armysantiny - Tumblr blog

armysantiny · 1 day ago

Text

I’m Right, I’m Left – LADS

P: everyone x everyone (snowcrow focus-ish) (gender-neutral reader) | G: fluff, angst(?), oneshot | Inc: active combat, that fucking Wanderer from Open Orbit 110, Caleb's personal aircraft, artillery fire from said aircraft, all their weapons are ineffective bc I said so, snowcrow on a date (implied), Sylus and Zayne wreaking house, teasing/banter | Wc: 3.4k | W: active combat, artillery/gunfire| R: 12+

Min's notes: This took me four months. I did not want it to take me four months. This was inspired by @/sanathetanuki on tiktok/ig and their snowcrow art! Also yk that one fuckass Wanderer from the second round of Open Orbit 110? Yeah fuck that thing, I've been stuck there for MONTHS. Oh, and that's my MC in the banner!! She's my baby <33 if there's anything I missed in the tags/warnings, lmk! I'm far too eager to get this posted ngl idk if I'm 100% satisfed with the ending but fuck it

Summary: Two Hunters. An artist-assassin. The FarSpace Fleet Colonel himself. And not a single one of their weapons have even begun to make a single dent in the behemoth of a Wanderer in front of them. At this rate, it’s hopeless, their only saving grace being that all surrounding civilians in the area have long since been evacuated.

…Of course, until Sylus and Zayne kindly remind everyone that using your hands is a perfectly effective form of combat.

It's hopeless.

Y/n heaves, their chest burning through breath after breath, gulping down air as sweat beads down their forehead. It's been, what, two and a half hours? And none of their weapons have done anything to the Wanderer, the ugly behemoth’s roar deafening the noise of chaos and mayhem around both y/n and Xavier. The beast is like nothing either of the hunters have ever seen, a trail of destruction being left in its wake as it travels through the market square. The brief respite between attacks is a godsend, and y/n cautions a glance at the surrounding area, wincing at the rubble of market stalls and hauling themselves back onto their feet, determined to make the last few bullets in their firearms count.

Each shot hits perfectly, a seasoned marksmen’s aim and right where y/n assumes the Wanderer’s weak point should be… but nothing.

Not even a stagger.

“Oh, come on!” They groan, utterly exhausted. Out of ammo, the guns are discarded, rendered useless by the Wanderer’s apparent immunity. Of course, the one day they choose to leave their claymore at home, is the day all of this happens. Next time they get odd looks for taking their entire arsenal with them on daily patrols, they’re shoving the footage that eventually sprouts from this in everyone’s faces.

Not that anyone else from the Association is here to begin with.

“On your left!” Xavier calls out, his voice cutting through the voice in y/n’s head that starts rattling off every battle strategy they’ve ever mastered, keen on finding a viable solution to all of this. There has to be something. Something they can do to weaken this godforsaken creature. Following their partner’s lead, y/n turns their head and oh—

It’s swinging right at them.

Oh shit.

Over a year’s worth of hunter’s training goes out the window, y/n’s breath catching in their throat as the Wanderer’s cleaver gets closer. And closer. They can’t even move— why can’t they move it’s right there—

There are few that understand fear quite the way Rafayel does, that understand how it takes root in his lungs and steals away every breath. It seeps into every interaction, twists his words of concern into accusations of abandonment and wilting apologies once the words leave his mouth. Of course, Rafayel knows far too well that y/n nor the others never truly mean to abandon him, what with all their collective reassurances to stay and proving time and time again that they will be there despite his fears.

It helps.

He likes to think he’s made his peace with it, after all this time. It’s been eight centuries and counting, that’s more than enough time for him. The cruel beast doesn’t even faze him that much anymore, merely nipping at his heels like a petulant little creature demanding his attention. With enough effort, he hardly realises it’s even there. Ignores its voice like one would with an overly spoilt child.

Except as of ten minutes ago, Rafayel has never felt so damningly afraid.

His feet have been carrying him as fast he can go, the breaking news report of the Wanderer attack still burning a fresh image behind his eyes. The location is a familiar one, the very same market square him and his loves had been walking through a couple of days before on a date, now rubble as he begins to approach. Xavier and y/n are here somewhere, he knows it. Can feel it. But just where are they both—

“Get outta the way!” Rafayel screams, leaping across to tug y/n into his arms and away from the giant cleaver. The two tumble, crashing to the ground while the Lemurian takes most of the damage, holding y/n tightly against his chest.

“…Raf—”

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? God, why didn’t you move?! It was coming right at you!” Concern nips at the edge of his words the longer his ranting continues, arms frantic as Rafayel insists on checking y/n over. He’d do the same to Xavier, make sure his star is just fine, but the other man’s still in the midst of the fight, moving like the silent force of nature he is. He can do it later. And even as y/n brushes his concerns over with a huff, it doesn't make him feel any better. Doesn't quell the worry in his chest.

What if he hadn't been there in time? If he hadn't already been nearby?

“I’m fine, honey,” y/n says, probably for the hundredth time, “we’re both fine. It’s just getting hard for the both of us. Bloody thing isn’t taking any damage.”

The blades form in Rafayel’s hands before he hears anything else, intricate metal made to kill dancing between his fingers. He doesn't need to hear anything else. Disposing of this monster won’t take long, not if Rafayel can help it. But...he's not reckless enough to not call for backup. As confident as the Lemurian is in his abilities, this fight would go much easier with help. Help that's little more morally grey than he is. Tempering the tsunami bubbling underneath, he reaches for his phone, pinging their collective group chat before handing the device to y/n for safekeeping.

As soon as he makes eye contact with Xavier, however, he’s wasting no time. Weapons in hand and fire licking at the ground, Rafayel launches right into the thick of battle the ocean’s wrath behind him. Violet burns in his eyes as he wields his daggers, striking the beast over and over, determined to succeed where his lovers couldn't. Sure, they’re both trained hunters, but Rafayel is no stranger to combat, no stranger to the thrill of the fight and certainly capable of killing things that get in his way. And this Wanderer is exactly that.

In his way.

“Y/n was right,” Xavier grits out, forced to his knee to catch his breath as he and Rafayel catch their breaths, his sword stuck firmly into the ground. “Our weapons aren't doing anything to it.”

“How observant of you, pretty boy.”

“Oh hush.” But he can't deny the way his face heats up at the sardonic praise, shaking his head in attempt to focus on the task at hand. He's not immune to Rafayel's quips and teasing, never has been, really, but they have to focus now. “I thought you told the others to come and help?”

They defeat another Heart Knave as it approaches. Ruthless and effective.

“I did! Not my fault Winter Soldier and that damn crow are taking so long!” And well, Xavier supposes the artist is right. “All that machinery between them for what?”

He leaves Rafayel to his frustrated mutterings after that, content to deal with the more manageable Wanderers that spawn in. Better that than waiting for reinforcements. Though a fond smile does make its way onto his face, soft and warm against the sharp precision of his sword. Like this, fighting Wanderers that barely pose a threat, it gives Xavier space to think. About y/n. About the odd little family he's become a part of. How he now might be able to last until the next spring. It's odd. Four other people. And there's space in his heart for all of them.

Content that all of the smaller threats have been dealt with, Xavier’s mind turns to y/n. As much as he trusts his partner’s skills, he can’t help the concern that blooms in his chest. They’re unarmed now, and he hasn’t spotted them since he and Rafayel decided to continue fighting. So, he looks, and searches, and prays he hasn’t lost them.

His heart pauses. Then resumes in quick succession as he finds them coordinating an evacuation for the handful of people still caught in the crossfire.

Just in time for a Fleet ship to descend.

“Not too late to the party, am I?” Caleb chuckles, his voice warm and optimistic and far too close to y/n's ears. It jolts them, and they blink through the surprise, looking to Xavier who confirms exactly what they're thinking. In fact, Xavier even points upwards, and y/n's even more baffled.

Caleb's personal ship, hovering a good few hundred feet in the air.

Because of course.

“...how the fuck are you here?”

“Wo-o-w, pipsqueak, how heartless. Aren’t you happy to see me?” And they are, save for the indignant grumbling at how pleased Caleb is at his own teasing. But it's fine. They can get their own back later. “Anyway, Raf pinged this location, I figured you'd need the help, what's it lookin' like down there? ...Apart from big, blue and ugly, obviously.”

Biting back their retort that Caleb could just analyse the battlefield for himself, y/n takes stock of what—regrettably little—progress has been made in defeating the enemy. It’s bleak. This battle needs to end soon, otherwise the market square risks being reduced to ruin entirely, the rubble and debris already starting to pile up. But y/n’s running out of options. If their firearms, Xavier’s light sword and Rafayel’s blades aren’t doing much of anything, what else could they possibly throw at this Wanderer?

Unless—

“You carry artillery in that thing, right?” They ask, catching the blade that Rafayel offers and re-joining the fight. Caleb confirms with an affirming grunt, which is more than enough for y/n to suggest their idea. “We need to disable it's protoshield to do any sort of meaningful damage, try firing at the thing!”

“You got it, captain.”

If this doesn't work, y/n might consider pulling their hair out. Or contacting Jenna and begging the woman to send reinforcements. They’re on edge, watching closely as Caleb's aircraft line up the shot with the precision of a needle, heart beating widely in their chest. It's not often y/n gets to see Caleb like this, in Colonel Xia mode, putting his knowledge of air-based combat to use, but EVER be damned if it isn't enticing. They can already picture it; the furrow of his brow, how his gaze sharpens, the set of his jaw...

Rafayel whistles. The wave of bashfulness that follows is mortifying.

“Down, cutie,” the artist laughs, joining y/n's side as they try to hide their face behind their hands. Unsuccessfully. “We can all jump the pretty apple after we're done giving that bastard hell— ah, ah, hey! Don't swat me, you know you want to!”

And y/n sort of, maybe, kind of wishes the man wasn't right. Pursing their lips and swatting Rafayel again for good measure, their attention is drawn back to the fight when Caleb's aircraft fires, the sheer force of the blast nearly knocking all three of them off their feet. Shards of the Wanderer's armoured scales go flying, landing amongst the rubble as the smallest sliver of a weak spot is exposed. Finally. Tension pours out of everyone, a waterfall of relief that has even Xavier nearly buckling against the pillar all three of them have been taking cover behind. The Colonel's voice echoes in y/n's and Xavier's ears, equal parts relief and pride in the man's chuckle.

It's not the biggest opening, but it is something. Y/n can work with that.

“’I've got enough juice in this baby for one more,” Caleb announces as y/n watches him line up another shot, echoing the confidence of a man endlessly skilled in combat. Reliable skills. Skills they trust. “Just say when, cap'.”

The beast swings. Not yet. Deafening roars. Rafayel stares, impatient. Their fellow hunter poised, a blade waiting to strike.

Not yet.

The swinging stops. Red, pulsing energy coils around y/n's wrists—

“Now!”

Sylus doesn't often indulge in days off, days where the comings and goings on the N109 Zone are relegated to the furthest reaches of his mind and he can devote his time and affections to those who each hold a piece of his heart. An emperor cannot simply relinquish his control whenever he wishes. So he presses his foot on the acceleration, ego tugging on the corner of his lip when Zayne rushes to hold onto the seat, the two still clad in clothes from their lunch date. He makes a note to take the good doctor joyriding some other day, so he can see that alluring burst of emotion one more time.

Though now, all that's on Sylus' mind is pushing his vintage convertible past its limits if it'll mean him and Zayne will get to that damned market faster. The speedometer ticks forward, inching itself towards breaking double the motorway's speed limit but it's still not fast enough. Definitely not fast enough.

“Remind me darling, what's our current ETA?”

Sylus doesn't need to look over to see the exasperated pull of his lover's brow.

“You expect me to reach for my phone like this?” Zayne retorts.

Pulsing energy seeps through the vehicle, Sylus' Evol an obedient tool as it reaches for Zayne’s phone, handing it to the man beside him with a flourish. There's a huff, followed by the younger man both reading out their ETA—a solid ten minutes—and still grasping the seat like a lifeline. Ten is good. Ten is very good.

But Sylus can do better.

“Let's do five.”

“Sylus Qin that is—” He steals a kiss. His Evol explodes around them.

Zayne looks terrified. Possibly even fascinated.

Very little in life has the same thrill akin to flying, but travelling this fast? It's close enough. The roof comes down, rushing wind sweeps through his hair and bites of freedom have never tasted so good. Bathed in the red energy of Sylus' Evol, the car is a blur, a cocky smirk on the owner's face as a glimmer of an explosion rings out in front of them. A wing of a plane appears after the smoke clears and oh. Sylus laughs, smug, amused and fond all the same. Of course.

It's not long after that Sylus finally manages to pull up, just in time for the Colonel’s personal aircraft to line up again, but that’s when he sees it. The beast stops swinging, but the cleaver raises in time with his beloved’s command and—

“Now!”

Zayne’s not even thinking, running on sheer instinct alone as he throws the wall of ice up in time for the Wanderer’s cleaver to come crashing down. His heart pounds, years of combat training rearing its head as he throws up another wall of ice to cover himself and check on everyone. Caleb’s only just landed after jumping from his now wreck of an aircraft, y/n’s roughed up from fighting but they’re in reliable hands, and both Xavier and Rafayel aren’t sporting any significant damage.

At least for now his heart can relax while he and Sylus figure out what on earth to do with the Wanderer before it destroys anymore of the surrounding market—or what’s left of it.

“There doesn’t seem to be much damage done to it, what do you suggest we do?” He asks, shrugging off his dress coat. “I suppose you’ve all—?”

“We’ve tried everything, really,” Xavier sighs, sparkles of light hovering around the light blade Zayne’s seen him wield time and time again. “Our weapons don’t seem to be doing anything to it, just… slowing it down.”

Everything?

“What about blunt-force? Or hand-to-hand combat?” And Zayne can’t help the knowing smile that tugs on his lips at the collective reaction to his words. He can’t blame them, really, for not thinking about it when fighting against a creature of that size, but their options are clearly limited. “Very well. You four should stay here and recover for the moment, Sylus and I can handle the threat.”

A threat that’s actively getting ready to swing its cleaver again.

His discards his dress coat, wrapping it around y/n’s shoulders—that hunter’s uniform surely can’t be suitable for this weather—and joins Sylus to confront the beast. Ice climbing up his veins as he clenches his fist, ready to do something. Is landing a fist going to be feasible? At all? When Zayne cautions a glance over at Sylus, the man’s already in position, cracking his knuckles and it has the odd effect of filling Zayne with an ounce of confidence.

He's seen the man fight before, knows the kind of damage that Sylus is capable of…they might be able to pull this off, if the half-baked idea forming in his head actually works in practice. With his ice, Sylus’ energy and their combined physical strength—

“Looks like you’ve got a plan, doctor?” Comes the expensive chuckle, red, gleaming energy already overtaking the environment. “Go on, do share with the class.”

“I would, though it looks like you already know, Sylus.”

Chains, thick, heavy and forged of pure energy and frigid ice weave their way around the beast, trapping it in place just as the cleaver reaches its peak. The doctor watches while a fiend lands successive punches, each one more devastating than the last. Shards of the beast go flying, each piece exploding into a cloud of energy. So Zayne throws a boulder of ice, and Sylus? Sylus’ foot connects with the ice, the impact sending the boulder right at the Wanderer and its devastating cleaver.

The weapon comes crashing down like a tsunami. Displaced rubble flies everywhere as Zayne runs up and across steps of ice, his Evol growing like a gauntlet around his clenched fist. Wanderer now unarmed, the doctor can truly put his combat expertise to good use.

He reaches the peak, face to face with the Wanderer and Sylus is there. Ready and waiting.

“Ready?” His fiend asks.

Zayne is more than ready.

“Let's finish this.”

Sylus needs no other prompting after that. It's not every day he gets to fight alongside the good doctor, but now he might just have to extend his sparring invitations to the younger man. Zayne's been holding out on him. His Evol is ferocious as it crackles to life once more, hungry for bloodshed.

Weaving red around the both of them, Sylus lands blow after blow to the Wanderer, each strike in time with Zayne's in a wicked symphony. They make easy work of it, breaking the enemy piece by piece until it's a crumpled—but alive—heap within the chains keeping it bound. Sylus lands his fist directly at its chest, and almost poetically so, he finds the beast’s core. A bright red, amalgamated mess of a protocore finally exposed to the air. Finally.

Their predator is now prey.

Sylus rolls his shoulders, exhaling at the satisfying crack that follows. Nothing like a battle to stretch his limbs. It’s time for grand finale, one which he and Zayne will be orchestrating. So he joins the man he loves as they stand—on platforms formed of red ice—above the weakened creature, staring down at it with shared fury and heaving breaths. It’s time to end this.

There’s stunned laughter as Sylus and Zayne descend, the Wanderer now nothing more than the protocore nestled away in the fiend’s hand. Y/n can’t believe it. It’s actually over. The sigh of relief that passes through them is immense, leaning into the closest pair of arms that eagerly wrap around them. Now that it’s all said and done, frankly all they want to do is sleep. Preferably until the weekend. Shrugging off Zayne’s coat and handing it over as their boyfriend walks over, y/n takes the chance to really look at what he’s wearing. Sylus too, looks like a handsome devil. More so than usual.

Huh.

“I see we interrupted something,” Caleb hums, practically reading y/n’s thoughts and stealing the words out of their mouth. “Lunch date?”

“Right as always, Colonel. Better make it a six-person date, now that we’re all here, hmm?” Sylus answers easily, still as smug as ever. And Y/n can’t even argue with his suggestion, gently prying Rafayel’s arms from their waist and pulling the artist along to walk towards the vintage car parked nearby. Light conversation gives way to comfortable silence, a collective relief washing over everyone now that the battle is done.

Sure, there’s an entire market square that's been reduced to rubble, but no one's been hurt, so mission accomplished. Pretty much.

“Actually,” y/n sighs, draping themselves over Xavier and Rafayel's lap in the backseat of the Cadillac. “You know what I really want right now?”

Five sets of eyes turn.

“To get a fucking massage.”

“As long as it's on my card, sweetie.”

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! Consider reblogging, leaving some feedback or donating to my kofi!

Taglist: @freakydazai, @honey-andmilktea, @pegging-satan | Taglist Form

#self reblog #*sigh* I miss the Min that used to be able to write more #where'd he go huh

66 notes · View notes