#but sure hope to run into kimball again

[lilly-townshend]

Had this bizarre dream about meeting Kim Kitsuragi in my apartment building at 4 a.m.(with a blizzard howling outside, it's a crucial detail)

Probably the most comforting dream I've ever had

(He had a plastic bag full of midnight snacks!! and his goggles were fogged up+he had snow all over his big stupid head. And all he told me was "Go to sleep")

[akalegos]

Zero Rewrite AU

Hey so uhhh you know that rvb:zero rewrite au I sometimes post/draw/talk about? Aha,, I have a semi-finished (public copy) doc all about it now!

I'll be updating it semi-frequently whenever I get the chance! The doc so far has some stuff, criticism, info about the AU as a whole. Right now it only has chapter/episode 1 and a partially finished ep2. It's all very self-indulgent and my opinion type beat but hey maybe someone will enjoy it? Idk. It's a serotonin boost and a fun lil side project for me and I like sharing that kinda stuff aaaaa

anyway I hope those curious/ppl who want to find out what in the hell I've been talking about can enjoy it!

Episode 01: Viper Overview: Introduction to “Viper”.

The episode starts with Carolina and Tucker discussing dinner while walking out of Chorus’ General Hospital (the same one Wash was admitted to). They walk towards a corner alleyway as Tucker tries to contact Iris/Grif to get them a ride home.

Carolina: “Well we can get our dinner quicker, once you call Grif”

Tucker: “I know! He’s just not getting my calls.”

Tucker struggles for a while more trying to get in call with Grif, or even sending him a message. He sighs.

Carolina: “No signal?”

Tucker: “Yup. Signal’s down here too.”

Carolina sighs as well.

Carolina: “I don’t suppose we have enough pocket change for a motel?”

Tucker: “Oh I’m sure we will if we share a bed. Bow ch-”

Carolina: “Don’t push it, Tucker.”

Tucker mumbles the rest to himself as he tries to contact Grif again. Carolina looks around the alley as she waits. Getting a little impatient, Carolina tries to suggest moving to a different location.

But before she can finish her sentence, she calls out to Tucker as she pulls him out of the way from an oncoming knife.

Tucker: “Hey-! What the fuck!”

Carolina lets go of Tucker, turning around to see who the attacker was, with Tucker following her lead.

In front of them was someone in black and pink armour, admiring the same knife that was thrown at Tucker. She turns her attention to them, pointing the knife at Tucker.

???: “You. The key, hand it over.”

She calmly says as she slowly walks towards the two. Carolina slowly puts herself in front of Tucker, realising the situation they’re in.

Carolina: “You’ll have to get through me first.”

???: “Agent Carolina. An honour to meet you.”

Carolina: “What? Do you want an autograph?”

???: “No need. I do have a present for you though.”

A blue small lightning flash appears right next to the attacker, another person in black and blue armour appears. With the rising danger, Carolina motions for Tucker to leave.

While Tucker slowly sneaks off, Carolina grabs hold of her pistol.

Carolina: “I think I’ll have to decline.”

Carolina and the attacker banter for a bit. The one in black and blue notices Tucker leaving before unsheathing his own knife and tossing it in front of Tucker. He appears before him, making Tucker jump back, confusing him.

???: “Going somewhere?”

Tucker: “How- You were just- How the hell-”

Carolina, noticing the attacker’s partner's disappearance, calls out to Tucker again. Pulling and dragging him away from the two as they flee.

[Insert fight scene here of Tucker and Carolina fighting the two, fighting to the best of their abilities despite limited weapons, making use of the garbage bin lids. In the end, they are able to escape intact -- though Carolina does sprain her arm -- after running into a public area.]

Tucker: “Did… Did we lose them?”

Carolina: “Looks like it.”

The two find themselves in the busy night market of Chorus.

Tucker: “So…” *pant* “Wanna get some dinner?”

Carolina: “Honestly, I could go for a drink…. But we should report this to Kimball first.”

Carolina walks into the crowd, looking for the Capitol where they could find Kimball.

Tucker: “Seriously? No-” *pant* “-dinner?”

Carolina: “We can get some later.”

Tucker grunts, following Carolina who's already looking for a cab.

[Fast forward Kimball’s office]

An assistant opens the door for the two, Kimball’s still in her office, packing up, looking like she’s about to finish for the night.

Assistant: “President Kimball, you have some guests.”

Kimball: “Not right now I’m-”

Kimball looks up to see Carolina and Tucker, in an instant, she almost drops the paper in her hands, quickly trying to calm herself and be more ‘presentable’. She dismisses the assistant and invites the two in.

Kimball: “Carolina-! Tucker… Ahem, now what do I owe to this unexpected visit?”

Carolina: “Wish we could have met on more, positive terms but, we just got attacked.”

Kimball: “Oh…”

Kimball slides down into her chair. Sighing.

Kimball: “I’m sorry… Crime has been a bit rampant, to say the least.”

Tucker: “Yeah, you wouldn’t happen to have a phone here? We couldn’t get a signal anywhere.”

Kimball: “It won’t work. Communications have just been cut off.”

Carolina: “What?”

Kimball explains that most of the communication towers have been hijacked and that they’re sending a team to check it out tomorrow morning. She offers to provide a couple of rooms at the military site for the time being. Carolina shoots Tucker a look, and Tucker sighs, hanging his head down.

Tucker: “We’re-”

Carolina: “Could we join the team?”

Kimball: “A-are you sure? You’ve already done so much for Chorus, I-”

Tucker: Begrudgingly “We insist.”

Carolina: “It sounds like our attackers are linked to this case. We might as well join now.”

Kimball nods.

Kimball: “Well… Let me show you where you’ll be staying. The team will meet you at 0700 sharp.”

[ END ]

[brofligate]

❛ this was a mistake. ❜ for the prompts?

Laelaps

Characters: Courier Six (Vannika), Cato Hostilius

Pairings: None

(fic is beneath the cut)

“This was a mistake,” the Courier muttered as she ran a cloth down the barrel of the ancient rifle in her hands.

Before her knelt Cato Hostilius, stoking the small fire keeping them warm in the harsh desert night.

Much as they had told her, he looked no different than any other wastelander the way he was dressed. Yet by sense alone she could recognize him starkly as a legionary. The stiff posture, the pattern of speech, the coldness in his eyes. She wondered if people could sense who she was, in the same way.

“Hm. You never would have struck me as the type to get cold feet about killing. Do doubts plague your mind, Courier? Because I can remind you of all the ways in which Kimball’s death will hasten the fall of the NCR.”

“I’m not talking about the assassination part, I’m talking about your little plan. Putting on a First Recon uniform, sniping a president in front of a crowd of a hundred people… I don’t see this working out like you’re hoping. Don’t you have plans a little more realistic?” The Courier aimed her rifle into the darkness, checking the alignment of the scope, briefly lining her sights up towards Cato’s head to check for his reaction. There was none.

“From what I’ve heard of you,” Cato brushed his hands off against his worn trousers, taking a seat on the blanket beside the Courier, “you have a knack for making the impossible possible, so to speak. Surviving a gunshot to the head, tracking your killer across the wastes, disposing of a man who has ruled the Strip for over 200 years… the list goes on and on, doesn’t it. And all this to avenge your fathe-”

The Courier snapped the gun down at those last words, shifting her gaze to stare into the crackling flames, pupils reflecting back red. “I didn’t know you legionaries were prone to idle gossip,” she hissed harshly.

“Word travels fast for frumentarii, it is our job, after all. To know things, see things, organize the fall of mighty kingdoms all from the shadows. In another life, perhaps you would have made for a skilled frumentarius, Courier.”

“I disagree. I have a taste for more direct methods, which I’m sure you’ve also heard.”

Benny, House, and all of the countless other men who had wronged her before them, she’d taken their lives directly, in close proximity. Close enough to watch the light dim from their eyes, and the quick of their pulse weaken beneath her fingertips. Personal grievances called for personal measures.

“Which is why you’re here today, on recommendations from Lord Caesar and Master Inculta themselves. In camp the men call you Laelaps, you know, the hound which never loses its prey. Kimball will be just another rabbit in your jaws, come morning.”

“If your plan works.”

“Which it will work.”

The low growl of thunder echoed far away in the distance. The rainy season, back again already to mark the cycle of one year since the day she clawed herself out of her own grave. How time passed like the steady stream of blood in a slaughterhouse.

Conversation ceased between them for a quiet moment, punctuated only by the sounds of the Mojave. Coyote howls, wind rustling through nopales, the scream of a prey animal.

So alive the desert was, even in the face of the end of the world. Some things, much like herself, simply refused to die. Or, perhaps, were refused death.

The Courier returned to maintaining her rifle, liking her hands to be busy in such idle moments.

“That’s quite the gun,” Cato finally spoke again, “pre-war, surely?”

Silently, the Courier handed the rifle over for him to inspect. “And you’d be right. It belonged to my father- no, not that man I called father, I mean my biological father, the one whose blood runs in my veins. And his father, and his father before him, and so on and so forth. Created to fight in something they called “The Sacred War” back in the Motherland.”

“And is this war sacred to you as well, to warrant such an ancestral weapon?”

The sun was beginning to rise now, far off in the distance. Burning crimson red with the foreboding of a day left better avoided.

“More than anything, yes. Пусть я́рость благоро́дная скипа́ет, как волна́. Let noble wrath boil over like a wave.” the Courier answered quietly as she picked up the First Recon helmet and placed it on her head. It was time.

“A fair hunt to you then, Laelaps,” Cato said, placing the rifle back into her hands.

The Courier accepted the rifle, slinging it over her shoulder in a swift motion.

“May there be another rabbit in my jaws come morning.”

[kuroosmikasavolleyball]

Her Game

Abendrot

(n) the color of the sky when the sun is setting; a certain afterglow.

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

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a/n: I’m so sorry this is late! I got really busy with school work and other stuff and Part 4 wasn’t ready to post on Sunday. Here it is though, I hope you enjoy. This is the second to last part of the series(I think). I hope you understand the connection to the series title now a little bit but it gets better😏 I don’t know if this counts as slow-burn but…yeah. Anyways, feel free to like, republish, and message me. Requests and taglists are open! This is a safe and loving place for everyone and any hate will be shut down. Enjoy reading<3

Part 4 summary: Ravenclaw and Slytherin verse in the second and last quidditch game of the season. New strategies, doubt, nervousness from what happened earlier is bundled up for (Y/N), and all she needs to focus on is winning this game. Will Slytherin take the win and bragging rights, or will Ravenclaw emerge victorious?

pairing: cedric x fem!reader(in ravenclaw)

genre: fluff

warnings: uh nothing

word count: 1.6k(how did this happen-)

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“What’s got your mood down the drain?”

Kimball peers at (Y/N)’s woeful face, “Don’t tell me you’re nervous; this new plan has already got me shaky.”

She would’ve told Kimball what had happened last night if Roger wasn’t right next to her.

(Y/N) leans her head on the palm of her hand. “It’s nothing. Can we just continue planning, please?” Roger looks at her, a bit worried as well.

“Maybe..this plan should stay a draft. I’ll go tell the team.” Roger almost gets up but (Y/N) stops him. “No, wait. I’m ok; I promise. Let’s do this.”

Fred and George walk in and (Y/N) speaks, “Just gimme a sec.” and goes towards them.

“Hey hey! How’s my favorite Ravenclaw?” Fred ruffles her hair and she swats the hand away.

“She’s..ok I guess. Kimball and Roger came up with a plan yesterday and somehow the whole team liked it. We’re gonna test it out during the pre-game practice but I’m a little terrified.”

“You smarties always come up with something, huh? Don’t worry about it; you’ll be great. I even got my special edition Ravenclaw hat!” George playfully lifts a blue and bronze homemade hat made by Mrs. Weasley. (Y/N) has the same kind for Gryffindor, but she’s smart enough not to wear it in public.

“You don’t have to cheer me up; I’m fine. By the way, have you seen Ced? He hasn’t come down for breakfast yet.”

“Nope, we haven’t; he must be off on his ~prefect duties~.”

George scrunches up his face in disgust.

They say their goodbyes and head to the Gryffindor table. Just as (Y/N) is about to go looking for Cedric, he walks in with a painful expression.

“God, I should’ve listened to you, these hangovers are not worth it.”

Huh? How is that his first sentence? Doesn’t he rememb-

“You ok? You know you have nothing to be nervous about today, right? Ravenclaw will definitely win.”

“Oh yeah, yeah I’m fine. I just..do you remember last night at all?”

Cedric cocks his head to the side. “Uh.. a bit. I remember coming into the Ravenclaw common room, we played a drinking game..then it gets fuzzy. But I remember you walking me to my common room; thanks for that.”

Oh? He..doesn’t remember.

“Ah ok..that was most of the night so you didn’t miss too much. Go eat and drink water; you’ll feel better.”

The warmth in her ears and cheeks felt a bit too overwhelming once in the Ravenclaw locker room. Normally, a quidditch game wouldn’t have struck up such nervousness in (Y/N), or just the Ravenclaw team in general. They knew how to calm down in time for the game and bring all their assets to the table. Except now, there was only one match that determined everything.

Roger was almost roaring. “Alright guys! I know we’re all a little on edge right now, but let’s get to the point. We know Slytherin plays a dirty game but we’re staying fair. Don’t let rage take you over, think and focus, we got this. Let’s go out there and win this!”

He continued to give separate instructions to the beaters, the keeper, and the seeker. He turned to (Y/N) and Kimball, firing up to go.

“Before you say anything, Davies. We know what to do, we’ll try the plan out right now during the practice, ok? Now calm down.”

Kimball was surprisingly stable today and it was no doubt she was going to have a good match. Roger visibly deflated but kept a smug look in his face.

Hooch told them Ravenclaw was going first for practice so the team kicked off into the air.

(Y/N)’s hair was tied back and the breeze tickled her face. She missed this feeling; so freeing and beautiful.

Before long, Kimball nodded towards (Y/N) and took off. She stayed higher up and Roger acted as an opponent chaser. They released the Snitch, the Bludgers, and the Quaffle, and started a mock game. Roger zoomed past (Y/N) and she went behind him. Kimball followed (Y/N) but from above. (Y/N) stole the Quaffle and headed to the three goals, where their Keeper stayed, and scored.

(Y/N) kept the Quaffle and tried to score again, but Roger stole the ball and that’s when Kimball came into the playing area. She quickly picked the ball from Roger and scored while (Y/N) flew up. This was their plan; have one chaser on the pitch and the other two above, following the movements. As soon as the ball was stolen or the chaser runs out of stamina, another substitutes in. If all three chasers from the other team started tagging the one chaser, the other two will come down to help. Roger had checked with Hooch to see if the tactic broke any rules and she allowed the Ravenclaw team to use it.

The Slytherin team practiced regularly and it was a relief to not see any crazy strategies.

We can win this.

The houses filed in, chattering their heads off as the teams got ready to enter the field. The Ravenclaw team was introduced and they flew up, similar to the Slytherin team except for Lee’s backhanded comments.

“The game is the last one of the season! But don’t worry, I’m sure the Triwizard Tournament will be entertaining! Let’s get on now; today’s match is Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin. I hope you all cheer for the right team!”

He got a slight warning from Mcgonagall and that was it. Marcus Flint and the other players were all mounted on their fancy brooms; (Y/N) was a tad jealous, but her Comet 290 did the job. Hooch gave warnings and blew the whistle, and before (Y/N) knew it, the game began.

The strategy had worked so far except for a short period where Draco Malfoy was chasing the Snitch and almost crashed into (Y/N) and Kimball, who were waiting above and had to move away really quickly.

Roger was running out of breath and (Y/N) noticed, so she flew down after telling Kimball and took his spot. A red-haired Slytherin chaser had the Quaffle, so (Y/N) speeded towards them. One of the beaters hit a Bludger towards the chaser and (Y/N) swooped in to take the Quaffle when they were distracted.

“Nice hit, Jason!” She yelled as she went past him, dodging Marcus Flint.

“and…(Y/L/N) scores! The score is now 50-35 with Ravenclaw in the lead.”

Cheers grew even louder and (Y/N) swore she locked eyes with Cedric as she flew past the Hufflepuff tower.

Ravenclaw’s seeker, Cho Chang was a little quiet and the year below (Y/N), but she was amazing on the field. There was a point in time last year where Cedric took an interest to her, but it faded..(Y/N) hopes.

The game was similar to the last, taking a long time and the players started to lose energy. As the year had just started, it was fall and the sun set earlier. The breeze up above was chilly and the chasers of Ravenclaw went back to the regular strategy, even though the one they were using didn’t require a lot of stamina, they were getting tired of having to fly up and down. The score was 140-145 with Slytherin in the lead.

It was a little early for the sun to have set completely but the horizon line was blending. (Y/N) remembered a time where Cedric told her a word for this scenery...abendrot. The violent tango of the blue and orange hues made for a majestic view.

She was temporarily distracted since Roger had the Quaffle when she heard Lee’s voice booming, “Just as Davies scores..Chang is closing in on the snitch..SHE’S CAUGHT IT! RAVENCLAW WINS!”

The team quickly flew down and cheered for Cho, but it felt like a mutual celebration since everyone did so well. Kimball hugged (Y/N) tight and whispered about how her legs are going to be so sore.

They giggled amongst themselves until George’s voice ripped through the crowd and screamed (Y/N)’s name. The other houses were rushing up too, congratulating their friends and other players. (Y/N) was lifted and hugged by the twins and she spotted Cedric running up.

“Hell, if you think our game was good, this was amazing!” Fred laughed and set her down.

“I feel like most people weren’t watching towards the end since it was so long.”

Cedric finally caught up and spoke, “Nonsense, (Y/N). You did so well today, especially when you swooped in near the goal when Warrington had the Quaffle; you just stole it and dropped it in. He didn’t even realize.” A smile graced his face.

He noticed details..

“(Y/N)? You okay?”

“..Thanks! Yeah..um, sorry that was a really long game so I’m just tired.”

The twins and Cedric went back to their common room as Ravenclaw celebrated in a more calm way than Hufflepuff did.

A few students sat around the fireplace, but most of the players went to bed early.

“Did you see Malfoy’s face? He looked like he was about to kill someone with that grimace.” Inglebee chattered.

Kimball and (Y/N) went back to the dorms after signaling to their friends that they’re going because they couldn’t keep their eyes open.

(Y/N) thought back to how the sky looked when the sun kissed the mountains in the distance and fell asleep thinking about the fond memory of today and of when she learned from a certain someone about what that sunset is called. Abendrot.

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[rubykgrant]

(working on the bigger plot of my RVB story-line! this combines all the set-up I have with my Reconfigured and Other Messages series, and then continues them further~)

One way or another, they had all been dragging their feet…

Grif didn’t want to do anything that might be similar to “leaving the group” again. Tucker liked having all his friends in one place (where he could find them). The others all had gotten comfortable with their various routines on Chorus, but the facts were; Wash was getting much better. They didn’t need to be here anymore. It was time for a break. From being here, from crazy adventures, from each other. Not forever, not because they hated one another, not for any horrible dramatic reasons… it was just something that they needed. They knew they needed it.

That didn’t mean they hadn’t been dragging their feet, though. Still, even if you drag your feet, as long as you keep moving, you eventually get there.

Now it was time.

Before committing to any decisions, Carolina suggested they make sure it would be safe for them to travel where ever they might care to go. At certain points in the past, a few of them (if not ALL of them) had been called criminals… if they were still wanted, for any reason, it would be dangerous to start moving around. They had to know what they were potentially up against, and then they could be prepared.

They contacted the authorities on Earth.

It was risky even doing this; basically every “official organization” that made the rules had screwed them over… or literally tried to kill them. They might still want them dead just to cover up all the embarrassing failures and illegal behavior. President Kimball was more than willing to offer them protection on Chorus if it came to that, but nobody wanted to pull this planet into ANOTHER war; it was decided that if they were threatened, they would just go on the run (a few of them were almost half-way hoping for this… it would mean they’d have to stick together).

Wonders never ceased; it seemed that those in charge of whatever circus that called itself the “government” had decided the best way to cover things up was to give the Reds and Blues (as well as the friends they were associated with) the royal treatment. All past crimes, both known and unknown, were forgiven and pardoned. This didn’t sit right with them for a few reasons (not the least of which being… they still felt guilty over certain incidents. They had made mistakes as well as bad decisions. Even so, they didn’t trust the same groups that caused so much pain to “judge” them for their guilt- this was something they would live with and attempt to reconcile on their own terms).

Each of them had full permission to travel anywhere they would like to go, and were offered special transportation. Because it was smart to be suspicious, the group didn’t fully trust this offer… it could all be a ploy to get them alone, somewhere secluded, then eliminated. They wanted it to be made public knowledge that they weren’t going to held responsible for the mistakes caused by the UNSC, Project Freelancer, or all the other establishments that had treated their lives (and so many others) like a game.

Thankfully, they knew a reporter who would make sure the story spread like wildfire.

Dylan Andrews had already gotten several exclusive stories from the Reds and Blues, and she had a pretty good relationship with them on top of that; simply put, they liked her. For all their faults and odd behavior, she liked them too.She was also somebody who not only cared about the truth, but also what was right and wrong. Some secrets didn’t need to be told, and occasionally lies were necessary as a form of protection... but you needed proper perspective to see the difference between those situations and actual corruption.

They agreed to meet with her, talk with her, and once the rest of the universe (the parts that watched TV, anyway) had heard their side of the story… MAYBE they would take up the offer for the transportation.

After about one week of talking, going over what parts of their stories they want to tell, back-tracking, arguing with each other about what REALLY happened back in the day, and lots of editing, Andrews has everything she needs and the group is satisfied. They kept a few little bits out… although they (mostly) told Andrews everything relevant (plus lots of extra nonsense, was certainly amusing, just not important), they each asked her to cut certain things. She fully respected their wishes, and soon the story is ready to be told in a way that will hopefully make sense to people that haven’t been “in the know”.

There had been at least a couple of occasions when they were called heroes before… and were even a little famous over it. None of that had saved them from getting thrown under the bus when it was convenient for those in authority to do so. They weren’t asking for any parades or ceremonies… in fact, after this story was out for all to see, they’d rather be left alone.

That seems to be the biggest issue; the government wants to put them on a pedestal and show them off like a prize. “Look at our little toy soldiers, please be distracted by the pretty colors of their armor and forget about all the horrible war crimes we forced them to be part of”.

Instead, the plan is to prove that they are more than that. The plan also involves using these videos as an insurance policy; if they suddenly started to drop dead, fingers would get pointed. If nobody wants to get blamed for killing the Reds and Blues, they needed to play along.

[prvtbugsbuggins]

9 - Purple Heart [1/3]

for @whumptober2021

Chapter link -> HERE

Trigger warning for: Bleeding, active combat zones, blood, comforting the (presumed) dying

Prompt: presumed dead

Summary: Caboose has always gave up parts of his friends to save them, but this time he may have given too much.

---

Bullets whizzed by just inches from Tucker’s ears as he dove for cover. Bits of grass and dirt kicked up from the impact of machine gun fire, and a nearby grenade detonation sent a shower of ash that obscured the battlefield. Tucker rolled to a stop, nearly slamming right into Caboose and Carolina as they too huddled under a few sections of torn up concrete. Sharp bits were constantly being chipped off the top as a machine gunner had their location marked, and the bastard was doing his best to remind everyone he knew where they were.

“Fuck!” Tucker shouted, dodging a flying chunk of concrete. “Where the fuck is Red Team?”

“They accomplished their objective. Grif is stealing us a way out.” Carolina had to equally shout to be heard. “They have pelicans, but no functional anti-air artillery. Simmons made sure to take those out first. If they both can get us, we can get out of here.”

“And we can’t do that unless we make an opening for us.” Epsilon made his presence known, avatar manifesting on Carolina’s shoulder. “If you couldn’t tell, we’re pinned down.”

“I already knew that, asshole!” Tucker hissed as a shower of pebbles rained down around them. “How the fuck do we get out of here?”

Epsilon took a moment to respond, numbers flashing over his holographic armor as he crunched some numbers. “Okay, we are being pinned down by a machine gun nest. Do we have any grenades left? If we can take that out, we can-”

“I GOT IT.” Caboose shouted. Before any of them could stop him, he grabbed one of the re-bar ridden cement slabs behind him. He stood up just long enough to chuck it straight at the gunner nest. The poor bastard must have been surprised, because he didn’t manage to get a single shot out before the nest collapsed in a mess of concrete dust and screams. Tucker reached up and pulled him back down before any other space pirate could riddle him with bullets.

“Never. Do that. Again!” He hissed. “At least, not without a heads up first, idiot!”

“He did take out the gunner nest, though.”

“Shut the fuck up Church. Nobody asked you!”

“Eat a dick, cockbite!”

“Both of you, shut up!” Carolina shouted. “Argue later, when we aren’t under heavy fire!”

“I am helping!” Caboose bounced a little where he was taking cover, Freckles held closely to his chest.

Before the argument could boil up again, there came the blessed sounds of an approaching aircraft.

“Hey nerds!” Carolina’s radio crackled, “This is Grif, we got our ride! Hope you’re all ready to go to prom, ahaha!”

“Yes but...there’s a problem.” Simmons came on next, the fucking spoil sport, “We can’t grab you where you are, you’ll have to make your way to a rendezvous spot. We’re sending Church the coordinates.”

“If you couldn’t tell, we’re taking heavy fire, can you give us some breathing room here?” Carolina watched Epsilon run the coordinates and pull up a holographic map, already calculating the most efficient way to get to the pick up zone.

“We can buy you some time, but you’re gonna have to book it, and fast. Kimball is bringing in artillery strikes and you need to be gone before that gets here.”

“I am very good at running.” Caboose stated, but was ignored for the moment.

“Great, we’re on a timer. Awesome.” Tucker sighed.

“Quit your bitching and get ready to run.”

Tucker was going to bite back a sarcastic reply, but saw the look both Carolina and Epsilon were giving him, and he sighed.

“Roger that. We’ll run as soon as you give us an opening.”

“Awesome, hey Simmons? You see those crates in the back?”

“The ones marked with “Danger: Explosives?”

“Yeah, get ready to chuck them!”

The pelican passed overhead, and the back dock was opened, releasing several crates that fell to the earth. There were flashes of white, before most of the enemy vantage points erupted in flames. The group of Blues figured this was as good as any signal they could get, and on the count of three, vaulted over their cover and took off.

Epsilon highlighted a path in red, the avatar swiveling around to keep an eye on their backs. “This way! Keep going! Hostiles incoming!”

All three were running as fast as they could, but enemy reinforcements were already coming and taking pot shots at the retreating squad. Their escape route was rapidly being cut off.

“Shit, we’ll never make it!” Tucker huffed, putting every last scrap of energy into his legs to force them to keep going. Carolina said nothing, but her silence was tinged with worry as more and more red dots appeared on Epsilon’s projection.

“I am the best at running!” Without much fanfare, Caboose shoved Freckles into Tuckers arms. Tucker didn’t have time to react before Caboose picked up both Tucker and Carolina, one in each hand, and tucked them both securely under each arm.

“Caboose!” Epsilon shouted as his avatar momentarily flipped before righting itself. “The fuck are you doing!”

“Running running running…” Caboose put his head down, and to everyone’s astonishment, began to run. It was clear that he was holding back before, choosing to stay with his team and not leave them behind. But with both team mates clutching on to his arms and sides for dear life, he didn’t need to hold back. Bullets and debris rained past them as he raced down the path, Epsilon struggling to keep up with his speed as he kept highlighting the path. For a moment, the world was deafened to just the sounds of metal hitting metal and the ongoing chant of “Running Running Running” as both Tucker and Carolina watched the world wiz by at ridiculous speeds.

Several sharp pings rang out, and Caboose stumbled a few times, nearly pitching everyone into the dirt and re-bar ridden landscape. “Keep going!” Carolina yelled, which seemed to spur the man to go faster. He corrected balance and kept running past the exploding shrapnel and dust clouds, chanting under his breath as he ran.

Just up ahead, the Pelican was matching their speed, the doors of the bay opened and lowered as far as it dared to the ground. Simmons was leaning out the back, gesturing wildly. Caboose's cargo could momentarily feel him tense up, like a spring, before he launched them all forward with a running jump

Suddenly, they were airborne, and quickly approaching the empty hold of the air craft. Both Tucker and Carolina didn’t have the time to scream as they went momentarily weightless. The world cut out to black as Caboose wrapped himself around the both of them, twisting so that his back would hit the floor and shelter them from the worst of the impact. There was a sharp jerk and the loud thump of metal on metal, and then everything went still.

The overwhelming rush of air and bullet fire cut out suddenly as the door was closed, leaving ringing ears and silence.

“Holy shit! Are you guys okay?” Simmons secured the door and rushed over to the dent in the floor.

Carolina was the first to roll out of Caboose’s grasp, rolling to the floor with a gasp of air. Tucker was soon to follow, having to wrestle his way out of the grip that was still trying to hold him in tight. Epsilon’s avatar groaned, tinting into static for a moment before flipping back around, ready to start bitching.

“Caboose! What the fuck was that...Caboose?”

All three sim troopers looked to where Epsilon’s gaze pointed to, nestled in a perfectly Caboose shaped dent, was the Blue himself. The sheer amount of blood leaking out from under him was incredibly alarming. It spread outwards, following the grooves and scratches of the floor. A few bullets had made it through his torso, each hole giving a disturbing glance at his insides. A horrible, whistling noise was accompanied with each labored breath, bits of blood pushing through the holes in his chest armor with each exhale.

Caboose wasn’t moving.

“Shit! Shit!” Tucker immediately was at his side, grabbing his shoulders. “Tell me you Reds stole a medkit too!? Or bio foam at least!”

Simmons was frozen, staring at the steadily growing puddle of blood.

“SIMMONS!”

“Oh um! Yes! What can I do?” The cyborg snapped out of whatever was running through his head, running over to kneel down next to Caboose’s un-moving form. “What do I do?”

“Epsilon!”

“I’m on it!”

Epsilon leapt from Carolina and into Caboose, settling back into his shitty implant and pulling as much biometric data as he could. A tether formed as Epsilon streamed whatever he could get from Caboose’s suit and directly to Carolina’s HUD. What she was seeing was not looking good, at all.

Suddenly, Caboose moved, rattling out a wet cough. It was followed by a gurgling noise, like he was trying to breathe through thick soup. He continued to cough and gag, each movement causing him obvious pain. “Nnghhhk!”

“He’s choking on his own blood! Turn him over!” Carolina was already grabbing her downed comrade’s shoulder, struggling to pull all 900+ pounds of body and power armor to the side. Tucker and Simmons helped, heaving him to his side in a recovery position. Carolina undid the clasps to Caboose’s helmet, pulling away to let a spurt of blood spray across the floor as he coughed again.

Epsilon pulled himself out of the implant, form being cut with static as he tried to not panic. “He’s losing too much blood and there’s too many fucking holes to plug. Simmon! Get your ass over here and put some pressure here, and here.” He highlighted the select wounds in green, already highlighting more as he found them.

Simmons did just that, putting his hands over the two bullet holes that were bleeding the most, trying hard not to get sick as the feeling of blood under his gloves.

“Carolina, Tucker, try and do the same. GRIF, YOU NEED TO FLY FUCKING FASTER. NOW.”

“What the hell is going on back there?”

“Grif, Caboose is dying. I don’t care what you have to do, you need to go fast.” Tucker swallowed, pressing his hands over the hole in the chest making the whistling noise.

Grif didn’t say anything, but everyone had to brace themselves as the pelican lurched faster, engines thrumming with the strain as the aircraft launched into high gear.

“I’m calling Grey, they need to be ready.” Epsilon vanished back into her suit. There was a tickling in her implants as Epsilon reached out to grab any radio wave available, hijacking that to get right to the hospital. She ignored him for now, keeping her friend steady so he didn’t drown in his own blood. He was already going frightfully pale, the pink of his lips fading with each steady pulse of blood.

“Ah...ow…” he murmured in between labored breaths. “Ow.”

“Shut up.” Tucker was fighting to hold back tears as he tried his damnedest to hold his teammate together. “Don’t talk. Just breathe, okay man? Just do that for me.”

“I am...the...fastest…” There was a slight smile on Caboose’s face, managing to crack open an eye to focus on the three around him. He had to pause and catch whatever breath he could between each word, making the three around him wince each time.

“Yes…” Caroline felt her eyes burn. There was just too much blood slipping through her fingers, no matter how hard she tried to hold them all in. “You are the fastest. We would have never made it if it wasn’t for you.”

He smiled in response and closed his eyes. He started to go slack, the rattling gasps of air taking longer and longer to pull in.

“Caboose? Caboose no, you have to stay awake! Don’t do this to me!” Tucker was losing his battle with tears. “Come on, bro. You can’t sleep yet!”

“Tucker…” Carolina tried. She wanted to say something, anything, but her throat went dry when she tried to speak. She knew they were fighting a losing battle but they were going to do their damnedest to try and squeeze a Hail Mary from the universe. Epsilon flashed back into existence, presumably finished with his call. Having been paired with him for so long, she could tell that he knew it too, that it would take a miracle for this seemingly indestructible man child to pull through this.

The avatar moved until he was next to Caboose’s head, sitting down to rest a small hand against his forehead. “Hey...Caboose buddy.” Carolina had never heard Epsilon...Church, sound so soft as he did now. “Buddy, I need you to stay with me, okay? Or else you’ll be late to the party.”

“Mmhm?” Caboose was beyond being able to speak at this point, but he was able to open his eyes, unfocused as they were, to stare at the hologram in front of him.

“Yeah, a big party. It’s for the best of best friends.” He continued. “You’re the guest of honor, you know? A big trophy and everything. A great big cake. We’ll all be there, just for you.”

Nobody wanted Caboose to be scared, especially not now. Epsilon may be an utter prick, but he knew at least how to give a dying friend some comfort to make everything less scary. Caboose deserved that at the very least.

“Yep. All of us, because we love ya, bro.” Tucker joined in, catching on to what Epsilon was doing. “Even the Reds will be there, right Simmons?”

Simmons took a shuddering breath, choking on his words before he managed some semblance of a sentence. “Of course, all of us. It’ll be great.”

Caboose smiled, and then closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh as he exhaled. Carolina heard the sound of radio chatter as it directed Grif to land on the helipad. She was so focused on Caboose that she stopped paying attention to the world outside them. A quick glance from the pilot side windows showed the large building of the Hospital coming quickly into view.

They made it.

Her quick jolt of hope was immediately smashed down when she heard Tucker sob. She turned her head back around, and watched Tucker scoop up the still form of Caboose, head and torso held in his arms, as he bent his head down to rest against the blue helmet.

“Please Caboose, don’t do this to me. Take another breath. You can do it. Please...just breathe. Just breathe man, come on. Please.”

All she could do was sit, numb, watching her friends break down around her, her world falling to pieces again.

---

And here we have a three parter! I hope you guys will like it, I've been looking forward to posting these for a while!

The Purple Heart is an award given to military members who are wounded or killed in combat. I should sit down sometime and figure out what awards he'd actually get during his service, it's probably a lot! He's a good boy.

[radramblog]

Have a plan to kill everyone you meet- Fallout New Vegas Genocide run notes

For some reason, and I can’t say why, I’ve had a hankering to play through Fallout: New Vegas again. There’s always a few quests I haven’t beaten, I guess, 100%% achievement completion or not.

However, video essays on moral choices in video games have been part of my feed recently, and like many, apparently, I’m someone who usually tries to pick the goody two-shoes options. But NO MORE! In this hypothetical future playthrough I wanna try and fuck over every single person, and for once end up with Bad Karma at the end.

I’ve seen a few things online about people doing murder only runs of this game, but I don’t think anyone’s tried this particular undertaking. Specifically, I’m not just gunning to gun down everyone I see, I’m going out of my way to kill as many named characters as possible. Using the Fallout Wiki as a hitlist, everyone it is possible to kill will be killed.

The following are my notes about routing such a playthrough. I hope they’re entertaining enough! :p

New Vegas Genocide Mode

The following characters cannot be killed for any reason:

The Forecaster, Melody, Max, Stacey, Lindsay, Pete, and Hector are all children and as such are undamagable- I’m sure a mod exists but I’m not gonna go download that, I don’t wanna end up on a list.

Festus is a robot whom projectiles pass through and who takes no damage from physical attacks. Besides, his artificial intelligence is limited enough that are you really actually killing anything there?

Vendortron is in an impenetrable booth, and while I’m pretty sure you can glitch into its box, I’m also pretty sure he respawns anyway.

Yes Man can be killed as many times as I like, and I will, but he always respawns so even if you piss off/kill off other factions you still have a path to endgame.

 The following characters are mutually exclusive- i.e. you can get one, but not the other.

Ranger Stevens and Cato Hostilius- The missions You’ll Know It When It Happens and Arizona Killer are about being on the opposite sides of an assassination attempt on the President of the NCR. Ranger Stevens only shows up if you’re trying to stop it, and Cato Hostilius is your contact for trying to cause it.

Gabban, Alerio, and Martina Groesbeck- This all comes back to Vulpes Inculta. Vulpes shows up in two events- in Nipton when you first arrive there, and in the Strip when you leave the Tops after confronting Benny. Gabban replaces Vulpes in Nipton if you kill him in the Strip, and Alerio replaces him if you kill him at Nipton. If you don’t kill him at either, he returns to the Fort where you can receive a quest from him involving Martina. To my knowledge, she doesn’t spawn without that quest. I do need to investigate if in theory you can get the quest from Vulpes before killing him and without visiting Nipton, letting you kill both him and Gabban.

The Big Problem: Reputation

There are four characters whom only show up in their faction’s respective safehouses, requiring a significant dedication to not murdering people to unlock. In addition, access to certain quests with named characters (e.g. I Fought the Law) requires not being hated by the relevant faction. As such, we can’t start wantonly killing people until a certain point.

This gets complicated when it comes to the main 2 factions, being the Legion and the NCR. Fortunately, however, after the first act of the main story, reputation with both gets wiped (by Vulpes/Alerio and Crocker), which we can manipulate pretty well. It makes sense to do the NCR first, as reputation with them is more relevant overall and often costs Legion reputation.

This is the route I’ve figured out for how to work around this issue, including every quest that spawns uniquely named characters for us to murder. DLCs and Companions are currently not included, but shouldn’t be too hard to figure out. Except maybe Joshua Graham.

Start the game as a male character (Legion won’t let you in the pit fights if you’re a woman bc they’re sexist) and take Wild Wasteland (necessary for one event).

 AVOID THE FOLLOWING LOCATIONS/QUESTS: NIPTON, anywhere with major Powder Ganger concentrations, Ghost Town Gunfight/Run Goodsprings Run, Boulder City Showdown. We’re trying to maintain relationships with the NCR, Powder Gangers, and Great Khans as long as possible.

(At some point get enough Sunset Sarsaparilla Star caps to get Malcom to show up)

Head to Primm, picking up Ed-E and beginning his quest. This quest needs to be continued at minimum until April Martimer spawns in Freeside.

Solve Primm’s deputy problem somehow so Layla spawns later.

Make way to Freeside/New Vegas, however necessary.

Donate medical aid to Julie Farkas, raising Followers of the Apocalypse fame, until access to the Followers Safehouse is granted.

Go to the Atomic Wrangler and get Debt Collector (spawns Caleb McCaffery)

After acquiring the Cannibal perk, proceed down Beyond the Beef by working with Mortimer until Carlyle spawns.

Get and complete Bye Bye Love, spawning Big and Little Beard, making sure to kill everyone involved after Joanna gives the quest How Little We Know (spawns Cachino)

Go to Camp McCarran, and acquire quests Dealing with Contreras (spawns Keller), There Stands the Grass (spawns Keely), and Silus Treatment (lets you into Silus). Suck up to the NCR until access Colonel Hsu lets you into the Ranger Safehouse.

Go to Jacobstown and proceed along Guess who I Saw Today until Norton shows up.

Go to North Vegas Square and get Someone to Watch Over Me, proceeding until Greasy Johnny spawns.

Go to the Great Khan Encampment to get Don’t Make a Beggar of me, spawning Tyrone.

Go to the NCRCF and proceed down I Fought the Law, then betray the Powder Gangers to get Sergeant Lee to spawn.

Go to Hidden Valley and start Still in the Dark, spawning Ranger Dobson and killing him. Complete the quest to gain access to the Brotherhood of Steel Safehouse.

Go confront Benny at the Tops, resetting negative reputation with the Legion and NCR.

Proceed to the Fort and start the Legion questline, making sure to complete Laurifer Gladiator and start The Finger of Suspicion.

Keep going down the Legion Questline, eventually reaching Arizona Killer- make sure to kill Cato after assassinating Kimball and Watson.

If Lucius hasn’t given access to the Legion Safehouse yet, do bullshit for the Legion until he does (e.g. give Aurelius NCR Dogtags)

Once access is granted, it is now safe to start killing everyone! Have fun.

After the blood of your enemies, friends, and strangers covers everything, proceed down the Wild Card route to the endgame, making sure to kill Yes Man after every conversation, so you can get to the Second Battle of Hoover Dam and murder Legate Lanius. Don’t let Yes Man kill Lee Oliver, do it yourself!

As the credits roll, use glitches/godmode to regain control so you can go behind the slideshow and kill Ron the Narrator.

Still during the credits, end it all the only way we know how- blow yourself up, killing the last named character available to kill.

Maybe consider using console commands to spawn in the 2 characters that were mutually exclusive just to kill them. Might as well.

[ourloveisforthelovely]

Second Time Around 8

Elon Musk

Chapter 7

Pairings: Elon Musk x Reader 

Warnings: RPF

_________

Elon walked downstairs and flopped down on the couch. Feeling awful, was putting what he felt lightly. He quickly grabbed his phone and thumbed through the calendar. Sure enough, on that day’s date there was an entry that said, “Y/n doctor appointment 1:45.” 

“Fuck me.” 

Elon muttered. At 1:45, he had been sitting in his office staring at the wall blankly. If Elon paid attention to the date on the calendar then you wouldn’t be upset with him. 

“I wouldn’t be sleeping on this couch.”

The next morning, you woke up to an empty bed. If Elon had come to bed you didn’t notice. Looking down at your phone, there was a text from Elon about a meeting at work. 

“Now he is going to avoid me until he’s ready to apologize,” 

You muttered before deciding to go back over to Ruth’s and apologize for your less than stellar behavior. 

Standing on Ruth’s doorstep, you tightened your black tweed coat around your body. The last thing that you wanted to do was run into your mother. Apologizing to Ruth was going to be enough. Apologizing to Pattie would be a total experience that you didn’t want. You would have to face her but at the moment...you didn’t want to.

You let your mind roll back on your childhood, it was no wonder that you were the way you were. Your parents had been divorced for a few years before having a one night stand that resulted in your birth. Growing up, you knew that your mother was always regretful of her decision to sleep with your father. You were the second child that she really didn’t want. 

The one thing that saved any type of maternal feelings was the fact that you were extraordinarily beautiful. Pattie saw having a daughter who took after her in the modeling industry as a great meal ticket! She was furious when you were six and your father put his foot down and said “hell fucking no” to modeling. Pattie’s sense of dissatisfaction intensified when you decided to go into the music industry like Eric. Ever since then your mother had little good to say about anything you did…

Shaking the thoughts from your mind, you rang the doorbell and waited for Ruth to come to the door. 

“I’m a good person. I’m a good person.” 

You muttered until the door opened. Ruth stood on the other side of the door with her warm motherly smile on her face. 

“Y/n! What are you doing here?” 

You looked down at your feet like an insolent child. 

“I came to apologize for my less than stellar behavior last night. I kind of wrecked your dinner and acted like a two year old.” 

Ruth smirked and stepped aside to let you in. She walked to the couch and patted the spot beside her. You sat down slowly as Ruth turned off the TV. 

“It was actually kind of amusing. I was surprised to say the least. Y/n, I have to know. Are you really pregnant or were you just trying to give our mother a heart attack?”

You stood up and took off your tweed coat. Ruth looked at the small swell of your stomach under the black dress that you were wearing. She smiled. 

“Oh, wow! This is wonderful! I am so excited for you! We have so much to do! Buy baby clothes and…”

You held a hand up. 

“Is everything a trip to the mall for you?”

Ruth chuckled. 

“I never thought that this was going to happen. How is Elon taking it? I figured the two of you had made some macabre plan to kill our mother.” 

It was your turn to laugh. 

“No, it was no macabre plan. He’s taking it well enough. Elon is kind of on my shit list at the moment. He totally forgot my doctor’s appointment yesterday. The doctor thought that Jeffree was the father. Jeffree showed up 30 minutes later when I called him in some sobbing fit because Elon didn’t show up.”

Ruth winced. 

“Oh dear, yeah that wasn’t good. I’m sure he didn’t mean to forget. That man has a lot on him. I think that you know that too, Y/n.” 

You looked down at your shoes.

“Yeah, I know that he does. I guess my hormones just went crazy...like he said.” 

Ruth gently patted your knee. 

“You're pregnant, Y/n. You are entitled to hormones.”

(Meanwhile) 

Elon sat looking blankly at the computer screen in front of him. He needed to get a presentation prepared but nothing was happening. Glancing down at his phone, Elon was surprised that he hadn’t heard a thing from you. Yeah, he knew that he had really dropped the ball and he didn’t expect anything “lovey” but he expected something. 

A knock at the door pulled Elon from his thoughts. He looked up as Kimball stepped in. His brother automatically winced at the expression on Elon’s face. 

“Oh, you don’t look so good! Is something wrong? Oh no, is Y/n okay?”

Elon nodded. 

“She’s fine. She is ready to kill me. I blame you, personally.” 

Kimball was automatically offended before sitting down. He couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he had done to his older brother in the past 24 hours. 

“What did I do exactly?” 

Elon rolled his eyes. 

“If I hadn’t been here talking to you I would have never missed Y/n’s appointment and she wouldn’t have unleashed holy hell on me. She screamed at her mother then went after me. I have to go sofa shopping when I get done here. I slept on mine and to be honest it was dreadful!” 

Kimbal sat clearly processing what Elon had told him. He held up a finger before finally speaking. 

“So you're telling me that because I was calming your ass down it is also my fault that you missed her appointment? Sorry, but I think that is absolute garbage! When I came here, you were looking at that wall there like some kind of nutcase. You are not taking out your problems on me! I take your side enough as it is!” 

Elon held a hand up.

“Okay! I’m sorry! I kind of feel like an ass.” 

Kimbal smiled. 

“Well, you should! You missed her appointment and I was being delightful! Where is she now?” 

Elon shrugged. 

“She isn’t at home. I called Jeffree and she hasn’t gotten into the music studio yet.” 

Kimbal took out his phone. He had a feeling that he knew where this was going. You were probably avoiding Elon like the plague and Elon probably hadn’t tried to call you either. 

“Give me a minute.”  

Elon watched his brother as the phone rang.

“Y/n! Hello! I was just calling to check in. Is all well? Uh huh. Oh, that’s lovely! I heard about the experience with your mother. That was amazing.” 

Kimball glanced over at Elon who was scowling at him. He was clearly wanting information and Kimbal was just babbling on and on.

“Alright, yeah I’ll let him know.” 

When Kimbal hung up, he gave Elon a glare. 

“What? I was in the middle of a conversation!” 

“Sorry to disturb your hot tub party but I want to know where my fiance is!” 

Kimal nodded. 

“Right, she is at her sister’s house.” 

That all made sense. Of course you were at Ruth’s. You were probably apologizing for the night before. Elon smiled. As much as you didn’t want anything to do with Pattie; you at least had enough respect for Ruth to apologize for the rather unsettling dinner scene. 

“I’m not surprised. Well, I better go apologize.” 

(Meanwhile)

You sat across from Ruth who decided that you needed to eat more. She shoved a bagel with cream cheese in front of you. 

“I will tell you this, mom had no idea what to say when you left! She just sat there staring at a wall. If you wanted to shock her, you did it!” 

You smirked before nibbling on the bagel.

“I was hoping that she would hit the floor but it didn’t happen.” 

Ruth smiled and quietly washed a few more dishes before turning back to you. Her face was a bit more serious now. 

“Have you told your father yet?” 

You automatically winced at that question. No, you had not told Eric yet. That was going to be a whole other barrel of monkeys! You were lucky that Eric hadn’t figured it out yet. His nose was like a doberman when it came to you having problems. Eric always knew when you had a problem! You sighed again. 

“No, I haven’t. Ruth, you know that if I tell him he will be here trying to take care of me.” 

Ruth nodded. She knew exactly what you were thinking about too. Eric had always been more “careful” with you after your brother Conor died. Careful was probably an understatement!  

The doorbell ringing pulled Ruth from her thoughts.

“I’ll be right back.” 

Once she opened the door, Ruth smiled seeing Elon on the other side. 

“Hello Ruth. I was hoping to speak with Y/n.” 

Ruth nodded with a smile. 

“Of course, she’s calmed down some. I don’t think that you have anything to worry about.” 

Elon nodded, clearly relieved. The last thing Elon really wanted was to fight with you. 

“That sounds wonderful. Where is she?”

Ruth pointed to the kitchen. 

“Go ahead, I’ll stay here so you both can have some privacy.”  

________

@elonscult and @xjjlex

[meaningofmotorsport]

Indy 500 Preview

With qualifying now completed for the 105th Indy 500, what can we expect from this iconic race, which has fans back in attendance?

Last year it was a Honda show, as they finished in the top 4 spots, with no Chevrolet cars able to really challenge! This year with the ECR cars at least, there was some hope for GM in qualifying, as they got 3rd and 4th on the grid. Other teams like Penske and McLaren could not find the same pace, however, look to have better race cars than in qualifying, so could still be a threat!

Of those Honda runners, it was Dixon and Herta who line up on the front row alongside Veekay, who have looked fast all week in practice. Indy is the one place where Dixon has not been very successful, he may have got 4 poles, but he only has the one win, although he did dominate most of last years race! He and Herta are probably the two favourites, as track position is crucial due to dirty air, and they are on form at the moment!

The ECR cars will be leading the Chevrolet contingent, however, it is Daly, who qualified mid pack, who looks strongest in traffic so far at the team! We have seen in the past, that Carpenter has gone well on a 4 lap run in clean air, and then not been able to challenge when the race gets underway. The old hands of Castroneves and Kanaan, who have been thrown a lifeline to race again, cannot be counted out either, as they are much more experienced than many drivers around them, which could be crucial in this race!

It was surprising to not see Rossi, Sato, or Rahal in the fast 9 shootout, given they were big contenders for the win last year. That being said, they will surely feature in the action we see on Sunday, especially with Rossi, who finds another level of aggression around this place! Sato’s style of racing does suit this race well, as in the last stages of the race, you really have to go all out, which Takuma is used to!

When they struggled so much at Texas, there was fears that Dale Coyne would be at risk of being bumped, yet instead they pulled 2 incredible performances out of the bag when they needed it! Ed Jones has had previous form here, so that wasn’t a surprise, but for the rookie of Fittipaldi, who was not looking quick during the week, to handle the pressure so well, speaks to his talent!

If you looked at their performance in qualifying, you would not guess that Penske is the most successful team around here, as they have lacked out right speed altogether! Not only is it staggering that their 1st car is in 17th, however it is also the rookie driver of McLaughlin, showing how well he has adapted to this sport! Even more notable though, is that Power had to go through the last row qualifying, and was at serious risk of being bumped! He did make it in the end, although from 32nd, he will need a brilliant strategy to be in the mix at the end!

In the 3rd RLL car, Ferrucci was able to put the crash on Thursday behind him, despite the injury, and get comfortably into the field. He is another fiery driver, and will be one to watch in the race! Marco Andretti just didn’t have the car he had last year, where he took pole in amazing style, although considering how that race went, he may have some hope for improvements this time! In the past, Carlin has found it difficult to make it into the field, such as in 2019, where they lost 3 cars! Yet now, with just the sole car out there, it was achieved, admittedly not by much though. Can Chilton do anything special on a track he has gone well at before?

AJ Foyt Racing looked to be one of the teams under threat all week during practice, and some cars were able to extract some pace when it mattered, but others were not. Kellett used some good strategy to stay in 30th on Saturday, whereas Kimball’s car has been draggy it seems the whole time. It didn’t look out of control or on edge at all, it just stalled out on the straights and haemorrhaged lap time, which is if anything more disappointing for the team, as Kimball has driven well here before! It’s never nice to only just miss out, but I am sure he will be back next year!

Top Gun Racing was a feel good story, of a team run on passion, with no sponsors on the car to speak of, just trying to do what they love! Their fate was really sealed on Tuesday and Wednesday, when they barely got any laps in, as this didn’t give them a chance to learn as much about the car, as they would have wanted. If they had of run more, they could possibly have diagnosed the chronic understeer problem they had, which plagued their qualifying attempts, halting them from reaching the field of 33. Bearing that in mind, they did well, and kudos to Enerson, who did not put a foot wrong throughout. I hope that is not the last we see of that team or driver!

The Month of May has flown by, and before we know it, the big race will be upon us! It will be lovely to see the return of the pageantry and patriotism, which makes the race what it is! As for the race itself, who knows what will happen, but I would expect a fair dose of drama!

-M

[freddiesaysalright]

Beautiful Mess Part 7

A Brian May x Reader Fic

Summary: Reader works in a bookshop. She meets Brian May and they have an instant connection. It seems to be a fairy tale romance. But, things are seldom what they seem.

Word Count: 3k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @mrs-jack-murphy​, @not-john-watsons-blog​, @simmisblog​, @mirkwoodshewolf​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @thosequeenboys​, @lv7867​, @maymacca​, @rethought​, @brianslittlepet​, @jinxy93​, @stephydearestxo​, @mrcleanisthicc​, @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls​, @readinghorn​, @lookuptotheskiesandsee​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: The drama continues :)

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6

Part 7 here we go!!!

Your mind was solely on Brian, even as you watched reporters setting up cameras and police trying to control the crowd that was steadily gathering around outside the bookshop. The flashing lights were nearly blinding. Finally, you saw an ambulance pull up amongst it all. You let out a sob and looked at the intruder.

“Please let Brian go,” you begged him. “Please. I’ll do anything you want, but please let him go get help.”

The intruder looked out and saw the situation. He looked between you and Brian, seeming to consider what you said. Your mind raced with ways to convince him. You had nothing to offer him, really, so you couldn’t bargain. You pleas to his humanity were clearly not effective. What could you say to him?

“If he dies,” you said, holding back the way your heart broke at the very idea. “You’ll have a murder charge on you.”

He scoffed. “He won’t die, it’s not that serious.”

“I don’t know,” you said with a swallow. It was true, you weren’t sure how any of this worked, but you had to lie. “He’s losing a lot of blood. And he’s Brian May. The manhunt for the one who killed a member of Queen would be hard to evade.”

He didn’t answer, but pulled you away from the window now. The police and reporters had seen you enough to know that you had a gun to your head. Your eyes went to Brian, who tried to take a deep breath as he clutched his still bleeding arm. You wanted to hold him and protect him from any further pain. But the way to do that was to continue down the track you were on.

“If you let him get treated, he’ll survive, and you -”

“Shut up,” the man cut across you, pushing the muzzle harder into your temple.

You winced. 

“If you let him go, I won’t press charges,” you said desperately. “You can take the money and leave, I’ll make sure they never pursue you.”

He opened his mouth, but then closed it again. Your heart raced impossibly faster. Had you swayed him? Had you been believable enough that he was actually considering your offer?

“You have to let him go now,” you said. “If you don’t...well, you seem to be familiar enough with the resources the Kimballs have on hand.”

He grabbed you by the hair again and dragged you over to the counter. You hissed with pain as your scalp stung from his handling of you. He took you to the side where there was a ring attached. There used to be a chain there but you had it removed ages ago. You weren’t really worried about people coming behind the counter. He retrieved handcuffs from his back pocket, snapped one ring around your wrist, and the other he looped through the counter ring.

“W-what are you doing?” you demanded.

“Letting him go,” he said. “But I won’t risk you running out the back or attacking me while I do.”

“You don’t need to-”

“How many times am I going to have to tell you to shut the fuck up?” he snapped.

You recoiled and closed your mouth. You kept your eyes fixed on him as he walked over to Brian, kneeling down and putting Brian’s unwounded arm around his shoulders. He lifted Brian off the ground.

“Come on, on your feet,” the man barked.

Brian miraculously stood up. But he was weak. He leaned heavily on the intruder, who struggled beneath the weight. As Brian stumbled to the front door, he locked eyes with you.

“I love you,” you mouthed to him.

Then, he just barely smiled - the corner of mouth just flicking upward for a brief moment. That eased your heart somewhat. You had no idea what would happen now, but at least you made him smile.

Brian was in an absurd amount of pain. He’d never felt anything like this. His whole arm was burning and throbbing, and it muddled any other thought process he could have. He saw the front door of the shop, and he ached to have you there supporting him instead of this violent stranger. It killed him to leave you behind in such danger.

“Don’t hurt her,” he murmured to the man as they reached the door at last.

“That’ll depend entirely on her,” the man returned.

He reached toward the lock and Brian saw that his hand was shaking. He turned it, cracked the door open, and suddenly there was a wall of noise. Brian couldn’t make sense of it, but he searched the crowd for who would come and get him. His heart leapt with joy when he saw Roger shoving his way through people. He was followed closely by Freddie and John. It was ironic that Roger was the smallest and yet here he was, parting the crowd with the efficiency of Moses, while his taller counterparts trailed behind. They were stopped by a police officer, and Brian saw Roger immediately begin an argument with him.

He didn’t have time to try and listen since he was roughly shoved through the small space between the door and the wall of the building. With a grunt, he stumbled forward, hearing only a quick snap and a turn of the lock. Part of him was relieved, while another part of him was gutted. You were beyond his reach now and anything could happen.

“Brian!” Roger called, reaching him at last.

Brian wished he could have heard what Roger said to get past the police. It was certainly laced with swear words. Brian was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion as his bandmates surrounded him and supported him to the emergency vehicle. He squeezed Roger’s hand.

“You came for me,” he sighed.

“‘Course we did,” Roger returned, and Brian almost thought he heard the drummer choking up.

As the paramedics sat Brian down and started working on him, he got a good look at the rest of the band. Roger’s eyes were quite watery. John’s face was white as a sheet and he was keeping his hands resolutely in his pockets. Freddie was already fussing, talking to paramedics about how Brian was going to be treated. Brian blinked and felt a tear slide down his cheek. He reached out and grabbed Freddie’s jacket sleeve. It was almost childlike, the way he looked at his friend.

“It hurts,” he mumbled.

Freddie nodded. He looked at the medic sternly.

“Can’t you give him something for the pain?” 

“Soon,” she said. “We’re going to get him to hospital first.”

Brian’s heart constricted with panic. He couldn’t bear the thought of being driven away to just wait and wonder what was to become of you. You were still there inside. Close enough to him. To go now would be abandoning you, and he could never do that.

“No,” Brian said, harsher than he meant to sound. “I’m not leaving without Y/N.”

“Forget her,” Roger said, and Brian understood the bitterness there, but he ignored it.

“Mr. May,” the medic said gently. “We’ve got to get you treated. You’re not going to die or anything, but if this wound gets infected it could lead to all kinds of problems.”

Brian shook his head. “I can’t. Do what you can here, but I’m not leaving her.” 

She looked around at the other band members for some backup, but they didn’t give it to her. Brian’s heart swelled with appreciation for them. Their frowns showed him that they didn’t agree with him, but they were standing by him no matter what.

“You heard him,” John said. 

The medic took one last look at them and then sighed, giving up the argument. She started telling the others what to bring her so she could clean Brian up. They would need to put stitches in at the hospital, but they needed something cleaner than your stockings on the wound. Brian looked at the door as if willing you to emerge and come to him.

Inside, you looked at the intruder, really studying his face. He was sweating, and you could see that he was also shaky. Clearly, he had not intended on all of this and was hoping it would be easier to extort you for your fiance’s money. You almost laughed, but refrained. It was wiser for now to not test his limits by angering him.

“So, you’re cheating on your fiance with Brian May, huh?” he said.

“I thought you wanted me to shut the fuck up,” you retorted.

“Not when I ask you a direct question,” he replied.

“Yes, I was unfaithful to Richard with Brian,” you said. “Not that it’s really any of your business.”

He chuckled. “God, what a woman. Tell me, is it just their money or are you really that much of a slut?”

Rage roiled inside you at his ignorance and the insult.

“Oh fuck you,” you spat. “All men ever want is for women to fuck them, and then when they do, they’re a slut. If they don’t fuck you and fuck someone else, then they’re even more of a slut. And if they don’t fuck anyone, they’re a stuck up bitch.”

He only blinked at you.

“Is that what this is about?” you wondered. “You want money to get women?”

His face went red. This time, you allowed yourself to laugh.

“The problem isn’t your money, mate,” you said. “It’s not that women aren’t shagging you because you’re poor. Women aren’t shagging you because you’re a fucking psycho.”

“Hey!” he shouted, pressing the gun into your skin again.

You weren’t sure where this cheekiness was coming from, but you supposed it was because Brian was safe now. And the more time you spent with this man, the more you realized how little he’d thought this through. You were still frightened of him, but you knew that if he killed you, he’d have nothing.

“Maybe I should just end you now,” he said.

You didn’t answer because you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or himself.

“Richard did disobey my order by getting the police involved,” he continued. “And now you’re mouthing off.”

You watched him carefully, eyes on his hand wrapped around the gun. His finger hovered over the trigger and your stomach churned. Would he really give it all up so easily?

Closing your eyes, you thought only of Brian. If this was to be your last moment, you wanted to think only of him. You thought of the feeling of his lips on yours and the way he made love to you. You thought of the way he played and when he winked at you. You remembered that first dinner laughing together and the surprised look on his face when Cat jumped out of that box. A tear slid down your cheek.

Suddenly, the intruder gave a surprised cry and the pressure of the gun was lifted from you. You heard a violent hiss and little growl and then the intruder stumbled backward, away from you. Snapping your eyes open, you took in the scene.

Cat was latched onto the intruder’s neck, biting and scratching him furiously. Blood dribbled down the intruder’s throat and shirt as he flailed, trying to get a grip on the orange ball of fluff.

“Cat!” you cried. “Cat, no! Get out of here!”

He meowed viciously and sank his teeth into the intruder’s neck like a vampire. The intruder howled in pain and you were once again tempted to laugh. Brian had not been nearly as dramatic and he’d been shot.

Cat leapt away from the intruder, having done enough damage, and landed on the sill of the shop window. The intruder, fuming, aimed and fired, but was pointing the gun far too high to get anywhere close to hitting Cat. The window shattered with a thunderous CRASH, and you covered your face with your hands as glass scattered around you. Cat jumped out of the window and ran toward the crowd, disappearing among them.

When everything settled, you looked out and saw the police officers all gathered around, guns fixed on the intruder, who had resumed pointing his at your head. He moved to stand behind you so the officers wouldn’t shoot.

“Sir!” the officer called. “Put the weapon down and release the woman!”

“Where is Richard Kimball?!” the intruder demanded. “WHERE IS HE?!”

“Here.”

You recognized Richard’s voice as he emerged from between the two officers at the center. He walked slowly and menacingly up the sidewalk. You’d never seen him look so dangerous. His bright blue eyes - usually so warm and friendly - were like ice. His mouth was turned down in a mean scowl as he glared at the intruder.

“Well,” he said. “Here I am.”

“Hope you’ve got your checkbook,” the intruder returned. “I want the money.”

“Very well,” Richard said, reaching into his coat pocket.

It hit you suddenly how cold it was outside. It seemed like an absurd thing to notice at such a time.

“Two million, yes?” Richard asked, flipping open his checkbook and retrieving a pen.

“Yes,” the intruder said. 

Richard suddenly stopped and looked up. 

“You do know that’s tipping money for me, don’t you?” he said. “My fiance isn’t worth two million.”

Your brow furrowed. That was sort of a low blow. Did he know about Brian or something? Even if he did, it was a shitty thing to say. He continued writing and signed the check with a swish.

“There,” he said. “Now. Please don’t hurt my family.”

On instinct, you let your body become dead weight and dropped to the ground. That was the code phrase. The family had practiced it for years, just in case of situations like this. Your arm remained up because of the handcuff still attached to the counter, but you were out of the way. The officer beside Richard fired once, striking the intruder in the shoulder. He screamed and fell to the ground beside you. The gun fell from his hand. You kicked it away and then curled against the counter so he could not get behind you again.

You watched as Richard climbed in through the broken window, shards of glass crunching under his shoes. He leaned over the intruder.

“My fiance is not worth two million,” he repeated darkly. “She is absolutely priceless.”

The police officers entered behind him and starting to take the man away. They escorted him out through the front door and you looked up at Richard, shivering.

“Help me,” you whimpered.

With the assistance of a police officer’s tools, they freed you from the handcuffs. You collapsed into Richard’s arms, still shaking with relief. He wasn’t angry with you, after all. He held you tight, and then you openly wept, holding nothing back. You released the fear and tension - everything you had just gone through. He just held you, rubbing your back and stroking your hair.

“Oh, Richard, I thought -” you blubbered. “For a moment, I really thought I was gonna die. I didn’t - oh, God…”

“Shhh, it’s alright now,” he soothed. “I’m with you. You’re safe. I’m so proud of you, my brave dear.”

You sobbed again and clutched his coat. He bent down and scooped you up, carrying you bridal style out of the bookshop. Then an officer approached.

“Mr. Kimball,” she said. “The medics are waiting to take her.”

“Right, then,” he returned, and he followed her to the ambulance.

You hid your face from the reporters that were snapping photos and putting mics in your face as Richard carried you. He was also ignoring them. When you got to the vehicle, the police shielded you from them. Then you saw Brian, sitting on the edge of the back of the truck.

“Brian!” you gasped. “What are you still doing here?”

“He refused to leave without you,” the medic explained irritably before he could answer. “Can we all go to the hospital now?”

Brian nodded, and allowed her to help him into the back. Richard climbed in with you. Brian looked at this bandmates, and you felt a twinge of guilt at the looks Roger and John were giving you. Freddie appeared more sympathetic.

“We’ll meet you there, darling, alright?” Freddie said to Brian.

“Yeah, alright,” Brian said with a weary nod.

Then the doors were closed and you were in the back of the van with Brian and Richard. You would normally have felt awkward about it, but you were too shaken up.

Brian felt weak and lightheaded, but that didn’t stop the pang of jealousy he felt when he watched you curled up in Richard’s lap and relying on him for comfort. Logically, Brian understood that he physically was unable to do that for you, but he wanted you close to him. He wanted to be your refuge.

But also, he didn’t want to say anything in case you had not told Richard about the affair. He didn’t want to expose anything in case you were going to stick to your guns and marry the man. He was too tired to form questions now, and eager to get to the hospital and get treated.

When you arrived, you and Brian were taken to separate rooms. You were being treated for shock, really, and to be sure you had no serious injuries. The doctor asked you a few questions and then you were cleared to go. He left the room. You looked at Richard, the truth bubbling up inside you. 

“I slept with Brian,” you blurted out.

It was a ridiculous moment to come clean about this. But time felt even more precious to you now. You would not waste a second.

Richard blinked. “Oh?”

You wrinkled your brow. “Aren’t you angry?”

“Not particularly,” he replied. “We’re not in love or anything. Does he make you happy?”

You nodded. “Extremely.”

“Well then,” he said with a gentle smile. “I’m happy for you.”

“But -”

“Y/N, all I’ve ever wanted is your happiness,” he cut across you. “You’re my best friend.”

“But we’re still engaged,” you said.

He heaved a deep sigh. A melancholic look settled on his face and he held your gaze.

“I’m letting you off the hook,” he said. “I don’t want to overwhelm you, but the truth is, Y/N, I haven’t been faithful either.”

Your eyes went wide with surprise. 

“What?”

[aestheticsandwriting]

One-Shot a Day, Day 1: “Hold Me.” RvB

Link to read it on ao3. 

Summary: (RvB Season 12 spoilers.)  After Tucker is released from the hospital post season 12 (after being stabbed by Felix) he's feeling a little vulnerable and wants his boyfriend to hold him.

Tucker makes his way through the halls slowly, trying to avoid the more traveled routes in favor of the back ways and using storage rooms as shortcuts. It’s not that he didn’t want people knowing he was out of the hospital or that he didn’t secretly -or not so secretly- enjoy the attention, he just had a very specific place that he wanted to be. And he needed to be there fast, he only had a limited time.

When Dr. Grey told him he could leave, assuring her that he would come back every morning for bandage changes and wound check, he was ecstatic. As ecstatic as a person could be while semi-high on not-quite-narcotic painkillers, but ecstatic none the less. As soon as she had walked out to get his discharge papers -merely a formality that she insisted remain despite the fact that this hospital had stopped functioning like a normal hospital years previously and become a war recovery zone- Tucker had immediately grabbed his datapad on the side table and typed out a quick message, asking Wash if he could slip away from whatever he was doing and meet him in his -their- room.

He had just been walking out of the hospital when his boyfriend’s reply came through, telling him that he had managed to snag a two-hour reprieve from Kimball before having to go back to work, likely having a late-night before getting back to their bunk anyway, and asking if he wanted him to come walk with him back. The teal soldier had to remind himself not to jump for joy when he read the message, tapping out quick response telling him to just meet him there, armor off and in his civvies.

He finally makes his way into the barracks building, thankful he doesn’t have to be as cautious of other people now. Almost everybody in the building at this time are the men and women on night shifts and they’re asleep, he makes his way slowly to his and Wash’s room, a strong ache in his abdomen by the time he reaches the door. He pauses, taking a deep breath before opening it, stepping through to see Wash just pulling on one of his favorite t-shirts -an old one from his early days in freelancer that’s grown slightly thin and soft with wear- and that simple sight makes his eyes water slightly before he realizes what’s caused it.

“Hey, T, sorry I didn’t come up at breakfast this morning, Kimball had plans that she needed me to go over ASAP for a mission that left earlier.” The blond turns, taking in the sight of his boyfriend from his feet up. Clad in an old pair of shoes, some sweats, and a t-shirt that somehow perfectly matches his armor color that Wash had taken to him for whenever he was released, his armor having already been brought back to Tucker’s officially assigned room.

“Tha-” Tucker coughs, clearing his throat and wincing at the pain in his gut. “That’s fine, don’t worry.” His voice is still rough, and he silently curses himself as a single tear slips down his right cheek.

“Tucker, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

“No. I mean, yes, I have pain, but it’s minimal. I just… will you hold me, David?” Wash has to strain to hear the end of his sentence, it coming out muted and directed towards the floor, Tucker not looking him in the eye.

“I don’t want to-”

“You’re not going to hurt me. I promise, if something hurts or I’m uncomfortable, I’ll tell you. I just need to be held right now.”

“Come ‘ere.” Wash jerks his head, motioning to the two beds they had pushed together to form a bed big enough for the both of them before crawling in, moving to the far side so Tucker has room to settle in without too much movement, hopefully lessening his chances of hurting himself. The younger man sits gently, turning to curl into the taller man’s open and waiting arms, face buried in the blond’s shoulder, sniffling slightly.

“Thank you.”

There’s a silence that stretches between the two of them, interrupted occasionally by a sniffle from Tucker, becoming more frequent as the time goes on. “Hey.” A kiss to the top of his head. “You’re not in pain, are you? Incision’s okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I… Wash, I thought I was never going to get to do this again.” Another sniffle. “I thought I was going to bleed out before the guys could get to me. And I thought, ‘I am never going to hold him or be held by him again. I’m never going to kiss him again. I’m never going to get to tell him I love him again.’ And,” a sharp exhale, “fuck, it scared me. It scared me that I might never be able to do those things again, and it scared me that I thought I was going to die alone, with nobody there.”

“Shhh. It’s okay, I’m here.” The older man feels droplets of moisture on his arm that’s snaked under his neck and drops another kiss to his head. “I love you too, T. You’re not alone in working through this. It was a traumatic experience and it’ll take a while to get through it, but I’m with you the whole way, yeah?” A small nod from the smaller man, and a squeeze from the larger’s arms, careful not to tighten too much. “Good. I love you so much. I was so scared I was going to lose you. Not sure what I would’ve done if they hadn’t gotten to you. Thank fuck for Lina having the healing unit.”

It goes quiet, but Wash knows Tucker isn’t breathing deep and smooth enough to be sleeping, so he makes himself content with holding his boyfriend and allowing him time with his thoughts and emotions, confident he’ll talk if he wants to.

After some amount of time, Wash really isn’t sure how long, Tucker’s breathing does even out, and the blond hopes it’s a nice sleep he’s fallen into, not worrying about looking at the clock, knowing his alarm he set will go off when he needs to get up, armor up again, and head back to the war room for more assault tactic lookovers to finalize and confirm before upcoming missions, and he finds himself dozing on and off during the time.

“Mmm, Tucker?”

“Hm?”

“Gotta get up; my two hours is almost up; I have to be in armor and back in the war room in twenty minutes.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to either; this is one time I’d be perfectly content to lay here with you until tomorrow morning, but I gotta go.”

“No, Wash, that’s not what I meant. I don’t know if I can handle being alone right now.”

“Go hang out with some of the other guys, there’s bound to be one of them that isn’t busy, or is just running drills and you can sit there with them.”

“I’m sure Carolina’s going to be in the war room with you, which means Church will be there, too, I can’t Caboose wrangle right now or I’ll open my incision and hurt myself worse. Simmons will bore me to death, Sarge will try to kill me, and Grif is disgusting. And I can’t take being around anybody else right now, it’s just…”

“Too much?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell you what, if you let me up right now, I’ll let you come to the war room with me and we’ll see about convincing Kimball and Doyle to let you sit in there, yeah?”

“That sounds fine.” Tucker starts to shift, wincing slightly as he does. “Ah, shit, I gotta take my pain meds too before we go up there. You start working on your armor, I’ll do that, and hopefully we can get there before they make me crazy tired like they did last night.”

“Hopefully.”

Tucker grabs his datapad that he had laid on the side table as the two head out the door, knowing he’s going to be bored at some point, slipping his other hand into Wash’s as they walk through the halls of the barracks, releasing it as they near the door. The two had officially been in a relationship since right after they were reunited but had yet to tell anybody except Carolina. Wash suspected a few other people had ideas about their relationship, but nobody had had the guts to come out and ask, and they were perfectly content with leaving it under the radar for as long as possible.

Wash reaches up, knocking on the door to the war room and waiting for the following ‘enter’ to open the door, Tucker closing it behind him. “Captain Tucker,” ‘that’s Kimball’s voice’ his subconscious reminds him through the slight haze of his medication starting to kick in, “good to see you out of the hospital, but what are you doing here?”

“Didn’t want to be alone.” He supplies before Wash can interject and say it in a more tactful way.

“I see. Please pull up a chair and feel free to spend as much time here as you want.”

“Thanks, ‘Nessa. I mean, uh, Kimball.”

“Sorry, Kimball, he took his pain meds right before we came, I think they’re taking effect.”

“I see,” an amused tone. “Now, back to the business at hand. Doyle, Carolina, and I were just discussing some plans for our assault on the small northern outpost.” A paper is slid across the table to the gray-and-yellow-clad soldier. “Here’s what information we have so far.”

Ten minutes later Tucker is snoring lightly, head lolled back and propped on the wall, and Wash rolls his eyes at his boyfriend before turning his attention back to the papers in front of him.

Nearly seven hours later the group is finished, helmets and gloves discarded around the room as they grew tired and started rubbing at their eyes. Tucker having gone back and forth between napping, playing around on his datapad, and picking at the small food supply that Kimball had brought to them around dinner time. Doyle grabs his armor pieces and leaves the room almost immediately, Kimball, Carolina, and Wash staying behind to talk a few minutes longer, both asking the freckle-faced man about Tucker’s wellbeing.

“He’s okay. I’m glad Carolina had the healing unit when she got to him, Dr. Grey doesn’t think he would’ve survived without it.” He glances over his shoulder, insuring that the dark-haired male is still asleep. “He’s at the point now that I’m sure he’ll be okay physically given time, but it messed him up a bit psychologically. That’s why I needed to leave for a while when he was released and why he came with me. He’ll be okay, I think, it’ll just take a while.”

“This… might be a sensitive question, but… Will he be okay at night? We don’t need him landing himself back in the hospital because he’s ripped his incision open during a nightmare.”

“It’s taken care of.”

“Okay…” Wash can see the question in her eyes, but is glad she doesn’t ask anything. And then Tucker ruins it.

“Babe? Why aren’t we in bed?” The slightly slurred question leaves Tucker’s mouth as he blinks back the light from the still harshly lit war room, trying to regain his bearings as to where he is.

“We’re in the war room, remember? Don’t worry, we’re about to go.”

“Okay.” Tucker struggles to stay awake through Wash’s explanation, snuggling back into the wall. Wash looks back over his shoulder, Carolina smirking at him, Kimball with a dark eyebrow raised.

“Agent Washington, I’m assuming that’s what you meant when you said ‘it’s taken care of’?”

“Yes, it is. Is there a problem with that, general Kimball?” The blond man is immediately on edge, posture straightening and stiffening, fight or flight response readying.

“Stand down, Wash, there’s no problem, I actually thought there might’ve been something,” there’s a softness to her dark eyes as an ever so slight smile graces her lips. “I’m happy for you both, I really am. I take it you already knew, Carolina?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Officially? Since right after we reunited. Though you could argue that we were basically in a relationship before the ship crashed.” Wash relaxes as the most genuine smile he’s seen from her graces Kimball’s dark tan skin, and he thinks briefly that he wishes for her sake she lived in a time or place where that smile could be used more often and her features not be hidden under a helmet, though he guesses one could say the same about all of them.

“I am happy for you both. Now, please, everybody get some rest tonight.” The three lean down, all picking up their discarded armor pieces. “And Wash? Tucker is welcome in here with us any time while he’s recovering.”

“Thank you, Kimball.”

By the time the pair get back to their room, Tucker is a little more cohesive than he had been, and Wash bumps his shoulder lightly. “Kimball knows.”

“Knows what?”

“About us.”

“What? How?”

“You half woke up in the war room and called me babe. She already suspected, though, and it’s not a problem.”

“Ooops, I’m sorry, I know we were trying to keep this under the radar.”

“It’s okay, Tucker. I’m actually kind of glad she knows. Doyle doesn’t yet, though, he had left already.” The two step through their door, Wash already pulling off more of his armor pieces, Tucker slowly pulling his clothes off, stripping down to his boxers like always.

“Wash? Will you hold me again tonight while we fall asleep?” Wash sees the unspoken ‘I need that reassurance’ in his eyes and smiles a gentle smile -one reserved strictly for Tucker and extremely rare times that Carolina sees it- and nods.

“Of course. It was very comfortable earlier.”

“Thank you.”

The couple crawls into the bed after Tucker takes another dose of his painkillers per Dr. Grey’s orders, finding a position that’s both comfortable for Tucker, but also close enough for him to feel the safety he needs and they drift off to sleep, each man having a peaceful night’s sleep being held by the other.

[battle-scarred-raven]

RvB CarWash Fanfic: We Will Take It (Pt. 5)

Title: We Will Take It

Part: 5

Rating: Mature/Explicit (Canon typical Language, and things get pretty intimate later on)

Pairing: Carolina/Wash (other pairings acknowledged/hinted at)

Summary: When the shot comes along this time, dear Carolina, you will take it.

Inspired by Blood Gulch Blue from Singularity’s Soundtrack.

—

This isn't your first rodeo with another person.

Hell, it isn't even your first time with Wash. That had been been back after Hargrove had been defeated, and the war on Chorus had finally ended. You all partied hard, Tucker decided to activate the Temple of Procreation, because of course he did, and you had ended up with Wash. Kimball had come and joined you both later, something you allowed, because you’d have been lying if you told yourself that you didn't have a little bit of a thing for the former General. Wash had been okay with it, you all used protection, you all enjoyed yourselves.

Nothing more had been said about it, even now. You knew nothing could ever happen between you and Kimball again. Your lives were heading in two different directions; you were supposedly retiring and she had a whole planet to run as President now. But you couldn't help but secretly hope, dear Carolina, that something might happen between you and Wash again.

After everything you've been through together, you never imagine your wish might be granted. But it is; this is happening. Right here, right now.

Your movements with Wash are nowhere near your usual, dominant self. You have to constantly remind yourself that he is recovering still, that you need to take it slow with him. You want this, of course you do, but not at the cost of Wash’s wellbeing.

“David?” You murmur between languid kisses. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“I'm sure.” He answers, without hesitation.

“If I'm going too fast for you…-”

“Iz…” he cuts you off before you can finish, nuzzling your cheek lightly with the tip of his nose, “If I didn't want this as much as you do, then we wouldn't be doing this right now.”

“I know, I know.” You eventually relent quietly. “I just… don't want to hurt you accidentally.”

“You could never hurt me, Iz. We trust each other too much for that.”

But I did hurt you, you don't say. You don't want to reopen that wound and ruin the moment. You’ve already both talked about that back in the Everwhen, about why you had done what you had done. You didn't need to go over all that. Not again.

So you just kiss Wash once more, gently pushing him towards the bed. He surprisingly resists you, his calloused hands wandering down your body, grasping at the hem of your shirt. You don't fight it when he pulls back from you to remove the garment in one easy motion. You also can't help the shudder that courses through you as the cool air meets your suddenly bare skin.

“You’re… so beautiful, Iz.” He comments genuinely, idly running his hand along your exposed skin, tracing scars along the way. He looks almost thoughtful, like he's reminiscing old memories.

“I'm… really not-” you begin, only for your breath to hitch mid-sentence as Wash crouches down, slowly kissing down the side of your body.

You reach down, ruffling his grizzled blonde hair affectionately. You gasp and shudder again as his starts kissing your stomach, stopping just short above the line of your jeans. Your fingers curl deep into his hair instinctively.

“God, David…” You breathe heavily. If Wash could leave you like this now, Carolina, what were you going to be like after the main show?

An absolute mess, your brain supplies helpfully. In the best possible way.

A tugging at your at your trousers snaps you from your thoughts. You look down, only to see Wash staring up at you with questioning, almost puppy like eyes.

“May I?” His question is a soft, barely audible whisper, which is almost enough to make you melt right there and then.

“Only if you lose some clothes first.” You answer him, a slight smirk tugging at your lips.

A thoughtful look crosses his features, considering your proposition. “Okay.”

He rises, and your hands fall to his shirt. You give him a quick kiss before you start to remove the article of clothing, deliberately slow. When you are done, you throw the shirt behind you, next to yours. You repeat the slow motions of your hands against his battle-scarred skin next, drawing a soft whine from the other Freelancer.

“C-Carolina…” He struggles, stumbling over your codename. “D-Damn, Iz…”

You didn't think you would have that effect on Wash. It's been so long since you've let yourself go like this. The temple was nearly two years ago now, and that had just been a frenzy. Before that had been York, way back in Project Freelancer.

York. The thought of his name catches you off-guard for a moment. Wash notices something up with you immediately.

“You okay, Carolina?” He asks you quietly, his arms hugging your waist as he gazes at you in concern.

“It's nothing.” You are quick to assure him. “Just a memory, is all.”

He doesn't pry, bless him. You both know each other well enough by now to know what things elicit pain in you and the things that haunt you each night. No, he just just kisses you again, hands wandering up your back to unhook your bra. You let it fall down at your feet once he loosens the straps off, watching as his blue eyes drink you in.

You expect to feel vulnerable, with the top half of your body naked like this, but with Wash you feel completely safe and barely exposed at all. It feels… almost natural, and that thought makes you chew your lip in barely restrained excitement. If you weren’t aroused before, you definitely are now.

“It’s okay, Wash.” You whisper gently to him, realising belatedly that he’s waiting for your permission to continue. “You can touch me, if you want.”

There’s a slight delay before Wash responds. Not with words, but by moving his hands from your back straight to your breasts. Your breath hitches as he massages both mounds alternately, first the left side, then the other.  He squeezes both firmly after that, his thumbs gliding over your nipples, and you don’t even try to stop the breathy moan that falls from your lips without your permission.

“F-fu…-” The swear almost escapes your mouth, but that you do manage to stop. It wasn’t that you never swore; you just saw no need to most of the time. “God. Do that again…”

He obliges you, making more of an effort to play with your nipples this time. You never realised how sensitive they were until they met Wash’s seemingly expert hand. You are practically putty in his hands, to be moulded any which way he chose, and right now Wash is making you melt bonelessly against him.

Somewhere in your lust-filled mind, you dimly register Wash whining and groaning close to your ear. It doesn’t hit you why, not at first, until you are abruptly and acutely aware of something hard poking you in the thigh. You feel yourself blush slightly as the dots finally connect. Is he turned on just by the groaning, or is it specifically the fact that those sounds were coming from you?

You aren’t allowed to wonder for long as Wash starts kissing and sucking at your neck, drawing more sounds from you. Your fingers claw into his back, certain to leave marks. He hisses slightly, but doesn’t tell you to stop, lightly sinking his teeth into your skin. You deliberately grind against his erection with the inside of your thigh, and the teeth sink in a little deeper as Wash hisses again. You let out a soft gasp at the sudden sharp pain and you actually feel the other Freelancer wince and pull away.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” He apologises quickly. “I… I didn’t mean to… It’s just, your leg…”

You ruffle his hair gently, spiking it in all directions. “It’s fine, Wash.”

“But… you’re bleeding.” He points out, making to pull away.

You stop him, tugging him back with a sharp pull of your hand on his wrist. Your emerald eyes flick down to gaze at where he had bitten you and yes, he was indeed right. You were bleeding. You would never have noticed, not before he had pointed it out to you.

“It’s nothing.” You shake your head; not entirely true, it stings like shit now you are focusing on it but you don’t want to worry Wash further. “I’ve hurt myself doing far stupider things during training.”

He gives you a wide-eyed look, like he’s trying to work out whether you are being serious or not. “Wait… really?”

“Yeah.”

“But you trained with holo-targets.” Now his eyebrow raises; the result is almost comedic to you, Carolina. “How does that even work?”

“You’d… be surprised.”

A chuckle escapes you. Wash joins in shortly thereafter, and you both laugh for a full minute. It’s a sound you find you rather enjoy, and a moment you will treasure. Just laughing about silly little things like this.

“Trust you to make even the training targets hurt.” Wash snorts loudly, tucking a strand of your fiery red hair behind your ear before he shakes his head at you, a big grin on his face.

You smash your lips into his in order to wipe the smug expression from him, but Wash is more than ready for it. His hands grip your hips, pushing down your jeans and underwear until they pool at your ankles, whereupon you kick them off haphazardly. Your own hands quickly make equally short work of the pair of joggers Wash was wearing.

“Iz…” He thumbs your jawline.

You gaze up at him. “Hm?”

He doesn’t answer again, merely threading his fingers through your hair, gently pulling it from its ponytail, allowing it all to flow messily behind your back. He looks like he wants to say something, but he refrains. You know that look; it usually meant that he had a sentence, but had forgotten what it was, and was about to say something else.

He soon proves you correct. “Your hair is so… smooth.” He ruffles his fingers in it for a little longer, something that you find comforting. “It’s really nice.”

“Mmmhm.” You hum, closing your eyes in content. “I like it when you do that.”

“I’ll be sure to do it more often, then.” His hand shifts from your hair back to one of your breasts again, fondling it slightly. “Are you ready for this?”

“God, yes,” you nod your head vigorously, “though I feel like I should be asking you that.”

“If we take it slow, I think I will be fine.” He reassures you.

You lightly push him down onto the bed. You will take that.

[rubyisms]

One word fic/drabble prompt: flowers with kimboyle

AO3 Mirror

There is a temple on Chorus that rivals the gateway the gateway that revealed the true warrior. The gateway showed the user’s deepest fear as a test of strength, something that quickly became publicly known when the few people who went through it talked about their experiences. The temple, however, did the exact opposite. It allowed the user to see their heart’s deepest desire and it was just as dangerous, if not more. The gateway would eventually force an unworthy user from it, but the temple.. You could leave willingly. It wasn’t uncommon for people to get so absorbed in their fantasy version of reality that they would waste away into nothing.

Vanessa was sure if the temple was activated before her alliance with Doyle and his troops, her deepest desire would’ve been a reality where her side had won the war and she was left to pick up the pieces. She was sure that if she had found it during the time before they lost Armonia but the war with Hargrove raged on, it would’ve been a reality where they had won the war together, despite all the bickering and fighting between them, most of which she was quick to start.

She finds it after the war is won, and she is the president of Chorus. Armonia is long gone and with it, her co-general. The radiation levels had been far too high to attempt to try and thoroughly search the ruins of Armonia for anything that could possibly remain. It didn’t stop Kimball from attempting her own little search for something she could use as a reminder of the man she once thought was a spineless coward.

The damaged, yet familiar helmet, is clasped in her hands as she approaches the temple. Santa warns her that whatever she may see there isn’t reality and only she can bring herself out of it. She knows this. She’s ready for whatever she has to see there. The helmet is set down, along with her own. Like the gateway, there’s a portal and she hesitates for a moment. It wasn’t too late to back out of this. She didn’t have to face the fictional reality of what she’s been denying for so long head-on. She could still turn around and go home.

Kimball takes a breath and she steps into the portal.

There are wildflowers everywhere, of various colors and types. She isn’t in her tan and blue armor, instead wearing a flowy sundress. The pattern on the white fabric are colorful flowers, much like the field she’s standing in. Her feet are bare, and she can feel the fertile soil underneath her toes. It’s calming and she almost laughs a little bit at how peaceful this reality is. A moment in the sun like this, of course it would be her deepest desire. A bit of peace after the brutal bloodshed and wars she’s been fighting.

She almost misses the man standing ahead. His blond hair is slicked back in the familiar clean and short style she had known from her co-general. Like her, he’s not in his armor, instead wearing a white button up shirt, the sleeves rolled up. The flowers are too thick to see what color his pants are, but Kimball isn’t focused on that. Her feet move of their own accord and she’s running, reaching out to touch him. It’s not the real man. It would never be the real Donald Doyle, but she could imagine and hope and dream that the stubble on the jawline she drags her fingers over is the man she knew she had loved the moment that reactor core exploded.

“Vanessa.” Hearing her name in his voice again is enough to bring her to the brink of tears. The gentle hands that wipe them away is enough for her to finally break down and crumble from all the loss she’s gone through from this war. His voice is soothing, the hold on her body calming and it’s still not enough. She doesn’t need this fake version of Doyle. She needs the real Doyle.

And she knows that will never happen.

[facethroughthemirror]

Face Reality

Characters: Donald Doyle, Dr. Grey Relationships: Doyle/Grey

They've been shoved into the same living space, at least for the night. It's probably due to the fact that they're both Federal officers and Kimball doesn't care much for finding them separate quarters, though it's not as though it's at all improper at this point, anyhow. The good doctor has been... off... since they've gotten to the New Republic's base of operations. The general finds out why when he catches sight of her face.

For day two of @rvbrarepairweek, and crossposted on ao3!

"Emily, I can't tell you how happy I am that you're alright... L-Locus told me there were no survivors at your outpost!"

They've been shoved into the same living space, at least for the night. It's probably due to the fact that they're both Federal officers and Kimball doesn't care much for finding them separate quarters, though it's not as though it's at all improper at this point, anyhow. He's turned politely away from her, looking away as she removes at least her plate armor. He finds it slightly more respectful, though he's not sure she really cares, and again, it's hardly inappropriate.

"Well, I imagine there were no surviving soldiers when he left! And I don't know that he saw me at all. I'm just glad you weren't there!"

Emily sounds as chipper as usual, but she's not fooling him for a moment. She's been... off... since they've gotten to the New Republic's base of operations.

"... Are you alright?"

"Perfectly fine, General Doyle!"

Ah, right. Formal terms of address, at least on her end: there could be sensitive ears nearby. Neither of them trust the rebels not to spy on them, it seems. And at this stage, he, at least, would prefer to keep their level of familiarity as concealed as possible, particularly from the rebels. After her death being reported to him in no uncertain terms, along with those of the Reds and Blues, he's just happy to see her alive, and hearing her voice. What she says at the moment is far less important to him right now than the fact that she's here and alive to say it.

He hears her set down more of her armor, stacking it all together beside the small cot they'll be sharing for the night, and when the sounds stop, he finally turns back around. She's hasn't taken off her undersuit, neither of them will, and she appears to be digging in her kit for something. He wanders around her, to start placing his own armor out of the way for the night, but stops when he catches sight of her face.

The poor thing has always been pale, probably from lack of sunlight and her exquisitely poor sleep schedule. She would still have her lovely pale olive complexion, he's sure, if she'd ever gotten a reasonable amount of sunlight. Her paleness isn't what concerns him, and even though her dark circles are somehow worse than the last time he'd seen her, those don't bother him either.

What does frighten him are the freshly-stitched-up wounds on her face that stretch up and out from the corners of her mouth, across the soft part of her cheeks.

The stitching is undoubtedly her own work: she's given him stitches before and these look virtually identical. And heaven knows he's no physician, from the irritation around the edges of the stitches and of the wounds, he thinks they could be very recent. Good heavens, did she really sew up her own face?! She must have done that looking into a mirror, or something reflective, there's no way she did it blind... lord, he doesn't suspect that she'd had much access to anesthetic on the run, he certainly hopes that she managed to find some... goodness he feels a little sick just thinking about it. But of course he can't let her know that: the poor thing's probably in enough pain, even though she's somehow still smiling. So broadly that it must be agony for her. She doesn't need to distract herself with the worry that he might faint.

"... Oh Emily..."

"... Please go away, General Doyle." She turns her face away from him, and he sees her tipping antiseptic of some sort onto a scrap of gauze. Probably to clean up the area a little better, if she hadn't been able to do it on the run with the Reds and Blues. The formal term of address actually stings this time. "You don't need to see this! I'll only be a moment with this."

"A-Absolutely not! I'm not going anywhere!" He isn't entirely sure where she expects him to go in the first place, but he isn't going to argue with her on that. "Good lord, are you alright?! What happened to you?!"

"It isn't that bad!" She starts to dab at her face with the gauze, gently cleaning the stitches and the wounds they're closing. "I've certainly treated worse."

"You've treated worse than this on other people, not yourself!" He rests his hand on her arm to stop her movement. He sits down beside her on the cot, pulls his forearm pieces and gloves off, carefully takes the gauze from her, and picks up where she left off. "... here, dear, let me help with that."

Her hands fall limply into her lap, and she doesn't move again. Doesn't wince, and he doesn't even notice whether she blinks or not. He bites his lip, and his heart stings when he notices tears welling up in her eyes. When one starts to escape, he catches it with the back of his finger before it can reach her injury. He finally sets the gauze aside, pulls her into a tight hug and keeps her held close for a long, long moment. She's still smiling, but he can see the blankness in her eyes. She must be teetering on the very edges of her "happy place." She doesn't function very well out of it, though she's rarely out of it anymore. He doesn't understand exactly how Emily's "happy place" works, but she's, unfortunately, stuck there. At some point, it stopped being her reacting inappropriately to situations by smiling and laughing, and it became rare not to hear her sounding terrifyingly happy about amputating limbs and dissecting corpses. He didn't know how to help her, at first, and now, he doesn't know how she'll function after the war, but that's honestly the least of their concerns at the moment. He doesn't even know if there will be an "after the war."

She doesn't really react to the hug, at first, just moves her arms ever so slightly to rest loosely around him in return. Her question is curious. " ... what did Locus tell you?"

"That..." He swallows. The imagery makes him sick even to think about, but she asked, and he owes her the explanation. "... that there was a rebel attack on the compound. That they overwhelmed the men stationed at the gates and stormed in, just... oh, lord, indiscriminately opened fire, said they were searching for the Reds and Blues, and that the Reds and Blues... were caught up in the fray. He'd lost sight of them until it was too late."

"... what did he say happened to me?"

"... he ... told me that he saw you face-down in the snow with your helmet off. Didn't... d-didn't see you breathing. He said he tried to... tried to check on you, but when he turned y... y-your body over... he said that you'd... y-you'd likely lost too much blood, there... th-there was nothing anyone could have done. H-He had your... y-your necklace, Emily, I thought... I-I thought I'd lost you. Good lord, I don't know what I'd've done..."

"… please don't worry about that," Emily murmurs back, before she squirms in place to break his hold. "You're going to make yourself sick."

Right, Emily sometimes doesn't like to be held onto unless it's her idea, he knows that. It makes her feel trapped. And at any and all other times, he would absolutely respect that. Without question, of course. But he'd been so worried that she hadn't made it out of her outpost. He'd been so distraught. It was just such a relief to be able to hold onto her again. He simply offers her a hand to take. "Well, it's quite good I've got an excellent physician then, isn't it?"

She ignores the offered hand. "... I'd prefer not to have to treat an unnecessary sickness in the first place, but I suppose."

"Right. I'll try not to add to your work load, then." He withdraws his hand. "... Emily, if you ever want to talk about what--"

"I don't."

"... right." He fidgets, and the question escapes him before he can stop himself. "... may I... ask... how much of what Locus said was true?"

"... he was probably correct in that there were no survivors left. To my knowledge, there are no bodies left at Outpost Thirty-Seven to find. But there were never any rebels. We never thought they were rebels. We didn't know who they were." She shivers, and he reaches out for her again, but his hand goes ignored once more. "I'm... very glad you weren't there."

He chews the inside of his lip, understanding now the full gravity of her statement. She had made it out of the outpost because she'd been lucky. If there had been something to delay her even a few seconds, it was entirely possible that she would have missed the Reds and Blues and been left to Locus' mercy. If he had been there, there was no guarantee that either of them would have survived, particularly if they weren't looking for each other. But then... would Locus have even made such a bold move if he'd been there? Had he contributed, however indirectly or unknowingly, to the massacre at the command post, and therefore to Emily's disfigurement, by choosing that time to go to Armonia?

Perhaps, if he hadn't chosen then to abandon the outpost for some business in the capital that probably could have waited, he wouldn't have been confronted by the mercenary depositing Emily's ring and one of her identification tags into his palm rather like a cat presenting its owner with a dead bird, now that he's thinking about it. He wouldn't have heard Locus express what he originally thought were simply awkward condolences from a subordinate to a superior, or describe in flat, unemotional detail the condition in which he had allegedly found Emily's body. Wouldn't have sat in his office in Armonia reading over her tag, wondering what had become of her body, memorizing information that he already knew about her. Her blood type (AB-,) her service number (1209-714,) her surname and initials ("Grey, E. L.,") the "NRE" that denotes her status as non-religious, and the string of letters that identifies her as Federal Army personnel and labels her as a qualified doctor, rather than simply a medic. Turning her ring over in his hands, hooking it to the ball chain of the tag to keep everything together, so he wouldn't lose it.

He would never have come face to face with Vanessa Kimball with a rifle pointed at him while wearing Emily's identification tag and wedding ring on his own chain, fearing for his life and expecting to die with them over his heart. Knowing that this was the woman whose soldiers had been responsible for Emily's death. And somewhere under all the fear, thinking that at least if she put a bullet through him, he'd at least be with Emily again. He hadn't considered at the time whether atheists still got to see their loved ones after they died, but he'd admittedly been quite preoccupied.

His thoughts are paused by the feeling of Emily's hands on his, and he looks at her. Despite the ghoulish, haunting smile now permanently carved into her face, she's frowning.

"I know what you're doing," she states evenly, squeezing his hands. "You're trying to make this your fault somehow."

Of course she knows. "W-Well if I hadn't--"

"No."

"... n-no?"

"No." Emily lets go of his hands. She reaches up, unpinning her hair from its messy twist and letting it fall, pulling it around to unbraid it. She probably needs something to do with her hands right now, it calms her down. It would seem that he's correct in this assumption, as her smile comes back ever so slightly, and her tone brightens, as she fusses with her hair. She's trying to get back to her "happy place." It's... better than her being distraught, he supposes. "Your anxiety is getting the better of you again, and we simply can't have that right now."

Of course. He's just being silly and selfish, he knows that. "You're entirely right. We can't."

"And don't start: it's not selfish."

How does she do that? "That's neither here nor there--"

"It's precisely here! I know you, dear."

Ah, her "loophole" pet name. She calls everyone "dear," so it's not suspicious. It makes him feel a little better, at least. "... Be that as it may, Emily--"

"Are you going to argue with me for the rest of the night? Because if you are, I'll go see about sharing a space with Agent Carolina!" she chirps, running her hands through her hair in order to gather it into a ponytail so that it remains out of the way. "You know what I meant, and you're letting a flawed belief cause you undue stress when you're much more useful to Chorus not having a heart attack!"

There she is. Every single part of what she's just said sounds like a threat, even though she's absolutely beaming. To the point that it must undoubtedly hurt. She's definitely back to normal, for the moment. She's at least partially back in her "happy place." And as usual, that's both good, and worrisome. "... Of course, dear."

"... please don't look at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like I'm going to bite your head off! I had quite enough of that with the Reds and Blues, I'm very tired of it."

"I know you aren't going to do that, darling." He reaches up and takes hold of her hands after she secures her ponytail. "... you must be exhausted. Why don't we get some rest?"

"Oh, I'm not tired."

Of course she's not. "Well, I am. And it's just been so difficult these past few days trying to sleep by myself. I don't suppose you'd indulge me just a little bit and at least lie down with me?"

"... I suppose I can do that."

"Thank you." He presses a kiss to her forehead and stands to pull off his own plate armor, stacking it beside hers. When he feels his identification tags hit his chest, he recalls the extra weight of her tag and her wedding ring, and he reaches up into unclip them. He turns the little gold ring over in his fingers for a moment, the diamonds in the heart and crown catching the dim light.

It had belonged to his mother, but when he'd gotten the nerve to make things official, Chorus had already been at war for several years and jewelers were not exactly easy to come by anymore, certainly not to the capacity to find her her own ring. One of the weapons technicians at the time, he had been a good friend of the brigadier's, had been a jeweler before, his husband had been a watchmaker. He had been more than happy to resize a ring for old times’ sake – and two bottles of whiskey. The second bottle, though, was for engraving a message inside the band. "Tá mo chroí istigh ionat," it reads. "My heart is within you."

That part of it is entirely Emily's.

The chain had been tied around the band of the ring, to keep it attached. Locus had clearly realized that the ring, not the chain, would be sufficient proof of Emily's supposed "death." Well, if the single identification tag he'd also "recovered" wasn't enough, anyhow. But he offers the tag and ring almost sheepishly out to her. "... you're going to need a new chain, I'm afraid."

"... oh!"

She takes them from him, and her smile softens, like she's happy to see them. She clips the tag back onto her own ball chain, pulls the broken chain off of the ring and tucks it into a pocket of her undersuit, inspecting her ring as if to check for damage. He suddenly clears his throat, and offers his hand back for it. "... er... may I?"

She raises an eyebrow, but hands the ring back. When he takes her hand and puts her ring back on her finger for her, she giggles and her smile softens further and there's life back in her eyes. It brings a smile back to his own face before he presses a kiss to her forehead. While the knowledge that she's keeping details of her injuries to herself, when they undoubtedly must be weighing on her mind, isn't comforting, he knows she'll talk to him when she's ready.

Things aren't wonderful right now, but for the moment, he can stop worrying and at least pretend that they are, just for tonight. He's just happy to have her back, happy that she's alive. They can worry about the mercenaries and the rebels and the war in the morning. For tonight, it will just be them, and no one else. Right now, he supposes that they're both in their "happy place."

[secretlystephaniebrown]

Back to Prison: 4/5

Summary: The Tartarus makes good things hard to hang onto. So when a couple of mercenaries offer Wash his freedom, he can’t help but think it’s worth whatever price they might ask. Even if it brings him into direct conflict with the Reds and Blues once again.

Mercenary Wash AU.

I LIVE! Sorry for the long-ass delay between chapters, I got swept up in NaNoWriMo, which ended up being my longest fic project to date. Whoops. Anyways, we're back, with another Tucker chapter, LET'S GET GOING!

Thanks as always to @jomeimei421, who inspired the fic, and @sroloc--elbisivni for betaing.

Warnings for: Discussions of injury and torture, injury, and alcohol use.

Also on Ao3

Tucker makes it out of the base with some new scars and a broken wrist to show for it. But he has his sword and his armor, and after he collapses into Caboose’s arms and after Doc tapes his wrist and then Grey re-tapes it because Doc did it wrong and after he’s told Carolina and Kimball and Doyle about the cave-in and Felix using Donut’s voice and the torture, he goes and lies down in his bunk.

Because he also has a secret.

He knows who let him escape.

And he has no idea what to do with that information.

Carolina comes to check on him pretty soon after his initial debrief with the generals, a bottle of wine tucked under her arm.

“Are you okay?” She asks. There’s something in her face that he can’t place. Guilt, maybe? She looks tired, as tired as Tucker feels. The dark circles under her eyes have blossomed and darkened, but they’re still not as large or as dark as the one’s under Washington’s—Tucker cuts off that train of thought. Her hair is damp, as if she’s come straight for the shower, and she’s not wearing any of her armor at all, instead looking oddly shrunken in just a black tank top and a pair of Grifball sweats. She’s still taller than him, but that’s beside the point.

He stares at her, trying to figure out what this is, why she’s here.

She shifts, clearly uncomfortable as he is. “Look, I—”

“Epsilon hacked Dr. Grey’s records of my injuries, didn’t he?” Tucker asks, finally putting it all together. He’d asked Grey not to tell the others, mostly because he didn’t want Caboose to be upset, but he should have realized that Church was a sneaky bastard, and Carolina apparently comes by it honestly.

“Yes.”

“Where’d you get that wine?”

“Donut.”

“Come on in, I guess.”

The two of them pile into Tucker’s bunk, and Carolina produces two plastic cups.

Back with the New Republic, Tucker had bunked with Caboose, not wanting to let the other blue out of his sight. Carolina had been gone, and from the ominous comments that Felix was making, she was being hunted by the fucking Feds, and he hadn’t wanted to even risk it.

Now, of course, there’s more room. Caboose bunks with Smith now, and Tucker bunks alone, because his other option is Palomo, and that’s not happening. It’s lonely, sometimes, but at least Tucker doesn’t have to listen to Caboose sleep talk.

(Not that he ever misses that. Not at all.)

“You ever been tortured before?” Carolina asks, tentative as removes the screw top of the bottle.

“Yeah, we’re totally not doing this,” Tucker says, grabbing the cup she holds out to him, staring at the contents.  

“Tucker—” There’s a warning in her voice, but it’s one that’s gentle. The kind she does when she’s trying to stop him from hurting himself during training, rather than her shouts of rage when he hits on her or when he steals her hair dye to prank Simmons.

“Washington let me go,” Tucker says before downing his entire glass in one go.

Carolina stands frozen, staring right at him, mouth agape, Church hovering over her shoulder. If he wasn’t wearing armor, Tucker would put money down that Church is making the exact same expression.

“What?” The two of them scream together.

It’s times like this that really prove that they’re siblings.

“I mean,” Tucker grabs the bottle and pours himself more. “I told him I should’ve killed him and then he came back and like, I thought he was gonna kill me, so I pretended to be asleep cuz he seems like the kind of guy who wants to watch the life go out of you if he’s killing you to make a point, y’know?” He takes another, desperate gulp, remembering the soft sound of Washington’s armored feet padding across the floor of the operating theater. “And then instead, he uncuffs me and slams the door as if he’s trying to wake me up. I thought it was like, a trap or something, but he didn’t ambush me when I was running.”

And then Tucker had grabbed his sword and ran and ran and ran, until he’d managed to get out of the base, stealing a mongoose and driving, until he’d managed to practically crash into a search party, lead by Jensen.

It was supposed to be a search party, not a rescue party, because they’d all thought he was already dead.

Carolina and Caboose hadn’t believed it, according to Kimball. The Reds hadn’t either.

It’s nice to be believed in, Tucker supposes. Even though he knows they’d eventually have tried to mount a rescue mission, which would have brought his friends right into the enemy’s reach.

“He let you go,” Carolina says softly. The expression on her face is half wonder, half hope.  

“Yeah.”

The moment fades, and her gaze refocuses on him, intense and intelligent. “You didn’t mention this to Kimball and Doyle.”

“Because I don’t know what it means!” Tucker yells, throwing his hands into the air. His injuries protest the movement, but he refuses to let it show, caught up as he is in his own confusion. “I don’t get why he did it! I literally told the guy I should have murdered him and instead he lets me go?”

He had been an inch from death; handcuffed and injured and unable to defend himself, and instead of taking the easiest shot in the world, Washington had let him go.

What is Tucker supposed to think about this? What is he supposed to do?

Carolina runs her fingers through her ponytail absently, staring off into space. A wrinkle appears between her eyebrows, as she tilts her head to one side. “You’ve talked to him a few times, right?” She sounds far away as she says it.

Tucker shifts, not sure what she means by that. Yeah, he’s talked to the guy, but usually to tell him how much he fucking sucks and how much Tucker wants him to die. It’s not like it’s the kind of speech that changes anything. Certainly not something that should make a guy decide that he’s going to let an enemy go. “Yeah.”

Her mouth parts for a moment, thoughtful, then quirks up into a smile. “Huh.” Tucker has no idea what she’s thinking, and he’s not sure he wants to know.

Tucker slumps down against the wall. He stares at the bottle for a moment, then decides that he was just tortured, so he’s earned it, and takes a swig directly from the bottle. It’s not the best wine that Donut’s ever managed to procure, but it’s also a hell of a lot better than the bathtub gin that Volleyball brews in an abandoned warehouse that serves as most of the United Armies of Chorus’s liquor supply. He swallows, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and then looks back at Carolina, who’s watching him with those bright green eyes of hers. “I mean, he also was the reason I got captured by Felix so it’s not like I owe him or anything.”

He stares down at his arms, where the bandages cover the thin, but deep cuts left behind by Felix. Grey had told him in her scarily chipper way, that they had been done just so, to stop Tucker from bleeding out entirely, but still to cause blood loss and pain.

Carolina is serious again. “You’re right. You don’t.” She nudges him, more gently than she usually does. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she adds.

It’s hard to believe that this is the same woman who had once held a gun to the back of his head and tried to order him to follow her into battle. The woman who Caboose had been forced to disarm to stop her from doing something that all of them might regret.

But Caboose had disarmed her, and then they had gone after her, because, despite everything, she was one of them, whether she knew it or not. She and Church were theirs. And Tucker and Caboose had reached down and pulled Carolina onto her feet, and then, maybe Carolina figured that out herself.

Somewhere, somehow, along the way, the two of them had become friends.

Neither of them have a lot of those.

Tucker tries to laugh, but it gets caught in his throat and comes out as more of a sob, than anything else. “Yeah,” he finally says, the words choked. “Me too.”

Carolina sits next to him, and, hesitating, puts an arm around his shoulders. She’s warm and her arms are corded with muscle and she smells of detergent and wine and the fancy shampoo Donut buys her to help her preserve the dye in her hair, and it’s great.

Too tired to even make a joke, let alone flirt, Tucker sets the bottle down between his knees, leans against her, closes his eyes, and falls asleep.

“I’m sorry Epsilon. The Meta captured her in the memory unit.”

The first time Tucker ever sees Washington, it’s in in the snow.

He seems almost… normal, in that moment. The fighting between him and Tex and the Meta was done, Tex was already gone (Tucker would never get to say goodbye).

“She’ll be trapped in there.”

He and Epsilon were… something. Some sort of truce. Didn’t Epsilon hate that guy? Tucker thought someone had mentioned something about Epsilon shooting a laser at him, just like he’d done at fucking CT.  

“If I let her out… you have to come with me.”

A truce that involved Wash trying to fucking blackmail Church into coming with him to get Tex out of the fucking thing that he’d built, apparently. Tucker decided, right there on the spot, that he hated that guy.  

“Caboose, Tucker. Get in the base. See if you can find some tools.”

How had he even known his name? Then, there had been no time to dwell on it, because at the end of the day, even after she’d fucking kicked their asses and even after she’d ditched them and even after everything…

Tex was still his friend.

Fighting the Meta is brutal and terrifying… bullets flying and all sorts of bullshit. Tucker stabs him in the chest. Sarge charges him with a shotgun.

And by the time the dust settles…

Church is gone.

And Tucker’s standing over the unconscious form of the guy responsible for it, sprawled out and bleeding on the snow.

Tucker stares down at him, nothing but disgust rolling in his stomach.

This guy shot Donut, and now Tex and Church are gone. Both Churches, even.

Because of what? Tucker doesn’t even know. Something about prison.

He nearly grabs Doc by the wrist, nearly tells Doc to fucking let the guy die, but he doesn’t, because he just realized Church fucking didn’t even say goodbye… again, and Caboose is calling Church’s name, softer and softer each time, and it’s nearly too much for Tucker to bear.

Caboose finally wanders over, sniffing. He brightens up though, when he sees Wash.

“Wash! You’re alive!”

And something about Caboose sounding so fucking happy to see this guy, when he can’t even stand Tucker half the time, even though it’s this guy’s fucking fault that Caboose’s best friend is dead…

Caboose kneels over the guy, sprawled out like a broken fucking rag doll as he is on the ice. “Tucker! He’s alive! Can we keep him?”

Tucker fucking can’t believe Caboose, sometimes.

“Leave him! Caboose, get away from that guy! He killed Church, remember?”

It stops Caboose in his tracks.

Blood spreads through the snow all around Washington, smearing it pink in places. Pink, like Donut, who’s dead because of him. The rest of it is just… red.

“No, Church is… he’s just not here right now,” Caboose says, slowly, looking over his shoulder at that fucking memory unit. “And Washington can be our new friend while we wait for him!”

“Fine, he killed Alpha! And Donut!” Tucker yells, and he can feel dampness stinging at his eyes and his throat closing up, because his best friend is gone, and never coming back, and Tucker never got to say goodbye, and it’s all too much. “And Epsilon and Tex are gone now, and it’s his fault, Caboose! He’s fucking dangerous and he doesn’t care about us and… just…” His shoulders slump. “Caboose…” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Let’s just go home.”

Caboose stares at Washington for a while.

The noise of a pelican fills the air, and Tucker looks up. All that noise, and explosions, have apparently given them an audience, and Tucker has even less desire to help Washington now. He has no idea how they’re going to get out of this, and he doesn’t have time to deal with anything else right now, let alone a fucking murderer.

(Donut hadn’t even done anything to this guy. Donut had been with him, in the desert, away from all of this fucking Freelancer bullshit.)

“Okay Tucker,” Caboose says, and Tucker sighs with relief because, for once, Caboose is actually listening to him.

And so they walk away, and they leave Washington behind in the snow.

Caboose comes to visit after Carolina leaves the next morning. If Tucker had more energy, he might have made a walk-of-fame joke (walks-of-shame aren’t Carolina’s style, and Tucker’s not about to shame anybody for having even hypothetical sex, especially not hypothetical sex with him), but because he was drinking, he hadn’t taken the painkillers that Dr. Grey had given him, so he hurts way too much to come up with a good punchline, let alone handle the retribution that she’d deal out for it.

They might be friends, but Carolina has a very low tolerance for pick-up lines. At least it’s all in good fun these days, rather than the time when she’d tried to shoot him. Although that might have been for eavesdropping and startling her as much as for the line.

So instead of seeing if he could finally phase Carolina, or even get up in search of breakfast, Tucker just lies down on his bed, staring at the stitches on his arm, and tries really hard not to feel sick.

Because Felix would have killed him, there’s no doubt in Tucker’s mind about that. He’d whispered it in Tucker’s ear as he’d pressed the flat of the knife against his face, already covered in blood. Promises of how long it’d take, of what it’d feel like, of how he was going to send his body back to Caboose and Kimball and even Junior in pieces.

“I think I’ll shoot you in the spine. Can’t even run as I start to cut you up. Wouldn’t that be fun? Of course, if I don’t do it right, you could die, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

His friends hadn’t known where he was. He’d been given up for dead by all official channels, even if Caboose and Carolina and Sarge and Grif and Simmons and Donut and Doc and—well, okay, Lopez might have given him up as dead, but honestly Tucker wouldn’t know one way or another, cuz he’d slept through high school Spanish—hadn’t believed it. There was no way they would have gotten there in time, and he would have died there, in that operating theater…

But Washington had decided to save him, for a reason that Tucker can’t even begin to understand.

“Tucker?” Caboose says, very quietly.

“Hey Caboose,” Tucker says, trying to keep his voice cheerful. Caboose knows that Tucker’s hurt, obviously, but that doesn’t mean Tucker has to remind him of it.

Caboose looks at him, very solemn and weirdly quiet.

“Tucker, you have been very stupid,” Caboose announces.

“Hey!” Tucker says. “It’s not my fault I was tortured!”

“Noooo,” Caboose says, drawing out the word, like Tucker’s missing something very obvious. “But you have been telling Principal Kimball not to let me go on missions with you!”

Maybe it’s because of Caboose’s insistence on referring to Kimball as “principal,” but the only word that springs into Tucker’s mind in this moment is tattle-tale.

“Caboose,” Tucker starts to protest, but it’s too late, Caboose takes off his helmet, and fuck, there are tears in his giant brown eyes and Tucker hates that, hates when Caboose cries, it’s not fair, they’re supposed to hate each other, that’s how it goes.

“Caboose! I just thought Washington might be there, and—” Tucker sighs. “You liked him.”

“Well, yes,” Caboose says, sitting down next to him. “But now he’s not being very nice, and he is hurting people and he’s friends with Felix and Locus and you know I think they’re very bad influences because I really thought we were going to be friends, but you know what sometimes people aren’t your friends and… and sometimes that’s okay.” He pats Tucker’s shoulder. “Tucker, sometimes you are very stupid.”

Tucker, still trying to follow Caboose’s sentence before that, blinks. “What did I do now?”

Caboose makes a scoffing sound. “Tucker. Tucker. Tucker. I’m supposed to make sure you don’t do stupid things. That is why we are a team! Blue team! Us and Church and Carolina and Tex but she’s gone now, and Grif’s sister, even though it is very rude of her not to be here right now. We are supposed to stick together. Because otherwise someone who is not me will get lost and I know Mom said we’re supposed to stay in one place when we get lost, but I think you did the right thing this time coming to find us.”

Tucker laughs, wincing as the motion of it pulls at the stitches in his side. “Okay, Caboose, I get it. No more leaving you behind.”

“Oh! Good. Because that was not fun.” Caboose pauses. “Felix is not very nice.”

“No. He’s not.”

Caboose stares at his hands. “Tucker… is it really my fault?”

“What?”

“Washington only shot Private Pastry because he went to prison and he says he only went to prison because I kept Church. And you only didn’t keep him because of that and then he went to jail again and then Felix and Locus let him out and now he’s hurting people again and—”

“Caboose!” Tucker is alarmed, because Caboose doesn’t even acknowledge things that are his fault, like Church’s death back in Blood Gulch or blowing things up, or… fucking anything. “Caboose, no. Washington did those things because he chose to, and it’s not our fucking fault.” Tucker banishes the sight of blood on the snow from behind his eyelids.

“It’s not.”

He’s not sure if he’s talking more to himself or to Caboose, but in the end, it doesn’t matter.

Tucker and Caboose had made their choices and made them a long time ago.

Washington had made his own.

And all of the choices have led them here, to Tucker covered in injuries, Caboose’s arms wrapped around his stomach, with the specter of Washington hanging over their heads.

In his nightmares, Washington doesn’t let him go.

The handcuffs come off, sure enough, but when Tucker stirs, when he moves too soon, Washington grabs him by the hair, bringing a knife to Tucker’s throat and cutting.

Or he does let him go, but he gives chase, through the strange and winding corridors of the base—far darker, and more twisting than the corridors had been in real life—and, just as Tucker throws open the impossibly heavy door to the base, as soon as he can see freedom and green grass and Caboose and Carolina in the distance, calling his name…

The bullet, in his dreams, goes through his spine, cutting his feet out from under him. In the nightmare, Tucker falls to the ground like a puppet released from its strings, pain shooting through his top half, while nothing but numbness fills his bottom half.

Washington shoots Tucker in the back, and he doesn’t even laugh, not like Felix would.

He just stares at Tucker, pale grey eyes surrounded by bruise like dark circles, scars stretched across his face. He doesn’t say a thing, sitting down on his haunches, tilting his head to one side as Tucker bleeds out.

Beneath Tucker, his blood stains the snow.

Tucker wakes up with his chest too tight to breathe, and he paces around the base, at least in part to prove to himself that he still can, until Palomo sees him and starts asking him questions. As Tucker hurries back towards his room and his bed to escape, he wonders if Palomo was doing that on purpose.

It’s only a week later, when Grey has finally taken out the last of his stitches and given him the all-clear, that Tucker goes out on another mission—this one with Sarge to take back a pirate base.

It goes smoothly, and there’s no sign of Washington or Felix or Locus, and it’s almost enough to help Tucker shake off the strange, foreboding feeling that’s started to settle into him every time he leaves Armonia.

Washington kept him alive for a reason, and Tucker is increasingly terrified of what that reason is.

It’s weird, that Tucker’s so scared of him, when he’s not the creepy, silent enigma of Locus, or the manic, vindictive cruelty of Felix. Wash somehow seems to straddle the line between the two mercenaries. More personal than Locus, more contained than Felix, and all the while with his eyes focused on Tucker, not because he’s interesting or pretty or irritating or whatever other form of bullshit that Felix is spouting off this week, but because of something that Tucker did.

Tucker pulled Caboose away from him, explicitly refused the Freelancer shelter and freedom when the guy felt that he was owed it, and for that, Washington wants him dead.

Except he doesn’t.

Except, he’d let Tucker go.

Tucker can’t stop rolling that fact around his head, hoping, somehow, that if he does it enough, the edges will wear away, and reveal some sort of fucking answer. It had worked with trying to figure out what was up with Church, had worked with the puzzle that was Red versus Blue…

But Washington… Tucker can’t seem to puzzle out Washington, no matter how hard he tries.

Tucker goes with Grey to the alien tower to investigate things, and decides to dick around with his sword for a bit to try to take his mind of Washington.

And then, because Tucker’s life is a fucking gigantic joke with him as the punchline, he accidentally summons the voice of alien Jesus (well okay, another alien Jesus, because to him, alien Jesus will always be Junior, and no, he wasn’t a fucking virgin, shut up Grif, that’s not the point), and they go off on another adventure to find some sort of fucking “true warrior” portal.

Tucker jumps in, because, fuck it. He’s got the sword, he’s a fucking war hero, why the hell not?

Caboose finally wanders over, sniffing. He brightens up though, when he sees Wash.

“Wash! You’re alive!”

… fuck, it’s kind of nice to see Caboose happy, for once.

Caboose kneels over the guy, sprawled out like a broken fucking rag doll as he is on the ice. “Tucker! He’s alive! Can we keep him?”

“Caboose…” Tucker groans.

“Can we keep him? Can we keep him?” Caboose is practically fucking bouncing as he kneels over Washington, getting in the way of Doc checking his pulse. And the guy had helped them fight the Meta…

“… fuck it. Anyone have any spray paint?”

No one’s ever accused Tucker of being smart, okay? And whatever, the guy’s half-dead. He might just keel over on his own, and at least Caboose will be happy.

They’re only just finished swapping the armors and getting Wash upright and instructing him on what to say, when the pelican arrives.

“I gotta hand it to you. Killing one of these agents would be tough. But three? And this guy...” The guy stops and examines Epsilon’s robot body, wearing Washington’s armor. For a second, Tucker thinks the ruse is about to fall apart, but the guy just shrugs. “The Chairman will not be happy he's dead. I think he wanted to debrief him personally. Oh well.”

“Yeah...” Tucker says, doing his best to play it cool.

“Yeah, that's too bad,” Caboose adds, with that weirdly earnest way of his that makes Tucker wonder if he has, in fact, already forgotten that Wash isn’t actually dead.

“Well, be sure to let him know we're sorry.”

… okay, nobody had told Tucker that the Freelancer was a fucking little shit.

“Whatever. You're free to go. If we need you, we know where to find you.”

Dick.

“Why are you guys helping me?” Washington demands, just like he had earlier, when they’d been getting him onto his feet.

“You helped us, Wash. It only makes sense.” Okay Caboose. Sure.

“Yeah, plus we needed to even the teams. And I couldn't put up with Caboose constantly asking “Can we keep him? Can we keep him?”” Tucker says, more lightly than he feels. Oh, this is totally a terrible idea.

“… For whatever it's worth... Thanks.”

Tucker falls out of the portal after that, a strange feeling in his stomach.  

When Carolina asks him what he saw, he doesn’t tell her.

Caboose manages to figure things out, because of course he does, and he introduces them to a fucking alien A.I. named Santa, and they learn about a second key/sword and…

That’s when the pirates attack.

“Another key, huh?” The head pirate asks. She’s a woman, but Tucker doesn’t think he’s ever seen her before. “Ooh, Felix will like this. He’s not happy he let you get away, pretty.” She waves at Tucker, and he honestly doesn’t know how to deal with being flirted by a pirate who’s actively trying to kill him. “Well, okay, I’ll go let the boys know about this.”

She turns to one of the other pirates. “Shoot them as soon as that shield goes down! Felix wants the pretty one alive, but honestly… don’t bother. Locus will back me up on this.”

“Yes, Chrissie, ma’am.”

Chrissie, which is the worst fucking name ever for an evil pirate, and Tucker will go to his grave, possibly literally, because they might be about to die, thinking this.

“You really think four people are enough to stop us?” Carolina demands, her arms outstretched, holding up the shield.

“Eh, maybe not, but that little firebug of yours only can run that thing for so long,” Chrissie says with a shrug. “Have fun, kiddos!” She waves jauntily at them—or maybe the other pirates?—and then walks off. As she walks away, Tucker can hear her start to talk into her radio.

“Hey Wash, got some good news for you! Get Felix and Locus on the line, will you?”

There’s about another thirty seconds when Tucker thinks they’re about to die, but Grey and Freckles pull through…

And now, all they have to do, is fucking race Washington, Felix, and Locus, to a fucking mountain, and get the second key before they do.

Ah, fuckberries.

[phantomwarrior12]

Surprise!

Prompt: Sam and Isaac work together to protect the people of Chorus

Words: 1,200

Warnings: Canon style swearing, petty bickering

Summary: There’s a world to protect but sometimes two mercs and an army aren’t quite enough.

A/N: Hey folks!

What we have here is a new series where y’all are dropped smack dab in the middle of the plot. It’s gonna be a little confusing to start, but as we go, I’ll be explaining the universe and filling in the details.

As always, please leave a like/comment and let me know what you thought! :)

Enjoy!

~ Phantom

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

"Does this guy ever quit?"

"Evidently not."

Isaac's shoulders sag as he tosses the empty DMR off to the side, opting for the assault rifle on his back, "All right, you want the MANTIS or the pirates this time?"

Sam starts towards a higher vantage point, "You're on the MANTIS."

"Right, because you can't snipe it to death." Isaac grumbles, checking the rifle's clip.

"Get moving."

There's a roll of the eyes before he turns to the soldiers behind him, "I'll handle this, you guys get back to the capital and tell Kimball and Doyle what's going on. Hargrove has all long-range communications jammed...again."

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"And might I add, sir? You're doing a fantastic job of protecting our planet!"

"Go, Matthews!" Isaac snaps, turning back to the approaching robot.

"Just a little closer..."

The shot echoes in his ears and he tears across the barren ground. The MANTIS has begun to turn towards Sam's position, but a volley off rounds redirect its attention back to Isaac.

He dives to avoid a rocket, tucking and rolling to find his footing before launching a plasma grenade towards the cockpit.

It's automated. He knows that, but maybe enough damage will short circuit the controls so he won't have to board the damned thing.

Another volley of rockets, followed closely by the automated rail gun and he has to deploy his shield, driving a path straight towards the monstrosity of metal and murder.

The blood pounds in his ears as he deflects another rocket, the missile spiraling off and colliding with stone. He's a few feet away and he can see the glint of Sam's scope lining up his final target.

When the shot fires, that's when he lunges, assault rifle already on his back, energy sword deploying in his other hand. He swipes at the chest plating, knocking the MANTIS backwards a few steps.

He hooks the sword on his hip as he dives between its legs, turning to begin his rapid ascent up the back, pausing just above the control panels.

Energy crackles the moment he jabs the weapon through armor plating and overloads the core, temporarily paralyzing his target.

"Tell Hargrove I said hello," he pulls the pin and shoves the grenade into the panel. Then, he jumps, tumbling and sprawling as the mech explodes behind him.

When the ringing fades, he dares to lift his head just enough to see the billowing flames consume the metal frame.

"Nice work."

"Eh, I have a flare for the dramatics." Isaac offers a pitiful thumbs up towards his partner before dropping his head back into the dirt, "now, come help me up. I think I landed on something."

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

"Goddammit!"

"Felix, if you'd just hold still, this wouldn't hurt so much."

"Maybe if you were a better doctor this wouldn't hurt at all!" Isaac bites back, knuckles white from the vice grip he had on the medical berth.

"Felix," Sam chides from his perch by the door.

"This fucking hurts!"

"You have metal shrapnel in your side, sweetie. It's going to hurt." Dr. Grey interjects, gauging the extent of the injury, "you should be more careful in the field."

"I jumped off of a fucking robot, doc."

"Precisely my point. You ended up with robot shrapnel in your side and while I enjoy a good challenge, picking metal out of a mercenary isn't as thrilling as it sounds."

Isaac rolls his eyes, cringing ever so slightly when she presses the gauze against his side, "fine, I'll try to be more careful." It's to appease the doctor, a vain attempt at ensuring the pressure she applies when bandaging him up doesn't make his eyes water.

 "Good," she nods and gently guides him to a seated position before beginning to wind the cloth bandages around his waist.

 Isaac levels an aggravated look towards Sam, expressing every emotion in a single glance as opposed to words that will doom him with the doctor.

 He's sulking until he notices Vanessa Kimball and Donald Doyle approaching behind Sam. Suddenly, he's sitting up a little straighter, brown settling on Kimball's stern expression.

"Generals, what brings you down to the medical bay?" His smile is cocky, a mask to hide his racing heart and sudden mood change.

Sam arches an eyebrow, but shifts out of the doorway and allows the leaders of Chorus to enter the room.

"We didn't think you'd be up to making the trek to the war room, so, we brought the meeting to you." Doyle smiles, peering at the bandages being secured around Isaac's waist.

"How thoughtful." Deadpan stare.

"You can start with what happened out there." Kimball adds, folding her arms across her chest.

"We encountered a patrol of Hargrove's forces. Communication was cut off, we sent the squadron back to the capital to report. Felix and I then handled the patrol."

"Hargrove has his men running around the planet like they already own it. If we don't think of something soon--there isn't going to be anyone left to fight for it." Isaac adds, biting back a yelp when Grey tightens the bandage, a solid disagreement with his statement.

"I understand your concern, but I don't see how--"

"--he has a point. We need something--anything to shorten this war in our favor." Kimball interjects, glancing between the three men, searching for any trace of inspiration--a fragment of hope to cling to.

He can see the desperation bleeding from her eyes, glistening violet as they drift across sullen features, meeting brown with a glimmer of hope.

"Well, Charon's pulling ships down, right? Why don't we raid one of them? Hijack it for some supplies and maybe an intact comms unit."

"We don't have nearly enough men for that!" Doyle protest, "Vanessa, please tell me you're not even considering this!"

"We don't have much of a choice at this point, Doyle. Either we start taking some risks, or we won't be around long enough to see Chorus free."

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

"For the record, I hate this plan."

"It's your plan, Felix."

"Which is precisely why I hate this plan! I didn't think Kimball would actually go for it!"

"We're here now. Focus." Sam crouches behind cover, scoping out the valley below, "there are survivors..."

"What? How?!"

"I'm not sure, but somehow they survived the crash and subsequent days that followed."

"Can you tell if they're friendly?" Isaac crouches beside him, attempting to steal a glance through Sam's sniper scope.

"From this distance? No." Sam returns, swatting absently at Isaac's approaching fingers, "hands off."

"I want to see."

"No."

"Buzzkill."

"Just contact the Generals."

"Dick," it slips out under his breath before he opens the comm channel to the two generals, "Kimball, Doyle, you're not gonna believe this."

"What?" Genuine curiosity.

"That ship they pulled down a week ago? There are survivors."

"How?! Charon Industries has always been pretty thorough, they've never missed any survivors!"

"Well, they did this time." Isaac returns, casting a triumphant glance back towards Sam, "and this time, Charon's gonna regret not killing these guys."

"And why would they do a preposterous thing like that?" Doyle's almost afraid to ask.

"Because these guys are supposed to be heroes."

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

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Tagging:

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