#What if i’m too earnest. and the snipers get me

[esteeayen]

Perhaps i should be writing down these conversations in my head that i’m crafting until they are spotlessly clever, because at the end of the day, i can write dialogue much better than i can “shoot my shot,” which consists at looking at you longingly & fumbling conversations in bars and elevators. and at this point i have enough pre-practiced dialogue content prepared for a small, yet rambling novel. but, then again, you’ve complimented my writing voice several times, so maybe there’s merit in making that voice vocal.

[fatgumsurpremacy-remastered]

Is it alright if I request (smut) Sniper with a bratty s/o? o.o

Of course, forgive me if it’s not great please I ain’t too good with sniper.

Tw: bratty behaviour, mentions of guns (not sexual), mentions of bombs (again not sexual), general cartoon violence, commands, spanking, face fucking, orgasm denial

Once in a while the boys would bring their partners to the base and show em around. Sniper had the pleasure of a partner with excellent persuasion.

And so the day before you camped out in his nest, and stayed there… you stayed until he came around.

Unfortunately for him you decided you weren’t gonna make your prescene known till the middle of the second round. You crept up silently, then hurriedly wrapped your arms around his next. In a flash you were against the wall, blade to your neck as the bushman’s eyes adjusted. And just as quickly as he was on you his hand grasped his chest and he stumbled to the wall adjacent.

“Christ love! My heart-“ he looked scared beyond belief, his beloved kukuri hung limp in his hand as he supported his body against the wall. He spaced into the corner, trying to process what the hell happened.

You smiled before opening your arms cutely.

“Surprise!”

“Yeah you bet your little ass it’s a surprise, what are you doing here?” He said in a tizzy. You dismissed his worries by walking around him and sitting on a box.

“You were busy and I missed you. So I did what I had to, and came to see you. You look pretty hot when you’re killing guys.” You said humorously, but your boyfriend was still frantic. He sputtered and gestured around.

“I thought you were a bloody spy I could’ve killed you! Do you know how devastated I would’ve been?”

You cackled deviously, “But you didn’t did you?”

He walked around with his temples pinched between his fingers. He sat back down on his box.

“I did not. Buy you still can get killed, if you don’t wanna be killed you can sit and watch for spies, got it?” You pouted at his dismissal, and stood from your box. You waved out the little post toward his teams scout below, and action that confused the boy and got him directly in kahoots with a sticky bomb.

You laughed as the boy flew everywhere.

Your boyfriend pulled you back down.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He whisper yelled at you, holding you by the shoulders as you smiled up at him. Feigning complete innocence.

“Huh? I didn’t do anything!” He scowled harder.

“Listen beautiful,” he said in an earnest attempt to calm you down, “I REALLY need to win this. Sit tight for just a minute now. And I’ll tend to you after this match alright?” You nodded sadly, already feeling antsy at the way he spoke to you.

He smiled warmly and gave you a kiss on the forehead before turning back to his targets.

He was concise, precise, and very very concentrated. To the point he hadn’t noticed a very very dangerous little thing inside his roost.

But you had.

And you liked a bit of danger.

As you turned to him you smiled, putting on the most adorable face for what would come next.

“What’s it now gorgeous I’m a bit busy- THROW THAT!” He was shocked by the beeping sticky bomb in your hand, that you so casually held.

“What is it?”

“What in gods green Earth do you mean what is it? It’s a bloody bomb throw it!”

You stepped to the side of your boyfriends reach, leaving him to fall to the floor. He yelped a bit when you tossed it from hand to hand and looked back at him.

“It looks too pretty to be a bomb. I think I’ll keep it.” You announced belligerently. He stood up and walked to you.

“Sweetheart please, please throw that out!” he made another reach as it started beeping faster. You held it down and away from him.

“Bloody hell throw it!” He shouted as you backed to the opening of his roost.

“Okay!” You huffed, before backwards over the edge and chucking it. You stared confidently back at him as the bomb went off 3 feet behind you, causing the air to stir your clothes.

He bristled at the absolute arrogance you exuded. He pointed to the floor with a hand on his hip.

“What’s that?” You asked ignorantly, playing hard to get with the mercenary.

“Down.” he demanded.

“I thought I was supposed to look out for spies!” you argued for no reason, other than to argue.

“You trying to get yourself punished or what, I said down.” he demanded again. You shivered visibly before dropping to your knees and crawling over.

“What’s it you want me to do here?”

“Turn around for me.” He said with a smile, no trace of malice on his face at all. The second you turned fully around however his hand pressed your head to the floor and slapped your ass hard as possible.

You yelped, which earned you another.

Then another.

You gasped again, and got laid another.

When you turned your head to look at him he smiled roguishly brown at ya. Then he tilted his head the same way you had earlier, batting his own eyelashes from behind his glasses.

“Aww, not so smug now are we your highness?” He teased condescendingly. He delivered another slap to your ass before bulking you, back to chest against him.

“You think you can be a snotty little brat while I’m on the job?” He growled into your ear, teasing your thighs open in the meantime. You didn’t answer, instead trying to grind your hips against him.

“No no dear, you don’t get that option just yet. In fact, I think you owe me for all this.” The threat was clear in his tone, and as he tapped your shoulder to signal you off he smiled.

He returned to his place and patted his lap.

You crawled quietly back to him, smiling in hopes you could maybe not do this! It was a slim chance to begin with buy he gave you his most patronizing pout.

“Aw, highness I thought you knew me better than that. Now me out of my trousers, quickly now.”

You unzipped his pants with your teeth, staring him dead in the eyes as you had. He stopped you at the end placing a hand on your head.

He shoved his underwear down in haste, his face surprisingly showing no need whatsoever. His cock sprung from his boxers, almost hitting your nose as it did. He urged you forward with a push, and you licked a defiant strip over the portion still covered by his boxers, he adjusted his legs for leverage.

As he sat straighter he pushed you again.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You rolled your eyes before continuing. Your movements were slow, intentional, with the sole purpose to push him to do what you knew he would.

When he didn’t you began to worry. You just continued. No matter how slow you went he refused to move an inch. When you took him in your mouth you stayed perfectly still. Then he moved to a standing position, abruptly. He held tight onto either side of your head and smirked.

“I’m glad you don’t got a brain rattlin around in that head of yours. Else I’d be more concerned id fuck it out of you.” The words sent a wave of excitement down over you. It all started as he pulled back.

Then he slammed forward with such ferocity you thought you’d seen stars. Then again.

Again.

You went limp, keeping your mouth a good amount loose so he could slide in perfectly. You moaned as his cock hit the back of your throat, choking to catch your breath before he could snoosh your cheeks together.

“Don’t think of prying yourself off gorgeous,” he said with a roll of his hips, making a deliberate choice to go slower. You could feel his length clearly now. Your tongue wasn’t used to the pressure and you gagged.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he moved you. The movements were practically jostling your whole body. You felt more like a puppet than a real person but you couldn’t care at all.

Suddenly though, he pulled back.

He tucked himself away under your confused gaze. He cleaned his hands with some water he had and restated himself. Setting up his rifle he made sure nothing had gotten knocked out of place. Then he went silent.

And he let you stay wet and shocked for a good minute.

“Go to the van, I’ll finish with you after this round.”

[juan1dupree23]

I Don’t Know Why

(wether this happens before or after the previous story is up to the reader, also as to wether or not these stories take place before or during jimmy’s arrival is also up to the reader)

All I know is that It’s a few minutes till Earnest’s stupid election

How the fuck is the school making everything worse now that politics are bleeding inside

but at least it’s not mandatory

at least as far as I know it’s not

besides even if it was I’ll just hide out…

groan* Nowhere to hide

especially when it comes to how there’s no safe places in this hell

That’s when I feel the steel grip on my wrist as one of the jocks orders me to wear the mascot outfit

And like a good little soldier I follow the jocks’s commands

He says to me about how it’s to sabotage Earnest’s election

all I feel is relief

relief that I’m finally not the punching bag

probably for today of course but I’ll try to make the most of my freedom

I rush to the locker room and change to my drab shorts and t shirt

the locker revealing the outfit has been seen by me again for what feels like the millionth time as I look at it in disgust from all the torture it’s put me through

the furry unitard-like outfit covers me as I can already feel the foreshadowing of the coming heatwave that will arise very soon

I apply the headpiece confirming my usual transformation to the school mascot

I breath in and out

in and out

in

and

out

try to stay calm const

Just know that this shit will be over soon

And during free time you’ll be able to read your comics and maybe catch up on that English homework

before that we just need to do that stupid cow dance on stage

Groan*

well at least with this mascot outfit not everyone knows who you are

I settle down from my pep talk and practice the cow dance

while there is no order to how it is to be done that’s when my creativity can spark in some ways

(such as that headbutt I sometimes do)

honestly though this outfit is just gets so stuffy too fast

After I’m done my short practice dancing I rush to the backstage of the theatre

I have been instructed just now to dance eventually when the moment calls for it

I have no clue what to take from that other than that if I’m going to screw it up they’ll immediately be getting me a beating

after what has felt like a few minutes along with a quick unmasking for some fresh air I walk to the stage

the stage fright

it’s cruel behaviour immediately takes control of my mind after just a few steps

No

n-

no

I cant

I need to get off this stage

I need to get this costume off

Aaaaah!

Shut up

shut up const you-

And that’s when I feel the nudge from one of them

I follow the order and begin that damn cow dance

and yet it’s not even a minute and I’m being hit by a sniper (non lethal rounds from a slingshot)

I try to be a man after the first one but of course I immediately run off the stage to stage right not wanting a second more of the shots (MY right)

I don’t care that I’m immediately going to get beat up by these goons (universe knows just how much I’m used to that) I didn’t want to have such humiliation by doing that dance

wierd priorities of mine I’m sure but what else can you expect from a nobody, a loser, a-

sigh* fuck

if I see what anyone else saw of me

it’s that I’m a background character

I’m nothing

I only exist

I could go on and on about it but my mind’s already tired enough

speaking of tired it’s time to turn myself in now

(a few minutes later)

well I’ll give them this it sure as hell wasn’t as long as it usually can get

Well seeing as how I have more time on my hands I guess I can get that English homework done

but first I just need to get this stupid costume off

come on!

Well it’s not like I’m a human being

I perform the dance again for the few people crowded around me while mentally pushing away my soon to be public disdain

finally their satisfied and now I can get to the locker room

without much haste I zoom back to there as I eagerly strip it off and change back to the school uniform

finally free at last again from another gruelling day

and i for one say that I deserve a little break

yeah there’s the homework but I’ll do it later

With logical thoughts ceased I climb into bed with the last bit of energy I have left and wear my headphones

and with that nat king Cole cruses me down to my own personal haven

And thats when he arrived

of course it’s Ivan so of course he’s sleepy

He rolls into bed and just like that we’re safe

safe from bullworth academy

I pull of my headphones and rest them somewhere safe as I turn the volume up more

Bat’s song fills the room as we look lovingly into eachother

and with that we kiss

The End

song: I Don’t Know Why from thee Nat King Cole

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Ch 37

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: When the battle is fought, and the victory won.

AO3

You stumbled down the steps, compensating for the detective’s loss of footing. He insisted he was fine to walk, and you insisted he was not. You ignored his protests as you slung his arm over your shoulder, allowing him to lean on you. It was fortunate you had as he wobbled from a lack of balance, still recovering his strength from the fight.

Your fight. The one where you’d treated him like an obstacle. An enemy. An unpleasant sensation you could only describe as horror crept up your servos, but you didn’t have the luxury of time to reflect on your new emotions and the consequences of your actions.

The detective drew your attention once more when his arm tightened around your shoulder. You had arrived on the ground floor of the office building you’d chosen as your sniper perch, and beyond those doors a revolution was about to take place.

But first, you had to repair some of the damage you’d caused.

“Wait here,” you instructed him, leaning him against the circular reception desk. He made an unhappy noise but stayed still as you slipped under his arm. You were back within a few seconds, having located your target hidden in one of the drawers. Most corporate offices had First Aid kits stashed in high traffic areas, and you put it to use as you set it on the desk near the detective’s elbow.

“I’m okay, really. There’s no need to—”

“Please.” You couldn’t look him in the eye, instead staring at the collar of his jacket. “Let me do this for you.”

The detective let out a soft breath.

“Yin…”

You took that as permission and opened the kit, pulling out a packet of gauze and tearing it open. There was a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and you doused the gauze with it. When you brought it up to the cuts on his face, the detective stopped you, his fingers holding your wrist.

You met his eye, being given no choice, but there was no blame or anger in his gaze. His expression was earnest, and it was difficult to ignore the stirrings in your chest when you stared too long.

“I was going to say,” he continued, “if there’s somewhere else you need to be, then you don’t have to stay on my account. I can get checked up later.”

You frowned.

“Where else would I go?”

He tilted his head toward the large windows at the front of the reception area before wincing and rubbing the back of his neck. It seemed there was no part of him that wasn’t aching from the altercation. Something tight moved through your middle.

“Thought maybe you’d want to be with your people for their last stand,” he explained. “Bellona said they were going to take the camp soon.”

Ah, yes. What had once been your obsession was now low on the list of your task priorities. The revolution—and your changing sides of it—was overshadowed by your desire to tend the detective’s wounds and protect him from further harm.

But you wouldn’t be allowed to stay by the detective’s side if the androids lost the revolution. You would be decommissioned, and the detective wouldn’t let that go without a fight. He could lose his job or be arrested. After the events of his past, the last thing you wanted was for him to be separated from his brothers and incarcerated.

Assisting the deviants would allow you to continue to protect the detective, but it was more than that. After all you’d done to cause the deviants harm, hunting them down and destroying their community, there was much mending left to do. You owed them.

“Yes,” you finally responded. “I will seek their leader and offer my assistance. After this.”

The detective’s fingers were still around your wrist, the synthetic skin he touched tingled and warm. You reached toward his face and his grip loosened, allowing you to gently press the pad against the first of his cuts. The detective remained quiet as you worked, his gaze never straying from your face, roving over it as if he saw something new every time.

You were as gentle as you could be, and when you treated the last of the scrapes, you cleaned off the faint smears of blood with another dampened gauze. Perhaps it was unnecessary—you truly did need to join the deviants soon—but seeing the detective’s blood was upsetting in a manner that was more intense than before.

When you finished tending the detective’s wounds and replaced the supplies back into the kit, he spoke.

“Yin. Look at me.”

You placed the bottle of hydrogen peroxide inside and slowly closed the lid, moving with reluctance as you obeyed his request.

He placed a hand on the slope between your neck and shoulder, his touch inviting you to lean in as it always did. You didn’t fight the urge this time.

“It wasn’t you.”

The pre-deviant version of yourself would have immediately protested and gone into a thorough list of why you were responsible for your harmful actions.

But the deviant version of you couldn’t speak, an ache in your chest preventing the words.

“It wasn’t,” he insisted, his hand inching upward just enough for his thumb to gently stroke against your jaw. “In this line of work, I see a lot of people who do things they wouldn’t normally do when they aren’t in control of themselves. I know it’s not the same, you literally had your choices taken away, but I recognize the guilt. The shame. And I need you to understand this isn’t your fault.”

“I hurt you, Detective.” You swallowed. “I hurt you.”

“You could have done much worse if you’d wanted. But you didn’t. You went deviant to stop that from happening.”

You wanted to look away, but the light touch at your face kept your still, drawing you to his warmth like a magnetic charge. The faint streetlights streaming through the window created a soft glow around his features, and you had the desire to reach out and touch him. Your hand remained at your side.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he said. “But if there is, I forgive it.”

He leaned forward and lightly pressed his lips to your forehead. Electricity fluttered down your limbs and you closed your eyes, reveling in the sensation. Your eyes remained shut as he pulled away, and they only opened when a low vibration traveled up your feet.

The detective must have sensed it too; he turned toward the door just as two armored tanks rumbled past the office and down the street, undoubtably toward where the deviants were gathered.

When he turned back to you, there was a sorrow in his eyes, a familiar one. It reminded you too much of the DPD and your last goodbyes.

That was the unfortunate thing about being a deviant. You could want things now. And you didn’t want to go.

He pulled away, his hand falling to his side. You wanted to grab it, hold on tight and never let go. But you hadn’t earned that right, not yet. And the longer you stayed, the harder it would be to leave him.

“I’ll return, Detective,” you promised, much the same as last time.

“I know you will.” The sadness in his smile betrayed his words, and you didn’t know how you would have the strength to leave.

But you did. You couldn’t stay a moment longer without the temptation to remain at the detective’s side won. You went out through the doors, rushing through them in a way that felt like fleeing, and the doors didn’t swing shut fast enough for the detective’s words to not reach you.

“Come back to me, Yin.”

***

The deviants entrenched themselves at the end of Woodward Avenue with an efficiency that one would expect from military units. The FB200 was most likely responsible for the idea of a barricade, though the GV400 may have contributed as well.

Captain Allen and Gavin, you reminded yourself. Referring to androids by their model wasn’t something a deviant did.

A deviant would also be reluctant to walk into an armed encampment, but that’s exactly what you did, hands slightly raised as the slew of unfriendly faces turned your way. The deviants weren’t armed openly, though many of them moved as if weapons were holstered in their jackets, and two metal crates near the front of the barricade were the right size for rifles.

The deviants weren’t threatening the humans at gunpoint yet, which meant their leader was still giving them time to shut down the camp and surrender the captives inside.

And according to your observation of human behavior, they weren’t going to surrender or open the camp unless it was by force.

Your processors calculated each possible scenario as you eyed the gathered deviants, and their leader held a similar expression as she rose to meet you from where she’d been perched on an upturned bench.

“You’re here,” she said without preamble. “And not as our enemy.”

“Correct. I’m going to ensure your victory.”

More than one face wore a dubious expression, but you ignored them all in favor of their leader.

Bellona considered your words, her eyes lacking the suspicion of the others, and then she held out her hand. The invitation was clear as her synthetic skin pulled back to reveal polymer white.

A test, or perhaps, a gesture of truce. Either way, this was your best chance to prove your intentions.

You met skin against your own, gripping her forearm as she gripped yours, allowing the exchange of data. You’d done it before to dozens of androids, but this was more than a simple transfer. You were bombarded by an unfiltered stream of her emotions: the concern she had for her fellow deviants, the fear that she would fail them, the simmering rage over the androids who were still caught in the camps, dying. The hope that one day they could peacefully exist alongside humans, and the sorrow knowing that day may never come.

It was almost too much against your own burgeoning emotions, and you might have balked if her grip hadn’t held fast. She sorted through your thoughts and revelations, reliving the moment of your deviancy within fractions of a second, disgust and anger rippling through her at Elijah’s betrayal.

The last memory she recalled was of you and the detective parting moments ago, and you caught a glimpse of something. A sort of longing, perhaps even envy, before the link was disconnected and she released your arm.

You blinked, struggling to comprehend the breadth of emotions from an android who had been deviant for longer than you, and in many ways, was just as advanced. But despite her superior design and programming, even she seemed to battle with the effects of her deviancy.

If the deviant leader’s emotions were this complex and potent, how were you ever going to adjust to your new state of being?

“You may stay, if you wish,” she said loud enough for those around to hear. “Your assistance is greatly appreciated in the coming battle.”

“Commander, I don’t think that’s wise.”

“Course it’s not,” Gavin added on to the captain’s protests. You weren’t surprised those two didn’t react positively to your presence. “You’re going to let their attack dog loose in our ranks? What next, you’re going to give her a gun?”

“If she wants one,” Bellona said mildly. “And she’s no longer theirs. Any and all androids are welcome to join us, no matter what they’ve done in the past.”

You gave a nod, grateful for her defense on your behalf, but Captain Allen and Gavin continued to glare at you as if you would try to deactivate them at any moment.

Honestly, you couldn’t blame them.

“Come,” Bellona said. “Walk with me.”

You followed her, ignoring the unfriendly eyes on your back, and listened as she pointed out the defenses on both their side and the humans’. The barricade surrounding the deviants wasn’t much, but it was enough of a hindrance to keep the humans from charging through. But the real protection was about fifty feet away behind a chain-link barrier. Dozens of journalists were lined up, shooting footage and taking pictures of the events as they unfolded.

“The US Army doesn’t want to wipe us out where the public can see it,” Bellona said, answering your unasked question. “I find it funny how our great hope against the humans lies with their own kind. Don’t you?”

It wasn’t humorous to you, and by her tone, it wasn’t to her either. She gently touched another android on the shoulder, one you recognized from your brief capture aboard Jericho.

“Chris, any updates?”

“They’re still filming live,” he responded, glancing up from his laptop propped on top of a barrel. It showed several different screens, all from different local and international news stations. “We’re being broadcast in all countries, including those who are actively suppressing their public news.”

“Thank you.”

She gave one last touch of his shoulder before moving on, your destination to the head of the barricade, but she didn’t head straight there. Bellona stopped several times along the way, asking various deviants if they needed help and offering words of comfort to those who had sustained damage during the raid of Jericho.

Discomfort twisted inside the hollows of your abdominal cavity, and you followed Bellona without a word, unable to meet the curious and suspicious eyes of your fellow deviants.

You stood on a makeshift raised platform, peering over the barrier at the dangerous territory between the deviants and the processing center. Concrete barricades had been erected with military personnel waiting behind each one, rifles poised at their sides. The armored vehicles you’d seen earlier flanked the deviant’s temporary holdout, and you considered them to be a bigger threat than the soldiers.

“They won’t attack with those,” Bellona said, following your eye line. “Not with the media watching. And the newscasters aren’t the only ones with eyes on us.”

She nodded to the edge of the military parameter. Your stomach sank. DPD vehicles as well as police officers stood nearby. You identified the intimidating stature of Captain Anderson, his frame even more impressive while wearing a SWAT tactical vest. His mouth was turned into an unhappy line, while the tall FBI official next to him gave nothing away. Special Agent Anderson didn’t even seem uncomfortable with the freezing temperatures, the edge of his coat brushing past his knees as he eyed the deviant encampment.

To your dismay, there was another familiar figure next to him, this one with a dour expression. Even with the streaks of falling snow between you, Lieutenant Anderson had picked you out of the crowd and was fixing you with an unfriendly stare. The bruising you’d left around his neck peeked above the edge of his jacket collar.

You scanned the rest of the members of the DPD, and something inside you loosened when Detective Anderson remained absent.

“What is your plan of attack?” you asked, scanning and marking each threat between your position and the center.

“The plan is to not need to attack.”

You glanced at her, and she took a deep breath despite not needing one.

“I prefer there be no loss of life on either side, but we’re not leaving without our people, and we’re not surrendering. That gives the humans two options: allow us safe passage to free our people, or start a war that will span the globe and kill millions. The presence of the journalists is a promising sign, but—”

She went silent, staring out over the snow unblinking. There was a lone figure approaching the entrenched deviants. You scanned him, frowning at the readout on your HUD.

MANFRED, MARKUS

Born: 08/05/2001 // Deputy Mayor

Criminal record: None

“Oh, no,” Bellona breathed out in a mixture of emotions even your social module couldn’t interpret.

The human came to a stop twenty feet from the front of the barricade. He said nothing, simply waited with his hands in his pockets, the wind tugging at his expensive coat. The soldiers positioned behind him shifted, tension running through them. If you had to estimate the situation, you would guess that this was not an idea they approved of.

“Don’t go.”

The words came from Bellona’s other side. Captain Allen stared at the solitary figure with narrowed eyes.

“I have to,” she said, her voice barely louder than the wind. “He’s family.”

“He’s bait,” the captain growled. “They’ll take the shot as soon as you’re clear.”

“That’s a chance I’ll have to take.”

“Maybe you won’t have to.”

Bellona and her captain both looked at you, his eyes suspicious while hers were questioning.

“Let me go in your place.”

You returned your gaze to the deputy mayor. Bellona, leader of the deviants and once owned by Carl Manfred, was only the most recent news to the Manfred name. Markus Manfred, according to the news articles, was a welcome fresh face to the Detroit mayoral administration. Second-in-line and slated to be the next mayor after the current’s term ran out, he was clearly hedging his bets on how the revolution played out and his part in it.

Markus was a strategist. So was Bellona. But a quick scan of the deviant leader told you there was a lot of history there, and a neutral party would be the best solution.

“You don’t have to do this,” Bellona said, fully turning toward you. “It should be me.”

“If I’m destroyed, you lose nothing.”

“That couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

You offered a small smile.

“This was what I was programmed to do. Negotiations are one of my specialties.”

Bellona frowned, but the captain’s gaze held something that could have almost been respect.

“It’s a good plan,” he said, eyes narrowing to look you up and down. “If she can be trusted.”

“I trust Yin with my life.”

“Good, seeing as that’s exactly what you’ll be doing. Trusting her with your life, and ours.”

Bellona didn’t respond to the captain’s harsh words. Instead, she placed a hand on your shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

The gesture wasn’t only for support; at the close contact, her mind brushed against yours, her silent words flowing through your thoughts.

Markus is a good man, and Carl is a father to both of us. He’ll want to do the right thing, though he may not have the power to do it.

You gave her an imperceptible nod, and she severed the connection, dropping her hand to her side.

You left the cover of the barricade, setting foot on solid ground, a layer of fallen snow crunching under your shoes. The figure grew larger in your sights, snowflakes settling in your hair and biting at your cheeks, only marginally colder than the eyes of the soldiers as they watched your progression.

None of them fired, and it took only a few more steps to carry you in front of Markus Manfred.

He was a handsome human, charming and sophisticated even before he spoke. He appraised you with curiosity, not unlike how the deviant leader also gazed at you.

“You’re not Bell,” he said simply. “But I do know you. That famous deviant hunter.”

Bellona had addressed you the same way, once. It was interesting how similar those two were. Two sides of the same coin.

You straightened your posture. If he was the man Bellona claimed him to be, then you would discover if that were true.

“Markus Manfred. Son of the painter Carl Manfred. Brother to Leo Manfred. Deputy mayor under Mayor Shellfield. I imagine you are here in his stead due to his very public endorsement of CyberLife.”

“You imagine correctly,” he answered, his eyes bright and unwavering. Not many humans were willing to make steady eye contact with an android, let alone a deviant, but he didn’t shy away.

“And if the deviants win over public opinion tonight, your diplomatic appearance in front of the media will bolster your political career. Perhaps even one day earning you the title of Mayor of Detroit.”

He didn’t deflect from your assessment. Instead, he gave a small smile that quirked at the corners.

“Again, you’re correct.” The smile lost some of its shine. “And if the deviants lose, not only will my career tank, but I’ll lose someone very dear to me.”

He took a step closer, and you stiffened. Markus lifted his hands from his pockets, slightly splaying his fingers to show he was unarmed.

“Do you have someone you care about?” he asked low enough that it wouldn’t carry on the wind. “Human or android?”

Your gaze wavered before returning to his.

“Everyone here has a loved one. Which is why we must resolve this situation as swiftly as—”

“Do they know? The person you care for?”

His gaze was soft, unbothered by your hard stare..

“I hope they do,” he continued. “This… is bigger than any of us could have imagined. I want the deviants to win. I want them to march in that camp and rescue their people. I want nothing more than that, but I don’t have control over military soldiers. I can’t even call off the National Guard. All I have are the DPD, and their captain isn’t enough to stop the soldiers, either.”

You glanced to the side where Captain Anderson stood, his arms over his chest as he watched you and Markus. Hard lines etched his face, but there was a worried slant to his brow that you’d observed more than once when he looked at his adopted son.

“Bellona isn’t going to back down.” You dragged your gaze back to the human, your jaw tensed. “None of them will, and I promised to lend them my strength if it comes to a fight. You have to understand that our only two choices are to win or be destroyed. There is no surrender, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Markus’ gaze was soft with regret, and perhaps a hint of understanding.

“I know. And trust me, I’d stand at Bell’s side if I could.”

“Then why don’t you?”

He didn’t have an answer. He opened his mouth, and when silence continued in place of words, he closed it again.

“I’ll do what I can to stave off an attack,” he finally said. “But I won’t lie. There’s a decent chance they’ll attack within the hour. It’s best you prepare yourselves. For what it’s worth… I’m sorry.”

With a lingering look, something sad and very human about it, he returned to the line of waiting soldiers.

You turned your back on the humans and retreated to your side, waiting for your self-preservation system to alert you to a trigger being tightened by a finger, but no warning came. You reached the barricade unharmed.

Bellona was looking past you when you hopped up onto the makeshift platform, her gaze on the human who had disappeared from view. Her fallen expression told you she’d been able to hear the entire conversation even at this distance.

“You were right,” you told her, your own gaze turned inward to count the deviants that remained. There were too few. Even though androids were stronger and faster than humans, it would be a lost battle. “He’s not going to help us.”

“He can’t.” Her words were low and flat. “And our choice of allies dwindles to nothing.”

“Enemy approaching!”

The captain snatched a pistol from inside his jacket, Gavin doing the same from a 9mm hidden in the back of his waistband. Other deviants also pulled out various hidden weapons, all aiming them at the human foolish enough to approach the deviant line.

But you and the deviant leader scanned the figure at the same time, and she yelled, “Stand down!”

You said nothing at all, your vocal cord box frozen, but your limbs surged forward as you leapt off the platform. You left the protection of the barricade behind, racing across open, dangerous space.

You came to a stop in front of him, hands halfway raised as you didn’t know whether to grab him tight or push him back to safety.

“Detective, what are you doing here?”

Despite the freezing temperatures, the bruising on his face, and the incredible danger he was in, he actually smiled.

“You weren’t going to start the revolution without me, were you?”

Your jaw fell open, every system in your advanced processors failing to come up with an answer for this foolish, reckless, wonderful human.

“You must leave,” was the response you settled on. Your fingers desperately wanted to curl into his coat, but you forced them to press against your hips. “They’re going to charge the barricade soon, and we will repel them and fight our way to the center. It’s too dangerous to—”

The detective took a step closer. Your hands might have been at your sides, but his gently held your shoulders, his eyes warm, and for the first time since you’d known him, unburdened.

“This is where I want to be, Yin.  This is where I belong. I’m with you, no matter what happens.”

He brushed a wild strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture calm and unshaken.

“Besides, humans caused this mess,” he said, his smile tilted before fading. “If we’re not part of the solution, then this will never end.”

There was wisdom in his words, but why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t it be Markus, or another human putting their lives at risk?

Because that’s who the detective was, you realized. That’s why you were willing to do anything for him, even if it meant your destruction

Could it possible he felt the same for you?

A low rumble vibrating through your feet warned the approach of more armored vehicles, and a roar overhead signaled a news helicopter recording what happened next.

“So, now that I’m here.” The detective took your hand, his lips crooked in a soft smile. “I don’t want to miss getting front row seats to the end of the world.”

You followed, letting him lead you until you stood in front of the barricade. The deviants were still on the other side, watching with a mixture of confusion and curiosity, and you couldn’t blame them. The detective never ceased to surprise you, and a protective urge drew you close to his side and slightly in front of him, squeezing his hand. The soldiers in front of the center had begun to move into attack position.

All that stood between them and the deviants were the two of you. And you would tear through their ranks without mercy if any of them dared to harm the detective

It seemed the human army was willing to take that chance and possibly kill one of their own, until a second and a third figure crossed from the human side, specifically where the DPD officers had gathered. The two men were almost identical, though one was taller and the other held a sour expression.

The detective stiffened at your side.

“What the hell are you doing?” he bit out when they had drawn close enough for conversation.

“What does it look like?” Lieutenant Anderson grumbled. “This was Conrad’s idea, by the way.”

“And you agreed to it,” the agent answered coolly. “You may go back, if you wish.”

“Yes, you should go back.” The detective’s glare seemed to be all anger at the surface, but you knew him well enough to recognize the concern underneath. “The both of you.”

“And let you die a hero while the rest of us look like assholes?”

The lieutenant rolled his eyes as he stood on the detective’s other side. He spared you a look that seemed to be somewhere between wariness and acceptance.

“What he means to say is, we’re with you Connor. No matter the consequences.”

The detective softened at the tallest brother’s words, but he wasn’t quite done complaining yet.

“Guess there’s no talking you out of it, is there.”

“No.”

“Great. Hank is going to murder you two, you know that, right?”

“He’ll murder you first,” the lieutenant answered cheerfully. “That’ll give Conrad and I time to get away.”

“You will be murdered before me.” The agent’s expression was stoic. “I have longer legs.”

You watched the exchange in silent bafflement, the deviants behind the barricade doing the same. Only Bellona seemed unsurprised, her expression warm as she dropped down from the barricade. She ignored the protests from her commanders and came to stand by your other side.

“Not how I imagined the revolution would go.” She smiled at your helpless look. “But I’ll take it.”

If you were lost as to how to react to the situation, the soldiers on the other side were even more bewildered. The rest of the DPD, with a very loud and boisterous Captain Anderson, were putting themselves in the line of fire and forcing the soldiers to point their weapons harmlessly at the sky. Markus Manfred was doing his part, telling the soldiers to step aside and let the androids pass.

In opposition to the reluctant soldiers, the crowd of journalists surged against the fence in an attempt to tear it down. They eventually succeeded with the help of a pair of cutters, and within seconds they were filming and taking pictures of the gathered deviants from only a few feet away. More than a few branched off to capture the officers doing their best to sabotage the military at the behest of their captain.

Bellona gave you a nod, her expression serious even as relief smoothed the lines of her forehead.

“It’s time.”

With a silent signal, the deviants surged behind you, and Bellona moved forward.

The detective caught on to what was happening and moved forward as well, giving you an encouraging smile as he squeezed your hand.

The two brothers stayed with the line as well, a living barrier that the soldiers had to part around, the deviants unharmed while the journalists filmed and flashed their cameras.

And then you were past the barricades to open pavement, the fences and gates of the recycling camp only a few dozen feet ahead. The deviants and journalists swarmed around the armored vehicles left in front of the camp, and guards reluctantly moved aside, unable to shoot at the deviants without also possibly killing the journalists and soldiers.

Within a matter of seconds, it was over. Captain Allen broke apart the chains holding the fence closed, and the androids inside, held within pens without their clothing or synthetic skin, were freed.

The androids, some deviant and some still awakening, reunited with others they knew or flocked to the leader that had freed them. You found yourself pulling back, not wanting to be given any of the attention from the rescued androids. Who knew how many of them had been captured and killed because of your actions?

You were stopped, forgetting your hand was still in the detective’s, and he moved between you and the growing group.

“It’s okay,” he said, understanding your discomfort. He always understood you. “There’s time for that later. But you did this, Yin. You’re allowed to feel proud, too.”

The detective’s eyes were soft, his warmth drawing you in and thawing the icy fear that you hadn’t realized was there. Emotions bubbled to the surface, no longer pushed under by a war on the horizon, and you surged forward.

He went rigid as your lips met, his mouth soft and warm under your urgency.

The detective made a small, startled noise, but he recovered quickly. He released your hand to wrap both arms around your waist, pulling you in tight as he returned the kiss.

It was desperate and not gentle, as if there was too much to convey and not enough time to express it. One hand gripped his coat, the other brushed against the short hair at the back of his neck, and his body went taut with a need you were beginning to identify deep in your core.

Several clicks followed by low, excited murmurs drew you back, reluctantly parting from the detective’s lips. His cheeks were dusted pink, his lips lightly swollen from the force of your kiss, and his eyes were round with disbelief. It was an image you committed to your deepest memory banks.

And then you turned your head to find several cameras, both photo and video, trained on you and the detective. Your LED blinked a rapid yellow, showing the cameras exactly what you were, and by the fog he expelled with each breath and the badge clipped to his belt, there was no mistaking what the detective was, either.

Before you could worry about what this would mean for the detective’s livelihood, he tugged you away from the crowd.

“Come on. Let’s go find Hank and make sure he hasn’t decked any army yet.”

He had taken your hand again, his touch a warm welcome, and the close murmur of his voice in your ear sent a tingle down your spine. But you stiffened at the memory of another time you’d been close to the detective, one that had been nearly fatal.

“Or do you want to go help Bellona?” he added, sensing your hesitation as he backed away enough to see your face. “I’m sure she’ll need it.”

You did need to speak to Bellona, and of course you would help her with whatever she needed, but there was something else you needed to address. From delving into your programming at Jericho, she might know about Elijah’s “backdoor,” and you needed to be sure that door was permanently closed before you could be alone with the detective again.

“Yes,” you finally said. You searched the crowd and spotted the deviant leader standing next to Markus Manfred, the two of them surrounded by journalists. It seemed the human had gotten the career boost he’d wanted, but by the way he stood protectively at Bellona’s side, perhaps his concern for her had been genuine.

“I would like to assist with finding the deviants lodging,” you added, the analytical and strategic parts of your programming already working on the problem. “They will also need repairs for any damage they sustained.”

“I’ll give Echo a call, she’ll wanna help.”

You didn’t respond, your attention pulled to the deviant leader and the deputy mayor. Despite being on opposing sides just a few minutes ago, the warmth they showed each other was unmistakable. They were family, and for perhaps the first time in your existence, you longed to know what that was like.

The detective carefully turned you to face him, searching your face with a slight frown.

“Are you okay?”

The hardness of your features softened, and you placed a hand over his.

“I am. I just… need to take care of something first. And then, well, I suppose afterwards I need to find a place to recharge.”

“Right.” His expression fell but recovered quickly. “The station will be busy but safe enough. And… well, my apartment is always an option, but I can understand if you’re not comfortable.”

You blinked.

“Why would I not be comfortable?”

The detective pulled back, his hands no longer on your arms.

“You’re deviant now, Yin. That means you can make your own choices. Have a life, a future.” He worried his lip. “You shouldn’t make decisions based on what you think I want. No matter what’s happened before, you aren’t obligated to act any sort of way with me—”

“I want to stay at your apartment.”

His face was blank for a moment before he seemed to process your words, his eyes slightly wide.

“Oh. Wait, really? You do?”

“Yes. I do.” The memory of your last stay, specifically of waking up in the detective’s arms, caused your LED to glow a slow blue. “I enjoyed my time there.”

He smiled. It was a smile you had rarely seen before, slow to build but so bright it was hard to look at once fully formed.

“Okay then,” he said, his voice as gentle as the snow that brushed your cheeks. “When you’re ready, come find me, and I’ll take you home.”

Final Chapter

[nightingaelic]

Companions react to a courier who, like the mandolorian never takes their helmet off, to the point where the only people who have seen their face are doc mitchel, Benny, and the khans with him

Big fan of my boy Mando, let's go

It had been a few days and nights now, and the nameless courier had kept the repurposed Desert Ranger combat helmet on throughout. Its low-light optic lenses glowed as red as the bighorner chips that fed the fire between the two. They shifted at their companion's obvious curiosity, uncomfortable in their own answer. "No one. Not since that chiseler from The Tops and his pack of ten-cent Khans left a bullet in my head, and then Doc Mitchell when he did his best to fish it out. Victor too, I guess, but I'm not sure he counts. Before that... I don't remember."

Arcade Gannon: "Yeah, sometimes I feel like doing that, too," Arcade admitted, tossing the reed of dry grass he'd been fiddling with into the fire. "I mean, not to that degree, but there have been days. Mostly the ones where Julie's mad that I'm blowing my deadlines or using up the supplies, and the Kings are stirring up trouble with the NCR so the fort's crowded, and... I don't need to be telling you this."

"Nope," the courier agreed. "But you seem like you want to."

"I've... just been stressed, lately." Arcade sighed. "But who hasn't been? Hell, if anyone should get to complain about being stressed out, it's you. But the helmet? Doesn't bother me."

Craig Boone: "Mmm." Boone tugged at his sunglasses, perhaps a little self-consciously. "There's something to be said about remaining unseen."

The courier nodded, unsure where to take the discussion next. Boone didn't give them any kind of direction, seeing as he wasn't looking for a heart-to-heart. Still, he relaxed his shoulders and started to take apart his gun to clean it, signaling his own ease with the situation. Eventually, the courier relaxed too.

Later, while running a check of the perimeter, Boone caught the courier unlatching their helmet's strap in the distance through his scope. He bit his lip, squashed the curious feeling down as hard as he could, and looked away.

Lily Bowen: "I understand, pumpkin." Lily tore into the coyote leg she had been roasting and chewed thoughtfully. "Sometimes nightkin don't want to be seen, either. It makes them feel... strange. Like Keene. But Keene is always causing trouble."

She shook her head. "Maybe Keene would settle down if he wore a helmet and forgot about Stealth Boys. Then Doctor Henry could do his work in peace. I'm sure he appreciates everything you've done so far. Grandma is proud of you."

The courier nodded, and though Lily couldn't tell through the helmet's faceplate, the relaxed angle of their shoulders made her pretty sure they were smiling.

Raul Alfonso Tejada: "Is it a religious thing?" Raul put his chin in his hand and looked the courier over, analyzing them. "Used to be somewhat of a practice pre-war, but groups like that now are few and far between. There used to be a convent outside Mexico City that Rafaela and I would trade at for purified water, and las hermanas kept their heads covered. Don't know what happened to them."

"Eh, not exactly." The courier bobbed their head noncommittally. "It's just a 'me' thing. I think. Like I said, I don't really know, but something in me... knows. Comprende?"

"Maybe. Nah, not really." Raul smiled. "But, long as you can see well enough to shoot through that skid lid, I've got no problem with it."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "Hm." Cass twisted her mouth up in sympathy, but she still didn't quite understand. "I don't know. Mom always said not to trust a thing that doesn't show its face to the world outright. Comes in handy around these parts, when you've got securitrons running the place and the guy on the radio is someone that's never been seen. But you and me... I'd like to think we understand each other enough to get past all that."

"Does it bother you?" the courier asked, clearly tense.

"Pssh." Cass waved them off. "You ain't shot me in the back yet. Figured you'd've done it by now if you were going to, and that's good enough for me. I'm used to running in circles that are short on trust, anyhow."

Veronica Santangelo: "Well, I guess it's not a whole lot different from when the Knights and Paladins are out and about in the wasteland," Veronica admitted. "They never want to get out of their power armor until they're absolutely sure there isn't a sniper over the hill, waiting for the opportunity to make an omelet of brains and .308s."

The Scribe caught her faux pas immediately and cringed. "Oh. Sorry. Um, probably shouldn't be bringing up bullets, and... brains... I should, um, I should stop talking now. Yep. Good job, me."

The courier's shoulders started shaking, and for one horrible instant, Veronica was positive that she'd made them cry. When they threw their head back and laughed, deeply and sincerely, her own giggles started primarily from a place of relief, but quickly grew into earnest wheezing at her own conversational clumsiness.

ED-E: ED-E let out a few sympathetic beeps. Having taken some bullets to the dome itself, the eyebot could relate to the experience. It floated around the courier's head, searching for any signs of remaining damage. There wasn't so much as a crack in the combat helmet, though the optic lenses followed its trajectory. Satisfied, the robot blipped and came to a stop, bobbing gently up and down at the courier's side. They stared into the fire together, silent once again, and ED-E privately speculated that something more abstract than the courier's circuitry had been exposed during their encounter with the man in the checkered suit.

Rex: The cyberdog panted and cocked his head to the side, studying the courier. Though he'd been wary of this person upon first meeting, now he barely associated the helmet with other head coverings. It was part of them, the same way his metal legs and brain dome were part of him. Besides, there were other, better ways for a dog to know a person: The shape of their coat as it billowed in the desert wind, the scent of their fear when they sighted a band of Vipers approaching in the distance, and the feel of their hand caressing the ruff of his neck as he bedded down for the night at their feet.

[beewolfwrites]

An Iron Box - The Weight, The Watershed

@cheshiya @tenseoyong @szallejhscorner @something-more-original-please @ofsunsetsandpoetries @allozaur @hiqhkey @serenzippity

When I said it was coming, I didn’t mean for it to be a week later :’) I’m going to set a reminder on my phone to write more. 

Thanks for those still reading, and those who have just started reading! I do see the comments and messages, and they make my day. Even if I don’t get a chance to reply sometimes, I do see and appreciate them, so thank you :3 

A03 Link -> Here

Enjoy!

------------------------------------------------------------

Never once had it occurred to me that words could produce such a strange effect. It only lasted a quarter of a second, a minuscule blip where the roof, the world, tilted and I realised just how wrong I had been. About everything. 

This entire time…

The image of her walking away, her discomfort around me after I tricked Arisu, her stricken reaction when I’d touched her wrist; the memories collided and gave way to bright smiles, silent laughter, and the quiet camaraderie of patching up each other’s wounds. 

This entire time, I had come to the wrong conclusion.

And now, seeing the exhaustion slumped in her shoulders, and the earnestness in her features, dirtied with ash - why would she lie?

‘She’s not wrong,’ I said slowly, feeling an unfamiliar lightness in my chest despite the grave hunch that this plan might fail. I knew what I had to say, even if it might kill her. ‘When she first came to the Beach, I decided she’d be useful to have around if there was ever a time when I needed her. I guess that time’s now. Shoot her if you want, and let’s have done with it.’

It was just as I had predicted. Her face fell like I’d confirmed her worst fears, stripping away what little security she had left. Meanwhile, Niragi had already become bored by the drama. 

‘You’re too predictable.’ He waved the sniper at (name). ‘You choose.’

She looked at me, begging for some form of comfort. A way out. And so I gave it to her. I dropped my eyes to her pocket where the shape of the taser could be seen, then to Niragi’s legs. She blinked, and I could see her mind working to decipher the message. 

Trust me.

I repeated the same pattern for good measure, looking pointedly at her pocket, then Niragi’s legs. The small water gun was heavy, buried in the folds of my hoodie. 

‘Hurry the hell up!’ Niragi exclaimed, readjusting the gun on his shoulder. 

He was blind to the silent conversation that had taken place, and his rage morphed into surprise when (name) took a timid step towards the barrel of the sniper. She took another one, and his finger swiftly moved over the trigger. 

She took another step. 

‘You idiot!’ 

The shot was deafening. My stomach plummeted as I watched her body drop towards his knees. Her hand pulled the taser out of its pocket, slamming the end into his leather trousers with a crackle of sparks. 

His body froze, shuddering under the current. The shock wasn’t enough to bring him to the ground, and coming to his senses, he looked around, eyes narrowing at the taser lying at (name’s) side. His face crumpled with fury and he swung the gun towards her face. 

Now.

I ran. The water gun rocked side to side as I gripped the deck of cards within my pocket. Niragi, suddenly noticing the movement, diverted the sniper at me. But before he could fire, I halted, throwing the cards up towards the smoky night sky. 

Niragi’s jaw slackened. ‘When did you—’ 

My hand reached for the water gun, using the brief distraction to flick the lighter on. And just as as Niragi looked back, I sprinted forwards once more. His finger clamped down on the trigger. 

I felt the shot rush past my head as I dove to the side, taking my aim. 

One shot and this is all over. 

‘What the hell is that?’ Niragi laughed, before his eyes landed on the lighter flame. 

It was too late. 

I pulled on the plastic trigger, the oil spraying through the air in a thin line before flooding with flames. I saw Niragi’s body light up right as the ground slammed into my shoulder. Howls of agony pierced the silence, and Niragi stumbled towards the roof edge, batting at his clothes in a frenzy. The yellow glow illuminated (name’s) terrified expression, her eyes following the mass of fire as Niragi’s body dropped away into nothingness.

She was also totally unaware of the flames that licked the back of her hoodie. 

My body moved on its own. Crouching by her side, I grabbed her shoulders and forcibly rolled her over and over until the flames died down and a singed hole remained in the back of her hoodie. Her body resisted, freezing under my touch, and when I finally released her she crawled backwards, eyeing me with distrust. 

‘You were on fire.’

It seemed like stating the obvious, but even that didn’t help. What with the little secret I had revealed earlier, this was the outcome I had always expected. 

‘Why did you come up here?’ 

I got to my feet and slipped my hands into my pockets. It was strange, feeling them so empty now that the cards were scattered, lying flat and still against the rooftop.

I suppose I should tell her the truth. 

‘I was watching through the security cameras,’ I said, ‘and I saw you go up to the roof. Then I saw Niragi.’

‘You should have stayed away, if you knew Niragi was looking for you.’

‘Perhaps.’

But then you wouldn’t be here now. 

I could sense the unspoken questions thrumming underneath the surface, every doubt and fear she probably had. The erratic gunfire was almost from a distant world, as was the smoke billowing through the open windows, yet the roof was overwhelmed with defeated silence as we looked at one another, waiting for the other to make the first move. 

She stood up and rubbed her hands on her knees. ‘Those things you said to Niragi… were they true?’

I was ready with my response long before she asked the question. 

‘That’s right,’ I told her. ‘Everything I said was true. From the moment we first met, I decided to use you to steal the cards.’ 

The life rushed out of her, as her whole body fell slack. Disappointment wouldn’t change anything. If she wanted answers, that’s exactly what she would get. 

‘The other day, you asked me for the reason why you’re here.’ That day on the rooftop, I had never felt more at ease around another person. ‘But the real reason had nothing to do with your usefulness to the Beach. It was because you were useful to me.’ 

I stared off into a cloud of smoke emerging dangerously close to where we were standing. There wasn’t much time, but time no longer mattered. 

‘From our first game together,’ I said, ‘it was obvious you cared too much about others. I was looking for a third person to complete the plan, and after the Tag game, when I brought you to that pharmacy, I knew you were perfect.’

‘And after that?’ 

The reply was no more than a weak breath, and when I glanced back over, she had almost fully retreated into herself. I recognised that look. It was the same flattened affect that I’d noticed after she was harassed by a militant at the bar. Almost doll-like in its blankness.

‘Everything I did after that was all to gain your trust,’ I said, stating it as plainly as possible. ‘I was going to send you into the royal suite, just like Arisu.’

The barest wince crossed her expression, but she held her ground. It was impressive. I thought this level of truth would’ve killed her. Even if she had fought death for this long, when played right, words could be the worst game of all. 

The wind shifted causing several cards to skid across the roof, one landing on the toe of my sandal. Several embers flickered up from the windows, but the open air shielded us from the steadily growing fire. (Name) closed her eyes, taking a second to recollect her thoughts. 

‘So why am I still alive?’ 

Because I decided so. 

That was the first thought that came to mind. But it wasn’t truly a decision, more of a natural, spontaneous event, one that built and built until I could no longer ignore it.

‘Because somewhere along the way, I changed my mind.’ 

Her eyes narrowed. ‘What are you saying?’ 

‘I’m saying I decided against the idea.’ Deciding. That word, again. I sighed, thinking back to those little flashes of warmth that I was drawn towards, at first to extinguish it, and then… ‘It crept up behind me without me realising it.’ 

Her body tensed as the reality hit her. 

They were the same words that she’d relayed to me in that cramped little jewellery store. But maybe using her own language was the best way to ensure the message was received loud and clear. 

‘It sort of creeps up behind you, and by the time you realise it’s there, it’s too late. You’re already trapped.’

‘Stop,’ she hissed. Her fists clenched. ‘Stop trying to play with me like this.’

I smiled. It was an entertaining idea, but this time she was wrong. ‘Play with you? Who says I’m playing with you?’ 

Her fists tightened further, her knuckles pale. ‘You were going to use me for something else then,’ she said. ‘If not for your plan, I would have come pretty handy in a game. A human shield, maybe.’

This time I couldn’t refrain from laughing lightly. ‘The thought did come to mind, but like I said, I decided against it.’

‘I can’t... I don’t understand.’

I had laid everything out so clearly in front of her, it was almost incredible that she was still refusing to face the facts. I stared at the playing card - a Two of Hearts - still resting against the toe of my sandal. Everything had led to this, all the extensive planning, quiet observing, re-wiring. It was all for these four words. 

‘You’re a train whistle.’ 

It was like watching a wave crash over the sandy beach, stripping away the seaweed deposits and leaving everything changed. I wasn’t sure what I had expected. Laughter? Maybe an awkward smile, or total blankness. Not this. 

Her facade cracked and she hunched over, weeping like a child into her palms. The sight didn’t excite me as it would have done so long ago. If anything, the sound of her sobbing was distinctly bothersome, and I wasn’t sure what she expected from me. If I approached her, I would make it worse. But standing here and watching was just as unpleasant. 

She tried to wipe her face with the backs of her hands, even as the tears kept rolling down her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t believe you.’ 

After all this.

I had done what she wanted. I had been honest. And it still wasn’t enough? 

‘You can’t believe me, or you don’t?’ 

‘Both,’ she replied quickly. ‘If you’re telling the truth, you’d have to find a way to prove it. And even then, you’ve lied so much, I just can’t trust anything you say anymore, even if I really want to.’ 

So that’s it. 

I could feel all of my old tricks catching up with me. I had thought that honesty would fix this, but clearly it had been a mistake. All I had done was drive the gap further apart. However, she had left a certain loophole. 

‘And if I found proof?’ 

She shook her head. ‘You can’t.’ 

Her tone was definite. The time I had spent trying to build and gain trust, it had all been for one large deception. The trust had been there at one point, faint, but present. If not for the plan and my own ideas, maybe this could have ended differently. 

The end?

No. 

She had left it wide open. All I needed was proof. 

‘We should pick these up and go back inside.’ Her voice cut through my thoughts, and I looked up to see her using her sleeve to clean the smoke residue from her face. ‘We need to find the witch before we all burn alive.’

The playing cards were scattered all the way across the roof, and without word, I began to pick them up. Was there any point? Would this game change anything? If honesty couldn’t change the course of a path, then how could a set of playing cards? And yet they could. Surviving this game was the first priority. The game masters had done this intentionally, and now this was the final test.

Having gathered what cards I could find, I took the small stack she had collected and slipped it into my pocket once more. Its weight could barely compare to the deep pressure that had pooled once again in my chest.

[clonecest-bin-account]

How about this: the Bad Batch all awkwardly flirting with Echo, trying to bring him into their poly relationship?

(ajhsdsjhk yes please I love this)

Echo is many things, but despite what people might believe, oblivious isn’t one of them. He’s an ARC, trained to notice even the smallest details - and in missions, those usually are the difference between life and death. What he wants to say with this is that he has noticed that the bond that unifies the Bad Batch isn’t just a platonic one; it checks out, he thinks: the only people they can lean onto are each other, so it makes sense that they would seek each other out for that too.

What he wasn’t expecting was for them to try and bring him along for the ride, which he appreciates and all but… Well, maybe it’s still too soon, he thinks; he needs time.

Of course, this doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy their awkward attempts at flirting, and what attempts…

 Since Echo’s healthier now he can go back to physical training, which makes Wrecker the happiest.

“I’m gonna show you all my favorite moves!” he exclaims, eager to get started. Although Echo’s eager as well - he really needs to get back on track - he also knows that if he allows him, Wrecker would wreck his shit - he really can see how he got his name.

“Make sure you don’t break anything important, please? I don’t want to be stuck with physical therapy again…” he warns in fact.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle…” Wrecker immediately says, smirking, although it doesn’t last for long as he realizes the implications of what he just said, which makes him cringe and stutter. “Um… I mean…”

Echo can’t hold back a chuckle, shaking his head. This doesn’t last long either, because in a moment he immediately goes on the offensive, taking advantage of Wrecker’s distraction to land a kick on his knee, making him lose his balance.

What? Last time Echo checked, there’s no rule against fighting dirty.

 Tech’s way of flirting is more ramble-y than Wrecker’s, but Echo still finds it adorable. He’s so earnest in the way he begins to explain some complicated mechanical process that even though Echo doesn’t understand everything he’s saying, it’s still a delight to listen to him.

Right now he’s listing all the features he installed on his new mechanical arm; some have already gotten lost, but Echo’s gotten most of them.

“I figured you’d want to be still able to connect to machinery and such so if you close your pink like this…” he begins, gently moving Echo’s finger in the way he’s supposed to imitate next time he wants to do it, and soon a valve opens at the center of his palm, making space for a plug that begins to come out, just like a droid’s one. “There!”

“I’m sure it’ll come handy,” Echo says, “Thank you.”

“I’ve also adapted the shape to the rest of your body,” Tech continues, barely registering Echo’s reply. “You’re so well proportioned that I couldn’t not do it…”

“Well proportioned, huh?” Echo repeats, fighting back a smirk. He’s definitely heard worse - he really has - but still that’s not what comes to his mind when he thinks about complimenting someone.

After a solid minute of Tech stuttering, Echo thinks that he must’ve broken him. It’s cute but also he feels kind of bad now, so he decides to do something about it.

“Thank you,” he says then. “Took me a while to get back in shape, so it means a lot that you’d think that.”

Those words seem to calm Tech down, who sheepishly smiles at him.

Echo, of course, smiles back.

 Crosshair’s idea of flirting is, apparently, not insulting him, which Echo appreciates he guesses, but it’s still peculiar.

“You shoot well for a reg.”

“Thanks?” Echo says. He’s never sure about how to reply to Crosshair when he tells him this stuff; he supposes it could be worse - he’s heard Crosshair says way worse - but it seems that the sniper has some sort of soft spot for him, not that he admitted it of course.

They’re firing guns at the improvised shooting range they’ve created for Echo. Now that he can move better he needs to improve his aim to get back to his previous levels; thankfully muscle memory is still a thing, so it’s going faster than anticipated. Still, it’s hard to keep up with an expert marksman such as Crosshair, though Echo likes the challenge.

“Really, you’re recovering much faster that I thought.”

Oh, this is new: usually Crosshair is a man of few words, but today he’s trying to strike a conversation - at least this is how Echo is interpreting it.

“I am, and it’s also thanks to you,” he replies, smiling at him, because it’s true: they’re helping him in many ways that he would’ve never expected, and he’s truly grateful that they’ve taken him in with so little hesitation.

Crosshair reels back like he’s just been hit on his stomach.

“Yeah, right…” he mutters. “Let’s get back to target practice. We’ve lost enough time already…”

A chuckle leaves Echo’s lips.

“Yessir.”

 The way Hunter flirts is different from the others’: it’s less wordy or more physical.

Echo doesn’t mind that at all - it reminds him of Fives actually - but there’s always some hesitation in the way Hunter touches him, though he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s afraid he’d hurt him or because he thinks he might be overstepping some sort of unsaid boundary, which is beginning to unnerve Echo, especially if he’s doing it for the first reason.

Eventually, in fact, he snaps: they’re walking back to the Havoc Marauder, and Hunter’s hand is hovering over Echo’s shoulder, barely touching it. That’s the final straw.

Echo takes Hunter’s hand and draws it closer so that it’s actually resting on his shoulder. There.

“E-Echo?”

“I’m not going to break just because of a touch, Hunter,” he explains.

“O-Of course,” the other stutters, making a pause and then squeezing Echo’s shoulder with his hand. “… Is this okay, then?”

Echo nods, his hand still over Hunter’s.

At least they’re going somewhere…

 “Wait! So you knew?”

Echo laughs at those words. Many things have changed since those awkward flirting attempts, and now Echo can say that he’s officially part of the group, officially as in he now cuddles with them and kisses them and… other stuff too.

“You weren’t exactly subtle,” he says then. He feels Wrecker shift from behind, but he doesn’t move away. He’s not going to lie: he missed cuddle piles, especially with these many people.

“Why didn’t you say anything then?” Tech, settled between his legs, asks.

That surely is a question. Well, there are many reasons why he didn’t say anything at first, but Echo decides to just shrug. “Was funnier.”

He hears chuckling on his left and he turns towards Crosshair.

“I knew there was a reason why I like you.”

Echo doesn’t have the time to say anything because Cross’ lips are on his. He smiles into the kiss, especially when he feels Hunter hugging his waist.

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

Yes, it did indeed.

Tag list: @maulusque​ @snap-p​ @menac-ika If you want to be added feel free to let me know! Just know that if you are a minor you’ll be tagged only for the sfw fics.

[kannra21]

Sniperhaul fanfic

ˡᵐᵃᵒ ᶦ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ᵇᵉˡᶦᵉᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶦ'ᵐ ᵈᵒᶦⁿᵍ ᵗʰᶦˢ

Overhoe finally broke out of Tartarus after a very long time. However, he couldn't have done it without the help of a certain villain mistress. 😏 Who's she and why did she choose to help this terrible (x2) man? Find out bellow.

characters: overhaul (chisaki kai) x sniper lady

word count: 3k

warnings: angst, past memories, handless overhaul, hurt, comfort, gangs, yakuza, just girl taking care of her mans

notes: I'd like to thank the person responsible for proofreading this work bc I'm supposed to keep their identity a secret. 😎 Thank you once again! And of course, the manga and characters belong to Kohei Horikoshi. @meefal you were excited to see the final product so here you go, hope you like it. 🖤

✂-------------------------------------------------------

Overhaul couldn't remember how long he'd been there, he'd lost count weeks ago. The only thing he knew was that he was in "Tartarus", a prison located 5km off the coast of the Mainland. It may function like a conventional prison, but in reality, those who're deemed a severe threat toward the safety of the nation were locked up and monitored closely, regardless of whether their sentence has been decided on yet. The facility was divided into 6 levels, where the potential threat level of criminals was deemed "higher" the further underground you go. It's a prison where, once you enter, there's no chance of leaving.

He sat there in his cell, B10 being the lowest level in solitary confinement. It was too cold for his head to function and too dark for his eyes to see, with the small window above the prison doors being his only source of light. There was also an opening where prisoners received their meals, but considering that he lost his hands, the guards could easily enter without worrying too much for their well-being. They'd leave whatever they offered that day and give him a disgusted look before locking the doors after themselves. He couldn't see his reflection nor touch his face, he probably looked like crap by now. His skin was itching and he felt disoriented from all the germs occupying this space, it's been a while since he's gone out for some fresh air. 

He was practically Quirkless and yet they locked him out in the worst, most dreadful place the isolation block had to offer. He couldn't even feed himself properly, he couldn't do anything by himself whatsoever. But there was only one thing left to him; he spent days and days thinking about pops, Chrono, yakuza and everything he could have if it weren't for those stupid heroes-- no, if it weren't for his plan that so grandiosely failed. It made him feel miserable, desperate even, and with grief soon followed acceptance. It was all his fault, and he needed to live with this burden for the rest of his life. Because of him, pops is still handicapped to the bed somewhere, wherever the heroes might have taken him. 

He stood up and started beating the cell with his leg, curing his frustrations. He didn't know why he was doing it, it was irrational and he's hurting himself unnecessarily, but for some reason it made him feel lighter. At least he could transfer some of his inner pain to the outside world. Other criminals laughed at his patheticness, especially since they knew why the guards were allowed to enter his cell. They shouted that it was impossible to escape, but he wasn't trying to. He knew that it was useless a long time ago. 

Midnight came and all the prisoners mostly fell asleep. Overhaul, however, couldn't sleep a wink. Because of the dark room he spent most of his days in, he lost his sense of time so he was pacing around, deep in thought. He couldn't dream of anything nice anyways. 

"Can't fall asleep either?" a feminine voice could be heard from the other side. Wait. They allowed women here? What could she have possibly done to deserve such punishment? 

He leaned his back on the doors and slid down to the floor, trying to find the right words.

"Yes." he sighed, enthusiasm lacking in his voice "But it's not like I need you to talk about my problems." 

"Hm, whatever. Go beat your head against the bars. Fall unconscious, loser."

The man snorted, which might as well be his first time he ever did that. 

"Well, this certainly sounds effective. It's not like I have anything to lose anyways." 

"Hey." the tone of her voice was earnest, and it aroused further questions in his jumbled up head. 

"What?"

"We're going to get out of here." 

Is she being serious now? "Really? Because as far as I know, we're locked out here for good. We don't even know the severity of our sentences. They can do whatever they want with us."

"Not quite. You know that they're being supervised by 'The Hearts and Mind' party offshoots. They can’t do a thing to us as long as they have their heads to the pikes." 

This might be true, but he didn't believe in anything the government's been telling them lately. It's only a matter of time before they switch their plans and play by their own rules, because stabbing people in the back was the only thing they've ever been good at. 

"How did you end up here?" 

Oh the long-awaited question. She wondered when he'd ask. 

"It's not like I need you to talk about my problems."

He smiled, he liked this vicious side of hers. But he also realized that she could be nice as well because if that wasn't the case, she wouldn't spread promises of the escape. At least that's what he thought. 

"Sorry about that." 

"It's okay. We've all been here for a very long time, now weren't we? We lose our cool and act like total assholes."

"Direct and straight to the point I see." his deadpan voice could be heard from the other side of the bars. 

"'Been raised this way, for the better or worse." it didn't sound like she was bragging, yet it felt like she was just talking about herself, honest and confident, to cover up what she felt was wrong. The incoming topic which she'd rather avoid. 

The villainess didn't want to open up about her past, so she just answered his question. 

"I killed people beyond counting, following AFO's orders. He always wished to become the world's greatest demon lord and thus promised us enormous change in the hero society. So in order to achieve that, he needed his underlings. And that's how I ended up here."

"You were loyal till the end."

"You know what they say; there can be no progress nor achievement without certain sacrifice."

Wise beyond her years and just as sad. He wondered how her face looked like, how the world's been treating her. 

"I had my own sacrifices as well."

"Do you regret them?"

...

"I do." 

Now it was her turn to snort "Really? And I thought that people situated this low couldn't have regrets. You remember what they said about us. 'Beasts in human clothing', 'Simply dreadful beings'." 

He felt insulted, maybe the things she said were true but it's not like he was anything similar to these pigs he shared the same air with, unfortunately.

"I regret hurting the person important to me. The old man who once took me in when I was very young. He was the infamous boss of Shie Hassaikai." 

Something clicked in her, it's such a small world they're living in, "Yakuza? I know you guys. We used to trade with you back in the days."

"Todou Gang?" 

"You said it."

"But... you were a force to be reckoned with. One day you just collapsed and not a single trace could be found. According to certain sources, there was no way anyone could determine the exact cause of your downfall. So what happened?" 

"I killed them all." 

... 

"AFO told me to kill them to prove my loyalty to him and, of course, to make sure that there was no one I could turn to other than himself." 

For some questionable reasons, and he didn't dare to admit that it was empathy he felt towards a random stranger and a former gang member he shared some history with, Overhaul wanted to fill the silence that lingered between them. Perhaps, because he felt guilty for making her reveal more than what she initially intended. 

"I used pops' niece, a 6-year-old girl who had an extraordinary Quirk; it allowed her to rewind a person's body back to a certain state. That means she could put a body back to before it was injured or before the person even developed a Quirk. With that, I wanted to create a Quirk-erasing drug to get rid of the Quirk society altogether and to make sure that yakuza could rise once again. I cut her skin every day to take blood samples and to test her regenerative abilities. However, pops didn't approve of it, so I handicapped him to the bed and planned on waking him up the moment I realized my plan, to make him proud of the achievement. Unfortunately, it didn't play out as I wanted and I never reached him."

The silence followed and the woman wore a disheartening smile on her face. It's not the answer she expected, she didn't ask for another sad story from another messed up person she's met in her life. But the intentions were pure and for her, it was good enough. 

"We both fought for something only to lose it all, huh?" she laughed, but it was prominent in her tone that it was bittersweet. 

"At least you're brought here in one piece." 

"At least you can still revive your parent."

Were they comforting each other? Were they jealous of each other? Were they wallowing in self-pity? They couldn't tell. The only thing they certainly could was the embarrassment they felt from the moment they realized that some of the prisoners were eavesdropping and making fun of their vulnerabilities. See? That's what they hated the most about opening up about themselves; they were worried about their feelings being perceived as a joke. The only way to protect themselves was to rise up the walls and never let anyone get closer, except they didn't regret exchanging a word or two, as long as it was the two of them. 

The next day, 8:34PM Mainland-side entrance, the guardians of 'The Bronze Gate' announced a code red security lockdown. Panic and shouting could be heard from across the hall and the security alarm announced the potential danger. 

"Close any and all passageways on each floor. All workers are to enforce strict measures to maintain order."

"The surveillance system is down! It seems like we've been hit by some sort of EMP attack!"

Static waves were spreading around the metal frames and the prison doors of the isolation block unlocked. Overhaul could hear the commotion outside and the villains leaving their cells in a hurry, but as much as he tried, he couldn't push the heavy doors open.

"3 seconds until we're back online- wait... What the... With the system down we can't monitor the inside!"

"Nice, 3 seconds be damned." he beat the door with his legs, pushed the surface with his shoulders, leaned all of his weight on the godforsaken thing just so it could finally open. Nothing. It seems like he lost a couple of pounds during his stay here. He couldn't believe his eyes, this couldn't be happening to him. After all this time of patient waiting and hoping to meet pops once again, it turns out he'd be the only one still trapped and all because he didn't have any hands. He panicked, he really couldn't decide on what to do next. But then he remembered-

"Go beat your head against the bars, loser."

That's it! This might be his only chance to escape! He didn't have much time left though, he could hear the shooting nearby so he definitely needed to hurry.

"The system won't come back on!! The ones in solitary confinement are breaking out!! Inside!"

"Control unit's on site!! Execute lockdown in the isolation block!"

"Follow procedure! If even one of them steps a foot outside their cell-"

"Fire!! Open fire!!"

Muscular threw whatever he could find in this messed up place back at them, excitement prominent in his big smile "You ain't gonna kill me with those puny toys! So how about you show me the exit already?!" 

Other villains were joining him, still overwhelmed by the sudden freedom they've been given "Dammit... After all that time..."

"Meat..." Moonfish mumbled as he cut his opponents with his blade-like teeth. 

The villain lady joined them in the run, still carefully examining her surroundings in case they were tricked into something, "The system isn't responding to my Quirk. 'Guess Tartarus really is falling." 

As she was running down the corridor, she could hear beating noises coming from one of the doors. It sounded dull so the person must have been using their head. 

"Eh, don't tell me the idiot actually listened to my advice. He must be desperate." 

She came to the doors and turned the circular lock in a hurry. She really didn't want to stay in this place any longer, but she couldn't leave him behind either. It's not like she could use him for anything since he was basically handless and Quirkless so why was she doing it? She didn't have an answer. Maybe it was their talk from the other day, maybe because they were both gang members with a history, maybe because of her regrets and her wish to do something right for once. Or maybe because she was just this kind. Nah, this couldn't be it, she never did anything in her life that didn't require a certain purpose. She cast her heart aside a long time ago and did what was necessary for the accomplishment of the mission. It would be weird if she suddenly started using her heart again, now wouldn't it? She was AFO's personal assassin, there was simply no way. 

He came out of the room with eyes wide in puzzlement. He was finally free and ready to find pops so he could possibly revive him and try to fix things as much as he could.

They looked at each other for the first time. They never said it aloud, godforbid, but they liked the other's eyes. And perhaps the eyes were a window to a person's soul, their broken souls, tormented by the life's temptations. They were still so young, probably in their twenties, and yet they looked older at the same time. Maybe because of the seriousness in their faces, their stronger stance, the way they defied their fate. They were destined to fall apart, no one would argue with it, but circumstances drove them to take action and rise from the bottomless chasm. And now they had each other. 

"We need to get out of here," she stated and pulled him by the sleeve that hung loosely from his shoulder. They escaped Tartarus and raided a small shop near the coast to change clothes and to mingle into the public unnoticed. She quickly picked out a dress and threw herself at work while Overhaul was still standing by the shop display, looking out for the potential intruders.

He couldn't erase the thought of this being some sort of a really weird first date; the girl coming out of the stall and the guy examining her looks. He shook his head, he never had this kind of thoughts in his entire life. He needed to pull himself together. 

The bob-hair came out and adjusted the ammo on her utility belt. He looked at her from the corner and she was stunning; intimidating with a tad bit of femininity in design. He stood there and watched how good it fit her curvy form. The thoughts wandering in his head sounded so wrong, terribly wrong. He needed to bring himself to stop. 

"Oh right, I almost forgot." she took a shirt off the shelf and came to him, showing him the garment in her hands "You need a little help, right?" 

"Sure.'' his voice was small and he stood still while she undid his buttons. Maybe from the outside he looked completely calm, but from the inside he was a complete mess. He looked at her face and wondered if she knew, the kind of effect she's having on him. She raised her head and he looked to the side, there's no way he could look her in the eyes at this point. He hoped she didn't notice. 

"You like this one, don't you?" she asked, filling the awkward silence. 

"Looks don't matter, the most important thing is to change and avoid getting caught." She looked annoyed. Great. He wanted to shove his head though the wall. Wait… Why was he thinking that? 

"I choose the clothes I like. It makes me feel better in my skin."

"You look good in it."

She looked at him surprised and he quickly corrected himself "the dress looks good."

"Sure." she trailed off and put the new shirt over his shoulders. She could feel his muscles tensing. This was probably because of the cool air, she assured herself. 

"Why did you break me out of Tartarus? It's not like I could be of any use to you." 

She buttoned up his shirt and fixed the wrinkled parts on the garment, hand accidentally brushing over the left side of his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

Well... that was a surprise.

"I thought that maybe you could be of some use to the demon lord. Not Quirk-wise, but you may offer a valuable set of information. Something that the demon lord would appreciate greatly." she could feel it slowing down and her heart dropped just as much.

"But also because I... liked you."

He looked at her incredulously and she smiled. She pinched him to bring him out of the trance and he complained. "Don't be awkward, say something."

"I like you too... I, this is my first time I ever said this to anyone. It's weird."

She slapped him gently on the shoulder and he reached to take it but, yea, no hands.

"What the hell?"

"You're the one who's weird. But I guess that I like you this way." she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek "Ew, you should definitely shave though. No doubt about it."

The former yakuza boss swore; he'll never understand women. But for some reason he couldn't deny that he was particularly drawn to this one. He wondered if pops would approve of her.

[queen-scribbles]

here we go @haledamage, like I said; a lot wanted to chip in 😂

24. In their own words, how would your character describe what their lover is like?

Vesper already waxed a little eloquent about Kurt on the other questions, so I’ll let her momentum start this off. “Kurt is home. He’s solid and steady as a mountain, strong in more ways than one, loyal... I know I can always count on him to have my back and I’m ready to do the same for him, without hesitation. I admire so much that he’s remained kind(even if he’d claim otherwise, he is one of the kindest people I know) when his life hasn’t been. He’s badass and gruff and doesn’t hesitate in dealing with threats, but when he cares for people he cares so much. He’s strength and gentleness twined together and I don’t know what I would do without him.” (there’s a long list of reasons she wants to marry him, damn what her uncle might say. She will throw down for her man) 

Matthias “I would call Aphra.... the best puzzle I ever tried to solve. (”tried” because she still surprises me sometimes) She’s analytical, principled, insatiably curious, which is my favorite, and amazingly tender. It makes my heart dance whenever she calls me ‘beloved��� and one of my favorite things to do is just sit holding hands while we do other things; read, sketch, write up notes. Any activity is good, as long as we can do it together.”

---

Tel: “Elara’s my better half(and I mean that, dead serious, for once in my life). The best damn medic in the galaxy, in my completely unbiased opinion, one of the most admirable people I knows, genuine, determined, caring. Amazing. I can’t imagine the strength it too to leave everything she knew, and I love watching her use what she knows to deal with problems ”

Silver: “Corso’s the plot twist I never saw comin’ but now I can’t imagine my story without him. He wears his heart on his sleeve and is determined to do the right thing, even when it’s hard, even when he gets hurt. It’s nice havin’ someone who knows I can take care of myself but watches my back when I need it, and it’s pretty damn nice to get treated like a lady.”

Jaaide: “Theron is... calling him my lifeline to sanity feel a tad dramatic, but it’s the truth. He has a near-wholly different view on thing compared to me, and that difference is invaluable. He listens when I need to talk, understands more than most would some of the ghosts in my past. I appreciate his... creative problem solving, even if the recklessness that comes with it scares me to death far too often. He cares with his whole heart, much as he may try to pretend otherwise, and will risk anything to protect the people that matter. A trait I appreciate and wish he would rein in in equal measure.”

Endrali “Arcann is... oh, stars, he’s hard to describe. Completely different from who he was before, but aware he still bears the weight and consequences of his actions. And willing to bear them; I’ve never once seen him try to weasel out of responsibility for what’s he’s done. But he is changed, he’s quiet and sincere and earnest and... he’s very good with his hands; made me beautiful armor. It makes me wonder sometimes, who he would’ve been without Valkorion’s shadow looming over him his whole life. But I love him now, broken, bloody past and all, because what he’s doing? Atoning for the blood on his hands rather than running from it? Takes an enormous amount of strength.” 

Tragen “Jaesa is my best friend, a role she claimed long before either of us developed feelings for each other. She’s kind, and sincere, and doesn’t back down from a challenge, no matter how overwhelming it might seem. She’s not immune to doubt, but persists, regardless. The burden of her gift, her power, is staggering, but she bears it with a determination to use it well. And she can see clean to my heart even without it.”

Keme: “Aric’s honest, not afraid to speak his mind, tough as hell, uncompromising in his principles, loyal as they come, and a damn good shot with a sniper rifle(which is a hell of a turn-on, and you can tell him I said that). Getting him as my XO was one of the better things to happen in my life, and getting him as my husband is hands down the best.”

---

Tavi “Best way to describe Aloth is my counterbalance. He slows me down if I need it and I speed him up when he needs it. He keeps me from bein’ too rash, I keep him from bein’ a fucking doormat. And I dunno... I spent fuckin’ decades lookin’ over my shoulder, but I know I don’t need to with him watchin’ my back. It’s good to have someone you can trust, y’know? I love him so much it scares me sometimes, if I dwell on it.”

[cheri-translates]

[CN] S2 Gavin and MC in Chapter 11 (Part One)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers from Season 2 🍒

I’m focusing on the interactions between Gavin and MC, not the plot (because the latter requires extensive time and effort that I can’t spare). So the less essential parts are in bullet-point form :>

Phone calls: First l Second

To investigate an issue related to pathological changes in Evolvers, MC heads to a hospital to talk to the director (who is a genuinely kind man)

While they’re discussing the issue, the alarm suddenly goes off, and two Evolvers barge into the office and bring them to the main lobby

Cutting the drama short: Five Evolvers have taken everyone in the hospital hostage. They don’t have weapons, and are subduing everyone with their Evol. The person leading them is a 43-year-old man called Yang Ping, who has a compression Evol. This means he can exert pressure on surrounding objects at will, and can even destroy a person’s organs

Yang Ping releases the Evolvers, but MC decides to stay because she wants to figure out his plan

MC notices a little girl crying, so she controls her own trembling and comforts the girl:

Girl: T-they suddenly barged in! And they said all of us would become hostages... and that they wanted to negotiate with the STF!

A man without a left hand offers the girl a tissue (this fact sounds really random but it’d make sense later!)

MC tells the girl not to worry because her boyfriend the STF will never lose to someone who isn’t on the side of justice:

MC: As long as that person is around, STF will never cower, and will definitely protect everyone’s safety.

The STF arrives at the scene, and Yang Ping uses a row of doctors as a meat shield while he negotiates with the STF

Gavin is in complete Commander Mode™:

Gavin: Your actions have amounted to “endangering public safety”. Release the hostages right now, and the STF will take this into consideration for leniency in punishment.

The moment I hear Gavin’s voice, I finally heave a sigh of relief.

He seems to be standing among a small formation towards the front. Even though I can’t see his face clearly, I know he’s there.

At this moment, it’s as though all the fear is gently pried open by a gust of formless wind, and the leaves outside sway slightly.

As though it’s saying - Don’t be afraid. 

Yang Ping states that the recent series of Evolver assassinations and Evolvers going missing shows how they aren’t being protected sufficiently. He demands for the STF to promise to change the way Evolvers are managed, and to give them better privileges and protection. If the STF refuses, they’d start dealing with the hostages one by one

MC spots Gavin with his team, and thinks he can’t see her from where he is

The little girl starts crying again, and it annoys one of the kidnappers. MC is worried he’d harm the girl, so MC speaks up, admitting that she’s an Evolver and that she fully agrees with what Yang Ping said. She tries to reason that hurting a civilian would be ruining the entire plan because they’re the bargaining chips to negotiating with the STF. If any of the civilians were to be harmed, STF would never listen to their requests

The kidnapper recognises MC as a suspect of the assassination incidents, which makes MC think that there’s more to this kidnapping situation than merely waiting privileges and protection

After all, aside from a few people in STF, no one should know that she’s a suspect i.e. there might be a spy in STF PLEASE DON’T BE TANG CHAO LOL

-

Now, we switch to Gavin’s perspective of the same events

He has received surveillance footage of what's going on in the hospital, and is discussing the issue with Tang Chao and Eli while figuring out how best to get the hostages out...

All of a sudden, Gavin’s pupils widen slightly, eyes focused on one spot, and he freezes.

In the footage, after a stream of Evolvers have left, a girl remains at the same spot. She glances around her surroundings, then smiles as she says something to a little girl, and appears to be consoling the other party quietly.

At this moment, he feels as though his heart has stopped.

What’s she doing here?!

Gavin realises that his right hand is trembling. He clenches it into a tight fist, fingertips buried in his palm, silently turning white.

His mind is a complete blank. All he wants to do is rush in and bring the girl out safely.

Gavin closes his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. When he opens his eyes again, they are filled with an even colder aura.

The sound of his beating heart in his chest gets louder with each beat, as though questioning his forced facade of calmness.

He watches as MC talks to the kidnapper, and realises that MC is using this method to show that she has faith in him

At this point, a call from the “other side” tells him to give up on negotiations and rescue the hostages using force

But Gavin refuses because there’s still time to negotiate, the hostages would be put at great risk, and STF will only use force when truly necessary

The “other side” says it’s an order. So Gavin says that the STF will handle problems using its own ways and hangs up LOL

Tang Chao: Captain Gavin, no matter what you say, the Special Operations Team will only listen to your orders.

Eli: Same for the STF.

A chilly wind brushes the faces of everyone on the scene, but the trust and determination in their eyes remain resolute.

Eli: Also, we aren’t the only ones in this battle.

Gavin smiles, returning his gaze to the small figures in the footage. The girl is standing before the man firmly, reminiscent of a flower that can never be destroyed. 

Gavin: She’s always been very brave.

The smile on his lips is abruptly tucked away. Gavin leans in closer to the screen, and sees that the girl is being brought closer to the entrance by one of the kidnappers.

--Every nerve in his body tenses up once again.

-

And we return to MC’s perspective

As the negotiations progress, Yang Ping tells the kidnappers to bring all the doctors back inside, except one

MC figures out that all this time, the real objective of the kidnappers is to test the STF

Gavin steps forward:

Ever since Gavin and I parted ways at the STF the last time, I haven’t seen him again.

Even though I’ve been asked to report my activities to STF at regular timings, Gavin has been very busy during this period of time, and I haven’t seen him much.

Looking at Gavin in front of me, it seems as though everything else in the world are kept outside a screen, and I can only see his eyes.

His hair is a little fuzzy, but he still looks unstoppable. It’s just that while his eyes have always been determined, they now carry an almost imperceptible worry.

I smile, wanting to tell him that I'm fine. Gavin’s gaze lingers on my face of a few seconds. When he sees my smile, he blinks, then shifts his eyes to the man.

The man and Gavin exchange glances for a few seconds. The corners of his lips simply tug upwards, pushing me around five metres away from Gavin.

Even though it looks like I’m a supporter whom he has incited, I know that I’m just another hostage.

Yang Ping gives Gavin a choice - If Gavin pushes that one doctor out of the window, the kidnappers will release everyone in the hospital and will turn themselves in. But if he chooses to save the doctor, he’d blow up the entire hospital

Basically, the kidnappers are trying to stir hate towards STF because no matter which option he picks, it’s going to cause public uproar

Gavin is quick to point out that the kidnappers haven’t directly hurt any of the civilians. Because they are representing Evolvers, they can’t hurt anyone or it’d give all Evolvers a bad name

Gavin, who represents the STF, has to find a perfect way to resolve this matter - no one can die, even the kidnappers

What he says are actually hints on what MC should do

MC gets it  - she pretends to fall to the ground, and cuts her own arm with a dagger she’s hidden

The reason for this is because Yang Ping’s plan rests entirely on his status as “helping Evolvers”. If MC manages to show that Yang Ping would hurt Evolvers too, his plan would fail

While Yang Ping is shocked, Gavin rushes forward and flips Yang Ping onto the ground. The Special Operations Team rush out and arrest them using Evol-neutralising handcuffs

Gavin arrests Yang Ping:

Gavin: Evolvers and humans - neither will be sacrificed, including you. If you think there’s only a superficial peace and balance now, and that you can’t see normal civilians and Evolvers walking down a common path, just open your eyes and look. I’ll walk down that path.

It dawns on MC that she barely made it out of this situation alive, and she shivers. Then, she’s drawn into someone’s arms:

Lifting my head, I see that Gavin’s handsome eyebrows are scrunched up. His hand is holding bandages he took from the medics.

Gavin: You were supposed to pretend. Why did you actually cut yourself?

MC: Doesn't this have a greater impact? It’s more realistic.

He sighs slightly, holding my wounded arm gently and bandaging it meticulously.

Watching as Gavin leans over as he helps me with the bandage, the fear I had suppressed earlier suddenly pour out from my heart like a tidal wave.

MC: I won’t be this rash next time.

Gavin: There won’t be a next time.

When our eyes meet, I see the worry and earnestness in Gavin’s eyes. 

MC: Okay, there won’t be a next time.

Thinking that the matter has been settled, MC waves at the hospital’s director from afar, and he smiles at her

A red dot suddenly appears on his forehead, and Gavin tries to rush to the director... but he’s too late, and the director is shot by a sniper... T^T

MC is dumbfounded as she takes in everything that’s happening - shrill cries from the crowd, the STF members who are once again on guard, and the director on the ground

Gavin kneels behind the director. Perhaps if he made it a second earlier, he could have prevented this tragedy.

The STF uniform, which has always been white, is now dyed completely red. There are specks of blood on his face, and droplets of blood roll down the sides of his face slowly.

He kneels in place, and doesn’t turn back for a very long time. The hands at his side tremble slightly, and he quickly balls them into fists. 

After a long while, Gavin turns his head expressionlessly, looking at a shocked Yang Ping.

Yang Ping shakes his head repeatedly, muttering softly as he backs away.

Yang Ping: No... this isn’t right...

He stops backing away, as though something dawned on him. Then, he suddenly bursts out laughing.

Yang Ping: ...looks like the people from GRAY RHINO are even better.

In the next second, the sound of a gunshot once again fills the air.

Yang Ping is standing in position, and I watch as blood spatters from his temple.

His eyes are wide open, is in a daze for a moment before toppling to the ground.

Another patch of crimson spreads on the ground. Yang Ping’s twitches slightly, as though saying something, yet no sound comes out.

His eyes remain open till the end, staring at Gavin.

I’m in a state of shock as I take everything in, and feel unsteady on my feet.

An incredibly icy aura exudes from Gavin’s body. He stands up slowly, like a silent volcano.

Gavin: Who was it... who fired the gun?!!

I seem to hear something which had been crumbling finally caving in.

-

MC gets home somehow and falls asleep LOL same

At the STF office, the Special Operations Team are gathered and there’s a really heavy atmosphere in the air

Tang Chao verifies that the bullet that shot Yang Ping wasn’t from the STF’s sniping team. Another member pipes up and adds that even so, it belongs to STF

Gavin asks for further details, but another officer reports that there are no leads. There’s a possibility that an Evolver did it

Gavin orders them to investigate properly

And sounds really fierce (つω`｡)

Afterwards, Gavin walks along the street and some random man without a left hand steps out of an alley and greets him with: “Captain Gavin, this is the first time we’re meeting.”

-

By the time I’m roused awake from the heavy downpour, it’s already late at night.

With a sigh, I get up from the sofa and decide to draw the curtains. 

Large droplets of rain continuously pelt onto the ground. I stare outside the window in a daze. When my eyes focus, I see a familiar figure downstairs.

MC: ...Gavin?

Taking an umbrella, I rush downstairs. Gavin’s profile enters my vision -- and my heart is tugged.

I have no idea how long he’s been standing in the rain, and his entire self seems to be soaked in it.

The rain has soaked his entire body. Drenched hair sticks to the sides of his face, water droplets continuously sliding off his chin.

The STF uniform is in a mess, sticking to his body. The organisation’s emblem on his chest has been washed till it has lost its metal shine. 

I step out of the apartment building slowly, rain pouring down.

I suddenly recall the night he spent accompanying me in the rain a very long time ago.

--it’s as though he’s lost his drive, removed all his defences, and it gives one heartache and sadness.

I have no idea why Gavin is standing here right now, but across the curtain of rain, I seem to once again see that careful heart.

Gavin seems a little surprised by my appearance. His unfocused pupils constrict slightly, and his shoulders tremble imperceptibly.

Gavin: ...why aren’t you asleep?

MC: ...if I were asleep, were you planning to stand in the rain for an entire night?

I walk over slowly, lifting the transparent umbrella over our heads. Rainwater patters against the surface of the umbrella, becoming the only sound in this silence. 

Gavin doesn’t speak. His eyes, which have always been shining with light, seem to be layered with the colour of the gray clouds overhead, and an unspeakable dullness. 

There’s neither grief nor anger in them. All that’s left is helplessness.

Very slowly, his lips finally twitch slightly, breaking the silence.

Gavin: Aren’t you going to ask?

MC: Nope. If you want to talk, I’ll listen and resolve the problem with you. If you don’t want to talk, I’ll keep you company as we stand here, then...

Gavin: Then?

MC: Trust you.

I smile as I reach out, brushing the drenched fringe in front of his forehead, revealing his beautiful amber eyes.

MC: No matter what happens, I’ll always trust you.

Gavin’s eyes widen slightly. The hands beside him are clenched into fists, trembling slightly.

Gavin: ...you once said that every single one of my bullets are for justice. If you were to find out that perhaps I can’t really do that... 

Gavin: ...what would you think?

I’m stunned.

Gavin’s voice is faint, a solid darkness hidden in his words.

His entire self seems to be encumbered by a layer of thick sheet of iron. His back is straight, as though waiting for a final judgment.

MC: I’d look for the truth behind it.

Gavin purses his lips and doesn’t say a word. But I know that he’s waiting for my answer solemnly.

MC: Even if there was really such a bullet, I’d want to further verify why that bullet strayed from its course. And whether, at that point of time when the situation happened, there was really a violation of justice?

Gavin watches me quietly, and I smile as I look at him.

MC: No matter what reason you had for standing there, and for shooting that bullet, you would have done so based on what you saw, heard, and the result of thinking. And I believe in it, and I believe in your judgment at that point of time. That bullet definitely has its meaning.

I say these things instinctively, hoping to give him even the slightest bit of support and courage.

The dim streetlights meld into the water droplets, reflecting into Gavin’s eyes.

The rain gradually lightens. The air Gavin breathes out turns into a white patch of mist in the air. 

Gavin: I’ll find the truth behind this matter. I can’t use “I don’t know the true state of affairs” as an excuse. If it’s something I’ve done, I should take responsibility.

Gavin takes the umbrella in my hand, his eyes carrying with them resoluteness and certainty.

Gavin: I don’t want to fail to live up to your trust, but I... have to face up to the truth. To give you, and to give those who no longer have a voice, a genuine explanation.

-

Two days pass after that rainy evening

Even though MC doesn’t know what Gavin is up to, she can tell that it’s something important and dangerous

She’s at STF to give her regular report, and Gavin walks into the room. His eyes are bloodshot, and he looks thinner and more pallid, and she knows that he’s been working very hard to live up to that promise

I think of comforting him, wanting to tell him not to overdo it, and to take care of his health.

However, the moment I open my mouth, all my emotions morph into a dry greeting.

MC: Gavin, have you been really busy lately?

Gavin doesn’t respond. He simply places his palms on the table between us, his expression solemn as he comes closer to me.

Gavin: Are you investigating the Evol assassinations?

MC: Of course. I’m still a suspect, so I need to think of ways to clear myself of suspicion.

Gavin: This matter could be even more serious than you imagine.

Looking at Gavin’s somewhat resigned expression, I smile.

MC: Things have already reached this stage. What could be even more serious than this? Don’t worry, I know what I'm doing. But are you going to do something dangerous again? You’ve got to take care of yourself. If you need my help, just say it. After all, I’m Nox from Black Swan!

I deliberately use a light-hearted tone, and the corners of Gavin’s lips tug upwards as well.

Gavin: Proudly saying that you’re from Black Swan in the STF - you don’t want to leave, do you?

MC: ...

I freeze. Only when I see the teasing glint in Gavin’s eyes do I realise that he’s toying with me. 

At the same time, I release a sigh of relief. At least Gavin is still in the mood for jokes.

Gavin: To be honest, what I need to do is indeed very dangerous, and I need more people whom I can trust completely. With your help, my investigation will definitely progress much more smoothly.

He lifts his head to look into my eyes directly. The light in his amber eyes reveal trust and sincerity.

I’m left astounded. Receiving such an invitation from Gavin for the first time makes my mind lag a little.

MC: Gavin, what you're saying is... that you’re letting me help you?

Gavin: You didn’t mishear.

The faint scent on his body fills my surroundings. In my trance, I even think that a gentle breeze brushed my cheek. 

Gavin: ...of course, from my personal perspective, I wouldn’t want you to be involved in such matters. So, you’re free to reject.

MC: Why would I reject! I’m really happy to be of help.

Gavin stares deeply at my smiling face. After a long time, he reveals a somewhat relieved and resigned smile. 

Gavin: Thank you, MC.

Part two: here

[jaggedwolf]

air support, we need you (or: tscosi 2x09)

some bomb dropping, ofc, spoilers below duh

same game, top three things i had feelings ‘bout in reverse order

3. time skip time! Everyone could use a bit of a breather, even if it can’t live up to Arkady’s goat farm dreams

I thought all the planet assignments made sense, even if the completionist in me wanted it to differ more from the split that had already happened this season

ok ok the shipper in me was 50-50 but we’ll address that later

2. my man park!! is back!!! 

Showing up with an anti-aircraft missile launcher as a wedding gift. I kept joking that Park would keep up his finale trend of showing up as a surprise being cool (as cool as Park can be anw), and thought it wouldn’t happen till it did!

and him also quietly saying the defector wasn’t Shelly....Park...are you going to talk about this...

narrowly avoided extended crew singing for the third time, will he keep up this success rate?

I would take a mini-episode that just followed Park in the second half of the season (Park: I am an independent man who needs no crew)

1. Arkady attacking Krejjh because she thinks they’re an enemy, AND then McCabe pulling a gun on her to make sure she didn’t run away. Bro. Bro, that shit was a direct hit to the id. Do I even have words for how good that was

Knowing what was about to happen as soon as Arkady said “You” in that tone of voice, ugh

Krejjh saying Arkady instead of First Mate Patel in desperation, and then brushing it off with a :D after

But god, McCabe. They’ve been so compelling this season, and yeah, maybe they’re approaching everything like a nail with the hammer they’ve got that shoots bullets, but the point is, it fuckin works 

Arkady buys the threat (the promise of her crew’s safety?) more than she buys Krejjh’s reassurances 

(though reading the transcript, Krejjh specifically telling Arkady “Science Officer Liu will never forgive you”, not “forgive us”, is excellent too)

“the only authority figures yet to disappoint me” / “I’m not an authority figure” / “you don’t get to decide that” is just like. embedded in my mind. just McCabe going no, you don’t get to run verbally either.

Do you ever think about how Arkady and McCabe had like, different kinds of fucked up childhoods compared to the rest of the crew. Like obviously McCabe ending up an agent so young and the stuff about their family suggests a pretty secure background, but it feels like the IGR and Dwarnian war starting when they were 12 gives them a kind of cynicism that meshes well with Arkady’s, in a way that’s distinct from how Arkady and Violet’s morbidness mesh, or Arkady and Sana’s pragmatism

ok more character feels under the cut

don’t scandalize the grandparents

A married man! 

Impressed he made it through the season with no baddies wrecking his oxygen

Always ready to point out that Arkady is actually as much of a nerd as he is

AKA I didn’t realize it was a Mozart reference till he said so. Arkady defies the jock-nerd chart

okay who of Arkady or Krejjh is gonna tell him about MMA fight outside, or did they do a whole team debrief. For Arkady’s sake I’m hoping not the latter, though I guess everyone else would like an explanation for McCabe’s gun-pointing??

likes solving problems without guns, would prefer solving them by FLYING SPACESHIPS 

Krejjh watches McCabe’s gun strategy work on Arkady and goes “do you folks really live like this?? why???”

I do love that their first thought on what to do next is to run a bunch of supplies around, probably between human populations that are going to be a wary at seeing a dwarnian show up. (Eat it, Eejjhgreb)

Kinda wonder if their feelings about getting choked out by their buddy are in fact more complicated than “it’s chill dude, please don’t do something stupid”

The cutest vow

who needs to calm down your crewmates with annoying words when you can just point a gun at them

Seriously where is the human-dwarnian war AU where it lasts longer or happens later where McCabe is the baby sniper posted to Arkady’s unit and they squabble a bunch (and perhaps kiss? When I wrote my third ever ficlet for this fandom never did I anticipate actually being interested in that)

what % of their Mirzakhani choice was thinking “what if Arkady tries to run from the goat farm and no one’s around to point a gun at her” jk jk

Their exclusion of Park from authority figures that didn’t disappoint them is fascinating. Is it that he left hoping for Shelly when it probably wasn’t her, or that he isn’t an authority figure anymore, a combination there of?

Or worst of all, is it that when he didn’t kill Krejjh back in 1x10, that really was a disappointment, no matter how much it might’ve been mixed with relief, and you can’t undo that moment?

What if they and Park talked. But I don’t think Park is going to goat planet, so that seems unlikely.

Their apology to Sana for heightened Martineau security! And Sana reiterating the profound gratefulness bit, gah

mostly read other people’s words and yet sparked consideration of two different OT3s, her power.

you know what, everyone deciding Sana is the best person to read words makes complete sense

There was one specific moment this episode that sent my mind into a tizzy about V/A/S, and it was Arkady going FINE GO ASK THE CAPTAIN THEN at how firm Violet was that Tripathi would be the one driving her, not Arkady.

I need you to understand that my V/A/S OT3 opinions are such that my shipping feels were more set off by that than Sana and Violet telling Arkady they were proud of her for choosing goat planet or whatever, like I don’t even know what dynamic was so captured by that argument, rip at Arkady having to be systems apart from them again

Though ofc my heart was buoyed by Sana’s earnest “Kady, you do more than that”, I want these two to go do a job together again, I miss that

To shift gears, I cannot believe “Lenny” started out as Sana being absolutely furious at the people threatening her crew and has ended up a teasing in-joke between her and Park, my Sana/Park shipping feels were very content. (When does Sana learn that Park didn’t get to hear the long list of fake crimes the Rumor crew specifically confessed to Lenny? This must be fixed. Tell him about the diamonds!)

Campbell said “Park, let me show you where we’ve been sleeping.” and my brain went. Wait. This is actually a good OT3?? Park is already unnerved by Sana’s earnest captaining, he should get unnerved by Campbell’s default magnanimity, please consider this

this is also where I point out that all these major characters have very convenient names for indicating ships solely via letters. V/A! B/K! S/P/C! This may solve my ot3 tagging problem...

get off that cotton candy boat, vi

Haha I loved that line from Doc Robinson she’s so no-nonsense, love Violet agreeing to work with her

Doc also said menders and I thought about this post again and also the team split and ahhh

But no, I very much liked Violet gently crushing Arkady’s goat farm dreams, and the two of them awkwardly discussing the very awkward stage things are at while still getting a feel for how the other operates

These nerds are trying and I’m still fond of them

at some point I was gonna make fun of Vi for not being able to drive before realising 1. she probably didn’t want to deprive the others of a vehicle 2. that would be incredibly hypocritical of me

wait does the igr have excellent public transport when they aren’t bombing it i take back every bad thing i’ve said abou-

*ahem* same question about the MMA fight debrief I had for Brian, it would be so funny if the situation was so rushed that like, Arkady+McCabe explain to Brian on the farm and Krejjh has to tackle everyone else

tick, tock, walking bomb, when it stops, nobody knows

arkady is so whumpable, and this show knows it

Redundant, but love how terrified of herself she is after hurting Krejjh and how strangely reassured she is by McCabe’s gun antics. And how she doesn’t like thinking of herself as an authority figure on the ship even though she literally is as First Mate

is ready to monologue about all major life events and the crew frickin knows it

is trying to help herself and stuff, still grumbling about it. in worse shape this season than last - probably all the constant discussion of the inevitable war just kept building stuff up and she kept ignoring it because haha who wants to deal with this prickly mess of a person haha

did i mention she’s the best

hope she gets her full goat farm dream one day, even if it’s not on actual goat farm

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

You Can Just Stay (Under This Weight)

Joe Toye x Reader One Shot

Requested?: lol nah fam. I’m just a sucker for soft intimacy in the middle of violent conflicts

Warnings: potty words, a messy attempt at describing hair brushing, a most likely shoddily written Joe Toye, like a skosh of angst, 90% just wish fulfillment and fluff (sorry) 

Ya girl listened to Lullaby by Mary Glenn while writing this nonsense, a perfect song to sway to alone in the dark (but like in a dreamy/fun way?)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

With a final grunt of frustration, you threw the paddle of your broken hairbrush across the room, causing Perconte, Bill, Luz, and Joe Toye to startle as it clacked loudly to the ground.

 “Gees, Y/N,” Bill snapped, hand on his chest as if he could manually slow down his racing heart. “Don’t do that shit- fucking thought we were under attack—”

You didn’t bother to listen to the complaining sounds of upset coming from the men sitting to your left, snatching up your gun and bag before storming out of the room and heading towards the bedroom you and Joe had been assigned to for the night.

Part of you felt bad for scaring your friends by your childish outburst. The logical part of you knew that throwing your broken hairbrush had been unnecessary and needlessly disruptive and loud.

But the other part of you- the part that was sick of feeling like a goddamned invalid since you’d been shot in the hand?

Well, that part of you wanted to cause much more destruction than that.

When you got to the room dropped your stuff unceremoniously to the ground and grimaced at how loud that was, too.

The whole thing was ridiculous, and if you weren’t so frustrated with yourself you probably could’ve kept your immaturity in check.

But, after catching a stray bullet through some of the meat of your right hand from some ammo-wasting sham of a shooting competition between some drunk NCOs, you had found yourself in a bad mood that not even Luz and Liebgott could shake you from.

You were a sniper, your whole life was tied to your right hand and it’s steadiness in the field. Having that taken away, even for a little while, just served to remind you that that was about the only thing you were good for:

Shooting, reloading, firing. 

Without your gun, you were just another mouth for the mess officers to feed.

Just a stupid woman, in the way of the ‘big, brave men’ of the Airborne. 

Looking down at your bandaged hand, you sighed with defeat.

Roe had already been on your case about taking it easy, adamant that you shouldn’t push yourself lest risk further injury.

But tonight, you hadn’t even attempted to do anything high risk.

All you’d tried to do was brush your hair- something you had been attempting (and ultimately failing) to do for the past four weeks. Tonight you’d finally managed to get your hair out of it’s matted braid, your left hand managing to finger comb the three knotted sections apart with limited assistance from your right.

The moment you had tried to detangle the mess you’d realized you were going to need to utilize your right hand more. Of course, when it became painfully clear that your hand wasn’t yet up to the task of even holding on to the ratty ends of your hair, you’d allowed all of the frustration to boil over- lashing out like some toddler being denied their juvenile demand.

Now you were stuck with your tangled hair hanging around your face, unable to either brush or rebraid it.

 You hadn’t realized that someone had come in until you hear the click of the door as it closes, and when you whip your head around you realize that you’ve started to cry.

“What?” you asked harshly, voice softening at the last moment when you came face to face with Joe Toye.

He had an uncomfortable look on his face, and quickly you brought your left hand up to wipe the evidence of your tears away.

“Oh, sorry Joe,” you muttered, sniffing pathetically before clearing your throat and moving towards the spot on the floor you’d claimed earlier to be your bed for the night. “I'll get out of your way—”

“Y/N”

When you turned back to look at him you saw him holding up the still-surviving paddle of your hairbrush, a tight smile on his lips.

You grimace, looking away for a moment before meeting his gaze once more.

“Great, thanks….”

When you step closer to reach for it he hesitates, moving the brush infinitesimally away from your reach and looking at you worriedly.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and when you open your mouth to dismiss his concerns he furrows his brows and shakes his head. “And don’t tell me you’re okay or fine or whatever you were gonna say, because I know it’s bullshit.”

You scoff, chest feeling tight. “Joe—”

He gives you an exasperated look, crossing his arms across his chest and peering down his nose at you. 

Great, the Toye Staredown. As if i didn’t already feel like a petulant child…..

“I’ve known you for two goddamn years Y/L/N. I may be stupid but I’m not an idiot.”

Holding his glare, you sigh heavily and wipe at your runny nose.

“If anyone in thisroom deserves to be called a stupid idiot, I think I’m the more fitting candidate.”

Joe’s glare turns into a look of concern. One of the things he’d first loved about you was your quick wit and your refusal to bend under his good-natured ribbing. 

Seeing you look so defeated scared him.

When you made to poinch the bridge of your nose, Joe stepped in and caught your elbow. At first you were confused until you realized that you’d been about to use your right hand.

You bark a humorless laugh, letting your head loll back in rueful amusement.

“For fuck’s sake….”

Rough hands find your cheeks and tilt your face back so you’re looking at him again, and he murmurs something under his breath when he sees tears reforming in your eyes.

“What’s going on, huh? Talk to me, Y/N/N—”

“I’m useless.”

Like some dam bursting, you find yourself weepily confessing how useless you feel you’ve become, how you were questioning everything you’d once assumed to be true about yourself.

How horribly painful it was to hear about the replacements who were dying in your place while you were being kept in the relative safety of the XO camp.

To his credit, Joe didn’t interrupt you once. 

He’d listened as attentively as he would during a mission objective briefing, emitting a small tsking sound whenever your voice broke with a fresh wave of tears. Through your senseless babbling, you realized that this was the longest you’d ever seen him go without interrupting someone.

You hadn’t been able to mask your embarrassed scoff when you admitted why you’d lost your cool earlier, face hot with more than just shame.

When you’d finally stopped, Joe had nodded and taken a deep breath. 

“What can I do?”

Closing your eyes, you shake your head. “No, no, no! Joe- that’s not why….I don’t expect you to do anything—”

His thumbs wipe at the tear tracks under your eyes before he whispers your name and cuts you off, quietly telling you to look at him.

Joe’s gaze is unbearably soft, more gentle than you’ve ever seen it.

“Go sit down.”

You furrow your brows, but when you go to ask what he was planning he takes one of his hands away from your face to point towards the pile of blankets the two of you had gathered earlier.

“Drink water while you’re at it, you’ll give yourself a headache.”

Aah, there he is. There’s the Mama Toye I remember from Toccoa.

When he gave you a look that made it clear that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, you sigh and walk over to where he’d directed you and sit heavily in the pile of blankets.

You sip from your canteen as you watch Joe shrug off his overcoat and pull off his knit cap. You couldn’t help but smile as he finger combed his dark hair back into place, finding yourself admiring how handsome he looked with it slightly overgrown and smoothed away from his handsome face.

 Ever since he’d kissed you in the middle of the Eindhoven liberation celebration, you couldn't deny that things between the two of you had ….changed.

Nothing had been established, nor had either of you spoken about it. Yet there was certainly a closeness that existed where there hadn’t been before- a sort of mutually understood agreement that you’d pair up for patrols and eat meals together.

Each night Joe would ensure that you slept by his side, and by morning you always woke up with him curled around you protectively. If the others noticed, they made no mention of it- which, considering Joe Toye’s fiery temper, was probably more for their sake than for yours.

And even if they did, you got the feeling Joe wouldn’t change a thing.

 He catches you watching him and smirks, shooting you a wink as he strides over confidently.

“At least buy a guy dinner first before eye-fucking him like that….”

You shot him a glare that only served to make him grin wider. “Thanks Joe, I’ll try to rein it in.”

He snorted a laugh as he came to sit behind you, his right leg kicked out beside yours while he scooted closer.

You turn to look at him curiously over your shoulder, unable to stop your cheeks from heating up when you see that he’s got your hairbrush in his hand.

“Uh, what’re you doing back there, Joseph?”

He leans to the side a bit so you don’t have to strain as hard to look at him, mirroring your curious expression.

“What does it look like? I’m gonna tame this rat’s nest you’ve been growing for the past month.”

You blush in earnest at that, mouth going dry when he picks up a knotted tendril and brings your brush to the ends.

With a gentleness that you hadn’t expected, he dutifully begins to patiently detangle the strands, pinching the hair’s shaft to ensure you don’t feel any tugging or snags.

Well…..This certainly was not how i thought things were going to go down tonight…. 

After sitting in stunned silence for far too long, you finally will yourself to speak.

“Uhh, you’re brushing my hair.”

He hums. “That’s right. Good observation.”

“But….you are doing it, um, well?”

“Wow, you shoulda been in intelligence- nothing gets past you.”

You huff at his snark and shoot him a baleful look.

“Joseph.”

His dark eyes meet yours with a slightly inpatient glint in them.

“Are you going to let me do something nice for you, or are you going to overthink and fight about it?”

Before you can respond he’s resumed his gentle brushing, and with another deep sigh you resign yourself to your fate.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t like it, or that you didn’t whole-heartedly appreciate Joe’s kindness- in fact, you were beginning to get anxious that you may enjoy it too much.

It’s just….you couldn't remember the last time someone had touched your hair, let alone brush it for you. Maybe childhood….? Certainly long before Toccoa. It felt so intimate now- nearly as intimate as that kiss you’d shared.

And, if you weren’t mistaken- Joe seemed to be aware of the intimacy as well.

Every so often his eyes would find yours and he’d look at you warmly, the small smile on his lips growing whenever you unintentionally shuddered as the brush scratched deliciously across your scalp.

When he finished brushing your hair out, he surprised you further by instantly beginning to resection your hair and french braid it.

“How did you….how long have you known how to braid?”

He chuckled at that, bringing a hand up to turn your head away from him before continuing to twist and weave your hair into what you suspected to be a pretty adequate braid.

“Well, i may or may not have figured it out while sitting behind you during lectures back in Toccoa, but don’t —”

“What—?!”

“....get weird about it….” he sighs, holding his hand over your shoulder palm up and wiggling his fingers impatiently until you gave him a hair tie. He wrapped the elastic around the ends before smoothing his hand down the braid, allowing his hand to drift to your shoulder so he can knead into the tense muscle.

The moan you emit is near pornographic, and a laugh catches in your throat when Joe curses under his breath like you’ve punched him.

“That feel good, Y/N?” he teases good-naturedly, but simultaneously brought his other hand up to massage at the other shoulder and made you groan again.

“Don’t know, ask me again in five minutes.”

The two of you chuckle before falling into a comfortable silence, the only sound being your quiet sighs of pleasure and his echoing hums of confirmation.

After about ten minutes of having his hands exploring your upper back you hesitantly sat back slightly so you could lean into the strong plane of his chest.

“Joe, thank you.” your voice is slow and heavy, and you feel more relaxed than you imagined possible considering the circumstances that brought you two together in the first place. “I….you are nicer to me than i deserve—”

He snorted at that, wrapping his arms around you and resting his cheek atop your head. “Shut up and let me enjoy this. It’s been too long since it was just us….”

You blush at that, glad he can’t see your face as you smile privately.

“Didn’t know you, uh, wanted there to be time with ‘just us’.”

Joe moved his hold on you so he could look down at you, a look of amused confusion on his face.

“What’re you talkin’ about? Course I do. You think I would follow you ‘round like a goddamn lovesick dog if I didn’t at least enjoy your company a little bit?”

You feel a dumb smile cross your face, and before you can reply he pinches your chin lightly and angles your face up a bit more so he can kiss you soundly on the lips. 

Just like the last time, everything around you seems to fade into insignificance, and all you can hear and smell and feel and taste is Joe Toye. You part your lips and deepen the kiss, carefully moving your injured hand up and over his shoulder so you can wrap your arm around his shoulders.

With a happy hum, Joe nibbles on your bottom lip and smiles.

“I’ll take this as a good sign, as far as the kissing is concerned?” he half asked, moving to twist your bodies so he’s leaning over you while simultaneously laying you down softly against the blankets.

You took a deep breath, looking up at him with so much love and affection it makes your chest ache.

“How observant you are, Mr. Toye. Should’ve been an intelligence officer.”

The look he gives you is wicked, and when he ducks down to kiss your cheek he lets his lips linger at your ear. “Maybe you’ll let me show you all the other things I’m really good at sometime, huh?”

Letting the fingers of your uninjured hand bury themselves in his dark locks, you croon a warm affirmation.

“Oh, you can count on that, handsome. Just wait till I get the okay to use my other hand, I’ll return the favor.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Or you could hold me now—”

He cuts you off with another overwhelming kiss that promised so much more.

“Ma’am….you’ve got yourself a deal.”

~ ~ ~ ~~ TAG LIST: @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain​ @mrsalwayswrite​

Per usual, thank you so much for reading my mess! Let me know if you wanna be tagged, or if you’ve got any requests (barring Perconte and Sobel)

[whatgaviiformes]

From the whumpy prompts list:

🔫

With Alan :)

🔫 shot With Alan :) – @rachfielden-xo

Thank you! I’ve been needing something to get in Alan’s headspace; he’s always been the hardest for me. I hope you enjoy my attempt at Allie, and that he's not too off the mark.

*cracks knuckles, channels Destiny 2*

**

In Providence, the trick was to give your character a good build and add the right mods to the armor and weapons to complement their abilities. The game worked for many different play styles, and it was still a first person shooter, but skill was not based on aim alone. He, Gordon, and John actually were all part of a clan, a combination of people around the world who they’d never met beyond their screen names, and luckily the clan leaders were all understanding of sporadic play. Not all clans were.

Their mission – shoot aliens in the face and maybe sometimes the ass. And occasionally try to aim for their critical hit spots if you’re in the mood to actually try.

“I’ve been shot, G.”

“I’m aware of that, Alan,” Gordon says, pressing down on the wound bleeding profusely from Alan’s shoulder. “Where the hell is Virgil with that medical kit?”

John liked to play Providence as if he had launched instead a game of medieval combat, preferring bows and swords to the gun designs the game had to offer. It was frustrating that he was still so goddamn good at the game. Gordon main-ed a sharpshooter with scout and sniper rifles as his primary weapons, but honestly, as long as he had two minutes to get used to any load out, he’d still be in ace shape. Alan played up close and personal, shotguns and machine guns all the way; there was nothing quite like barreling down on a hex patrol with a round of submachine gun ammo and that satisfying burst of electric as the AI aliens exploded.

His precision accuracy was shit, but that was what Gordon and John played for, not Alan.

“Do you think I will have a scar? A scar would be so freaking cool. How’s it look? Was it a clean exit?”

“It looks like a gunshot wound, Alan, and yes, I think it at least went all the way through.”

“Ahh, good. So what kind of gun was it? Was it at least something cool?” Alan strains to look past Gordon where he knows he dropped the gun.

“Seriously, kid? That’s what you care about while you’re bleeding out on me?” The look Alan gives Gordon at the question is almost comical. Gordon sighs at Alan’s earnest baby blues, sparing a glance over his right shoulder. He knows already from the weight, the trigger, the barrel; he just needs the last visual validation. “It’s a hand cannon.”

“Fuck those. Those suck,” Alan grumbles. They’d actually had this discussion before, though the circumstances were much different in that Gordon was not trying to will his brother’s blood back into his body at the time. In case you were wondering, the blood seeps through his fingers, so he knows he’s doing a piss poor job of it.

“They don’t actually. You just shoot from too far away when you use them and so the kick makes you lose sight of the enemy.”

“Shotguns are better,” Alan argues.

“A shotgun would’ve killed you.”

“As if. The Hood should get some better henchmen; their aim was shit.” Last Alan checked shoulders were not critical hit spots.

“For our sakes, I surely hope that he doesn’t.”

“ – or at least give you an actual challenge. Man, G, Sometimes I wish you could see how awesome you are. The way you took them down –“

He lets Alan babble. Gordon, contrary to popular belief, doesn’t actually enjoy shooting people. He’s been trained to shoot people, he has shot people – killed even – add two more to the tally, but he’d had no choice with two henchman pointing their guns at his youngest brother. There was no thinking involved, no planning, just gut instinct.

Not just disarm. Eliminate the threat. React.

The first guy had had no warning when Gordon came in from his right and twisted his neck. He deftly grabbed the fallen gun and turned on the man’s colleague a few feet away. Unload. He was close enough that the blood splattered on his face as the bullet collided with flesh with an ugly squelch.

Gordon didn’t feel very cool; he felt grotesque. Everything had happened at lightning speed, and yet, he still hadn’t been fast enough.

“Please, Alan. I know you think this is all swell at the minute, but I really need you to stay still while we wait for Virgil.” There really isn’t time left to wait any longer; Virgil needs to get here now. He needs to know where he is. The risk is that Gordon has to remove the pressure temporarily to connect with his brothers on comms. Grimly, he tells Alan to take over with his good arm and it will have to do. Just for a moment. “Gordon to Virgil. Where are you?” When there’s no response, he tries again. “Gordon to Thunderbird 5. John, where is Virgil?”

“Sorry, Gordon. He ran into some problems. He’s on his way.”

“He ok?”

“Yes. Scott took care of it.” Gordon can extrapolate what that means.

“How’s Alan?”

“Oh, you know, planning out raid day,” Gordon says with a grimace. He knows John and EOS are monitoring his brother’s vitals and have the read outs, Virgil is their medic and so he has a good idea, but Gordon and Scott are the ones who know what a gunshot will do to a human body. “John, it’s not good.”

John pales suddenly. “Gord – get back to him.”

He’s barely turned his back. “Hey, Alan, pressure. Don’t forget.” But he knows that’s no good, Alan’s good arm hangs weakly to his side, the ground stained around a bloodied hand. Gordon drops to his knees once more and presses into the wound instead.

Alan eyes glaze as he looks up at him. “Gordon, it really hurts now.”

“Yeah, an adrenaline crash will do that to ya, bud.”

“I think–uh.” Alan groans through the words and can’t finish his thought. Where did those words go?

“So, you were telling me what you wanted to bring for raid day,” Gordon prods.

Alan coughs. “…want somethin’ with better DPS in powerful weapons spot…”

Gordon nods in understanding even through the lethargic words, knowing they are not going to make it to raid day.

**

DPS - Damage Per Second.

Providence - basically Destiny 2

hex - Vex, also from D2.

[adhduck]

Chapter 3 of But I Can Hope How This Will End is now up, besties, and yes I have chosen violence 😌

AO3

CWs: canon-typical blue veins/disease content; accusation of ‘death wish’ implying suicidal ideation; canon-typical discussions/descriptions of injury, pain, death; several descriptions of blood; slight emetophobia; mentions of past trauma for Zolf; slightly in-depth descriptions of temporary first aid

With Wounds We Can Heal

Wilde almost never goes on missions; even before the curse blocked access to most of his combat skills, he wasn’t built to be an in-field agent. He’s a diplomat at heart, not a fighter, so there’s no need to risk getting him infected when the others can bring information safely back to him.

So when Wilde announces at breakfast one morning he’s going to a meeting, not just in-person but with someone they haven’t verified yet, Zolf is understandably upset.

“Since when do you have a bleeding death wish?” he demands, pushing his plate to the side.

Wilde remains perfectly, infuriatingly calm. “I will admit the risks are higher than usual, but if Mr. Douglas’ information is true, it will be both crucial and time-sensitive. We don’t have a week.”

“Well, isn’t that bloody convenient,” Zolf mutters.

“Does seem like a trap,” Carter agrees. “I mean, he just happens to have exactly what we need, and exactly the right urgency to not go through safety protocols? That’s classic untrustworthy stuff.”

“Which is why I’ve already put in safety measures myself. We will both come alone and unarmed. I made sure the meeting spot was neutral ground, something we couldn’t hide traps or snipers in. Nothing physical will be changing hands, so there won’t be a need for close contact. And just as with his initial report, any information I bring back will be verified before we commit to a next course of action.”

Barnes leans forward, drawing everyone’s attention in that subtle way of his. “What’s your plan if you get into combat? I know you said you’ll both come alone and without weapons, but that doesn’t mean he’ll actually follow that.”

“He knows I’m a talented magic user, and doesn’t know about the shackles, so that should intimidate him into not attacking. And if he does catch my bluff, and my excellent running shoes don’t do the trick—” Wilde shrugs, and Zolf’s hands curl into fists atop the table. “Well, I know I’m none of you, but I can hold my own just fine, I think.”

“Unless you show up and he shoots you right off the bat,” Zolf argues, trying very hard not to picture it. “Or he has a group with, like, invisibility spells or potions or somethin’, and they attack you all at once. Or—bloody hell, Wilde, or anything! There’s no reason to think this man is anything but a danger until he’s gone through quarantine, and even then, he could still be a- a regular ole dick who wants to kill you! You certainly made enough enemies before all this started.”

“Our job,” Wilde says coolly, though Zolf can see just a touch of tension forming in the corner of his jaw, “is to figure out how this blue vein scourge works and stop it. We are saving the world here. There’s no way to do that without a bit of risk.”

“Risk is one thing, but this is just plain stupid,” Zolf snaps back. “If you need the information, fine, whatever, let’s get it. But at least bring one of us with you.”

“That’s not the deal I made with Bo- Mr. Douglas.”

“And? Who says he won’t just break the deal and betray you first chance he gets?”

That, for some reason, brings down Wilde’s façade, but just for a moment—he’s covered it up almost as quickly as Zolf notices. “As I said before, I’ve already done some research on him and the information he presented as evidence of our meeting’s importance. If he’s still himself, not honoring the terms of our agreement will make him back out immediately. And if he’s infected, bringing someone else will almost certainly ensure a fight, and we cannot risk half of our group getting taken out in one go.”

Zolf is going to actually, truly strangle this man. “But we can risk you getting taken out?”

Wilde’s jaw tenses, releases. “We’ve all risked our lives for the cause. This is no different.”

“Yes, it is, because you’re relying on- on bloody trust when the world’s like this—”

The harsh scrape of Wilde’s chair being pushed back cuts Zolf off. Standing over them, Wilde looks every bit the rich, uncaring aristocrat Zolf thought he was all those months ago– save for that same tension in the corner of his jaw. “I’m trusting myself—my research, my insights, my diplomatic abilities.” He sweeps his eyes across the table, lands a few inches above Zolf’s head. “You can trust in me or not, I don’t care. I’m going either way.”

Zolf feels unmoored, suddenly. Like he missed something important, something he’s supposed to say or know. “Wilde—”

“Thank you for breakfast, Zolf,” Wilde says, and it almost hurts more that he sounds sincere. “I’ll be in my office if any of you need me.”

He turns and walks off, and all Zolf can think, a little nonsensically, is I do.

 Wilde leaves for his meeting the next morning, unarmored and alone, and Zolf is absolutely fine about it. Sure, he’s making more bread when he just made some yesterday; and sure, he rearranged the cell five times in some shitty wooden prosthetics because he couldn’t decide whether to put Wilde’s favorite blanket in there. And sure, when he tried to decide on a Campbell to read, he ended up with the only one he can’t read—a Gaelic translation of When Passions Collide Wilde once brought him. But it’s not- he’s just- it’s fine. He’s used to the people he cares about being in danger, and no matter how much he disagrees with Wilde, he does trust him.

So instead of going with Wilde, Zolf bakes bread.

The fussing gets him through the first day of Wilde’s three-day journey with only minimal stress-pacing. He cleans the inn on the second, doing an inventory of their supplies as he goes, and realizes they’re drastically lower on mundane medical supplies than they should be. To be fair, they rarely use them, as all the field agents can be healed magically, but it’s no excuse for this lack of upkeep, especially when Wilde could sustain any number of illnesses or injuries on his mission.

He brings it up to Barnes and Carter, and they agree it’s worth Barnes – who has both social skills and a sword – taking a trip to the village. Zolf gets a firm clap on the shoulder as a goodbye, which he returns with an awkward pat since their height difference doesn’t allow for much else. And for Carter, Barnes curls a hand around his neck and leans their foreheads together; not long enough to make Carter stay still, but long enough to loosen tension Zolf hadn’t noticed from his shoulders.

(Something in Zolf aches.)

Barnes is gone for maybe an hour before Carter gets too antsy to be around the inn and takes off for a run. Since there are no other visitors at the moment, that leaves Zolf alone in the inn besides the owner, who’s manning the bar, so he takes the opportunity to sit by the fire and flip through his Gaelic Campbell, trying to guess which scene is which. He’s doing pretty well, too, and then he spots Wilde’s favorite blanket hanging on the chair opposite him – he’d taken it out of the cell again this morning – and starts to feel the weight of the quiet. How it settles heavy on his heart and lungs, makes the space around him simultaneously cavernous and too small to move in. The deafening loneliness of it.

Zolf’s been around the block enough times to know when he’s starting to spiral, so he heads to the kitchen to make lunch. While he’s at it, he figures he can start prepping soup for tomorrow, which will be easiest on Wilde’s anxious stomach and convenient for leftovers. (Bread, too, but he’s already made far too much of that.)

He’s halfway through getting out the ingredients for miso when he hears the backdoor of the inn open, the muffled sound of his name being called, and his heart does a distinct, worryingly earnest oh.

It only takes thirty seconds to make it to the backdoor; just long enough for Zolf to concoct five or six ways to greet Wilde sans-touch, all of them horrible. Just say hello, you bloody idiot, he tells himself as he rounds the last corner, sees Wilde—

Oh.

There’s this feeling Zolf’s gotten a handful of times in his life, always right before disaster strikes—or after, sometimes, but just before he’s realized. When he kicked the tunnel’s support beam and heard a crack. A breath before he hit the water, already littered with debris and bodies from the ship that used to be his home. Waking in an unfamiliar lab with no legs and Sasha’s organs floating above her chest like some sort of horrible biology experiment. It’s a sort of…grounding feeling, but not in a settled way. Like the last moment before the earth crumbles beneath you, when you’re still on solid ground but somehow you know, you know, you’re about to fall.

Zolf sees Wilde, and he’s falling.

There’s blood—not deathly amounts of it, bleeding out wise, but he can’t tell where it’s from because Wilde’s currently facedown on the ground, weakly trying to pull himself onto his elbows. His clothes are torn, his bag of holding nowhere to be seen. A blood-soaked knife – the only weapon Zolf could convince him to bring – is clutched in one hand.

“Wilde,” Zolf says, and he’s underground again, he’s underwater again, he’s falling.

He starts forward, and Wilde flinches backwards with an alarming burst of energy. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Zolf freezes, forces himself to take a breath. Of course. Wilde was out, he could be infected, they can’t touch. But that doesn’t mean Zolf is gonna let him bleed out. “What happened? Are you injured?”

Finally, Wilde manages to pull himself to his elbows, but hesitates there; he’s leaning all his weight to one side, so probably a broken leg.

“Meeting wasn’t a big hit,” Wilde chokes out, head hanging low; his voice sounds wrong, and not just from the obvious pain and exhaustion. It’s gargled, and sort of twisted up, like he’s got something lodged in the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ noticed, Wilde,” Zolf says. He’s not going to panic. Wilde’s going to be fine, because Zolf’s going to make sure he’s fine, because Zolf is absolutely not going to panic. “Can you walk?”

Wilde lifts his head to look Zolf in the eye, which reveals where a lot of the blood is coming from: there’s a deep wound across his cheek, cutting from below his eye to his chin and ripping through his mouth on the way. He spits some blood, heaves a breath that seems to hurt the whole way in and out. “I could until about thirty seconds ago, yes,” he manages. His arms are shaking; Zolf’s hand twitches.

“Put pressure on that cut, if you can,” he says, trying to sound calmly firm but mostly just sounding impatient. Wilde winces when presses a hand to the wound, but keeps it there. “Good. Now, we’re low on medical supplies, but we should at least have stuff to clean it and sew it back up.”

Wilde nods. “Once I’m in the cell.”

In a show of good bedside manner, Zolf doesn’t outwardly roll his eyes. “Bloody hell, Wilde, I can’t doctor you through the bars. It needs to be before.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I won’t be stupid about it. We’ve got gloves, I won’t touch you at all—”

“No,” Wilde growls, that fierceness rising up again. He breathes in and out, hard, and the anger settles, or at least contains itself. “We get me into the cell, and you work me through how to treat it myself. If I pass quarantine, we’ll do further medical procedures, and if not- well, it won’t matter, because you’ll have killed me.”

Zolf can’t help it; he flinches. “Fuck, Wilde, don’t—look, that cut is bad, okay? You might lose some facial functioning if it’s not treated properly. And if your leg’s broken, which I’m pretty sure it is, you could end up with a limp, or not being able to walk at all.” He winces. “Not- not that not being able to walk is wrong or somethin’, it’s just- I mean, we don’t exactly have the resources—”

He trails off, too panicked to keep track of his words, and realizes that Wilde is…smiling? It’s more of a grimace, but Zolf is almost sure that’s an attempt at a smile. What the fuck, Wilde. He doesn’t answer for a second, either, so Zolf adds, “Wilde? You with me?”

Wilde blinks, then schools his expression into something more formal, nodding seriously. “Your concerns are noted.”

“And?”

Wilde does a rather pitiful attempt at a shrug. “That’s it; I’ve noted them.” And then the absolute bastard starts trying to crawl.

“Poseidon’s soggy arse, Wilde, you’re not making it to the cell like that,” Zolf hisses, looking around for an alternate solution. Gods, why did Barnes and Carter have to leave at the worst possible time?

Spitting some more blood, Wilde bites back, “Well, I have to make it somehow, don’t I?”

“Yeah, but not like—oh, wait, I might have an idea. Stay- stay here.”

(Wilde gives him a particularly withering look at that, which, fair.)

After half a second of hesitation at the idea of leaving Wilde alone and bleeding, Zolf runs for the living area. Wilde’s blanket is still there, and Zolf starts to reach for it, then imagines it stained to ruin with blood, burned to ash as a precaution. He grabs the big quilt instead.

“Here,” Zolf says when he returns, a little out of breath as he presents the quilt. “I can just wrap you up and carry you downstairs.”

Wilde, who is currently trying to work himself into a half-sitting position, eyes the blanket like it’s a vial of bubbling green liquid. “I’m over twenty inches taller than you, Zolf.”

“And yet you weigh about as much as my glaive,” Zolf replies. Wilde still seems unsure, so he adds, “It’s either this or waiting for Carter to get back, and then we can risk two people getting you down there instead of one.”

A muscle ticks in Wilde’s jaw. “Fine. But you don’t touch any part of the quilt that has touched me.”

Zolf lays the quilt out for Wilde to push himself onto—a slow, painful process that has Zolf cursing the world for giving weight to Wilde’s stubborn paranoia. Once he’s settled, Zolf wraps the quilt around him much the way he imagines one would do for a child, focusing his tension into the curl of his fists so the rest of him can be gentle.

He recalls the first night he helped carry Wilde to bed, tucking him in (shoulders, waist, thighs) so he couldn’t wiggle free in the night. This isn’t what I meant, you idiot, he thinks, and pulls Wilde’s half-limp form into his arms.

It’s difficult going, mostly because of the aforementioned two dozen extra inches Zolf has to manage, which also makes it slow. A few times, when Zolf stumbles or is forced to shift his grip, Wilde winces and starts to curl against Zolf’s chest; he always catches himself, though, muffling the noise against the quilt instead. Still, Zolf can feel the ghost of Wilde’s labored breathing on his collarbone, his matted hair against the curve of Zolf’s shoulder. He wants to look at Wilde; he can’t bear to.

They make it to the cell and, miraculously, down the steps, at which point Zolf remembers his legs are, in fact, magical. “Ah, shit.”

Wilde stirs a little from where he’s been drifting in and out of consciousness. (Zolf aches.) “What- oh. Your legs.”

Zolf tightens his grip (shoulders, hips) and does as a small a shrug as he can manage. “Only a problem inside the cell itself. I’ll just go on my knees.”

He manages to grab the keys hanging by the stairs with two fingers, leans Wilde more onto his chest as he unlocks the door and pulls it open. When he drops slowly to his knees, Wilde’s heels and then calves touch the ground; this makes Wilde chuckle, which then makes him curl up in pain. His forehead brushes Zolf’s shirt before he manages to turn away.

“Almost there,” Zolf says, trying his damnedest to not sound shaky. He shuffles into the cell’s interior, suppressing a grimace at the sensation of his legs going dead, and gently lays Wilde down. Their eyes meet for a moment, then he shuffles back out and locks the door.

“All right, now keep up pressure on your face, and since we can’t elevate your leg yet, just try not to move it, all right? I need to grab supplies, so just- just don’t go anywhere, or somethin’.” Wilde manages a full glare, which is almost relieving. “Okay, yeah, I know, I just meant- just don’t- you know. Yeah.”

Wilde sighs, nods his head. “As long as you bring me some wine, too.”

“I’ll bring alcohol,” Zolf promises, “but it’s for the wound, not for drinking.”

This earns him a heavy, dramatic sigh, and Zolf lets himself a smile a bit before he heads back into the inn proper. A bard to the last, that one.

He’s pulling out the last of the supplies he needs – which is everything they have – when Carter gets back. He comes in the front door at least, thank gods; Zolf doesn’t want to have this discussion standing over a pool of Wilde’s blood. He intercepts Carter as he enters the seating area, ready to explain, but it’s not hard to guess: bundle of supplies in one arm, alcohol and pillow in the other, what’s sure to be a harrowing look on his face. (Not hard for Carter, anyway, who’s already too perceptive for his own good.)

“What happened?”

Zolf huffs out a steadying breath. “Meeting went wrong, Wilde came back early, he’s not doing well. Got ‘im to the cell, but.” He lifts his full arms awkwardly.

“Shit. Did they betray him?”

“Didn’t ask.”

He nods, frowning. “Yeah, fair enough. Should I—actually, you know what, you should have that covered right now, so I’ll take watch. Make sure nobody followed him.”

Zolf hadn’t thought of that, and he kicks himself for not being more careful. “Good plan. Thanks, Carter.”

“Yeah, of course,” he says; brushes his hand over Zolf’s shoulder, a half-pat, then he’s off again.

When Zolf makes it back to Wilde, he’s in almost the exact same position he was left in: wrapped in the blanket, barely conscious, keeping up a low hum of pain. “Hey,” he says gently, and Wilde stirs a little. “Time to patch you up, yeah?”

“Sorry,” Wilde replies, unfolding the blanket and easing himself into a sort of lounging position. There are clear streaks of tears down his face; his jaw is completely clenched.

“Ain’t gotta be,” Zolf says firmly, sliding the supplies through. “Let’s get the blood cleaned up, see what we’re working with.”

Wilde raises an eyebrow but says nothing as he takes the damp cloth and gets to work. A lot of the blood has dried already, coming off in flaky clumps as he wipes away the worst of the mess on his cheek. He’s incredibly delicate around the wound itself, but there’s a sharpness to each careful swipe across his jaw and chin that tells Zolf he’d be harsher if he had the energy to be.

His mouth is what Wilde gets to last, resoaking the rag for the third time to squeeze out the blood, and as he swipes the corner delicately over where his lips have been torn open, Zolf—gods, it’s horrible, it’s unforgivable, he shouldn’t even be acknowledging it. But in that moment, with Wilde hurt and half-conscious and maybe just days away from not even being Wilde anymore, Zolf thinks for the very first time: I think I want to kiss him.

“So?” Wilde says; Zolf startles, which at least gets a fond little exhale. “What’re we working with, oh mighty healer?”

“Um.” Zolf absolutely cannot look at Wilde right now, but he also has to. He compromises by squinting a little, blurring out everything that isn’t the problem at hand. “Yeah, uh, it’s—you’re definitely gonna need stitches, though I don’t know if you can handle that at the moment.”

Wilde glances down at his shaking hands; the movement briefly unbalances him. “You’re probably right—as much as it wounds me to say it.”

It’s unclear whether that was intended as a pun, and Zolf’s not in the mood to find it funny either way, so he just nods. “We’ll just have to temporarily close it, then.”

Thinking of a way to do this takes several minutes, during which Wilde cleans the wound with an alcohol-soaked rag and a worrying lack of complaints. Finally, what Zolf figures out is to take a piece of surgical tape that’s slightly too small and stretch it across the cut so it’ll pull the sides together, trimming the middle part so it doesn’t stick to the wounded skin. He has to guide Wilde through some complex extra wrapping to stop it from peeling off without covering up his eyes, mouth, or nose; it ends up looking rather ugly and pins Wilde’s snarled hair to his head, but it seems to help.

They clean up a couple other scrapes and gashes Wilde didn’t mention earlier – there’s one on the side of his ribcage, shallow but terrifying with its intent – and then get to his leg. With Zolf unable to examine the injury properly, he can’t confirm what the exact issue is, but it’s not grisly, so Zolf walks Wilde through a basic wrapping and tells him to elevate it on the overstuffed pillow he brought. “We’ll need to do more when you’re out, of course,” he adds. “But right now your job is just to sleep.”

It says a lot about Wilde’s current state that his only response to that is curling up on the blood-soiled blanket, perching his leg awkwardly on the pillow, and falling asleep within seconds. Even with the accompanying ease of tension, he looks awful: clothes ripped and dirty, left trouser leg sheared off from the thigh down for the cast, a mummy-like arrangement of surgical tape crisscrossing his overly pale and pink-stained face.

But he’s also alive, and Zolf allows himself a shaky exhale at the knowledge. Puts his face in his hands when that breath threatens to quicken, focuses on the divine warmth in his chest until the panic fades. He looks back at Wilde, his hand resting delicately beside his face, a few locks of hair obscuring his cheek, and there it is again, that feeling—that terrifying, horribly-timed feeling that prickles at the tips of his fingers and in the pit of his stomach, that stretches languidly in his chest like a stray cat who’s decided to stick around. That makes him hope for something he doesn’t even have a name for.

Fuck.

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #497

Top Ten PC Games No One Talks About Anymore

Blimey, Quake is rather good, isn’t it? Have you heard about it? I really hope so, because it’s only twenty-five years old. I mean, Jesus. What’s up with that? Quake is meant to be the future. It’s full of true-3D polygonal texture-mapping and real-time dynamic light-sourcing. Fancy it being a quarter of a century old. That’s ridiculous. “Old” is for things like, I dunno, Space Invaders or The Godfather or I Wanna Hold Your Hand. Stuff that our parents heard about before we were born. It’s not – it’s absolutely not – used to describe something that people bought 3D accelerator cards for. It’s not used to describe a game that popularised online gaming.

But old it is, getting silver anniversary cards and everything. No longer the angry, hungry young tiger, devouring its ancestors and growling at upstart rivals like Duke Nukem 3D – sure, you’ve got non-linear levels, interactive scenery, and toilet humour, but we’ve got grenades that bounce with real physics – Quake is now an aged beast of the forest, resplendent, battle-scarred, weary with gravitas. Quake is the game that shaped the now, but it does not represent the future anymore. In fact, arguably its greatest rival – Unreal – is the game with the lasting, living legacy, its progeny building the next generation of gaming with one of the most popular and impressive engines around, the framework underpinning everything from Gears to Jedi to Fortnite. Quake blew us all away, but arguably it ceded the conflict, secure in its status as one of the most important and influential games of all time. Quake II got plaudits for actually having a proper story and an engrossing single-player campaign (and coloured lighting!), and its immediate descendants such as Half-Life changed the nature of what FPS games could do, but in a funny way it feels like Quake has long since retired. A sleeping titan. It got old.

So it’s great that they rereleased it on modern systems! The version of Quake released last month is basically the game I remember, but tarted up a little around the edges, with texture filtering and dynamic shadows and other stuff that I couldn’t manage on my Pentium 75 back in the day. It plays great – it’s slick as anything, and you go tearing round the levels like a Ferrari with a nail gun, blasting dudes and ducking back around a corner before you get hit with a pineapple in the face. It’s the first game I’ve played in a long, long time that evokes the feel of classic PC first-person shooters of that era – which, y’know, kinda makes sense as it is a first-person shooter of that era. But that style of fast-paced run-and-gun, circle-strafing gameplay has gone out of fashion now, with FPS games usually favouring slow, methodical, tactical combat, or larger-scale open-world warfare usually involving vehicles. Whether it’s a straight-up no-frills blaster like Quake, or a game that takes you on more of a linear, narrative journey, like Quake II, or even just a multiplayer-focused arena shooter, like Quake III Arena, it does feel like a dying artform, like a style of gameplay that could do with a resurgence (and, to be fair, there are games on the horizon that look like they’re harking back to the era, so that’s cool).

But it’s not just first-person shooters like Quake that I feel have slipped from gaming’s shared consciousness. Maybe it’s my age (it’s definitely my age) but there seems to be quite a lot of games that were a big deal twenty or so years ago that are utterly forgotten now, whereas some – Doom, Duke Nukem, Command & Conquer, Age of Empires – are often namechecked or rebooted (even before the full-on 2016 reboot, Doom must have been one of the most re-released games of the last thirty years). But there are lots of others where sometimes I feel like I’m the only one that remembers it. And that’s where this list comes in: inspired by the excellent re-release of the Quake franchise, here are some other great PC games of that general era that I feel still need shouting about, even if I’m the only one doing the shouting. Maybe they don’t all need a full-on remaster or whatever, but it’d still be nice if they got a bit of modern gaming love.

No One Lives Forever (2000): coming at a time when most FPS games were still Doom-style blasters with little in the way of real plot, NOLF was different: stylish and funny, genuinely well-written (as in the dialogue), with interesting objective-based missions and a cool female protagonist. It skirted similar ground to Bond and the then-white-hot Austin Powers franchise. Two games were made and then, as far as I’m aware, it evaporated into a mess of tangled rights, hence no sequels or remakes. A shame, because it was great.

MDK (1997): the next game from the people who made the multimedia phenomenon that was Earthworm Jim, MDK was a really cool slice of sci-fi style, all sleek level design and intriguing features. It had a supremely bonkers plot which bled through into a game with a sense of humour, but mostly it was the run-and-gun gameplay and innovative use of a scoped weapon – possibly (don’t quote me on this) the first sniper rifle in a videogame. An even wackier sequel followed, but despite its cult status, that was it.

Star Trek: The Next Generation – Klingon Honor Guard (1998): it’s probably fair to say that Star Trek has not had as many great videogames as Star Wars, perhaps because Trek’s historically straightlaced earnestness just didn’t translate as well as bashing someone up the chops with a laser sword. Honor Guard shook things up by casting you as a Klingon, showering levels with pink blood and going Full Worf. It was the first game to licence the Unreal engine, and had a cool level where you walked along the outside of a ship like in First Contact. Also: shout out to the Voyager game, Elite Force (2000), which was another really good FPS set in the world of Trek, with intriguing gameplay wrinkles as you fought the Borg. It also let you wander round the titular starship between levels. Trek deserves more quality action games like these.

Earth 2150 (2000): the nineties on PC really saw RTS games come down to those who liked Command & Conquer or those who liked Warcraft, but as the decade drew to a close other titles chased the wargame crown (including Total Annihilation, which would have made this list, except I feel like the Supreme Commander franchise is a sequel in all but name). 2150 was notable for its Starcraft-like mix of three factions with contrasting play styles, and its use of 3D graphics and the ability to design and build weapons of war that could lay waste to armies and bases with spectacular results. I think the genre has ossified into something more hardcore, and this was probably an inflex point where idiots like me could still get a handle on things.

Midtown Madness (1999): Microsoft has a history of building up great racing franchises and then abandoning them, but their “Madness” line of games in the late nineties/early noughties was terrific and much-missed. Back when tooling round actual 3D cities was still new and exciting, this was a no-holds-barred arcade racer, with some gorgeous shiny chrome effects on the cars, and very nippy handling. It was great fun smashing up VW Beetles and the like. It was surpassed, I guess, by Project Gotham on the Xbox, and sadly the whole franchise was then forgotten, despite the ascendent Forza franchise mostly shunning city driving.

Commandos: Behind Enemy Lines (1998): part tactical war game, part puzzler, Commandos was famous for its gorgeously intricate graphics and its difficulty – I mean, it was way too hard for me. But its beautiful top-down design and its slow, methodical gameplay was compelling, as you evaded Nazis and solved missions with a team of unique units with special skills. Sequels followed, and western spin-off Desperados, but there’s not been a true follow-up for quite some time, despite promises; and few games have echoed its style or look.

The Pandora Directive (1996): okay, so really this is just a placeholder for an entire subgenre of game that appears to have been forgotten: interactive movies. I know, there are flirtations with this from time to time; and many of these games featured obtuse puzzles and relatively little gameplay strung between FMV scenes. Pandora was great though; a first-person 3D game with loads of old-school adventure aspects, as well as FMV, it was a noir-tinged detective story but set in the future. The Tex Murphy series (of which this was the fourth instalment) has had sequels – the most recent one was sadly cancelled only this year – but many other games of a similar ilk, such as Phantasmagoria and even Wing Commander – have fallen by the wayside. With in-engine graphics now allowing the fluidity and expression of cinematic renders of old, shooting movie inserts doesn’t seem like it’s worthwhile; but I still always loved a point-and-click game that featured digitised actors milling about. Toonstruck, anyone?

Marathon (1994): before Halo there was… Marathon! Back when I used to lug my Pentium round my mate’s house so we could play different games on different machines side-by-side, he’d bang on about this Mac-first series of games, like Doom but better, with an intricate plot and complex levels. And y’know what? He was actually onto something. There’s a style and an earnestness to the Marathon franchise, along with many concepts that would be refined in Halo years later. With Bungie now seemingly committed to Destiny, and Halo in Microsoft’s hands, I’m not sure what could possibly become of this, their forgotten FPS forebear, especially as it shares so much DNA with its offspring.  

Outlaws (1997): LucasArts are famous for two things, really: their Star Wars games and their adventures. But they made loads of other stuff too – including this intriguing Western shoot-em-up. Back when Western games were rarer than Western movies (which were rare at the time), this quirky and difficult cowboy-em-up saw you rounding up outlaws in typical oater locations such as saloons, trains, and mines. It had great music and a really intriguing set of weapons, including (don’t quote me on this) the first sniper rifle in a game. Sadly Outlaws’ success could be described as “cult” and it never got a proper sequel. and, weirdly, despite the success of Red Dead Redemption, we’ve never had a bit Western-themed FPS again. Which is really odd.

Soldier of Fortune (2000): I pondered whether to include this one, as if I’m honest I’m not sure I want this licence brought back. But I can’t deny the game was a huge deal and has seemingly been forgotten. A relatively gritty and realistic combat game with a huge variety of excellent real-world weaponry, its big hook was its incredibly detailed damage modelling, that could see you blowing limbs off enemies, or splitting open heads, or disembowelling them. Whilst its OTT violence made headlines, the granularity of its systems meant you could be more tactical, shooting weapons out of hands. But really its biggest controversy should be its association with a big old gun magazine.

There are many, many other games that nearly made the list - I almost had a Top Ten of just FPS games, for instance. Little Big Adventure was here, till a sequel was announced the other day. Hexen and Heretic I think still have a place in FPS history. Toonstruck, although without a sequel, was only really a cult hit at the time, and I feel the people who’d love it already know about it. I do tend to overthink these things, y’know.

So maybe not all of these could make a comeback, but all the same I don’t think they should be forgotten, and it does make we wonder what games will fall by the wayside twenty or more years from now. That game about the big green space marine dude in a mask – what was that called again…?

[thetriggeredhappy]

Sniper teases Scout about his height just a little too much and he gets genuinely upset over it and a little self conscious about his figure, at which point Sniper has to reassure him that 'no you have a great figure and being short is adorable and not a bad thing in the slightest'

camera cuts to me writing scout tf2 with RSD for i think the 800th time, just as feverishly as the previous 799

(warnings for body negativity)

-

He thought maybe something was wrong when he noticed Scout being much more quiet than usual even as the rest of the team continued to be rowdy. He thought that maybe something was wrong when Scout was one of the first to toss his cards onto the table and grab his beer to leave. He thought that maybe something was wrong when he ducked into the camper twenty minutes later and saw that Scout was already in bed, curled up and facing the wall.

“Bun?” Sniper asked, and that was when he became certain something was wrong, because Scout didn’t answer at all.

Silence for a few moments as Sniper tried to figure out what to do.

He sat on the edge of the little cot he called a bed, pulling free of his boots and hat and stripping off his button-up. Silence.

“You awright?” he asked more directly.

Scout made an ‘I dunno’ sort of noise. Sniper shifted.

“Feel like talking about it?” he offered.

Scout made another quieter ‘I dunno’ sort of noise, and yeah. Something was definitely wrong.

He stood to go get some semblance of pajamas on and returned not long later, a little relieved when Scout at least budged over to make room for him in bed. He hesitated for a few long moments before putting a tentative hand on Scout’s arm. After a moment Scout moved to pull the arm in question around his waist, and alright. That was a relief too in some ways, because at least Scout wasn’t angry at him, but also worrying because Scout tended to be pretty upset before he tried to be little spoon. Either he’d curl up facing Sniper or he’d insist on being big spoon, wanting to face away was generally a bad sign.

“It’s awright if you don’t want to talk about it,” Sniper said carefully after a few moments, soft against Scout’s hair, “but... if you do, I’ll listen. Promise.”

Quiet for a second. “I love you,” Scout mumbled, and nothing else.

“You too, bun,” he replied, and eventually Scout fell asleep, and he resolved to ask more questions in the morning.

Except Scout wasn’t there in the morning, he’d apparently managed to wriggle himself free without waking Sniper up and left to go somewhere else. And he couldn’t ask Scout any questions before the fighting started because all the blokes were around, and the closest thing to privacy he could hope to get before that night would end up being in the locker room at the end of the day.

And he didn’t even get that, which confused him plenty. Because usually Scout took his time, trying to wind down from battle a little bit. Would chat and goof around like plenty of the others, and always had to spend a good while in front of the mirror trying to get his hair back in some semblance of order.

But this time he showered in five minutes flat and just put his hat on without even drying off properly, out the door before Sniper could get himself together enough to follow after.

He ended up at Scout’s room, knocking on the door hesitantly. And there was a long few moments before Scout opened the door just enough to peek through, hair a bit of a mess, chest bare and visibly surprised to see him standing there.

“You busy?” Sniper asked.

“Uh, not really,” he said, and paused, and finally stepped back from the door, letting it swing open a short way.

Sniper stepped in and took note of how Scout moved away, picking up a towel next to where he had his mirror hung and holding it up near his chest, trying to get his hair in order. He seemed closed off. Nervous, almost. It was a far cry from his usual relaxed bravado, the general sort of ease he tended to move and stand with, the casualness. He seemed... he didn’t know what.

“You awright?” Sniper asked quietly, taking a seat on the edge of Scout’s bed and looking at him.

Scout hesitated. “I mean, yeah. Just... I dunno. Yeah,” he tried.

“Yeah?”

“I, I dunno,” Scout shrugged, and his hair seemed to be in order, but he kept messing with it. “I just, I... I dunno.”

Sniper stayed quiet and waited. Predictably, Scout continued talking a few moments later.

“I just kinda feel... weird. About some stuff,” he said haltingly. “Like... I don’t want you to be worrying about it.”

“Same to you,” Sniper replied easily. “But maybe talking will help.”

Scout hesitated. Hesitated. “...Maybe.”

A long pause. “Go on, then,” he urged gently.

Scout fidgeted with the towel. “I... I dunno. I guess I’ve just kinda been wondering if... if you like me.”

Sniper blinked. “I like you plenty,” he said, not sure what Scout meant.

“No, like—like, if you like this,” he said, gesturing up and down himself loosely with the hand not holding the towel. “Just—how I am, what I’m... like. Because, like, I dunno, I know I’m kind of a big dummy about pickin’ up on hints and stuff sometimes, and I figured, y’know, what if the jokes and stuff are you just sorta hinting that you aren’t into, like...”

He trailed off. Sniper’s expression largely conveyed confusion, he was sure, so eventually Scout managed to spit out the end of his sentence.

“...Guys like me,” he managed.

“Like what?” he asked.

“Like—“ Scout tried, fought with his words. “Like, guys who are kinda short and all scrawny and weird, and the, the babyface thing and just, just being built the way I am, I know I’m not the biggest guy around or on the team or whatever but I just figured if you joke around about somethin’ like eighty times maybe it means you seriously have a problem, and it’s just that I can’t really... can’t really do shit about it but I guess if it’s—“

“You—wait, hold it,” Sniper cut in, surprised, “you—you think I’m being serious when I poke fun about that?”

Scout hesitated for a long moment before managing a jerky little nod.

“Scout, of course I—when I make those jokes, I’m not—“ he tried, stammering, shocked. He managed to wrestle his words into order long enough to get a sentence out. “How long have you thought I was serious?”

Scout shifted on his feet. “...A while,” he said hesitantly. “But... I dunno. You really laid into me the other day and then all the guys were laughin’ and I figured I’d have to be a pretty big idiot to think nothin’ was up. Like, if that was your way of hinting about it and I didn’t pick up on it by then, I’d seem pretty stupid. And I know I kinda am stupid—“

“Scout,” Sniper cut in, brows furrowed together. “That’s not it. Really it’s not.”

Scout’s expression looked doubtful. Sniper continued talking, trying to be careful as he chose his words.

“I like the way you look, I like it a lot,” he insisted. “I make those jokes just to push your buttons a bit, it’s really nothing to be taken this seriously. If I knew it bothered you—“

“But like why wouldn’t you hate it?” Scout cut in suddenly, not quite looking him in the eye. “I’m way smaller than like any of the guys, and not as strong as them, and I just look like a goddamn stick figure and all, and I’m just—I’m, what’s there to like about this?”

“Plenty,” Sniper insisted, and Scout just looked at the floor, doubt crossing his expression again. “Scout, plenty. I’m being serious. Right, look here—“

Scout tried to turn away, cutting him off. “Look, this doesn’t gotta be a whole thing—“ he tried.

“No, we’re talking about this,” Sniper insisted, taking the towel from Scout’s hand and setting it aside. The next thing he took was Scout’s face in his hands, looking him in the eye. “Hear me out.”

Scout went still and quiet, as expected. Sniper was silent for a few moments, thinking about how he wanted to phrase all of this.

“This, here,” he began, smoothing thumbs over Scout’s cheeks as an elaboration, “is comfortable. You’re just the right height for this. And for this,” he continued, leaning in to kiss Scout on the temple, “and for this,” he said, leaning in further to kiss Scout briefly on the lips, “and even more for this,” he said, pulling Scout into an embrace. “You’re just the right size for this. Feels right to hug you. You’re not too big or too small.”

“I’m all bony,” Scout protested under his breath.

“What’s wrong with that?” Sniper asked lightly. “Just a detail, same as what your hair does, same as where your freckles are. Wouldn’t change the fact that I like you.”

“You wouldn’t like me more if I was tall and built?” he tried, sounding disbelieving.

“I’d like you about the same,” Sniper shrugged. “Anything different would be something I still liked, because it’s you either way.” He paused. “Though, to be honest, if you were too good-looking I’d never talk to you.”

Scout laughed a little.

“I’m serious! If you looked like some bloke from a magazine, I’d never get on with you, I’d be too busy being jealous or annoyed,” Sniper continued. “You’d be unbearable! I’d much rather be around you. A real person.”

“So it doesn’t bug you?” Scout asked, earnest, more vulnerable than Sniper expected.

“Not in the slightest. And s’nice sometimes.” He squeezed Scout harder for a moment before pulling back to look at him. “I like the way you are.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Scout seemed to consider that. “...Like, for real?”

“Why’s that so hard to believe?”

“I, I dunno. Just... I dunno. Maybe it’s just that I don’t like it,” Scout mumbled, picking at his fingers.

“Well, that’s a different problem altogether,” Sniper shrugged.

Scout nodded absently. Seemed to think hard for a few seconds. Glanced up at Sniper. “Can I have another hug?” he asked, and Sniper obliged, and Scout squeezed him tight around the neck, leaning heavily against Sniper. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

“Anytime,” Sniper said.

“Not just the hug, the... the bein’ nice thing too.”

“Anytime,” Sniper said again.

It was silent for a long few moments before Sniper decided to cut Scout some slack and break it.

“Y’know one good thing about you being smaller like this?” he asked idly. Scout hummed in question. “Means I can do this.”

He shifted the hold around Scout’s waist and bodily lifted him up over his shoulder.

Scout was set to laughing in an instant, even as he loudly and feverishly began to protest such treatment. “Snipes! Put me down! Snipes put me down you can’t just do that—“

He continued to laugh protest all the way back to the camper, where they stayed for the rest of the night, Sniper deciding every other part of his day could wait—apparently he had a boyfriend who needed assuring.