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ohtobemare · 21 days

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118 ➤ Terra Nova Commander Nathaniel Taylor x fem!OC

summary: "For them, it was just the blink of an eye. For us? 118 days." It's a long time to be alone with someone you barely know. 'Lotta days of wondering if this was it, the grandiose dream of Terra Nova they'd all been promised. But it's also a good chunk of time to change minds, to form new opinions. To give —your heart; ideas, your future —away. This is ground zero.

pairings: Commander Nathaniel Taylor x fem!OC

warnings: age gap, complete canon deviation/rewrite, Jurassic Park elements, a whole lot of made up futuristic tech, survival technique based on limited research, convenience marriage to lovers, messing with the Terra Nova timeline, age of the earth/sciencey opinions, conspiracy theories/government enemies.

0 | the befores ➤ “In the name of God, I, ….”

Chem lights at war with the flicker of LEDs overhead spin the room, making the space feel more dreamlike than anything. Like a rough coma. World fades in and out of erratic color, moving as broken pulses of electricity attempt to carry functional light into abysmal, dank blackness. It’s cold in that humidity-ridden kind of way—cold that burrows into the bones, past sweat glands that seep with perspiration that would otherwise sparkle in the light of day. Trying to find the words for this moment, for the haze that’s set over this room—fever dream. Yes, that’s it.

It’s feverish degrees here—something viral. Setting her on edge. Creeping through her facades, shifting the masks of power a committee and countless weeks of interview and preparations provide. They hardly prepare anyone for this. Is this how it’s supposed to be? Dark and humid, oppressive with the weight of a world of questions that doesn’t even seem fathomable.

“....to be my lawfully permitted wife; to have….”

A brush of fingers against the slick leather of her jacket lifts her gaze from the perfect over-under of old combat boots. Her favorites. Traveling companions of the last year, they’ve marched through countless miles of States of American concrete and soil. Chicago, more recently—wretched, disgusting metropolis that it is. Crawling with propaganda for the government's hedonistic vision of tomorrow. The blade of humanism, driven into the almost asystole heart of a once beautiful dream.

Her gaze finds the man, hand still statuesque on her shoulder. He doesn’t move, like she’s porcelain and could break. Maybe she is, because she feels stone cold and bone China-white, despite being riveted to this floor. If you can call it a floor more than a slab—sakrete that’s been lazily mixed with county efforts and resources. Blinking away condensating sweat that’s gathered in her lashes, the man’s brow lifts. Maybe curiously, if he genuinely wanted to know where her mind had galloped to. But it’s a more worried look, one that’s watching the clock. Has other places to be.

“....Miss McKinney? You still with us?”

It’s an odd question. One she can’t readily find the heartbeat to answer. Instead, a small smirk tickles the corner of her mouth, threatening humor if the situation would’ve been appropriate. It wasn’t. Some backalley government holding squat could hardly warrant a snarl much less a smile, but if the weeks leading to this moment had proven anything—well. Nothing was what it seemed.

The akimbo of confidence doesn’t flinch at her right. He hasn’t, not since being guided to this…this platform. He stood there, in combat blacks and a leather jacket the entire time, like a pillar. A fortress, even. Erected to support the dreams of a future scurrying to rewrite itself, on its last leg of hope. Shoulders down and back, gaze straightforward as if the future had already colored itself from the black and whites of the present.

“Oh. Um–yes. Yes, thank you. Continue, sir.”

But the akimbo frame of the man suddenly flinches, ever so slightly—lifts a foot, scuffing the rubbers of his combat boots against the wet sakrete beneath them. Watching as he returns to his motionless state, she manages to swallow a breath thick with nothingness—no words, no compliance, no spit. Looking back to the over-under of her laces, she notices his are the same. He ties his boots the same way—-tight over-under patterns in eye-hooks, the excess laces tied around the back of his leg. It’s an old trick, one from the almost-ancient way of living before everything became disposable. Replaceable, plastic.

And when her eyes cut to his like a blade, she finds him staring at her from the corner of his eye. Down at her, really, because she’s shorter than he is. And he stands forever, almost. Like a giant. Goliath against David, stones aside and the Philistines coming up fast. For a moment, his eyes are dark and unreadable. Unsearchable. Until he shifts his shoulders a bit, settling into his akimbo stance. Hands folded in front of him, ever the soldier.

His words hang in the air, unfulfilling. Mandatory. Government-issued, lest the good citizens of 2142 question the ethical implications no one would think, albeit care, to ask. Ringing in the air hollow, she’s not even sure she can remember even hearing him. She’d barely heard him speak in the weeks leading up the First, hadn’t even shaken his hand until this morning when he’d introduced himself. He was capable, sure. On paper.

But staking her life–her future….

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It shouldn’t be. It was 2142. It was the First.

She was a First.

“…Your answer, Miss.”

“Excuse me?”

“I need your answer, ma’am. For the license.”

Pounding in her chest reminds her she’s alive. It isn’t a good pounding, an exciting one. It’s one that’s horribly wrong. Screaming at her that this isn’t right. That it shouldn’t be like this—that this is 2142. Nobody actually cares, religions and personal affections aside. This isn’t the frontier, not anymore. Not yet.

Head spinning, knuckles brush against hers. Tenderly. It’s surprising and she starts, looking up into careful eyes weighing every motion; he’s moved to face her. All six foot something of him, hard lines and perfect posture. Reading her like a datapad. Every breath, like he can see through her ribs and into her chest. No wonder this is the man to lead them into tomorrow, into the future—his stare is like an anvil. Crushing, almost. But in a way that demands the truth, that makes her want to sing out every secret she’s ever burdened in the pulling stitches of her own resolve.

His nod is punctuated. Final. His gaze darts to consider the man standing before them. Nodding once to him, he looks back to her. Waiting. His chin lifts, authoritatively. Impatiently, but he won’t move. And before she can even find her own tongue, his hand on her shoulder squeezes once. Twice. With compassion, empathy.

“For Terra Nova,” his low voice is calm. Collected. Reeled in like a man with control and wisdom well beyond her years. “For the future, Miss McKinney.”

And that hits harder than any of her own selfish negotiations. “Yes—”

Don’t let this be a mistake. For the colony...for hope....

For tomorrow, 2142.

“—this is my solemn vow." God help her if this is a mistake. There's nothing left.

He'd have it all. One man, one dream. One tomorrow.

"For Terra Nova. For tomorrow.”

taglist: @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @soulmates8 @chicomonks @books-are-escapes @sarahsmi13s @cassiemitchell @lovinglyeternal @bobby-r2d2-floyd @that-one-random-writer @horseshoegirl @lavenderbradshaw @bradleybeachbabe @roosters-girl @footprintsinthesxnd @chaoticassidy @roosterisdaddy36 @callsignharper @hisredheadedgoddess28 @ohgodnotagainn @moonchild-cupcake @aviatorobsessed @kmc1989 @imp-number-3 @your-local-crzy-lady @horserad-ish @bisexual-watermelons @mongoosesthings @gothidecorem @philcoulson-redtapeninja @itsgoghtime @kmc1989

#terra nova 2011 #stephen lang #commander nathaniel taylor #nathaniel taylor #nathaniel taylor x OC #terra nova fanfic #terra nova imagines #sci fi imagines #survival #commander taylor

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blackhoodlea · 1 year

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This is my first Terra Nova fanfiction. You can read it here, wattpad or at ao3.

#terra nova 2011 #Terra nova #commander nathaniel taylor #stephen lang #Nathaniel Taylor #Wattpad #fanfic #fanfiction #authors #germany #Angelina Jolie #Nathaniel Taylor x oc #ao3 fanfic

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marsipanda · 3 months

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My Megaman Classic OC Theia in all her space bnnuy glory!

Good Point: Nurturing Bad Point: Overexertion Like: Lunarloid Moths Dislike: Snakes, Terra

A space droid that works under the command of Duo. Theia is from an ancient civilisation that once resided on the moon. She keeps a quiet eye on earth when Duo is busy and alerts the IGPO of any Stardroid or alien threat in his stead. She prefers to keep out of direct earthly affairs and maintains a low profile when on earth.

Theia has a long history of fighting in galactic wars and acting in rebellion to free her own kin from the suppressive forces that destroyed her home planet. She's a respected commander among her people.

Theia can absorb different energy types in to her body to purify them in to justice energy, though her ability comes with the risk of falling to corruption herself if she's not careful. She's a strong robot that rivals Terra in strength, however, gravitational fields heavier than that of the earths moon make her more sluggish in movement as her body is not yet modified to adapt to such changes and is more fit to move around in zero to low gravity space. Theia also shares the weakness of physical and percussive damage the same as Stardroids while being resistant to plasma and energy weapons.

Her main weakness is Search Snake as an odd side effect.

#marsipandart #Theia #Megaman #Rockman #OC

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cracklewink · 1 year

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my entry for the eqd oc contest! Here’s her bio:

Rusty gear is a star pony; like earth ponies, they do not have any active magical powers. However, each star pony is born with a star-shaped birthmark somewhere on their bodies, and on occasion, they are known to awaken a mysterious connection with the cosmos. Rusty serves as a state engineer in the technologically-advanced star pony kingdom of Terra Firma, in a land far away from the peaceful Equestria we know called Crater Wishes. For 20 years, the unicorn tyrant Diamond Reign has commanded her army to spread a terrible curse throughout Crater Wishes in order to drain all the magic from the land for herself in her quest to become an alicorn. To stop her invasion, Rusty Gear and a group of Terra Firma’s best scientists created the Alicorn Gear, a magical suit of armor powered by an ancient artifact. Together with her friends Steep Dive, a daring pegasus filly, and Crystal Reign, the exiled unicorn princess, Rusty hopes she can end the war with Diamond Reign once and for all. But although the Alicorn Gear is a formidable weapon, Rusty wonders whether she, or any mortal pony, should truly be allowed to wield such power.

#mlp #mlp oc #mlp oc alicorn #sort of #shes the result of me trying to rewrite g5 #her armor is powered by 3 shards that they have to get #theyre the pieces of the shattered heart of an actual alicorn that fell from the stars #and she can 'become' an alicorn like sunny sort of #but i think using the armor too much hurts her #mostly emotionally lol

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kkrazy256 · 2 years

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Terra hai I want to see Fox being a good ori'vod to Rememememememdy with

➵ covers; character a gets into character b’s bed in the middle of the night. at first character b is confused, though they hear character a crying and hold them for the rest of the night.

Characters: Commander Fox, Clone Medic Remedy, Arc Trooper Drift (calamity-aim’s oc)

Notes: Post-Prosthetics Center 2 and Pharma’s death

Sorry for so much exposition, but I genuinely don’t think Rem would willingly do this unless some shit’s gone down akjhfwklj. Enjoy!

Fox had hoped sleep would take him the moment his head hit the pillow.

But then again, he’s never been the lucky sort.

Instead, the mattress of his bunk feels entirely too stiff and uncomfortable. Most likely from the lack of use. Really, his office chair gives a better embrace for his ass than this piece of shit.

He’s the only one in the Command bunks tonight. It’s not a rare occurrence, but Fox usually misses his own sleep shift anyways so he’s never really noticed how quiet it gets in here without the rest. He misses Thorn’s snores and Stone’s half-asleep mumbles. It’s been a long time since he’s slept in his own bed.

But he’s exhausted today. Even the usual late-night mug of scalding tea didn’t help keep his eyes from drooping nor keep his forehead from slamming against his desk painfully three times before he gave up and logged himself as ‘off-duty’ for the night.

It’s been a busy week. Somehow there had been less paperwork with the first Prosthetics Center incident. And that outpost had been blown up to bits and pieces.

The second one became a graveyard, with every clone assigned there dead. The coroners (two full teams of them sent there) said that the various states of internal decay meant they had been dead for quite some time. Yet, the tears in dead muscles show they had been moving beyond death. There were no external wounds. By all accounts, an absolute mystery.

Fox had been present during the meeting about this whole fiasco. The looks the Jedi shared with one another at the coroners’ revelation didn’t sit well with him. They knew something.

The Jedi had joined the recovery mission and taken General Tarn’s body. To where and for what reason, it hadn’t been Fox’s problem.

But Pharma’s body? That had been his problem.

Because his body had been the only one with a physical wound. A fatal blaster wound to the back of the head. The autopsy photographs had been as gruesome as they had sounded. The blaster fired had been a standard issued one, the serial number assigned to one CT-8847.

Questioning by High Command had been delayed until Drift was out of emergency care, and Remedy got his knee fixed properly. Even then, neither of them was in the right mindset to take the brunt of the questions that were pressed against them, digging for holes and weak points.

As their Marshal Commander, Fox had taken the brunt of it, defending their actions with everything he could. Like hell, he’d let these bastards tear into his men for making the choices they did on what was probably one of the worst days of their lives.

It all came to a pause when the Chancellor asked to speak with Remedy privately. After that, he agreed that Remedy’s actions were justified and the matter was put to rest. Remedy says he doesn’t remember much about the conversation, but that might just be from the stress of the day. Even now, the gratitude that wells in Fox’s chest is genuine, though hampered by a feeling that something is still wrong.

Because it hadn’t ended there. Because Remedy wouldn’t stop.

His injuries had been significantly less severe than Drift’s but even then, it was clear as damn day he should be taking it easy.

It was a miracle Fox didn’t raise his voice when he told Remedy his request to oversee Pharma’s autopsy was denied. The incredulity had probably bled into his tone, but at least he hadn’t outright sputtered, “are you insane?”. Remedy had just stared, the hand clenched around his single crutch was still.

Then, he nodded and left Fox’s office.

And that had been the last time Fox had seen his CMO this week.

Still, he kept tabs on Remedy amongst the millions of other tasks throughout his days. Each report was the same.

He’s working, Commander.

He was in Medbay 6 when I signed off, sir.

He took over my inventory shift, Commander.

He said he’d do the night rounds in Medbay 2 today.

I think he’s falling asleep on his feet, Fox.

He was visiting Drift, sir.

Fox groans, rolling onto his side to grab the datapad off his bunkside drawer. The bright blue glow makes him squint. Once the static in his vision clears, he pulls up the current on-duty roster of his Guard.

He scrolls the endless lists of numbers until he finds CT-8847. He taps on his shift history.

Remedy’s been on rotation for the past four days. And he still hasn’t signed off.

His rations check-off history is also spotty. He hasn’t been grabbing meals either.

Fox sends him a location ping request and sets the datapad down, staring at the dark screen.

His fingers tap out the melodies of at least three of Coruscant’s Top 30 hits before he realizes he’s not getting an answer.

Fuck it all to karking hell.

His spine pops when he gets out of bed, and he rubs his neck with a sigh. Surely, Senator Corinth wouldn’t notice if Fox takes one of his dozens of plush cushions next time he’s ordered to sweep his office floors.

He goes to Drift first in the medbay. The ARC is still confined to bedrest until his prosthetic is fully integrated again. His file says he’d have to go through at least a month of consistent physical therapy before he can return to active duty.

He’s lying on his stomach and speaking into a comm softly. The blinking blue light washes over his white hair with a cool glow, but the smile on his lips is warm and silly.

Fox clears his throat once, and Drift looks back with a start.

His eyes widen, “Uh, I’ll call you back Rod-”

Fox shakes his head, and whispers, “I’ll be quick. Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to know if you’ve seen Remedy.”

Drift covers the comm mic with his palm and his lips pull into a small frown, “he was here about half an hour ago, sir.”

“Any idea where he went after?”

“He didn’t say…he didn’t say much actually.” Drift taps the metal of the comm thoughtfully, “he seemed distracted. Couldn’t really keep a conversation.”

Now it’s Fox’s turn to frown, “Is he okay?”

The look Drift gives him is just short of, ‘are you serious?’, and Fox winces internally. Stupid question.

Still, Drift stays professional, “he’s asked me that a lot these days.”

He rolls the comm between his fingers, and the ‘well, are you okay?’ is on the tip of Fox’s tongue.

Drift speaks again before he could voice it, “but when I ask him the same, he never answers.”

He turns his bitter smile towards Fox, “you know how the doc is.”

“Yeah, really good at pissing me off.” He says without thinking.

Drift blinks up at him in surprise before snickering. Then he stops when the mirth turns into a grimace of pain and he sinks back into the bed, “that makes two of us, Commander.”

“But,” Drift continues, “I don’t think he was doing it on purpose today. He was just really out of it.”

Fox swallows, looking down at the datapad in his hands. CT-8847’s status is still glowing green for on duty.

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No. He didn’t even say goodbye when he wandered off.” His choice of words is deliberate; Fox needs to find him fast.

“Alright, I’ll check the other floors. Thanks, Drift.” He turns to leave.

“Commander?”

Fox stops.

“...Will you ask him?”

“...Yeah.”

“...Thanks.”

Fox leaves the room, catching the start of Drift’s renewed conversation on the comm. The warmth had returned to his voice, and he can hear the smile in it.

He stops by Remedy’s office at the end of the hall first. The lights are off, and the CMO is nowhere in sight. His commlink is sitting at the center of his desk, Fox’s last three location ping requests still unread. He grabs the wastebasket, which is filled with scraps of flimsi, a few broken datapads, and ration wrappers. There were only a few, not enough to account for four days.

Fox places it outside the doorway for the custodial droid to take in its next rotation and keeps moving.

He’s not hiding in Inventory like he usually would. The small medicinal garden on 6th is also empty. He’s not in the mess hall. He’s not at his assigned bunk on the 14th floor either.

The crisp, artificial Coruscant air stings against his dry cheeks when he pushes open the door to the rooftop. He scrubs the dust from his eyes before walking toward the ledge.

His city breathes with activity, hundreds of speeders whizzing by in the distance. The time of night does nothing to deter the never-sleeping planet from its endless march.

Fox leans forward, the wind pushing against his shoulder blades with a teasing whisper.

He looks down, not daring to take a breath while the breeze plays with his hair.

Remedy isn’t here either.

Fox goes back inside.

At this point, he’s starting to feel the first inklings of worry. It’s not enough to order a search; he’s not impulsive enough to do that without considering the consequences. Maybe a Guard-wide announcement to be on the lookout? No, that would just get everyone in a panic.

Fox rubs his eyes again, cursing the way they burn with tears. He can’t stop yawning.

The door in front of him slides open, and he jumps at the familiar scenery of the Commander barracks. He must’ve wandered back without thinking.

He walks in, running a hand through his hair. He should send the message to at least the medics, in case Remedy decides to head back to the medbays. He’d authorize full permission for them to tie their CMO down for forced bed rest. Then, Fox will give that di’kut a piece of his mind after he’s taken a quick nap—

There’s already someone in his bunk.

For a moment, he wonders if Thorn had returned from patrol. If it had been a particularly bad one, he’d usually just flop down on Fox’s bunk because crawling up to the top one is ‘too much work’.

Then he catches a glimpse of red hair, and the knot in his stomach loosens.

Found you.

Fox sets his datapad down on the drawer before sitting on the edge of the bunk. Remedy is lying on his side, facing the wall. He doesn’t even stir at the added weight.

As CMO, Remedy has code access to all their bunks in case of emergencies.

Maybe he had come here because he had been looking for Fox as well. Before the exhaustion caught up to him the moment he felt a bed beneath him.

Fox reaches out, hand landing on Remedy’s shoulder.

He gives a small shake, “hey—”

The loud smack of Remedy’s forehead against the ceiling of the bunk makes Fox cringe in sympathy. The medic swears up and down, cradling his head as he pushes away from Fox as quickly as he could. His back hits the wall, and he stays there, his entire body tense. Like he’s waiting for something to happen.

“Remedy?” Fox tries after another ten seconds. He holds his hand out but doesn’t make a move to get close.

Wide brown eyes find him in the darkness and Remedy drops his arms.

“…Fox?”

“Yea-“ He leans back when Remedy surges forward to grab his face, tilting it up and down, searching with a squint. Fox reaches down to pat around the mattress for his glasses. Remedy grabs his arm, feeling it from shoulder to wrist.

“What are you—“

“What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?” Remedy demands.

“What?”

“Where are you injured?”

“I’m…not?”

Remedy scowls, looking around while still squinting, “then who is?”

“I…” Fox flounders, “I don’t think anyone is?”

Remedy blinks, sitting back.

“Then why are you bothering me if there’s no emergency?”

Fox stares before lowering his hand slowly to tap his finger against the mattress, “you’re in my bunk.”

“…what?”

Fox finally finds Remedy’s glasses under the pillow and hands them to him.

Remedy puts them on and scans his surroundings blearily. Then recognition sparks and he goes completely still.

“Oh.”

Fox uses the silence to study him. His hair is nearly freed from the ponytail; the red curls drape over his shoulders, tangled and wild.

He can see all the lines cutting deep into Remedy’s face, seemingly multiplied in the last few days. They make the bags under his eyes glaringly obvious, even when hidden behind the frames of his glasses. His skin is sticky with sweat.

It’s not right. This is what Fox expects to see when he looks in the refresher mirror after a blackout mission, body still shaking like it doesn’t belong to him—because it doesn’t—This isn’t how his little brother should look. He had promised Cody, Fox had promised him that he’d look out for Remedy. This isn’t—

“Remedy,” He starts—

“—I’m sorry, Commander.” His CMO straightens, face falling blank.

The stilted formality makes Fox clench his jaw.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve,” Remedy swipes a stray white curl out of his face, and his hand trembles with the motion, “I must’ve walked here accidentally. I apologize for the trouble.” He shifts to move around Fox, “I’ll go, Commander.”

He pitches forward, and Fox catches him by the shoulders before he faceplants headfirst into the edge of the bunk.

“Just lie down, you can sleep here tonight.”

“And where will you sleep then?” Remedy snorts, already leaning away from him.

Fox answers that by lying down, stretching out his limbs with a groan, “right here.”

“Fox, I—”

“— are an idiot that is about to pass out. You think I haven’t noticed your shift history?” He gestures to the datapad on the drawer.

Silence.

“I think you’d know a body’s limits better than most, Chief Medical Officer.” He tucks an arm underneath his pillow, “I’m tired.” He can hear Remedy’s soft intake of breath; Fox couldn’t believe he was admitting to it either, “I don’t want to have to get up and escort you back to your bed like you’re some cadet.”

There’s the subtle creak of a clenched fist, and Fox shoots down the brief second of regret for using Remedy’s guilt like this.

But it works. After a minute, he can hear the medic shifting to lie back down.

Fox lets his eyes slip close, forcing his breaths to even out. The familiar hums of the ventilation system and muffled outside noise lull him into a half-asleep state. He hovers there comfortably, mentally running through his schedule next shift.

That’s when he hears something beyond the familiar background noises.

It’s a stuttered sort of sound, the rhythm off-kilter and pitchy. It takes him a few seconds to realize it’s coming from next to him. Then another two seconds to recognize the sound as sharp inhales being deliberately stifled.

He turns his head, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Remedy’s hair is completely down now and covers the space between them. But Fox can still see the way his entire body shivers each time he tenses to clamp down what can only be a sob.

Fox reaches out again, hand brushing against his hair.

The full-body flinch he gets in return makes him pull back immediately. Remedy shoots up, slow enough to avoid collision with the top of the bunk but still hurried. He turns his head away from Fox to face the wall. But not before Fox catches the glimpse of wetness on his cheeks.

“Remedy.”

Remedy reaches up to swipe the tears away.

“I’m,” sharp, shaky inhale, voice still trying to appear level, “I’m bothering you, I’m sorry—”

“Kih’vod. Stop.” The blanket twists beneath Fox’s clenched fist.

Remedy goes perfectly still. He finally turns to stare at Fox. His glasses are gone, and Fox spots them haphazardly crushed underneath a pillow. His eyes are swollen, making the bags beneath them look puffy. His nose is runny and the wet trails of tears paint his face in two neat lines going sideways from lying down. His shoulders are squared, his back straight, and his chest puffed out.

Only he shakes.

His shoulders shake, his chest quivers, his jaw trembles from how hard he has it clenched. His eyes shine with unshed tears but they’re not falling. Why, why is he trying so hard to—

Kih’vod. Stop.

Stop.

Stop fucking crying.

His heart drops.

Why the hell is Fox so fucking bad at this?

“No.” He says as firmly as he can manage without falling into yelling territory, “I didn’t mean—” He takes a deep breath.

“I mean…have you stopped?... At all? Even once? Since you came back from there?”

“I can’t.” Remedy breathes out, as if it were the most obvious explanation, “I can’t.”

Commander, will you ask him?

“Remedy, are you okay?”

It’s almost funny how he gives Fox a ‘are you serious?’ stare near identical to Drift’s.

Remedy opens his mouth. To answer, to deflect, to call Fox a fucking idiot, who knows. Fox doesn’t get a chance to know.

Because the only sound that comes out is a sob.

Remedy slams both hands against his mouth, eyes wide and darting away to look at anything but Fox. The movement makes the tears finally fall.

And then they don’t stop.

The muffled sobs wrack his frame in waves, the overwhelming emotions practically clawing out of him. Fox doesn’t know what to do.

Eventually, the stuffy and runny nose forces Remedy to remove his hands from his lips so he can gulp down air with shuddering heaves from his lungs. He presses his palms against his eyes. His mouth hangs open in a silent scream, unable to find the breath to sob out loud anymore.

He’s hunching over, practically curling in on himself. He looks so damn small.

The complete image hurts Fox in ways he didn’t know could be possible anymore. Hadn’t he seen it all these past two fucking years?

The only words flashing through Fox’s mind are

Cadet. Kid. Kih’vod. Don’t cry don’tcrydon’tcrydon’tcry, little brother, please don’t cry.

He pulls Remedy into his arms, one hand cradling his head and the other running up and down his back.

“I can’t, he, I c- I’m not, I’m not o—” The words come out incoherently, and Fox just hums, nodding.

“I can’t stop, ori’vod.” His voice is wretched and muffled against Fox’s chest.

“I can’t. If I do, I—” He trails off into a barely audible whisper, “I can’t stop seeing him. I can’t stop hearing them. It’s my fault, I know that but I can’t. Ori’vod, I can’t anymore. Please.” He begs, rambling until all his words devolve into a simple plea of ‘please’ over and over again. Each repetition digs into him like blades.

And Fox doesn’t know what else he can do beyond tightening his grip, running his fingers through those tangled curls, and whispering “I know. I know, kih’vod. I’m so sorry. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Fox doesn’t stop the motions and words when Remedy’s sobs turn into quiet sniffles and shuddering breaths. He doesn’t stop when his breaths eventually even out. He doesn’t stop when Remedy goes slack against his hold, leaning against him completely.

He doesn’t stop when his voice is hoarse and he can only murmur the words against the top of Remedy’s head. He doesn’t stop when his chrono tells him it’s dawn. He doesn’t even stop when Stone and Thorn return from their shifts and give him solemn, understanding stares before leaving the room again.

Because if it meant Remedy could finally find a moment of pause—to rest, to find peace, to have silence, to stop blaming himself—

Fox would gladly keep going on forever.

#commander fox #clone medic remedy #tcw #star wars #sw mine #answered

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cousinslavellan-archive · 2 years

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Popped in long enough to port Terra over and put her in her Festival-garb cause why not

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #oc: commander terra #festival of the four winds #screenshots #sylvari #my content #she deserves a vacay after Cantha #and well everything but yknow

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ozziyo · 4 months

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an old sketch of some post-ME3 domestic softness with my favourite trio

#shiara #shakarian #shiarakarian #liara t'soni #garrus vakarian #commander shepard #femshep #me3 #mass effect #video games #fanart #my art #my fanart #my OCs #i think Terra frequently looks at the two of them and just thinks Wow How Lucky Am I :')#and then she thinks haha fuck you illusive man i was having alien 3ways on your racist spaceship

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ohtobemare · 7 days

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✨ coming soon✨

118, Nathaniel Taylor x fem!OC

summary ➤ "For them, it was just the blink of an eye. For us? 118 days."

It's a long time to be alone with someone you barely know. 'Lotta days of wondering if this was it, the grandiose dream of Terra Nova they'd all been promised. But it's also a good chunk of time to change minds, to form new opinions. To give —your heart; ideas, your future —away.

This is ground zero.

pairings: Commander Nathaniel Taylor x fem!OC

0 | the befores (teaser)

#terra nova #terra nova 2011 #stephen lang #nathaniel taylor #commander nathaniel taylor #fanfic #fanfiction #science fiction #time travel #x original character #x ofc #x original female character #au #fanfics #fanfic authors #writers on tumblr #writers of tumblr

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yuki-kazami · 19 days

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For asking about your Doc OCs!

Which operators are they closest to? Are there any they'd like to befriend? And are there any operators they stay away from?

Mia is a pretty friendly face! She is poly, currently together with Blaze as well as Nearl and the Followers. Her and Nearl were already an item before her memory loss, but Nearl held back from closing the distance after things settled out of concern for her making choices for a potentially new Mia, so Mia and Blaze ended up getting close romantically first after the amnesia. Blaze could tell that there was some existing tension, though, and eventually (through some failgirl means that will be eventually extolled in a fanfic) helped bridge the gap so that Nearl could reconnect with her. In terms of friends she'd like to make, she wants to help bridge the social gap with Gladiia and Skadi to the rest of the Rhodes operators, but she doesn't always have the most success. Skadi seems to appreciate the attempts, but Gladiia and her just see the world very differently, and it's hard for them to see eye to eye.

Mia is bad about getting in her own head about the people that are killed by her command, so even though she has a bit less of a personally fraught relationship with people like W, due to differences in how things were handled in the Babel era, she has a hard time dealing with operators who get really into that sort of headspace.

As for Medusa, she tends to get along with the more long-sighted. So people like Misery, Kal'tsit, Gladiia. She has her own long history on Terra that I'm sure I'll get into as I explain her lore more! She also has a surprisingly strong camaraderie with people like Hoshi and Blaze who train a lot, because when she's on the landship, she gets a lot of her enrichment through weapons training with other Operators. She herself is no slouch in combat, though freshly out of the Sarcophagus, she was in no shape to fight, so she wasn't immediately just a combatant.

Due to her situation and the amount of people she's seen come and go in her life, she doesn't really tend to actively seek out friendships, so there isn't anyone she's out to befriend, but she's generally fairly open.

#arknights #Medusa tag #mia tag

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gardens-of-dirae · 2 months

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contrarian

Von Valancius OC/Abelard Werserian

The Seneschal is used to how things used to be with Lady Theodora. Sometimes he needs a reminder of the new banner. No content warnings

“Seneschal,” She greets before the doors have fully slid open, her voice impossibly soft and yet disturbingly clear. It no longer stirs an unease in him, accustomed to her as he’s become, the oddities of her previous position are simply nuances of character now.

As a Navigator her soft whispers and searching eyes were things to keep an eye on, lest the touch of the warp become a constricting grasp and she plunged her crew all into the depths of madness. As a – no, as the Von Valancius, it is only right that her voice command attention without being raised, that her eyes scan the room for opportunities and danger alike. That the innate strength of her title and presence has even her fellow peers regard her as a threat. Such is the nature of it all.

Still Abelard draws himself impossibly straighter as her head lazily turns, her gaze resting on him in a way that seems a mighty effort. He cannot blame her; the weight of the dynasty seems to have finally settled on her shoulders.

She carries it well, most days, spine drawn straight and chin raised high as he introduces her to those who cross their path. But there are others, few and far between as they are, that she unbalances and slips into a lethargy she allows herself to indulge. It seems today is one of them. She lounges upon her bed, rested upon great plush pillows of the finest down, her hair loose and spilling upon the rich purples like an ink. It is an art form he thinks might be unique to her, to be miserable in such finery. It would make for a fine painting, if he had the talent to put brush to canvas.

“Lord Captain.” He returns, tone careful, practiced in a way only those steeped in politics can manage. But he feels her skim across his mind, her touch cold and clammy as she pries. She smiles slightly as his lips twist, his fingers clenching as he waits for her to push deeper – she doesn’t, not now. But the feeling lingers, clawed fingers poised to poke even as her own remain unmoving. It takes a significant will not to sigh. “You know I do not appreciate your prying. If you wish to know my thoughts, I will speak them clearly for you.”

“I doubt that.” She says simply as she looks from him, casting her eyes upward to the ceiling. It, unlike the rest of her quarters, has gone unchanged from Lady Theodora’s reign; a great map of the Imperium’s space with Holy Terra at its centre, framed with gilded beams and edged with a solid black – the unknown space, the frontiers in which the Rogue Traders carve their dynasties. She seems unbothered, as if she had not just slid a knife between his ribs – sharp and hot with how easily it pierces through to his pride.

He has been cursed and spat it, ignored and spoken down to more times than he cares to recount. Yet-

And yet none of it has insulted him so deeply. He has been naught but honest with her since she had been thrust into the role – as brutal as some of that honesty had been, as rooted in stubbornness in how things ought to be done. In how it’d be done were Lady Theodora still at their head. He has admitted to his misjudgements of her character and actions, that he was wrong to think her unfit for the role—

The coldness brushes against him, a startling plunge that sharpens his focus on her. And then – a glimpse of memory, flittering fragments of his and hers overlapping. A flash of heat and light, a press of armour to silk. A trembling grasp upon his arm as his hand cups her cheek. His touch and gaze lingers where it should not, just as guilty of the liberties he has scolded von Calox for taking.

“You hide some rather important things from me, Seneschal.” A gentle mirth colours her tone as she slides upright. It’s an elegant motion, slow and purposeful as she twists herself to regard him. The loose bedrobe slips off one shoulder to allow a glimpse of her collarbone. He bows, casting his eyes low.

“It is a necessity, my lady.” An old excuse that he sinks too easily into, even as something within him immediately rallies to know better. Lady Theodora had hidden behind it, waved him away with reasons of that he accepted a little too easily. The Seneschal was always close to his charge, and that alone was good enough reason for why he stayed uncountable hours by her side, alone.

She hums softly, a thoughtful sound followed by rustling and the drag of fabric across her chamber’s floor. Her steps are light at the best of times, unheard – her sudden presence has startled him enough that he has learned her other tells. Her preference for the more exotic spiced perfumes has been his best bet, and her current favourite floods his senses now as she steps into his space.

“It is not.” Firm, certain. The three words are enough to constrict his chest and lift his head to stare at her openly. She turns from him, and he is just quick enough to catch the quirk of a smile at the corner of her lips. The prying fingers slip from his mind. “Now, the report on the lower decks if you will.”

“Of course, Lord Captain.”

#warhammer #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40k: rogue trader #Rogue Trader #OCs #OC: Pythia Von Valancius #von valancius #abelard werserian #my writing #ship: hole in the heart #me: this is gonna be a 30k blog!#also me: writes this before writing anything of my oc/horus ship #what can i say #i like old men

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thecoldheart · 1 year

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Hello hello fellows! I hope you are all well! I'm posting about an Oc I created for the Storm Hawks universe. Meet Alex, a Lieutenant of the Cyclonian Empire!

Here below is information about it:

Name: Alexandra "Alex" Watts Nightmarier

Age: 30 years

Birthday: April 23

Squadron: Cyclonian Army - First Lieutenant

Homeland: Terra Rex

Gender: cis woman

Sexuality: Lesbian and demisexual

Eye Color: Lilac

Hair color: lilac and green at the ends

Height: 1.75 cm / 5'9"

Weight: 79 kg

Personality: Extroverted, super sarcastic, has a very doubtful humor, extravagant.

Likes: Coffee, annoying Dark Ace until he loses his mind, neon colors, electronic music

Enemies: Storm Hawks, Raptors, Murk Raiders, Rex Guardians.

Backstory: Born to a lower-class family that lived in the countryside of Rex, Alex always helped her family with what she could, even though she didn't agree with them about the fact that the Rex Guardians were so reliable and protective, as she knew that at some point something was going to happen. Even going through financial difficulties, she always helped

Unfortunately, with a flu outbreak. Many middle and lower class citizens were infected and had no access to healing, causing high unemployment and mortality rates on Earth. This also affected Alex's family, who unfortunately died because they didn't get the cure in time (since the cure was expensive and it went to the upper class more easily since they had enough money to buy it for them).

Alex was desperate, her family was gone and she couldn't pay all the bills and debts she had, she even asked for help with a member of the Rex Guardians (Not Harrier) but he was super rude with her and refused to help. She fled Terra Rex and went through several until finally settling in Cyclonia where she ended up becoming a talon until she got the position of first lieutenant, having more contact with the commanders and Master Cyclonis.

Mentioned in episodes: Terra Neon, Escape, Forbidden City.

First Appearance: The Lesson

Curiosities:

- She has 12 piercings on his face + 11 on his right ear + 4 on his left ear

- She has diabetes and ADHD - diagnosed since she was 3

- Likes to tease Dark Ace and Ravess

- She is best friends with Snipe and Hamish.

- She has a tattoo that covers her entire back, which is an alien in the center with various symbols related to the occult and space.

- Has arachnophobia and nyctophobia

I hope you like her as much as I do! I intend to draw more about storm Hawks!

note: Ravess has a crush on her in my Storm Hawks universe

- do not repost without credit.

- Also follow me here and in Instagram too! My Instagram is moonlight_art.160

#my art #oc #oc stuff #storm hawks #cyclonia

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grimm-the-6th · 11 months

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So, I’ve given some thought to the cyclonian advisor OC, Ross Alba, and came up with some backstory. Ross grew up in a normal cyclonian household and grew up surrounded by pro-war propaganda, thus he enlisted and became a talon. A few years later after showing exemplary service, he managed to become the adjutant to the commander of a battalion of Talons. Unfortunately, the entire battalion except for Ross was wiped out by a storm hawk squadron while they were regrouping on a neutral terra. This caused Ross to have a crisis and spend the next ten years or so traveling and educating himself on politics, economic, crystal magic, technology, really anything and everything. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that Cyclonia must be demilitarized and stop expanding lest the empire meet a horrible end from war or from the empire spreading itself too thin. Thus, he began his career in politics, serving as an advisor for various governors of Cyclonian Terras, all while building up alliances and finding like minded individuals who want to end the war- not out of any love for the free Terras but out of a dedication to Cyclonia. Over his career, he help make critical reforms to various Terras all while ruthlessly eliminating his enemies through cutthroat political maneuvering and manipulation. Eventually it seemed like peace for Cyclonia was feasible, however this was when the storm hawks tried to fight against Cyclonia’s forces. Naturally, this lead to even more war much to Ross’s endless frustration. Thankfully, Master Anarchis died and Cyclonis took the throne.

That's quite the career he's had and lots of build up to the main story. Very cool.

#storm hawks #storm hawk fandom #cyclonia #storm hawks ocs #all hail cyclonia #ask box #this took a really long time to reply to #am very sorry #but this was really interesting to read and sounds like youve given the character a lot of thought

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bobadiin · 2 years

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hello! this is my clone oc Fern (they/he)!! (ct-1106) art by @puirelle

(oc blog is @fernika)

Fern loves plants, but their favourite is (obviously) the fern! They have a fern tattoo that they add to every time something happens that they feel makes them grow as a person. Once they’re more comfortable around someone, they start telling them fun facts about plants, as a way of saying “i like you and i trust you to not make fun of me for knowing this.”

They have long hair that they like to braid and sometimes they wear it loose or in a bun.

They are autistic and have ADHD. They belonged to a spec-ops squad that was given special training on Kamino. They are an extremely capable soldier and their squad ran a lot of successful missions until a mission went bad. The squad got disbanded and some were sent back to Kamino to help with training and others were added to battalions. Fern joins the 13th battalion under General Jaro Tapal and Padawan Commander Cal Kestis.

More detailed background information under the cut!

This might be a bit incoherent and missing some info im typing this on impulse and while Very Tired

Fern was selected from a young age to be put into a special ops squad. Both he and his batchmates were led to believe the other had gotten reconditioned/decommissioned. They think none of their batchmates are alive and vice versa while they are very much alive and together in a squad in a battalion.

Fern is autistic and has ADHD, and has a hard time in social situations outside of interacting w their batchmates or their special ops team (and later the squad they join in a battalion). Due to this, they hold onto the rules. They always try their hardest in the tasks the Kaminoans give them because they understand that they would be considered defective if the Kaminoans found out that their brain worked differently than their siblings’ brains.

Due to their ability to hyperfocus on a singular task, and their adherence to the rules, the Kaminoans selected them for special training. During missions, Fern is able to focus perfectly fine, but outside of missions they tend to drift and zone out occasionally when thinking about or researching their special interests to destress (ferns, botany and archaeology). Due to the intense and close training the squad he’s with got, they all understand and know how Fern is, and Fern is able to let his guard down and Be Himself around his squadmates when they’re alone on Kamino and after they ship out. Their most frequent stims consist of biting the inside of their lips, pinching the skin on their hands, bending and stretching their toes and occasionally echolalia.

After the Mission Gone Bad, their Jedi Shadow general got injured enough to get discharged and the squad got disbanded. Some of their too injured siblings went back to Kamino to help train new squads, and the rest got put in different battalions.

Fern gets put in the 13th battalion under General Jaro Tapal and Padawan Commander Cal Kestis. Due to their neurodivergency, going from a spec ops squad to an entire battalion is a change they have a very hard time dealing with, even more so because they don’t know anyone. They’re incredibly stressed and have a hard time adjusting to the number of interactions they have per day, and they struggle with social cues a lot. They don’t really approach their bunkmates due to the sensory overload and stress they have in the beginning, falling asleep the moment their head hits the bed. After a while, he just feels like it’d be weird to approach them so he doesn’t. Fern eventually gets adopted into Terra Squad (who belong to @puirell), at the recommendation of their General, but the squad was planning on doing it either way. They get quite close to the squad leader and eventually are comfortable around all members :)

There’s more that happens but! This is what I am sharing for now bc this is incredibly long SDFG

#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #here he is!!!!!!!#why am i NERVOUS #oc fern #fern #my ocs #hope u all like them theyre very precious to me #please be nice about them to me #for yalls info i am autistic and have adhd also :))#ok to reblog btw!!!

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