#Medic looks good with Spys suit tho | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

choco-reblogs-stuff-aaaa · 7 months ago

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OK OK OK OK OK people talk about sniper, or pyro, or medic being autistic right?

B u t

What if I told you all of them are?

Every single one.

Engineer? He's autistic. Soldier? Autistic. Frickin Spy?? Omgsh he's so autistic

So because my brain won't stop itching about this I'm going to write up a collection of all the evidence I have for why the TF2 mercenaries possess within their beings the big tism. By the time this is over y'all are going to be very sick of the word autism.

But IDC

So without further ado, let's go through each of these silly mercs one at a time:

Scout:

Alright, first up we got Scout. Scout I would consider to be AuDHD for multiple reasons

The ADHD is more obvious but like dude trust me he's autistic too

He's hyperactive, forgetful, gets distracted easily, kind of the basic stereotypical ADHD stuff you would notice immediately. He stims, he fidgets, he struggles in social situations, he's seen as over the top and a bit annoying, he talks a lot

Now a lot of these traits are things that are common for both autistics and adhders. But I wanna point out some things I notice about him that are autism specific

He has a special interest: It's Tom Jones. Honestly he probably has a special interest about baseball too

But I mean c'mon he's literally has a Tom Jones tattoo

You could argue this is just a hyperfixation but I bet it's been going on for a while

He also has "spikey" skills. Really good at stuff like drawing, dancing, sports, but he sucks at things like reading, math, etc

Mostly what makes me see him as autistic it's how he struggles in social situations. Bro doesn't know how to flirt unless he's got a bucket of chicken on hand

Soldier:

Honestly if anyone's autistic coded it's soldier

Special interest is all things American, especially if it relates to the military

Lots of autistic people wear certain items that remind them of something they like, usually disregarding things like how it looks or even whether or not it's comfortable. Soldier's helmet is way too big for him but he's almost always wearing it anyway

In meet the spy he does "hut hut hut" when he's doing down the stairs and it makes me so happy

He has no filter, he takes things really literally, he often sees suggestions as orders (teleporting bread anyone?)

Also when he says he's been doing nothing but teleport bread for 3 days it makes me think he must've been hyperfocused on that

I don't think he knows anything about volume control since he's yelling everything

What kind of neurotypical fights bears in Siberia while naked and covered in honey

He speaks his mind rather than beating around the bush

His helmet could also double as helping him avoid eye contact

Pyro:

Tell me they don't have aversion to like every texture besides their suit you can't

A lot of their animations are super stimmy

Pretty much nonspeaking

Has childish interests

Could also have schizophrenia? (I'm relatively uninformed about it tho so I might not be a good person to judge)

I bet half of their little mmph mmmph noises are audio stims

Special interest is fire

their stim is ARSON

Demo:

I headcanon him as AuDHD too

I mean tbf a lot of how he is is more related to alcoholism but shhh let me have this

But I mean he made friends with Soldier

Special interest in medieval weapons which would explain why he's crazy about swords?

Drinking could be an unhealthy coping mechanism/safe food

Probably also depressed with how he can never live up to his family's expectations

Infodumping about bombs in his introduction video

Honestly most of my "evidence" for him is just fanon but idc I like autistic Demoman

Heavy:

Whether or not him having a PhD in Russian literature is canon, some of his in game lines show him to be very poetic and thoughtful

The fact that he only has a few food items but always seems super happy to be eating them gives me safe food vibes

He sings and hums a lot, probably as a stim

He has the Resting Autism Face™

Special interest in his gun

A lot of his voice lines also just feel really stimmy to me, especially when he's doing the "YATATATATATA" thing

Not sure he has any volume control either

Seems to genuinely enjoy Medic's morbid stories, at least to a point

He really really really really really likes the song of the Volga boatmen in particular

He's the prettiest princess it's canon, you can't be a pretty princess without being autistic /j

He has a tiny bed for Sasha. HE HAS A TINY BED FOR SASHA

Heavy is often criticized as a class because guess gameplay is relatively simple and can become a little stale for a lot of people. Yet Heavy seems to have some of the most excited voice lines in the game. I feel like this emphasizes how much he thrives in routine, since he seemingly never gets bored of just doing his thing

Engie:

He has 11 phds

A lot of his voice lines also sound really stimmy to me. Either he's going YEEHAWW GIDDY UP or he's yelling DAMNIT DAGNABIT DANGIT DAGGIT NABBIT

Probably a lot of echolalia with that too

He humanizes his buildings and cares for them like a mother bird

Just listen to his genuinely heartbroken when his sentry gets taken down!

When playing Engie sometimes I find myself smacking stuff with my wrench even though I KNOW it's already level 3 and maxed and whatnot, or I KNOW I'm out of metal, just because I wanna hear the clang noise. So this point is just me projecting but I love the mental image of Engie giving his things a few extra whacks too

He sawed off his arm for his special interest

His whole monologue in meet the engineer is so autistic sounding to me

His dancing taunt also feels stimmy

He's always hunched over, implying irregular posture

He's a NERD—

Man of many talents including playing the guitar

Never takes those goggles off

How does he turn a stressful TF2 match into a (not so) relaxing tower defense game?

Medic:

I headcanon him as AuDHD too because he seems really scatterbrained and it feels like he's working on several things at once and always

He talks a LOT. definitely an infodumper

Either he's super stern or really giggly, there is no in between

He wears gloves in battle but not while doing surgery??? Does he just like organ textures??? Wacko

Special interest is obviously whatever the heck kinda of mad science he does

Here's a heavy medic headcanon I have: medic likes deep pressure hugs

Another special interest could be his birds

He's very spontaneous which makes me think AuDHD even more

Look how excited he gets when taking about the tumors in expiration date!

He got the organ stealing autism

Is it just me or does he fixate on baboon organs in particular???

Sniper:

I'm pretty sure all of you know why this man is autistic but I'm going to list some reasons here anyway

My main evidence tho are his Halloween voice lines: https://youtu.be/2WDljNAslys?si=JP25VOGGDWwwoCI7

Exhibit a, look how much he enjoys having an owl head

Exhibit b, lots of those voice lines make him sound really freakin' overstimulated

He probably wears the hat and shades for sensory reasons as well as because they look cool

Obviously the most socially reclusive of the mercs

I love his backstory where he learns he never felt like the other kids because he wasn't actually Australian, but what if he also didn't fit in with the other kids because he's autistic?

Also throwing rocks at people as a kid screams autism to me

No neurotypical would ever throw jars of his own piss at you either

I think he just wants to live in the woods somewhere and never come back to society and honestly that's based

I feel like he would be the type to bite his own arm when stressed (just like me fr 😭)

Extremely meticulous in following his own life rules (ie being professional and having standards, driving safely with the turn signal and everything)

Spy:

Ok just hear me out for this one

Smoking because stim reasons

He's literally and figuratively masking

He's very suave and probably really good with social things, but I feel like it looks like he's just practiced really hard, again MASKING

Who knows he might not even actually be French

Who collects photographic evidence for a ur mom joke

I see him as either being hypersensitive or hyper insensitive to pain depending on the day (his screams + "I do believe I'm on fire.")

Mad butterfly knife tricks as a stim? (Notice he couldn't help but fiddle with them even disguised as scout in meet the spy)

He sucks at dealing with relationships and that's one of the reasons he's a bad dad

He actually really cares about his team and you can see it especially in expiration date but he's not very good at expressing it

Do you think he wears the ski mask for sensory reasons too?

Probably has his suits tailored to not give him any sensory issues, which could be another reason he likes them so much

Believe me I could go on but I think this is enough to get my point across

THEY ARE ALL AUTISTIC >:00

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milksnake-tea · 9 months ago

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✩ CHAPTER SUMMARY : Despite what you tell Sunday, you can't sleep. Instead, you opt to join Sam at the top of the ship for some company.

✩ SERIES SYNOPSIS : Following the catastrophe of the Charmony Festival, rather than in one of Penacony's hospitals or prisons, Sunday awakens right in the base of one of the most notorious criminals in the galaxies. With nowhere else to go, he's left to follow you, the Stellaron Hunters' medic, in his attempts to become accustomed to his new life.

✩ WORD COUNT : 4.0k

✩ TAGLIST : @felibrary, @vxnuslogy, @https-mika, @greyrain23, @red-ninja15, @arienic , @immahuman , @sund4ykisser , @mysteriaqueen , @kiopanxp , @isa-l0v3r , @hesper-houkai-kat , @gamekillera , @nayukiyukihira , @randomidk-123 , @universetrash , @forevernyeong , @thedepartedcryptid , @heyhazelnut101 , @1000-leaves , @lowkeyren , @zhayur , @jellofishuu , @kascar-chronicle , @azaleaflowerr , @neigee , @fallintothechasm , @veritusratio , @astolary , @xphantasmagoriax , @semi-orangeapple , @ezra1yn , @xynthevoid , @apinu , @crysangria , @shenwi , @louchive , @mave-in , @mutiachan , @meerpea , @tetrxctys , @emiken-070907 , @tragedy-of-commons (send me an ask off anon if you want to be added !! if your name is bolded, it means i cant tag you )

✩ ADDITIONAL NOTES : LORD i don't know why this took so long actually … my bad guys 😭😭 luckily i grabbed back motivation tho !! so hopefully the next chapter will come out sooner (or not. college is starting in like a week). honestly tho, im not that happy with this chapter :(( but thank you for reading, and for sticking w me !! eating every one of u up

<< previous || series masterlist || next chapter >>

“Watching the stars again, I see.”

The mechanized suit towers over you. In the darkness of the endless night sky, Sam’s flames, a duet of orange and teal, are all the more brighter. If you weren’t one of his comrades, you would’ve found him threatening.

Sam turns his head. Your footsteps are near-silent as you come up besides him, your arms crossed leisurely with a glass held carelessly in your hand.

“I thought you’d be asleep by now.” Such a stark contrast from the sweet voice of his pilot, but your years spent alongside him have turned intimidation into consolation. “Are you drinking again?”

“Not alcohol this time,” you chuckle, waving the glass. “Thought I’d try out some of that SoulGlad you bought me. It is a luxury item, after all.”

“Is it good?”

“It’s alright. I still prefer wine.”

Shaking his head, Sam returns his gaze to the cosmos. The topmost floor of the Delphi is like that of a greenhouse, minus the planets. A glass dome covers it from head to toe, allowing for a breathtaking view of the universe. The ship itself moves languidly so that the various nebulae pass in multi-colored clouds.

“It’s better in the dream,” Sam says. You look up curiously.

“So I’ve heard. ‘As rich and sweet as divine nectar’, was it?”

“Yes.” Sam’s robotic voice turns wistful. “Even though I was already in a dream, with just a sip of that, I felt as though I was floating. It was truly… a sweet dream.”

You smile softly. “I’m glad.”

The glass is cold against your lips as you drink the last of the soda. True to its advertisements, the carbonation leaves you feeling giddy and joyful… but it’s not enough. It’s too gentle, too kind, too… pliant. After all, knowing that you are asleep and dreaming- ruins the dream itself.

A sigh leaves you. Light gently shines down on you from the kaleidoscope of distant stars. Soft piano music plays in the background, courtesy of Kafka.

“I looked at the dream bubble earlier.”

Sam hums, his flames glowing brighter momentarily.

“Did you… like it?” he asks hesitantly. His meekness was kind of cute, like a puppy. It was one of the things that you like about him, though.

You spy a faraway planet in the sky. From here, it looks like a small speck amongst the vast universe. But to someone else, it might’ve been their whole world.

“Where did you find such a dream?” you say instead. “It couldn’t have been easy.”

It should’ve been impossible.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Sam admits. “Dr. Edward - he’s the person who runs the Dreamscape Sales Store - didn’t specify. Then again, the nature of his products is… peculiar, to say the least.”

“Hm.” Your eyes become lidded. “That’s unfortunate. I would’ve liked to know who had made such a wonderful dream.”

Sam glances at you hopefully. “You liked it, then?”

You hum idly. “Yes, it was… nice. Not totally accurate, but nice.”

You don’t have to see Firefly’s face to know that she’s smiling. “I’m glad. I was worried that, well…”

“That I’d get offended?” you chuckle. “Sparky, you know me better than that. Besides…”

Your arms uncross, and the glass disappears into multiple speckles of light.

“All that matters is that someone remembers it. As the years pass, accuracy holds less and less value.”

“I… I guess that’s true,” Sam admits. “Still, though...”

There’s a contrast in temperature as your hand comes to Sam’s shoulder, warm flames battling against cold metal.

“Don’t worry about it,” you comfort. Your lips are pulled into a smile, but you don’t know what expression lies in your eyes - nor are you sure you want to know. “I enjoyed that dream.”

Firefly doesn’t seem to be entirely convinced, but she doesn’t need to know what happened when you touched that bubble. She doesn’t need to know, and so she never will.

“How's our little superstar?” you ask, changing the subject. Sam hums.

“Still as fiery as ever,” he reminisces, head tilting upwards towards the sky. “They don’t remember us, which is to be expected. But their heart and antics are still the same. They’ve recently developed a… peculiar hobby, though.”

“Oh?” You raise a brow curiously. “And what’s that?”

“Trashcans,” he says flatly. The sudden change from gentle fondness makes you laugh.

“That sounds about right,” you chuckle. “They’ve always been a little weird.”

“I guess so,” Sam shrugs. “Then again, we all are, aren’t we?”

“Hm… maybe more than a little.”

“Hey now.”

The two of you burst into uncharacteristic giggles. With the effects of SoulGlad still ebbing away at your rationality combined with your lack of sleep, it wouldn’t be off to say that you’re somewhat delirious right now. Of course, it can’t compare to the numb bliss that came with alcohol, but it was still something.

Weariness beginning to take its toll on you, you lean against Sam, ignoring how some of the metal digs into your body. He looks down at you curiously, before patting you lightly on the head.

“You should sleep,” he advises gently. You hum, before shaking your head.

“Don’t feel like it.”

Hearing another distorted sigh, you laugh airily, only to let out a small yelp when Sam scoops you up. The mechanized suit is already huge, being at least twice your size, and so he only needs one of his arms to hold your entire body. He cradles you against his core, allowing the heat to warm you. It’s a sweet gesture, but truthfully, it’s unneeded - the Delphi is always at the perfect temperature, after all. But you appreciate the sentiment nevertheless.

“Sleep,” Sam urges once more. You look up at the metallic face that shows little emotion, if any.

“Why so insistent?” you question, raising a brow.

“Is it so wrong to care for a comrade?” Sam shakes his head. “You aren’t as resilient as you think you are. Even you will fall if you fail to get adequate rest.”

“So you say.”

“Don’t you have a mission soon? Staying up too late isn’t a good idea.”

You snort. “Then that makes two of us with bad habits, Miss Defies-the-Script-at-Whenever-Possible.”

Sam falls quiet for a moment. Initially, you’d think that it was out of guilt or because Blade had already scolded him about his habit a few weeks prior to Sam’s assignment in Penacony, but after staring at him for a bit longer, you realize that that’s not the case.

You shift so that you can sit somewhat upright in Sam’s hold. “Hey, lighten up. I was just joking.”

“I know.” Sam sighs again. “I was just thinking about Penacony.”

“What about it?”

“It isn’t anything bad,” he hastens to say. “It’s just… I felt so alive in that dream. I could jump and run and- do all sorts of things that I couldn’t in reality. It got me thinking.”

Uh oh. Not another philosophical talk. You’re not good at those.

Despite this though, you nod, encouraging him to continue.

Sam raises the hand that isn’t holding you and curls it into a fist. “I know I will die one day. That’s just a part of life that I can’t avoid, nor can anyone else. But if life itself, and everything else that comes with it, is already determined by fate, do we really have free will? Is my freedom of choice real, or simply an illusion?”

At his imploring gaze, you shrug.

“Well, think about it. Do you think Elio’s script is absolute?”

“Of course it is.”

You lightly poke where Sam’s nose should be. “Not exactly. It has holes and spaces. You know what Webs always says.”

“Yes, but…”

“Think of it this way,” you suggest lightly. “Elio gets his script from Terminus, and Terminus only knows the future because THEY’RE from said future. Meaning, they come from a future that we created, not them.”

Sam stays silent, so you continue.

“If we don’t have free will, then who holds that will? Terminus? HooH? Ena? We don’t know, and we may never know. But does it matter?”

Sam’s flames pulsate from under your palm as you place it over his chest plate. Your eyes have become downcast, hiding what may be brewing beneath your irises.

“In the end, we still choose in the end. Like right now - you’re holding me, but you could’ve also incinerated me.”

Sam deadpans. “That’s a horrible example. I am not so careless.”

“Yes,” you say, “because that’s the kind of person you are. You made that choice not to cook me alive, not Terminus or any other omnipotent being that cares so much that they feel the need to control the movements of insects like you and me.”

Your tone comes out a bit harsher than you intend, and it’s not until the words leave your mouth that you realize. Blinking rapidly, you still, your brain catching up with your mouth in real time. Sam too seems startled by your outburst, the flames flickering.

“Is everything alright?” he asks after a brief moment of silence.

You sigh, leaning back against his shoulder. Burying your face in your hands, you let out a tired groan.

“Sorry about that,” you mutter. “I think the lack of sleep is getting to me.”

“It’s fine. May I ask what happened, though?”

No, you may not, you think, but shove it to the back of your mind.

“It’s just-” you drop your hand to your side, “-it’s the usual.”

“This is why I keep telling you to calm down with the drinking,” Sam scolds gently. You grumble, leaning into him.

“You’re so insistent,” you mumble against the cold steel. “Kafka and Blade have already given up; why haven’t you?”

“Blade only stopped because he shares that same stubbornness you cling onto,” Sam points out, flicking your forehead with as much gentleness a mechanized suit can. “And Kafka wouldn’t know real concern if it shot her in the face.”

You give Sam a look, the red spot on your forehead already healing. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Sam sighs again - there’s been a lot of that as of late. “I don’t want to see my friend destroy themself. The longer you drink, the longer it takes for you to heal.”

“My healing capabilities exceed Blade’s,” you couldn’t help but point out. “You’ve worked with me long enough to know that I won’t keel over so easily.”

Sam shakes his head.

“You know what I mean,” he says. “When it comes to the mind, you’re the weakest out of all of us - and you will only grow worse if you continue down this path.”

You blink. It’s easy to forget, with Firefly’s typically softer demeanor, the bluntness that comes whenever she takes on SAM’s suit. Granted, you’ve been working with her the longest out of everyone, so you really should be used to this by now. Maybe it’s the SoulGlad hitting.

“Fine,” you eventually give in. “I’ll sleep.”

Without hearing what Sam has to say next, you curl up in his hold and shut your eyes, ending the conversation right then there. Should you go to your room instead of inconveniencing your coworker? Probably. That’s the logical thing to do.

But Sam made the decision to pick you up, and you don’t feel like leaving any time soon. Besides, you know Firefly can get rather lonely during the night. As the only Hunter that doesn’t need that much sleep, she often spends the night by her lonesome, watching the stars from the Delphi’s roof and waiting for everyone to wake up.

“You know, I was going to ask you to play Egyptian War with me,” you murmur groggily. Sam hums.

“That card game again? The last time we played, I crushed your hand by accident.”

“I got better, though?” you point out.

“Still, I’d rather avoid that if possible. Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”

There’s a pointed edge to his tone that you decide to ignore. With a shrug of your shoulders, you snuggle closer to Sam’s heated center. When he wasn’t committing mass arson or flaming up barbeque, he made for a surprisingly good pillow - as long as you didn’t mind the lack of cushioning for your head.

“Alright,” you hum. “Goodnight, Sam.”

Sam sighs, but shifts you in his hold so that you’re more comfortable regardless.

“Goodnight, [Name].”

As you slip in and out of consciousness, you think one last thought to yourself.

How nice it would be, to not have to dream.

Firefly… you don’t know how lucky you are.

—

Sunday finds himself unable to sleep much that night, and before he knows it, morning has come and the familiar chime of his phone’s alarm is rousing him from his bed. Even if he wanted to ignore it, he couldn’t. Just the sound is enough to send alarm bells through his nerves, essentially activating his fight-or-flight instincts.

As he drags himself through his morning routine, functioning on muscle memory more than anything, the same words that have been keeping him up last night drone on like a broken record.

I trust that you will make the right decision.

Why is the seer leaving it up to him? Does Elio not see all the possible futures? Is he not certain of what choice will be the right one? Why was he letting Sunday guess?

With a brief twitch of his wings, Sunday sighs.

“It seems that once again, the fate of an innocent world is in my hands.”

He shouldn’t be questioning Elio, truth be told. If this is all the information that the seer has elected to give him, then this is all the information he needs to know. Whatever decision he makes will be the right one, evidently.

Which, quite frankly, is both reassuring and terrifying.

There is always the possibility of accidentally damning the planet if he chooses wrongly. Mistrust or misread a candidate’s character, and the lives of billions of people will be turned significantly for the worse.

But Sunday isn’t that naive little priest anymore. He knows humanity for what they are, has seen their ugliness, and has embraced them regardless.

Elio trusts him, and he doesn’t plan on disappointing him.

And if he is to do that, he needs to get better at fighting.

With a twirl of his wrist, his rapier materializes in his hand. Once upon a time, he’d detested the feeling of weaponry in his hands. He’d vowed to never be the source of someone else’s suffering, and yet, he is, tossing and swinging his sword without so much as a care in the world.

Besides, that vow had been a foolish one. One simply could not live in a universe as cruel as this without harming another, intentionally or not. Even the most righteous have spilled blood.

And Sunday is no exception.

He studies the rapier carefully, making sure not to accidentally cut himself in the process (it has happened before). Even now, he can’t help but think of how uncanny it is, the way the sword is practically tailored to fit him and his aesthetic.

There was always the possibility that Blade could’ve forged it for him, except for one glaring problem: he’s learned from Kafka that Blade has long lost the dexterity of his hands, revoking his ability to craft forever. So then, to have such a sword pre-made and ready for him…

He smiles cynically.

Elio had already known he’d join, didn’t he?

That seer’s abilities never failed to unnerve and impress him.

He releases the rapier, and it shatters into multiple pinpricks of light. In the full body length mirror he’d bought on Euphrosyne, he rechecks his outfit, smoothing out any wrinkles and adjusting anything that’s out of place.

When he eventually steps out of his room, he’s greeted with an unexpected sight. Firefly - no, this was Sam, the Hunters have made sure to drill the difference into his head - freezes as Sunday stares at him dumbfoundedly.

“Ah-” Sunday watches in confused amusement as Sam sputters and scrambles for an explanation. The mechanized suit quickly straightens with an embarrassed cough. “Sorry. Just- pretend you didn’t see this.”

“Now, I couldn’t possibly do that,” Sunday chuckles, closing his door behind him. “What’s going on here?”

Sam sighs. “It’s well- it’s complicated…”

He shifts so that Sunday can see the being cradled in his arm - case in point, you. You appear to be asleep, cuddled up to Sam’s heated core, but once Sunday sees you, you peek your eyes open.

You shift, stretching a bit before nodding at him. “Oh, hey.”

“Hello, [Name].” Sunday returns the greeting as if this were a common reoccurrence. “What are you doing up there?”

“I was sleeping,” you say, propping up an elbow on Sam’s shoulder and leaning your cheek against your hand. “Now I’m in the middle of waking up.”

“On Sam?”

“Yeah? Everyone’s done it before.” You sit up, swinging your legs to dangle off of the crook in Sam’s elbow. “You should try it, he’s like a miniature fireplace.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Sunday would sooner die than let Sam pick him up and carry him around like that. Then he blinks, processing what you’ve just said. “Wait, did you say everyone? Does that include Blade?”

“It wasn’t willingly, if that eases your mind,” you laugh airily. “He was sleep-deprived and it was one of the rougher missions, so he ended up passing out. I don’t think I’ve seen that guy sleep so soundly.”

“And you are fine with this?” Sunday looks up at Sam.

“I don’t mind,” comes Sam’s reply. “Everyone looks so happy, and so I’m happy. The company isn’t so bad either, even though they’re often unconscious.”

“Love you too, Sam,” you chuckle. “Even if you watch me while I sleep.”

Sam makes a sound like a short-circuiting computer. “I do not-”

You pat the suit deftly on the head. "I'm just messing with you, Sparky. Don't go combusting on me now."

Swiftly jumping off of Sam’s arm, you stretch leisurely, not unlike a cat. Sunday can’t help but wonder, weren’t you supposed to be sleeping in your room last night, given your texts? What were you doing with Sam, and why did he have to carry you back to your room?

He doesn’t get to ask, though, as you beat him to the interrogation first.

“So, princess, where’re you headed to this early in the morning?”

“Ah,” Sunday straightens. His hand instinctively bends to behind his back. “I’m planning on doing some training with Blade, if possible. I’m afraid I’m still rusty when it comes to the sword.”

“Oh, good idea.” You nod approvingly. “Although, there’s one problem: the old man isn’t on the ship right now.”

Sunday blinks. “Sorry?”

“Silver Wolf kidnapped him,” says Sam bluntly, you shaking your head grimly beside him. “She found a new Xianzhou game and dragged Blade along so that he could help her out with some of the translations.”

“Translations?” Sunday repeats, trying to imagine the intimidating Hunter being dragged around by a girl as small and unassuming (given you don’t know who she is) as Silver Wolf. “But doesn’t she have a translating app on her devices?”

Sam sighs. “She does. But she wanted to bring Blade, and since he wasn’t doing anything beforehand, he played along.”

“So that’s why the old man’s kind of unavailable right now. As far as I know,” you say, “it’s just us three on the ship right now - Kafka left to do… something. I don’t know. You want to try sparring Sam?”

Sunday takes one good look at the hulking piece of flaming metal that is Sam. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

“It isn’t,” Sam confirms unnecessarily. “I would accidentally crush you or burn you in the heat of combat. Elio would not be pleased.”

“Could he really be mad if he already foresaw it?” Sunday isn’t sure how he feels about how casually you’re discussing his potential demise at Sam’s hands.

“How about we not let it get to that point?” he tries gently.

“Why don’t you spar him?” Sam suggests, tilting his head so that he looms over you. “You’re fine enough with a sword.”

Subconsciously, Sunday’s wings perk up. Glancing at you, he’s pleasantly surprised to see as you contemplating the suggestion.

“That’s true,” you admit. You nudge him with your elbow. “How about it then, princess? Wanna fight me?”

“We aren’t ‘fighting’,” sighs Sunday with a shake of his head. “It’s just sparring. But yes, I would be honored to spar against you.”

To be honest, he’s rather relieved that it’s you instead of anyone else on the ship. By no means is he saying that Blade is a bad teacher (as crass as his methods are, Sunday can’t deny that they work), but his fighting style is completely different from Sunday’s. Sunday prefers a lighter and more elegant approach to combat, while Blade’s style is, for lack of a better word, brutal - and from what little he knows of Sam, he doubts that his style is any more compatible.

But with what he saw from you yesterday, with your thinner sword and more relaxed body language, you won’t be as harsh nor as crushing as the other two - or at least, it’s less likely that you’ll throw him into the nearest wall.

You grin, flashing your teeth briefly. “Great. I still need to get washed up, so why don’t you head over there first and warm yourself up?”

Sunday nods with a slight bow. “Very well, I shall see you there.”

But just as he turns his heel and begins to make his way to the training room, his wings twitch as he catches snippets of your final conversation with Sam.

“Thanks for indulging me last night, Sparky,” you chuckle lightly. “And… sorry for making you deal with all of that.”

All of that? Sunday knows he shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but he can’t help it. It takes almost all of him not to glance back at you in curiosity.

No, he shakes his head, it’s none of his business. Whatever it is, it’s your private matter and he needn’t stick his nose into it.

Still… his bad habits get the better of him. Internally, he sighs as his wing raises just slightly to allow him to hear better.

“Don’t worry about it,” he hears Sam reply. “Are you feeling better?”

“Obviously. I think a nap on SAM could fix anything, really. You might even put me out of a job with how well it works.”

There’s a noise like a starting engine - Sunday thinks it’s Sam laughing. “I doubt that. Although, if you’re really sorry, you’ll lay off of the alcohol for me.”

“Yeah, no. Any other favor but that one.”

“[Name].”

Sunday imagines you raising your hand in surrender. “Alright, alright. I will try to not drink as much. Is that better?”

If Sam had said anything in response to that, Sunday didn’t hear it, for he’s already stepped out of the residency hall and into a much larger area of the ship. As the tinted glass doors slide close behind him, he finally allows himself a glance behind him.

What was that all about?

—

Once you hear the sound of the doors closing, you turn to Sam. Sam turns to you.

“He eavesdropped, didn’t he.”

“100%.” You shake your head. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone take so long to walk down a hall. Plus, his wings gave it away.”

“He needs to work on his stealth skills,” Sam agrees.

“Well, to be fair, there’s not many places to hide in here. So I guess I can forgive him.” You look up at the robot. “I meant what I said, though.”

Walking to your door, you giggle as one of your plants nips lightly at your finger despite having been fed yesterday. You glance behind you. Sam’s already looking into the distance, at what, you’re not sure.

“Are you planning on taking a vacation?” you ask. Sam looks at you.

“Yes. There’s a tropical planet in the nearby system,” he says. “I think I’ll go have a visit.”

You nod with a smile. “Alright, have fun. Take pictures, okay?”

“I will. Good luck on your mission.”

With a snort, you push open your door, vines brushing against you as your plants greet you.

“With Kafka and Sunday on board? Yeah, I'll need it.”

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