bakerstreet | Through Hell I Met You

Through Hell I Met You

Through Hell I Met You
a grimdark shipping meme

The fact settles in your stomach like an ice cold rock. There's a good chance you're going to die here.

It's not surprising, really; you're either a prisoner in a most dangerous place possible or stuck in a cataclysmic event, both choices equally terrifying. You are surrounded on all sides by death, torture, despair, and hopelessness...all this, but you are not alone. Through this experience, you have come to meet someone else, someone in the same situation as you, a prisoner or a survivor. Perhaps you are both ruthless fighters, or total pacifists, or some combination of power and a calming influence - an important mix, given than you can't lose your heads.

This complete degradation and mutual understanding has brought you together in in a way no one else can understand. This bond is not platonic; romantic may not be the right word, not exactly, but you are closer to them than you've ever been with anyone else. It's a fire-forged relationship, made in the most dire of times. To you, they are your world. And you've made a promise, to them and to yourself. You'll get them out of this alive.

...even if you can't say the same about yourself.

ｈｏｗｔｏ

Comment with your character, canon, and preferences. If you have any ideas on what the harrowing and violent scene should be.
Reply to others.

ｐｒｏｍｐｔｓ

Angst
A rare moment of fluff
Action!
Kill or be killed - the first blood on your hands
Separation
Calm down, the bad guys are gone.
Cheer up
Regrouping, refueling, and tending to wounds
"You'll never take them away from me!"
Smut (aka "this may be our last time alive")
Inopportune timed confession
Sacrifice of yourself to save them
Failure. Both of you die in front of each other.
Success! You escape to a new life.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ota, 10 will need some foundation laying first, fine with darker/failure themes]

[No smut. Beyond that, I'm good for anything. I can provide a starter if preferred.]

[Despite the known wisdom that resistance was futile, despite being one of the most brilliant minds of her time and having done the mental calculus, Irene Adler found it difficult to simply surrender to the inevitable. Perhaps it was simply in her nature to never bend the knee, or it was the human nature she detested that clung to individuality and asserted itself in desperate times. But the truth of the matter was that Irene Adler continued to resist, ran with the small groups that continued to resist the Borg in tiny pockets. And if some days it took longer for the humanity to reassert itself, longer for her eyes to lose their blank, almost mechanical stare after a sortie... Well, it was the price one paid for freedom. At least for a little while.

Which was where Irene stood now, having returned with the remnants of their group after taking out a utilities post, small burns peppering her arms, her finger still on the trigger of the cobbled together weapon, breathing hard, her eyes as blank, devoid of feeling, as those of the Borg they resisted.]

[OOC: Works for me! I can do non-graphic or mentions of, but i.just can't write graphic smut. If it comes down to it, I can write foreplay and fade-to-black when it edges beyond my comfort level if you prefer.]

[This resistance was truly something. They fought around every turn, building and growing in size. Periodically, there numbers would fall, but the resistance would always fight. They would always resist. Liberated from the Collective, Seven held valuable insight into the workings of the Borg. Tactical data that pulled theme through hopeless situations. She'd been liberated and integrated into another collective and lost them. She refused to lose this collective, so she fought tooth and nail against her former family to protect her new one. Now, though, her focus was on something else; another brilliant and beautiful mind that she couldn't fathoms losing.

Seven was deliberately obvious in her approach of Irene. Setting the woman off in her current mindset was unwise, so she announced her presence at a distance, giving the woman ample time to recognise her before she was dangerously invading her space.]

You are injured. Allow me to treat your burns. [She openly presents the dermal regenerator in her palm so her intent was know in case the words were lost to Adler's focused mind. She knew that look well. Her voice was a fraction softer now,] I mean you no harm Irene Adler.

[Seven extended the hand without he exoskeleton remainder of her former life, palm up, offering for Irene to take her hand. A gesture Seven was still trying to get used to, but had learned through observing others that it promoted trust. A display of friendship. Affection.]

[It had happened before, of course. Happened more often than Irene would ever admit. Sinking into the fight, embracing the cold calculation of guerrilla warfare. It was something her old self, her old life, would have been proud of, to shed the frail humanity that she had been so much better than. But now it was a warning, a sign of going too far, of slipping into the seductive oblivion of the hive mind.

Seven helped, as much as Irene refused to admit it.

The familiar voice, somehow managing to be both emotionless and soft, almost gentle, drew her back slowly.

Irene blinked, and her pale eyes focused, her brows furrowing as consciousness, her consciousness surfaced again. She became aware then of the pain, of the background aches that was a life on the run, of the new pains of burns and bruises and whatever else had happened. She blinked and looked up to see Seven's hand, palm up, offered to her and Irene shook her head, clearing away the last of the fog.]

I'm fine. [A lie. But a small one. She lived in lies. Still, she smiled at Seven, and forced her finger off the trigger, to let her hand fall to her side, and offered Seven the still hot weapon.] Superficial burns. The complex took the brunt of it, as predicted.

Of course. [Seven's tone is sceptical, raising an eyebrow. Then her well-learned sarcasm kicks in.] The complex will not benefit from the aid of the dermal regenerator. Come. Superficial wounds still have the potential to develop complications. Should we find ourselves in dire ciecunstances yet again today, I would prefer you operating at peak efficiency.

[She retrieved the weapon and set it aside casually, stepping up to Irene. She reached out to gently encircle her long fingers around one of Irene's wrists to turn her arm over so see could reach the first of the burns, provided she didn't fight Seven's hold.]

You are adapting well to this life. I must admit, I find myself continually surprised by your strength of will and enginuity. [Read between the lines: I like having you around and would miss you if something were to happen to you.]

[Her lips quirk into a small wry smile in response to Seven's words, but it is the other woman's touch that leeches the last of the tension from the set of Irene's shoulders, from the set of her jaw. The feel of long fingers against her wrist is familiar, and Irene lets out a long breath, letting Seven turn her arm to inspect the burns. If Seven's fingers linger over her wrist, the other woman would have noticed that Irene's pulsepoint had been calm, utterly steady, despite the sortie.

The burns, however, are perhaps less superficial than Irene had dismissed, and she winced as the adrenaline began to ebb, allowing pain receptors to fire and scream into her senses, and she hisses a little as she responds, her words cool but with an edge of fondness that is all she allows herself these days.]

I'd call you a mother hen, but then you'd tell me metaphors are a waste of time, won't you?

[Her hand does linger, and she does notice, but makes no comment. Instead, she activates the device in her other hand, bringing it close to the worst of the burns. She notices the hiss and can nearly feel the response of the damaged nerve endings. A sympathetic pain, she's sure, but when did that become part of her? The longer she embraces her humanity, the longer she fights the Borg alongside allies, the more human she becomes.]

It would seem we share different definitions of the word 'superficial'. [Small snipe about your fib, Irene. However, she finds the corners of her lips tugging upward at the observation about her coddling.]

I believe the word I would use is 'irrelevant'. [She's gradually moving from burn to burn with the medical tool. Absentmindedly, she strokes the pad of her thumb over Irene's wrist.]

The pain should be ebbing as the tissue regenerates. While we are at this, perhaps you would like to list off any other superficial wounds for me to 'fuss' over.

'Irrelevant.' That word is more your style. [Dermal regeneration regenerates nerves as well as tissue, and the newly repaired nerves makes Irene's skin more sensitive, the touch of Seven's thumb against her skin a warm pressure that is almost painful despite its gentle touch.

Still, she is coming back to herself, drawing the tattered remnants of what it meant to be Irene Adler back over herself like a worn coat, its edges frayed, tattered by use,. Seven's not-actual-question does draw Irene's attention, and she frowns a little, categorizing the litany of pain she feels, putting each to a cause, most of them old wounds, or simply the result of a life now lived with too little rest and too little healing. But there is one new pain that she has no answer for, that she cannot explain away, and Irene rolls her eyes when she realizes what it is, and what her companion will say when she sees it.

If she sees it. Irene extends her less-damaged hand for the dermal regenerator.]

Or you could just hand me the dermal regenerator and I can take care of it. I'm hardly an invalid.

Perhaps not, but at present, you are my patient. It would be irresponsible of me not to see your treatment through to the end. [She feels she owes the Doctor an apology for her own stubborn behaviour in the past.] You are not alone. Accepting the aid of others can be difficult, believe me, I'm well aware, but I have learned it is hardly a weakness.

[She lifts the device and releases her gentle hold to move to her other arm. This time, she places her fingers under Irene's palm to lift her hand and expose the burns.]

[Irene huffs in protest as a response, and she allows Seven to lift her hand to expose the burns. She does, however, brace herself for the inevitable exclamation. Her other arm is significantly worse for wear. The weapon she had been wielding had clearly overheated at some point, and the sleeve of Irene's shirt is scorched away, her skin vividly red, blistered, all along the forearm. It's definitely not pretty.]

I'm not concerned about it being a weakness. I was just hoping to avoid the lecture.

[She's kidding. Maybe. Probably not.]

(Post-Origins preferred, but Origins-era Wardens are fine here if character info's available. Opting out of 10 unless we've threaded before. 12 isn't really her style.)

[ being a Ranger was never Cashmere's plan. it was her parent's plan, accepted as her destiny and a path to something much greater. she and Gloss make a good pair: blonde, beautiful and all-American: they're given a Jaeger named Yankee Bravo and that pretty much seals the deal. for a long time, things are good. and then they get very bad.

the worse things get, the more she gets lost in memories of the glory days. she thinks she'd give anything for one more talk show, one more magazine article that hailed them as heroes instead of blaming them for humanity's almost certain doom. when she joined the PPDC she never thought she might actually lose. now it feels like death is on her heels - on everyone's heels - but they're all in too deep and she'd rather die in a Jaeger than run away like a coward.

Yancy's dead and Raleigh's gone, and they don't talk about him anymore. more Rangers die, they lose Jaegers and eventually there are whispers of closing shatterdomes. they all get shuffled around, the Hansens and the twins both landing in Los Angeles. it's all bad but technically they're still winning the war until the first big blow comes: a Kaiju tears through the Los Angeles Shatterdome. it takes three Jaegers to bring it down, and the eerie vulnerable silence afterwards is more terrifying than the attack.

it's hours later when tracks Chuck down, too embarrassed to find him while she was still trying to swallow down the panic that she's having trouble shaking. ]

Hey. You okay?

[ Chuck reckons he's lucky enough to even still be in his jaeger, what with the way they're shuffling and moving them around. They're not building more and the ones that fall aren't repaired or replaced. Slowly but surely, the jaeger program is being phased out and Chuck thinks that's the worst idea anyone's ever had, ever.

But he's not calling those shots, so he can't do anything about it.

And that makes him furious, that feeling of helplessness. The inability to do anything about it.

The fact that it took three jaegers to take down the latest kaiju ought to give them a clue that this is their best line of defense, but they won't hear it.

Strike's got some major damage and Chuck's in the bay working on the hydraulics when she finds him. ]

I'm fine.

Me too. [ THANKS FOR ASKING, CHUCK. but if she wanted to be coddled she wouldn't have sought him out. She shoves her hands into her jacket pockets because she doesn't trust them not to shake. ] We'll be up doing repairs the rest of the week, though. [ they all will. they're lucky they aren't dead. one of these days they won't be so lucky.

She moves closer, not enough that she's in his space but close enough that he can't really ignore her. he looks okay, but she can practically see the anger radiating off him. she'd been worried she wouldn't find him all in one piece. ]

You want some help?

[ girl he is the wrong person if you need a pat on the head. go find tendo or someone if that's what you're after.

He glances up at her, hands and arms and skin streaked with grease, eyes blazing. He's as scared and terrified as she is, but he hides it under his rage. ]

Pass me the wrench?

[ that she can do. Cash snags the wrench from its home on the workbench and hands it over wordlessly. doing something, anything, is a good enough distraction for her. but she also can't just let silence sit between them, not on a night like this, with everyone on edge and a hundred horrific possibilities flashing before every time she closes her eyes. ]

You were good today.

I know.

[ But not good enough. It's not -- going to be good enough anymore.

He grips the wrench and twists it around a bolt, tightening a little harder than necessary. ]

[ it hurts when he's distant like this, unreachable even though he's within her grasp. losing Chuck would (will?) just be another hard blow when the rest of the world comes crashing down around them. ]

Baby... [ she says it softly and it's something of a warning because now she is going to touch him. things have been... well, she doesn't really know how to label what they are. more than fuck buddies, still short of introducing each other as that someone special. maybe it doesn't matter. as soon as her feet were back on the ground she wanted to run to him and see for herself than he was all right.

Cash moves carefully, a gentle hand on his upper arm to test the waters instead of jumping straight in with a full embrace. ]

It's over now. [ at least for tonight. at least until more monsters come crashing at them. ]

[ Which could be at any moment. There is no rest, not anymore. Chuck exhales, expecting the touch at this point because that's what logically comes next in normal relationships - but this isn't normal. Nothing about any of this is normal.

It's a bad fucking idea is what it is, but it doesn't stop him from turning to look at her, eyes full of heat because forget conversation, he's going to shove her up against the metal of Striker's foot and kiss the breath from her lungs. ]

[ it's an awful idea, but here they are. she stiffens in surprise and then relaxes under him, eagerly returning the kiss. this is more than a bad idea, it's all out stupid and Tendo would have both of their heads if anyone were to catch them. but she could have died today so she doesn't give a damn.

she starts in on his belt, in a hurry to work off his pants before either one of them comes to their senses. she needs this, needs a reminder that he's alive and so is she. ]

[ They both could've easily died and Chuck's adrenaline is going haywire. If he's gonna die, he's gonna go out on his own terms. Suck it, Tendo. He's gonna fuck Cashmere right here in the bay, right up against Striker's foot. ]

Get these--off--

[ Referring to her pants, because he's so anxious and horny he's having trouble with buttons and zippers. ]

[ a giggle escapes her as she yanks down his pants and boxers while he continues to struggle with hers. he'll rip them off if she lets him, so she bats his hands away to save herself a broken zipper. ]

Better?

[ her pants pool at her ankles and she kicks them out of the way under the workbench. Cash has lost more than a few pairs of panties thanks to Chuck, so he'll have to work around those. like hell she's losing her contraband lace underwear in the bay. ]

Sssshhh. [ unnecessary, since she's the one with the giggles but she'll boss him around any chance she gets. Chuck's already hard, and she wraps a hand around his cock, stroking slowly.]

How would you feel about doing something with a Mandalorian bounty hunter?

OOC: Sounds good! I got a 5. Want me to start or would you like to?

Either, or! Power went out so I'll have to reply or write a starter tomorrow. I tend to go for back tagging over boomerang, if that's OK with you. I play her as either time traveling or not, depending (she's from a tabletop game that involved a lot of space anomalies and sith shenanigans)

If you could start this one off, I would eternally grateful! ~~I am such a nervous little wreck when it comes to shipping memes.~~ I tend to back tag a lot too.

No probs. If you'd be amenable, we could start with CR and go from there?

Also, since you got separation, how would you feel about a hyperspace anomaly putting their ships in each other's path? We could do a stranded-on-an-iceworld thing, maybe.

Also, prose or brackets? I have a vague preference for prose, but not so much that it'll blow my station to do brackets;I'm just out of practice

Sounds good and I like that idea of a hyperspace anomaly. Prose works for me.

It had started out as such a good day.

Her mark had been a challenge, but ultimately he'd fallen prey to a well placed stun grenade and had posed no resistance to being manacled and stuffed into a holding cell. As paydays went, he would fetch a mediocre price but Oya'karii had learned a thing or two about him, and he deserved whatever her employer had planned. He was a hut'uun, a rapist, and an inept killer, and if the girl's father had put out a little extra cash to bring him to justice, so much the better.

Then, there had been the trip back. There had been lights, and there had been darkness.

The sound of the ship's klaxon woke her to a gentle freefall spin in the middle of a corridor. The Mandalorian couldn't have been out for long, though she couldn't recall whatever had happened to damage the gravity systems. After activating her magnetic boots and barking orders to her droids, Oya'karii made her way to the cockpit, where even now her T7 was attempting to stabilize their decent.

The sight of a looming planet soured her mood further.

After a quick look at her readouts, the Mano saw that her payday had already gotten his comeuppance; hard vacuum was as fitting an end as any, though that explained why so many auxiliary systems were offline. Even so, the Optimist was a rugged ship. A little maneuvering with the landing thrusters got the tailspin to even out, but there was no doubt she was coming in too hard and too fast.

Memories floated back to her on their way down, disjointed and seemingly without cause. Ship. There had been a second ship. Crashes in hyperspace were not unheard of, but they typically involved every part of the ships involved separating at many times the speed of light. Whatever had happened to the other ship, Oya'karii counted herself lucky to have survived this far.

Inly, she hoped the repulsors worked; this would not be a good way to die.

OOC: It looks good to me!

Kylo was jolted to the floor when the crash occurred. Something had gone wrong, terribly wrong. The small ship had hit something as it was traveling through hyperspace. He dragged himself over to a flashing screen, which revealed a collision with another ship. Of course he had to have the worst luck in the galaxy.

He strapped himself in as the ship spiraled down towards the planet, struggling to regain control. There was no chance of avoiding a crash, he was coming in too hot. Even as he punched buttons and tried to slow the rate of descent, he was reaching out with the Force, trying to slow the ship down. It wasn't very effective, for the ship was just too big for him to have proper control.

He supposed he must have blacked out when the ship hit the icy wasteland. Was he dead? No, he was just upside down. Unstrapping himself, he fell to the ceiling and made his way towards the nearest door. Falling out quite ungracefully, he stumbled to his feet. There was a trail of smoke coming from not too far away. The other ship had landed close by then.

Still somewhat dazed and not thinking altogether clearly, he left the wreckage of his own vessel behind and made his way towards where the Optimist had landed.

The repulsors lit in fits and starts, making for a hard, staccato landing that was three-quarters crash. A sensor in her helmet beeped, and Oya'karii was on her feet and sealing off the tibanna gas lines before she truly oriented herself. With that done, she ran an air cycle flush and climbed out of the access port before checking on the condition of her droid.

The small display read:
T7 = functional
Master = functional y/n

"I'm fine, She gave the droid a pat. "Check on hull integrity, would you? I need to know what we lost and whether we can stand vacuum."

Cockpit readouts gave her a litany of damaged or inoperative systems. As a precaution, she powered down the ship's auxiliary systems and took main power down to minimal levels. Only then did she spend the time to look more closely at the white drifts into which they had ignominiously plowed.

The Mandalorian smiled. This was going to be a challenge.

Someone was coming. Through narrowed eyes, she spied a black figure approaching through the cold, fleeing from the second, downed ship. She frowned. Without a temperature suit of any kind, walking on open ground in weather like this was suicidal at worst and idiotic at best. She shook her head and went to open the door.

Oya'karii moved with easy confidence towards the figure, unwilling yet to let whoever it was close to her ship without a little more information. Her deep green armor was well equipped to handle the cold, as her clan had settled on an icy ball known as Kerest. Even though she'd only lived there until the age of four, ice and snow were second nature.

He was still a fair distance away, but she was able to identify the figure as male.

Kylo stumbled as best he could through the snow. His clothes were meant to protect him against the light snowfall of Starkiller Base, not the blasting cold of this planet. It sliced through the layers of black clothing like a knife, leaving him freezing. That was alright. Cold was just another expression of pain and pain was something that he could use to fuel his anger.

He hadn't come this far in his life to die on some out of the way planet. This was not his destiny. If he put his trust into the Force, he knew he could make it out of here. The glare of the sun on the snow was intense, even with the protection his mask offered him.

Squinting at the other ship, he saw a figure emerge from it. As he drew closer, he could see the dark green Mandalorian armor, though he was hard-pressed to tell if the figure wearing it was a man or a woman. "So, you survived the crash." He sounded neither happy or angry, merely stating a fact. His hand hovered over his lightsaber, always on the alert when strangers were about.

When the man was close enough to evaluate more fully, the lightsaber on his belt, propensity for black robes, and menacing mask marked him as Sith until proven otherwise. There was always the possibility that he was something else, but the likelihood was so remote as to be virtually impossible. Their aesthetic tended to be as distinct and recognizable as the armor she herself wore.

The Mandalorian noticed his hand poised to draw a saber but did not appear particularly threatened by the fact. Her Da had told her years ago how best to kill both Jedi and Sith, and though she'd killed more of the former than the latter, she knew a handful of dirty tricks that would get her on equal footing, if she needed it.... though to his credit, her Da had also given her the advice to stay away from either Force orders on open ground, if possible. Traps and the like were best for their kind, not frontal assault. Probe droids also made useful tools for hunting Force users, but there was technically no reason to believe this man was hostile. Yet.

Oya did not comment on the man's statement as it seemed to be a mutually obvious fact. Instead, she asked a pointed question. "In what condition is your ship?" Her voice was mechanical, though her accent was clear enough and her armor showed the dings and scuff marks where scorch burns had been cleaned. A few vertical lines on her armor and the mark of her clan on her shoulder were all done in grey. The Mandalorian's inquiry served two purposes: first, his answer might give her some clue as to his interest in her and her craft beyond mere curiosity. Second, if parts of her ship proved irreparable, then usable parts might be stripped from his vehicle to repair her own, if they proved compatible and he was amenable to trading parts for a ride off this planet.

Judging from the angle of the sun, Oya'karii estimated they'd have an hour or or so of sunlight before twilight would herald the coming of night, and with it, real cold.

Even as the Madalorian sized him up, so Kylo Ren was doing the same to her. He'd heard stories of them ever since he was a child. His father had told him of how an encounter with one had led him to being encased in carbonite. His actual first-hand experience with them was rather limited, but he knew that any bounty hunter was sly and full of tricks. 'Never turn your back on one', Han had once told him.

"Upside down," Kylo replied wryly. His head was still aching from that crash landing. "Don't think it'll be flying again." He was too proud to flat-out ask for help, though his intentions had been clear enough when approaching the ship. If their positions had been reversed. Kylo wouldn't have been keen to take on a passenger he knew next to nothing about. He could only hope that Oya was more merciful than he would have been. If he could've just used a mind trick on her, he would've have, but she seemed too strong-willed to have the proper malleable mind.

Interestingly, Mando were not necessarily opposed to kindness. There was nothing in the Resol'nare about being either cruel or kind, though as a culture they trended more to the gruff side of niceness if they trended at all. But, helping people in need was a character trait her Da had encouraged since he'd taken her away from home. Others could not be expected to overcome seemingly insurmountable problems alone; they were not Mandalorian.

Sith, however, were far from helpless.

She watched the man levelly, mulling over his words and what they implied about his ability to repair his ship versus its condition. After her silence stretched beyond what would be considered polite by more prim societies, Oya'karii outlined her terms, her tone implying that she would brook no negotiation without things getting a good bit more serious between them. "Give me your ship to strip for parts and I'll give you a ride off this rock to the nearest inhabited port. While you're on my ship, whether in the air or on the ground, I'm in charge."

In the delves and cockles of memory, Oya had only ever known a handful of Force users who knew their way around a ship well enough to repair one, and assuming this one fell in with the majority seemed a safe bet. Still, Sith payed well and they had the same respect for strength that her culture prized. Her past was far further in the past than she could have imagined, but some things never changed.

"Take it or leave."

There was no threat in her voice, only steady fact.

[anything goes~]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Through Hell I Met You

Maria Hill || MCU

7 of 9 | Star Trek: Voyager

Some mixture of 6 and 8, comrade-in-arms type of non-smut shipping?

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Morrigan | Dragon Age

cassie hughes ( hex )

Chuck Hansen | Pacific Rim

smushes some stuff together 6 8 idk

yas

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boss | saints row

rita vrataski | edge of tomorrow (all you need is kill)

ilsa faust | mission impossible

Kylo Ren | Star Wars

Re: Kylo Ren | Star Wars

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I left it vague! I figure they're landing on Rhen Var because cold. Let me know if I need to edit.

Re: I left it vague! I figure they&#39;re landing on Rhen Var because cold. Let me know if I need to

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Sauron 🔥 The Silmarillion (or later)

Liling 'Lily' Yang | World of Darkness OC | M/F

Hyakuya Yuuichirou | Owari no Seraph

Tobio | OC | m/m

Re: I left it vague! I figure they're landing on Rhen Var because cold. Let me know if I need to