddon. “I finally have all the departments in accord, the stars have aligned, the paperwork is signed, the—”

Ambriel stopped and beheld the field of Armageddon, butterflies floating by and flowers bouncing merrily, very conspicuously empty and peaceful and not trodden by the harbingers of Armageddon.

“Oh, dear…”

#good omens #my writing #my good omens fanfic #gohe

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