Fics
Hay guise, I'm back to give you more feels. My feels, let me show you them. These are basically just character expostulation fics, tbh.
This first bit is a brief afternote about the Motherklok afternote. Let's call it;
Nightmares are visions
Characters: Pickles
Rating: G
Warning: short
Summary: The Sleeper has Awakened, Mother!
Words: 158
Afterwards, Pickles wakes up multiple times a night, drenched in cold sweat and cotton mouthed. He's used to acid dreams and dreams taking on bizarre, drug fueled imagery, but these are something that terrify him. He waits for his heart to stop beating at his chest like a bird trying to escape.
In his dreams, he wakens with a false start, completely alone. He is never somewhere he recognizes, which is actually kind of impressive, since Pickles has been just about everywhere in the world by now. He knows exactly who he is, and when he takes it upon himself to go find people, they treat him with a reverence that even outstripped a dimly recalled loyalty in his past.
He can't find any of his band members. There are monuments in their names all around the world, and it strikes a dread in him that he tries to push away and ignore.
The world is different.
Each tiny manifestation, deviation in this dream is amplified by some new alertness Pickles had never before had. It was like he'd been asleep for a century. His newness to the rest of the world is like being an infant.
The world was different. And the world was strange.
And he wakes up in the velvety black of his room in Mordhaus, gasping and clawing in fear.
Note: The Sleeper Awakes (1910) is a dystopian novel by H. G. Wells about a man who sleeps for two hundred and three years, waking up in a completely transformed London, where, because of compound interest on his bank accounts, he has become the richest man in the world. The main character awakes to see his dreams realized, and the future revealed to him in all its horrors and malformities.
____________________________________________
This second fic is a character bit about being a gear.
Title: Prayers of a Gear
Character,: Ofdensen, Gears mentioned
Rating: G
Warning: short again, sorry
Summary: Charles reflects on his role in Dethklok.
Words: 491
It's not always easy.
Well, in fact, it's never easy. There are levels of sheer, eye-gouging pain, and he's gotten accustomed to a certain amount of it. But the band has an unconscious talent for sadism, and in their own bumbling way, they're like a pack of wolves. When they sense weakness, they tear at it, the wet glint of teeth glittering in the dim conference room lighting.
It's easy to get discouraged and dissuaded. Unfortunately, vacations or downtime don't solve this particular brand of stress, either. Coming back from being away is like coming back from another world, and the return is the equivalent of stepping into Hades. If you don't equip yourself with the proper brand of salve to soothe yourself of the wounds you’ve incurred, you'll be rubbed raw and spread across the cobbles. Charles ought to know. It’s happen to him enough times that he could probably write a workplace workshop on it.
Perhaps part of what the band never understood was how close Charles was to the rest of Dethklok's employees. It went further than just a normal franchise with normal employees. It truly had an ecclesiastical, cultish hue, almost more a religion than a job. He was more guilty of encouraging this than Dethklok themselves. Charles encouraged a devotion that was unheard of in their industry. Now, with the years marching on with the terrible finality of a clock winding down, he finds it ironically more and more appropriate.
Walking through Mordhaus is like stepping through a pit of lions. He's heard countless breathless whispers, silent words spilling from lips, the same mantra, the same prayer.
"We fear not our mortality."
The air of tension is incredible, as though every one is living in the last second before the bullet hits the bone. It's another feature of Mordhaus that is easy to get accustomed to. After an extended time away, it wraps around him like the eddy of a breeze from a fresh field of battle. It is both incredible and terrible.
Hoodless, their faces contort into the same mask of martyrdom, skin the same flat, chalken hue from pain and dread.
"We'll serve to the best of our ability."
When Charles feels too tested, he slips on a pair of headphones, and brings up a recording that he keeps buried in several layers of subfolders. He lets the music rip through his head, momentarily stunned by the focused power.
After a second, he busies himself with the forms and notes and filing, but mouths the words to the refrain. "We'll give our lives for our masters, we vow to smite our enemies."
And a bizarre sort of calm seeps through him, staining his rigid posture and dissolving the lines on his face. By the time the ringing stops in his head, his stress has eased.
It's never easy, but he knew his place in the larger scheme of things. One gear in the clock.
A/N-- This idea came to me after I watched 1x01 again, and realized Jean Pierre was reciting parts of The Gears as a prayers. Then it occurred to me that probably most all the Gears do something like this.
This first bit is a brief afternote about the Motherklok afternote. Let's call it;
Nightmares are visions
Characters: Pickles
Rating: G
Warning: short
Summary: The Sleeper has Awakened, Mother!
Words: 158
Afterwards, Pickles wakes up multiple times a night, drenched in cold sweat and cotton mouthed. He's used to acid dreams and dreams taking on bizarre, drug fueled imagery, but these are something that terrify him. He waits for his heart to stop beating at his chest like a bird trying to escape.
In his dreams, he wakens with a false start, completely alone. He is never somewhere he recognizes, which is actually kind of impressive, since Pickles has been just about everywhere in the world by now. He knows exactly who he is, and when he takes it upon himself to go find people, they treat him with a reverence that even outstripped a dimly recalled loyalty in his past.
He can't find any of his band members. There are monuments in their names all around the world, and it strikes a dread in him that he tries to push away and ignore.
The world is different.
Each tiny manifestation, deviation in this dream is amplified by some new alertness Pickles had never before had. It was like he'd been asleep for a century. His newness to the rest of the world is like being an infant.
The world was different. And the world was strange.
And he wakes up in the velvety black of his room in Mordhaus, gasping and clawing in fear.
Note: The Sleeper Awakes (1910) is a dystopian novel by H. G. Wells about a man who sleeps for two hundred and three years, waking up in a completely transformed London, where, because of compound interest on his bank accounts, he has become the richest man in the world. The main character awakes to see his dreams realized, and the future revealed to him in all its horrors and malformities.
____________________________________________
This second fic is a character bit about being a gear.
Title: Prayers of a Gear
Character,: Ofdensen, Gears mentioned
Rating: G
Warning: short again, sorry
Summary: Charles reflects on his role in Dethklok.
Words: 491
It's not always easy.
Well, in fact, it's never easy. There are levels of sheer, eye-gouging pain, and he's gotten accustomed to a certain amount of it. But the band has an unconscious talent for sadism, and in their own bumbling way, they're like a pack of wolves. When they sense weakness, they tear at it, the wet glint of teeth glittering in the dim conference room lighting.
It's easy to get discouraged and dissuaded. Unfortunately, vacations or downtime don't solve this particular brand of stress, either. Coming back from being away is like coming back from another world, and the return is the equivalent of stepping into Hades. If you don't equip yourself with the proper brand of salve to soothe yourself of the wounds you’ve incurred, you'll be rubbed raw and spread across the cobbles. Charles ought to know. It’s happen to him enough times that he could probably write a workplace workshop on it.
Perhaps part of what the band never understood was how close Charles was to the rest of Dethklok's employees. It went further than just a normal franchise with normal employees. It truly had an ecclesiastical, cultish hue, almost more a religion than a job. He was more guilty of encouraging this than Dethklok themselves. Charles encouraged a devotion that was unheard of in their industry. Now, with the years marching on with the terrible finality of a clock winding down, he finds it ironically more and more appropriate.
Walking through Mordhaus is like stepping through a pit of lions. He's heard countless breathless whispers, silent words spilling from lips, the same mantra, the same prayer.
"We fear not our mortality."
The air of tension is incredible, as though every one is living in the last second before the bullet hits the bone. It's another feature of Mordhaus that is easy to get accustomed to. After an extended time away, it wraps around him like the eddy of a breeze from a fresh field of battle. It is both incredible and terrible.
Hoodless, their faces contort into the same mask of martyrdom, skin the same flat, chalken hue from pain and dread.
"We'll serve to the best of our ability."
When Charles feels too tested, he slips on a pair of headphones, and brings up a recording that he keeps buried in several layers of subfolders. He lets the music rip through his head, momentarily stunned by the focused power.
After a second, he busies himself with the forms and notes and filing, but mouths the words to the refrain. "We'll give our lives for our masters, we vow to smite our enemies."
And a bizarre sort of calm seeps through him, staining his rigid posture and dissolving the lines on his face. By the time the ringing stops in his head, his stress has eased.
It's never easy, but he knew his place in the larger scheme of things. One gear in the clock.
A/N-- This idea came to me after I watched 1x01 again, and realized Jean Pierre was reciting parts of The Gears as a prayers. Then it occurred to me that probably most all the Gears do something like this.