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@ultraviolext:

She seems offended. “Um! I don’t hide! I lie in wait. Get it right.”

“Oh, um, okay.” She casts a backwards glance through the darkened room, eyeing the clutter with newfound suspicion. Being able to tell if she was intoxicated or on some sort of drug was difficult sometimes, but Maria blinks back with searching eyes. 

Maybe this was going to be dangerous.

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blupyrc​:

‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒ He supposed being ‘afraid to die’ was a moot point in a career like this. Pain, death, and resurrection was a commonplace thing in the life of a TF Industries mercenary. 

       Or was it? Maybe the original Pyro was gone and he was just some cloned replicant with all the memories of the original Pyro. In that case, would it matter then, if he was the original one; if the soul was real, would it be a simple transfer to another body, or was he just some soulless abomination of science that thought he was real?

          He was getting way too ahead of himself, maybe he shouldn’t think too hard about that kind of thing. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder that, perhaps, if all the killing and dying he did was all there was to his life. The mercenary wasn’t really sure what he’d really want to do with his life, but this… wasn’t really it.

      “ Wh͞át ͟di̷d̛ y̶ou ̨w͠ant̢ to͜ ̴be ̨ẁhen ҉y͞o҉u̶ ͘w͡ȩre͡ ̸a ̢ki͘d?͢ ͘ “ He asked. “ ͢Wha̡t̸ ̷did͜ ͞y͝o͏u w̵ant ́to ̕b̡e ̢w̴he͏n y̧ou grew̷ ͟ųp,͢ ҉Į me͞a̕n.͠ “

Sometimes there are whispers about how Pyro’s are unsettling. Satellite never takes part-- the thought of inspiring anyone’s ire for something as avoidable as gossip... She’s vulnerable enough, with her lack of combat training. But it’s something she can’t help from agreeing in the privacy of her mind, the small stretch of silence as the other seems to think fuel for her anxieties. 

She fears pain, if not death. 

Relief, then confusion as the muffled voice returns. Memories flit past. A dozen children screaming for attention, the bustle of an understaffed kitchen, dough and powdered laxatives at her fingertips. An orphanage wasn’t the best place to foster future ambitions.

“Employed, I guess,” she admits almost apologetically. “Why? Did you know you wanted to be here?”

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mmrcnry​:

     EYES SQUEEZED SHUT, HANDS OVER MASKED EARS– SEE NO EVIL, HEAR NO EVIL. Flames burning high, high– higher still, the smell of burning and charred flesh filling his nose, cries echoing, screaming in his ears.

     Head twitching, jerking to the side, a growl forming in his throat, drowned out by the thundering of his heart. Stay in control– stay in control, you fool ! But he couldn’t, not like this, not with fire blazing around him, filling his senses. He doubled over, forehead pressing into gravel– the closer one gets to fire, the more likely they were to get burned.

She nearly misses him, from behind the smoke. The odd corpse on the field was commonplace and it was surprising she’d noticed it moving at all-- perhaps because it was a Spy. Noticing Spies often meant life or death.

“Um...! Excuse me! Can you move?” It was only when she descended that she realized her immediate reaction was wholly reckless. If this was a trap, there would be a bullet through her in the next few seconds.

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@blupyrc asked: “ i’m not afraid to die, just wish i could live a little first. ”

Something in her flickers in response to the claim, the wish. It feels a little like disquiet. Death is quiet, but dying is getting shot, stabbed, burned until there is too little of you to continue. It’s waking up in a too-familiar white room and telling yourself it was a dream so you can walk outside and do it again.

“I guess we do it all the time,” she manages, an automatic smile trained by years of customer service jumping to her mouth. 

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misc prompts for your feels

“ unique just means alone. ” “ i’m not afraid to die, just wish i could live a little first. ” “ i know i’m a monster, but you look at me like i’m a man. ” “ there’s nothing i wouldn’t do to keep you safe. ” “ we all have sins to pay penance for. ” “ don’t look at me like i’m a hero. you’ll only disappoint yourself. ” “ sometimes when you look at me it’s like…it’s like you’re staring straight past my flesh and into my soul. ” “ you make me want to live. ” “ i know i don’t deserve forgiveness, but i like the idea that some people think i might. ” “ i trust you with my life. ” “ you’re more like family to me than my own blood. ” “ i’ve never had any sort of family before. ” “ your life is far more precious than mine. ” “ i don’t care what happens to me. as long as you’re safe. ” “ i need you to live…cause if you’re gone then, i don’t know what the point of it all is anymore. ” “ i know i’m not the person you want, but i’m here. ” “ i love you, and i know you may never feel the same. but i’m okay with that. ” “ i couldn’t say no to you even if i wanted to. ” “ you’re worth more than this. ” “ why do you walk around as if you’re somehow less valuable than the rest of the world? ” “ please, let me help you. ” “ just let me do this for you. ” “ you do have something to live for. you have me. ” “ you’ll always have me. ” “ i see you. i know you feel so invisible all the time, but you’re not. not to me. ” “ it’s okay to be angry, you’re allowed to be upset about what happened to you. ” “ don’t you realize you deserve more than this? ” “ you’re not a machine or— or some thing. you’re a person, and i’m sorry anyone ever made you feel otherwise. ” “ please, just hold on a little longer. i can’t lose you too. ” “ this scar..what happened? ” “ if you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for me. ” “ you’re bleeding— how long have you been hiding this?! ” “ sometimes i realize one day i could die, i could just disappear and the world would be none the wiser. there’d be no one to miss me and that terrifies me more than death itself. ”  “ i’m not sure i know who i’m supposed to be anymore. ” “ my mind is so loud and i’m afraid it’ll never be quiet again. ” “ when i’m in a crowd i just want to melt away and yet, when i’m alone it’s somehow worse. ” “ loneliness is a poison and i’ve been drinking it for so long, i don’t there there’s an anecdote to save my soul. ” “ i don’t care if the world knows my name, i just want you to remember me. ” “ you deserve more than i could ever give you. ” “ i love you. i know that’s not enough, but i do. ” “ you’re safe with me, you always will be. ” “ you make me feel safe. like i’m allowed to be anything i want. ” “ i’d do anything to be the person you love again. ” “ i’ve got you, you’re safe. ” “ just rest, i’m here. ” “ you can stay with me tonight. ”

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posting here when i have a million drafts i need to do for cecil? more likely than you think!!

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vorfreudc​:

    Wrong was she to think this would be a mercy. Eyes widen a fraction as lips pull back in a blood stained snarl at the intrusion of something slipping sloppily between ribs. Pain is kept locked behind perfectly gore stained teeth, released only in a hiss of air the most flecking the air with petals of red as ichor blooms steady at his side. Death cools the desert air with its chill, even as beads of perspiration gather on forehead but neither death herself or pain is enough rip away the veil of semi-consciousness but Satellite’s voice, shrill and grating pitched by way of pathetic. Neither her throat or the the bone saw hanging from trouser belt does he reach for to retaliate but Satallite’s own offending hands. 

   Gloved hands made slick with carmine enclose around her own as if to beckon her near. He holds tight to her enough that shrapnel grind into the other’s flesh. Digits that sculpt the flesh, rend bone, slice with delicate precision and she his assistant, and canvas. Steady so steady are his hands, surgical in their precision yet he can feel it every tremor of her weakness tearing nerves, scraping and caressing bones should bring him to knee but it doesn’t. Her blood threads alongside his, paints ragged edges into glass–  red, red, red –  that ripped into his flesh. There is something that flutters within the Doctor’s chest after all.

   He draws close, words nearly lost beneath the din of ongoing gunfire were in it not hissed into ear. Wintry hues narrow never leaving hers as he tightens his grip around her hand, tighter, tighter still.

     “No.” Slowly he drags himself up on stubborn feet, fingers enclosed around hers in a vice. Flesh torn in ragged precision, generously sharing a fraction pain with her. “I won’t.”

The flies descend on the dead, both the more fully formed bodies and unidentifiable viscera alike. They seem to materialize from nothing on hot days like these, hungry and ever-increasing. This is how she finds him, flies hovering like inevitability.

The gore paints his white coat, spills down his side like in a way that makes her heart sink. There’s too much. She’s uneducated in the specifics, but surely no one could lose that amount of insides and still live long. Surely. Surely.

So her hands hover uselessly over him, the ghost of helpful intentions. But oh, even now he is terrifying. Even obviously gravely injured, she nearly screams at the sudden movement and pain that follows. It must be nothing, compared to what he’s got. Still her bones creak beneath his hold, jagged bits of metal clamped between digits digging into her and joining their pain. 

The smell of festering blood and iron scrapes at the back of her throat. She doesn’t dare contradict him when he hauls himself up, doesn’t dare complain at the strain and torment that goes singing through her hand. Seek, Report, Serve. With a movement practiced intermittently through the months, Satellite shifts to be used as a crutch to lean on. She waits for the warmth of gore to settle against her and blinks away a fly that tries to land no her face.

Throughout carrying out her job, she doesn’t take her words back. They wouldn’t have been forgiven.

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@violetviolxnce​:

“And it wasn’t good enough. Was it?”

She wipes the blood from her hairline with the back of her hand, fuzzily aware that there was some sort of injury happening above. Something more serious beyond the obvious scraped off skin from her legs. Falling from the sky was never a fun experience. This part of the ditch had walls over six feet wide, and she doesn’t know if she had enough strength in her to climb it’s sides. They’re steep enough to be a wall, and on the best of times it would’ve been a struggle to find purchase in the packed dirt. If her board hadn’t gone flying out from under her it wouldn’t be a problem at all.

She’s tired.

The truth tastes like ashes in her mouth and refuse to be voiced aloud.

“Are you here for someone?” She asks instead, trying not to think.

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You are a reflection.

The crack of a gunshot whips by. It hurts your ears. Your vision is clear, but perception of the world seems to waver anyhow, bending under what must be stress. It must be that, but it’s hard to feel. There’s no panic. The only easily understandable things are physical, the shifting board beneath your feet and marker in your hands grounding in their weight. Your surroundings are identifiable, and that’s all you need right now.

Breathe. There is danger everywhere. Underneath are enemies who were colleagues only hours ago, setting up for the next onslaught of combat. Underneath there are allies, faces blurring in their glee for violence.

It’s not what you need to see. You only need their words. Steal muttered plans of attack like a thief in the night, bring them to RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU RED BLU

You are a reflection. You need to be what they want you to be, because there’s no room for her feeling right now.

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ugh I miss writing for Satellite

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The sky is salmon coloured. During winter the days are just a little shorter, and light recedes in her periphery, leaving a beautiful gradient of yellows and reds and pinks. The sweltering desert heat having reluctantly lowered to tepid in the past hour, today’s weather had been nice.

Somewhere beyond the frantic dread that comes from paralysis, she’s aware of many things. The short breaths and wide, wide pain that comes from falling from the sky, spread across the place of impact and dulled not at all by what caused her body to seize in the first place. A familiar voice made sinister in it’s new viciousness. Gravel hard and unforgiving pressing at her side. Receding gunshots like an afterthought, the loud announcements of BLU’s victory boomed. The RED velcro patch on her back seemed to burn with significance.

The reality of immobility comes like inevitability. It’s up to whoever’s there now, what happens, because she can’t move. She can’t move. And his voice. It makes a mockery of the friendly drawl she knows, of rapidly passing memories reluctantly labeled amiable.

Something lands above her eye, a dark fast shape of spittle she can only blink at. It’s warm. Two achingly familiar men stroll into foreground, and she wants to fly away. It’s hard to believe he’s the same person who’d built her something. She’d stared at the sheathes of capsules this morning, hesitant. It didn’t seem right to use it against who made them. But someone had seen her and asked what they were, and at that point there wasn’t much choice in the matter. That was forever ago, now.

It’s impossible to pretend that Engineer’s prompt of friendship is anything less than menacing, but she tries anyway. Even as she struggles to draw breath at the crunch of her hand, even as blood and saliva blurs half her vision.  They are mercenaries, and this is normal.

She can feel the grooves of his boot as they grind into her flesh, throat constricting reflexively but unable to scream. A small part of her thinks, “a distraction.” There is no betrayal because this is normal.

Her gaze slips past him to find the eyes of a tormentor she can comprehend. A thousand crawling rats, darkness, and closing walls. An expression she can never read and looming disapproval. It’s simpler, the fear that comes crawling into her ribs now. Like a returning threat, ingrained and so familiar she could cry.

The sky is a serenely fading pink when Maria stares into the abyss to keep the instances of kindness separate.

@feixing02 liked for a short starter 

  “Don’t. Move.” he growls between clenched teeth. There are no traces of familiar kindness in his tone for her. As his chest heaves, drawing in each wet labored breath blood drip drip drips in the sand.   “Ain’t you a sight fer sore eyes?” He drawls. A glob of something dark and wet is spat to the side, the whites of his teeth stained bloody, mouth stretching wide into a bastard display of amicability till split lip threads blood down his chin. The match was hard victory and the Engineer bears wounds from the battlements. Burn marks char the skin on his shoulder black, blood seeps into BLU uniform. He aches everywhere none of the pains come close to the gnawing roiling within his gut, an insatiable hunger that he swears clawing beneath the skin wanting to tear him apart. Maria, Maria, Maria. Run. Stay. He shuffles towards her one careful hobbling step then the next bloody copper tinged spittle flies out between teeth as he soothing shushes her like a frightened animal.     FILTHY LITTLE THING. Oh his head, his skull pulses with sharp aches and thoughts churned out by like slow syrup. The cogs in his head still (CLICK, CLICK, CLICK)                                        He understands.                                                         He understands.                                                                         HE UNDERSTANDS.

    That thing thrumming beneath the skin, scraping at his bones, boiling in his blood it demands to be fed. Pretty, pretty red for a pretty little price. How lucky, he thinks, he thought all of RED slipped away.     Sweet Maria. Kind Maria. Slippery little FUCKING MARIA. 

   “Ah- ah ah–” He chides. “Ain’t we friends?”

   His boot slams heavy on her hand, weight leaned forward on delicate bones. A bullet would be too fast. Her neck would be a satisfying little snap in his hands and he could watch her life drain from her. No, no, no. Slowly. Patient. If he ripped her apart slowly enough, if he did it right respawn wouldn’t pick her up until he was sated. 

  As the Engineer chitters to himself mumbling a flurry of strewn together thoughts beneath a breath like guardian angel BLU’s Medic stands in silent precession behind, worn labcoat fluttering the hot wind an empty vial tucked away in his belt. 

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♡ for a starter!!

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Whether it be loose dirt or the creaky hallways of the buildings they fought in, an obstacle anyone would find while trying to navigate their various bases was staying silent. It’s near impossible, and footsteps are almost always inevitably heard when they’re being listened for.

The trick obviously being, when they’re being listened for. Looking for the distraction of explosions and gunfire or just talking was a good time to move as quietly as possible. If you’re lucky and out of the line of sight, it’s usually enough. That being said, for those that are already looking for you there is no such thing as a silent footstep, and staying in one position is simply inviting eventual discovery. However, Satellite is gifted with having no footsteps.

Owing to this there are a fair number of situations she can get in and out of despite lacking the powers of invisibility. Surely only occasional glances backwards were necessary, and your ears could be trusted for any passerby? Surely you’d hear if someone clambered up to the second floor through the window and was now listening in from the next room? 

Maria has lost count of the amount of times she’s snuck by in plain sight, a few feet behind inattentive enemies. Not that the concept wasn’t completely terrifying for the first few months.

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WE’RE SNOOPING YOUR PLAYLIST. PUT YOUR WRITING PLAYLIST ON SHUFFLE AND LIST THE FIRST TEN SONGS, THEN CHOOSE TEN VICTIMS.  repost don’t reblog!

1. Growing Old on Beecker Street - AJR No point in dreaming if you're alone No point in walking without the road No point in crying without that someone there beside you Saying it will be OK

2. Just One Yesterday - Fall Out Boy/Foxes Anything you say can and will be held against you So only say my name

3. I Wish I Knew How It Would - John Legend/The Roots I wish I could share, all the love, that's in my heart Remove all the bars, that keep, us apart And I wish you could know, what it means, to be me

4. Paper Throne - Phum Viphurit No I don't need your paper throne Oh I know the fall won't break my fragile bones Even the fools know nothing is forever

5. Someday - Michael Buble/Meghan Trainor And I'll admit that I miss you But only if you do 'Cause you know that I'm shy

7. Helpless (Hamilton the Musical) Laughin’ at my sister as she’s dazzling the room Then you walked in and my heart went “Boom!”

8. Baby Driver - Simon and Garfunkel Scoot down the road What's my number I wonder how your engines feel

9. The Greatest Show - Panic! At the Disco So tell me do you wanna go? Where it's covered in all the colored lights Where the runaways are running the night

10. Sidoine - On Ne Vit Qu'Une Fois Courir après l'infini,  ( Running after infinity, ) Vu que tout s'arrête un jour,  ( Seeing that everything will end one day, ) Et qu'avec le temps tout s'oublie...  ( And that with time everything is forgotten.. )

Tagged by:  @zweiherzen ayyyyy thx my dude

Tagging:  @refiinedrogue @bostonbashin @bloodflew @redheav @unflappable-red @royalmuses

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❛  the difference between a god and a demon is really only a matter of perspective.  ❜

@refiinedrogue || Deity AU

“Oh?” Pecking away at a scratched on epithet, her voice comes out as a chirp to nearby mortals. She wonders if they’ll ever learn to stop vandalizing her shrines. It was only going to get them killed- though maybe this was why she’d been finding more recently. It was a little irritating having to fix it, but Penna didn’t mind much. It was practically an invitation for retribution after all, and she has years of that to catch up on.

Giving up on the mark for now, she flutters down to her friend’s spot next to the wall to land unceremoniously on his back.

“I’d have thought the mighty Divitiae would take offense to be referred to as anything other than a god.” A smile in her words, she settles into his fur as if daring him to complain. 

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                                                             i was just a kid                                                               i was just a kid                                                              i was just a kid

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Maria is not a workaholic, but can sometimes run into the danger of overworking herself for other reasons. She never wants to do something that would antagonize others, and being a bad employee falls into that category. So she is often uncomfortable while working, always looking for something to do as not to be idle. She doesn’t like stopping unless she sees others doing it. 

Though through the years she’s learned to tone down this particular brand of anxiety so she doesn’t run herself into the ground, but there are still times where particularly intimidating co-workers and managers cause this behavior.

The first day or so of the gravel war was this way, as she was in an unfamiliar and frightening setting. There was more needless back and forth in the field, more deaths from being spotted. However the physical exhaustion quickly set in, and she simply didn’t have the energy to maintain such high activity. That and Maria isn’t stupid enough to not realize she was dying often.

Now she still insists on being very focused on work on the field, not mainly because of a sense of professionalism or fear for her life (though survival really is a factor), but mostly out of a long ingrained kind of obligation and the nagging anxiety of being berated.