#mark v spartan

[mbangelofdeath]

Halo: Combat Evolved Screenshot Dump

[vincentgatart]

Halo — Cyborg Wanderers Somewhere in distant space, survivors of a lost war await the all-clear callsign.

[pugosixtyfour]

got 2 halo renders done tonight baybee lets goo

[c4tto626]

halo infinite is a dress-up game. to me

[poptartportfolio]

Cuz my dreams are bursting at the seams. <3

Lil art of Bastille, I should... uh, draw him alive more often, I feel.

[ceyx-of-the-shore]

When The Music Stops

PAIRING: Emile-A239 x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You were the only one who Emile would listen to in times like these. You didn't know he valued you as much as you did him.

WARNINGS: Angst in the beginning, mentions of blood, mentions of injury/fighting, eventual fluff, growing feelings, Emile is heavily sarcastic and comes off as blunt, no set timeline - just a drabble, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform/into an A.I. program.*

You rush into the room, the door sliding quickly to the side beside you as a rush of chilled air slaps your face. The facilities on Reach were always cold—freezing, actually. Like a damn meat locker. The Medical branch more so than anywhere else, but this time you could deal with it. 

At the very least, it could steady out your heated annoyance.

“Emile!” You call, locking instantly onto the heavily armored man standing in his Mark V[B] at the center of the small room, hands clenched so hard you hear his gloves squeal as his knuckles crack inside of them. But the Spartan had already turned his helmeted face to you long before you opened that door, hearing your footsteps down the hall, the pattern of which he’d memorized months ago. That carved skeleton jeers in the overhead light, every little cut a funeral service for Covenant troops scored like paint across a canvas. 

To you, it was a far too familiar sight, and you liked it far more when it was out of your Ward.

“Jesus,” you comment, slapping the pad on the wall to make the door shut behind you as you walk through with a serious face, waving your hands in anger. “What the hell happened out there?! I have half of the staff running around trying to gather enough supplies to stabilize a damn skull fracture, Emile!” 

There’s blood on the ground of the examination room—your examination room. But it wasn’t Emile’s. It drips from his fingers and his MJOLNIR like a red river of dark deeds. The Spartan doesn’t even seem to mind it, and, you know, he doesn’t. If you had to guess, you would say he enjoyed it.

“Nothing,” that monotone voice slowly drips out, the SPARTAN-III nonchalantly shaking out his left wrist and fixing his stance, even though that casual rigidity remains. Animalistic calm. “Just cleaned up a few loose ends, Doc.”

“There are three ODSTs that went in for combat training today and are spending the night in here because of you,” you hiss, stalking up to the gigantic man and pointing a finger into his chest plate. He has to physically look down at you at this angle, and you think you��ll never get used to his unnatural height—both in and out of the MJOLNIR. “Carter warned you about another fight with non-Spartans, Emile—this can’t keep happening! I can’t keep trying to cover for you when you lose your temper!”

For once you’re shocked that the man in front of you lets you spew your words; it wasn’t often the hothead had nothing to say for himself, certainly about his own actions when his gung-ho attitude came out.

Your glare softens, tirade stalled for but a moment as the minutes lengthen after your scolding.

A silence falls, your own eyes blinking down at you from the reflection of the scarred visor, those etched marks that make up the image of death unwavering. Not a sliver of the Spartan’s visage is to be seen—it rarely is. Emile breathed slightly heavily, and his arms shook with leftover anger from not half-an-hour earlier when he’d sent his fist into those ODSTs. You can hear the scrape of his esophagus as clear as day, and if you strain your ears harder, you can image his fire-like pulse as well. 

Where a deep disappointment had bred, now only concern takes its place.

You blink, raising a hand from your side hesitantly; pausing. 

“Emile?” At the small touch on his elbow, the Spartan tenses, but you easily speak in a soft tone, dipping your voice. You can’t recall seeing Emile so…statue-still. “Hey,” you utter, brows creasing as the Spartan’s visor refuses to move an inch from staring you down. As if trying to calm himself by only your presence alone. “Hey, Big Guy. Okay, let’s…let’s take a breath, alright?”

You steady your own, but you know the rapid beat of your heart gives you away.

Emile grunts, turning his head from you to glare at the side wall; you know his jaw is clenched tight under his helmet. But he does as you ask, and you feel his chest bump your form as he inhales deeply.

It was a good thing you found him—of all the staff here, you seemed to be the only one he actually listened to. Even now, it brings a small feeling of pride with it, and you know it shouldn't.

It’s a quiet moment that once more settles, and you feel his tension seep out while you still hold onto his elbow, occasionally caressing your thumb up and down. You know the man best; you’re prideful because you’re the only medic on Reach equipped to handle his snark and aggression—the best at it. And the simple fact is that Emile only comes to you anyway.

“Good,” you nod softly. Taking a step back, you slowly tilt your head and frown at him. 

He scoffs before he speaks, but it lacks any venom. 

“Came on there pretty hard, Doc.” A nickname for you, only he’s allowed to use it. Emile grumbles and crosses his arms, feet spacing out. But his tone is…off. “Thought I’d be on my ass in a little bit.” “What happened?” You don’t beat around the bush, your eyes deathly serious. “You’re not acting right at all. You haven’t even bragged about how easy they were to bring down.”

“So I need to brag now, is that it?” 

Glaring, you set your jaw and level out with him. “Show me your hands, A-239.”

“Woah,” Emile drags out the word, chuckling as you grapple for his hand, moving his head to the side as if studying an ant and saying sarcastically. “Yes, Ma’am.” 

Peeling back the armor plating and the thick undersuit, you’re left with slightly inflamed knuckles. With the enhancements of the Spartan's physical forms, even so for the IIIs, these would heal fairly quickly—hours at most. But the sight still rang off alarm bells. 

How hard had he been punching those ODSTs to leave a mark on himself? Through armor and muscle? 

“Emile,” you urge, firm attention staying on the swelling.

You can feel his eyes on you—digging and heavy. But on this, you would not relent. In your time together, you’d grown fond of him and his horrible attitude. He was off putting, sure, and rough: a bit bad for civilian relations, of course; yet you’d had the privilege to know him as others usually didn’t. 

Emile was bluntly honest, and with you…he listened. That was a trust far earned and it had taken months to even get a break in him.

The giant released a low sigh and with a hand motion that equaled ���fine,’ he shook his head and pushed out through a board tone. “...They were talking ‘bout you. Didn’t like their tones.” A finger touches the back of your skull, brushing across it briefly and disappearing as if never there. You fight back a gasp. “‘Specially when they thought it was smart to say it when I was right there.” 

You pause at that, still holding his warm hand as his fingers twitch in your grasp—tiny things compared to the calluses and bulk of muscle. It’s like your heart stops, a foreign heat making the room's chill completely halt. 

You stare at his knuckles and feel your eyes blink quickly. Inside of your chest, your heart completely skips beats.

“Took ‘em to the ring,” he says like he’s reading a report. “Threw ‘em down. They lost and I won, and I made them think twice when they’re talking about my favorite Medic like that.” His helmet shifts your way. “You think I’d let them get away with that, Doc?” 

“I…” you stutter, for once in your life, lost for words. Emile chuckles to himself, tilting his head mockingly. 

“Now isn’t that nice.” 

Your face burns even more as the man’s hand shifts out of your hold, tapping your chin up with a finger. His helmet leans into you. 

“Thought I’d stop by and have my girl check up on me before someone else managed to get in my way. You didn’t disappoint. Never do.” You’re speechless, heart rapidly pounding and throat bobbing with a swallow. You know he sees it because he chuckles again and his head moves up and down in a sweep of your body.

Emile hums, squeezing your flesh with his thumb and forefinger before letting his hand drop and pulling on his glove. 

“You hear anything going ‘round about you, you just let me know, yeah?” There’s a serious edge to that sentence. “Let me take care of it.” 

All you do is nod dumbly a blank moment later and feel your face go malleable. You don’t even know how to respond to that—you shouldn’t be encouraging physical fights just because you thought it was an…archaically sweet, if not inherently violent, sentiment.

But was Emile anything but? You knew what you were getting into.

“Good.” Emile moves his head back and stares for a moment longer, his chest rising and falling in a silent sigh of breath, before, soldier-like once more, he walks forward and exits the room with a whoosh of recycled air.

“Be seeing you, Doc.”

You hear the door slap shut and still gape at where he once stood in front of you, fire under your skin and a deep pull in your heart as you stutter under your breath. Clearing your throat minutes later, you blink, flatten out your clothes, and quickly exit into the hallway—hearing every connection of your feet to the floor.

There was something so very wrong about this that made you want to see how it might end. Even if it resulted in your blood-thirsty Spartan standing in your examination room once more, knuckles swollen and his body looming above yours like a silent, skeletal sentinel; some brutish dog ready to tear flesh at a moment's notice.

If only to feel his bare skin again, and the weight of his words on your chest.

"Shit," you breathe, grasping at the bridge of your nose as nurses rush past you. All of your thoughts are about Emile, and you have to internally wonder when that had started happening. "...This isn't good."

[ouroboros-hideout]

Mark my words: Another war is on its way.

Summary

Almost one year ago FIA agents and a mercenary known as V infiltrated the EBM Petrochem Stadium by stealing the identities of two Netrunners. Their mission: To bring back a rogue agent named Song So Mi, also known as Songbird. She had made a deal with Kurt Hansen to escape from her former employer - Rosalinde Myers, President of the New United States of America -but everything went anything but as planned.

The timing was right and Myers decided to take this opportunity and the agents on site to kill two birds with one stone. Cutting of loose ends on her intelligence and get rid of a person, who had been a thorn in her side for many years.

And she almost succeeded.

Game choices influencing the story

Run This Town: Jago and Bennett had a reason to work together. Mr. Hands therefore did not interfere

Canon Phantom Liberty Ending: King of Wands

Canon Main Game Ending: The Star

The door slid open quietly and Jago entered the room, that the Colonel had made his personal office in the Sapphire. It was a shell, like almost all the other rooms in the upper part of the tall building. It was also not an office as one would imagine or as one knew it from the city and the Corpo building complexes. The room was very spacious and took up almost an entire level of the Sapphire tower, as the partition walls had not yet been installed at the time of construction. The furnishings were spartan. A large table was the centerpiece, surrounded by a few chairs, a variety of technology for all possible purposes, most of them military, transport crates, seating for internal meetings and a wall on which various types of weapons were displayed. Surely this should have been a conference room at some point, which could have been booked for presentations or opulent corporate events, if the hotel ever been completed. The room surely missed it‘s intended purpose but it surely became a place of power.

In the past, the Colonel hadn't spent too much time here as his duties usually kept him busy at the stadium. However, this was no longer necessary, or rather possible at the moment.

„Good morning, Colonel.“

Jago paused, his tablet tucked under his arm, and waited near the door. As he did almost every morning, the accountant came to Hansen to keep him up to date with current events and business and, of course, to take his orders and requests for the day.

Since the attack in the stadium, Jago had temporarily taken matters into his own hands as best he could. He continued to take care of the books, ensured payments were made and received on time, organized meetings with business partners and clients, and still tried to work his way through the Colonel‘s endless list of contacts so they could keep to the usual schedule. Even though he would like to claim that he managed all of this on his own, he had to admit to himself, that without Bennett's help, this whole endeavor would be a very difficult one. The Lieutenant Colonel had the soldiers of Barghest firmly under control and took care of all matters where military handling was an advantage. Transportation, security in Dogtown, new recruits, expansion of the trade routes - these and similar tasks fell to Bennett. And to Jagos surprise, he fulfilled these tasks without hesitation. Of course not very elegantly or with the necessary sensitivity, but at least he delivered results.

Although they had always disliked each other, and it did not change during their collaboration at all, they were now united by the respect and trust they had for Hansen and did not want to break under any circumstances. The business had to go on and the cover had to remain intact.

The cover - A strange request that Hansen had imposed on Jago. Several days of worrying, hoping and waiting had passed before the Colonel regained consciousness after the attack and had a task for his confidant. Not to take revenge for the betrayal of Songbird or the attempted murder of Myers agent. No, he wanted them to let the world believe that Kurt Hansen had died. The accountant was unsure at first whether he even knew what he was saying or whether he was dazed and confused from all the painkillers. But he insisted. It's hard to believe the Colonel would admit to a mistake, but he wouldn't be broken by it. Quite the opposite. He would use it to his advantage.

How exactly, he didn't want to tell Jago, much to his regret, a least not yet. And if there was one thing the young man couldn't stand, it was not being involved in important issues and not beeing informed.

But he obeyed, like he always did.

What mattered was that the President and anyone else who might be interested in it thought he was dead. Even within Barghest, only a select circle of persons in leading positions knew of the Colonel‘s whereabouts.

It was sometimes very difficult to hide a prominent face like his in the small area of Dogtown where they did their business, but otherwise it would have been far too unsafe. Something could slip out, just one wrong word and the rumors would spread like wildfire.

The secrecy gave him the opportunity to plan his next steps in peace. At least that was the answer Kurt always gave him when Jago tried to find out more about what was going on inside of his head.

As instructed, Jago invented an alibi. He faked a surveillance video of an unknown perpetrator who gains access to the clinic and kills the defenseless Colonel. The accountant deliberately left open who the killer was or why he did it. The video then found its way into a not very tightly secured area on the subnet from where it would spread quickly and people would waste their time speculating. A very bold move, but to his surprise the bait was taken.

The next step was the funeral. An open casket with a fake corpse, many important people were invited and the members of the militia would have no reason to believe their leader was still alive.

Everything ran like clockwork and losses in the business were almost non-existent despite the reorganization. Just like many days and nights when Jago couldn't sleep even a tiny bit. It was an extremely challenging time, but in the end it was worth all the effort. After months of recovery the Colonel was very pleased to see, that his trust in him had not been in vain. He slowly started getting back to his tasks himself, taking care of the important decision and managing the business from behind the scenes. Jago and Bennett thus continued to serve as the executive forces.

The sun was still fighting its way through the thick morning fog in Dogtown, so it was quite dark despite the large windows on the other side of the room. Kurt stood behind the large table , hands clasped behind his back, looking down at the already busy streets. He slowly but steadily getting back to his old strength, but it was obvious that he had been confined to bed for many months.

He did not respond to his accountants greeting.

„Alright…“, Jago added more silently, slightly annoyed and made his way across the room to the big table.

He‘d known Kurt for almost seven years now and had probably gotten to know all of the temperamental man's moods during their close collaboration. However, this excessive brooding was new and Jago didn't quite know how to deal with it yet.

„We don't have too much to discuss today. Yesterday's inventory list of the delivery would be the first thing. Everything has been unloaded, sorted and the necessary items prepared for onward transportation. Unfortunately, it arrived incomplete. For the second time. We need to take care of this, it’s unacceptable. However, it will be difficult to find someone else from the region who can work with us.“ He paused, looked over to the Colonel to see if he was listening at all, but decided to continue.

„The second topic would be the balance sheet for the last month and we have ...ehh,“ he quickly switched through his files.

„Ah, here it is. Six new large orders since yesterday evening. There is nothing exceptionally difficult to obtain except for two types of vehicles I am not sure who to contact for. But surely you‘ll have someone in mind for that.“

Jago's gaze again wandered from the tablet in his hands to the man across the table. He was still standing motionless by the window, looking down at the streets of Dogtown.

He hesitated and stepped on the spot.

„Should I … just leave the documents here for you? Or come back later? We don‘t have to discuss all of that now if the timing doesn‘t suit you.“

No response.

„Kurt?“, he asked, now with a little more vigor in his voice.

The Colonel tilted his head slightly, but otherwise remained motionless.

„Do you know who Garmr is, Jago?“

Silence. Jago was confused and hat to sort himself out first. Then he cleared his throat.

„No, I‘m sorry. That doesn’t ring a bell, I am afraid.“

Kurt calmly continued.

„He‘s a creature of the nordic myths. Described as a bloodstained dog, caught in chains, doomed to guard the gates of the underworld. At the end of time, when the world as it was comes to an end and a new era dawns, he fights side by side with the giants, in the all-important battle against the gods and kills one of them.“

Jago still tried to follow up. He really hadn't expected that change of subjects from business to one of Kurt’s ominous comparisons.

„You‘re into vintage literature now? That‘s new.“ A joke, of course.

„No.“ Kurt slowly turned away from the window, arms still folded behind his back and made his way around the table, his cold gaze finally met with his accountant.

„It's more of a metaphor.“

Jago remembered the time when he had met the Colonel. At first, he found his presence admittedly intimidating, even though he had worked with many people from Night City's underground before that. He had also never really been able to put into words exactly what had triggered this feeling in him. His charisma, his background, knowing what the man was capable of? In the meantime, however, the two men met at eye level and respected each other. Actually after all that happened, more then ever.

It seemed as if the wrinkle between his brows was getting deeper by the day, but something else immediately caught Jago's eye. The long scar that stretched across Kurt‘s throat and down to his chest where one of the attacks of the agent hit him. The accountant would need some more time getting used to that sight.

Terrible and gruesome things always had been part of Jago‘s life. He’d seen more of it than other men his age would probably see in their entire life and he was more or less used to it. He was the first who entered the bar in the stadium, after the security system was hacked and chaos broke loose. Bennett should have been there with the Colonel all the time, but it seemed something else needed his attention before Songbird turned on them. After Hansen remained silent over the situation and no orders where given, he already suspected something went wrong and he went to see what happened at the meeting with the Netrunners.

The agent of the FIA had left a massacre. He‘d never forget that stench of iron in the air and the trails of blood running across the floor. Murphy sadly didn’t make it, alongside all the other soldiers who had been there at the time.

For him, it was still a miracle that Farida had managed to save the Colonels life. She had surpassed herself, but also pointed out, that the military armor he still had installed from his days at Militech, had taken a lot of the impact. Without it, he would undoubtedly have died on the operating table.

A bloodstained dog fighting against gods? Various thoughts flashed through his mind. And none of them appealed to him. Not at all.

„What would you do with the supplier? The one from the incomplete delivery?“, Kurt asked him, changing the subject back to business.

Jago tried to shake off his thoughts to concentrate on the important matters again.

„Well, we certainly have different options. We could first look for -“

„I don‘t want any options, Jago. I want an answer from you.“

The Colonel was now standing right next to him, looking at him intently. He did not bat an eye. Cold and appraising.

That was another thing Jago had to get used to. Of course, Hansen had often asked him for his opinion before. Not that he really needed it, but he appreciated his view on things because he often thought differently due to his position and abilities.

But these were no longer simple questions. These were lots of little tests that Jago had to pass. For what exactly? He couldn't say for sure at the moment. In any case, Hansen wanted him to prove his abilities as a leader and that he will still able to make decisions in his own interest.

„I would finish off the head of the group. One of the men in his crew seems more reliable to me. Maybe even malleable. I had a few words with him yesterday and the morale within the group is probably at a low point too. Maybe I can persuade him to give his superior a bullet to the head himself. With the prospect of a profitable collaboration.“

The Colonel nodded.

„Sounds reasonable. Promise him a bonus if he does it today. I don't want us to lose any more time and money because of these fucking amateurs. And I hope that other guy is aware of who he‘s working with.“

Jago nodded approving „All right. I'll take care of it immediately after we‘re done here."

"Actually, you can take care of it without further ado."

Hansen held out his hand to Jago, expecting him to hand over the tablet.

"Thanks for the update, I'll take a look at the sheet and the list of orders later. You can go now. I need to make a few calls through out he day."

"Anything I might be able to assist with?" Making calls was not exactly an activity a dead man would pursue. Jago had the feeling that the time of waiting for answers was slowly coming to an end.

The corners of the Colonel‘s mouth twitched.

"No, you've got enough to do already. It's just a few friends from the past. I think I can manage that by myself.“

Jago passed him the tablet wordlessly and nodded as a sign that he had understood.

Kurt took it, but immediately put it down on the large table next to him and made his way back to the large windows.

The accountant also slowly walked back to the door, but turned around just before he got there. It was probably in vain, but he couldn't help but ask in the hope of finally being included in the Colonel‘s plans.

„Some friends. Giants, maybe? Like the ones in your stories?“

Hansen laughed lightly but didn’t turn around.

„We’ll talk later, Jago. Go now.“

He paused for a moment, looked at the man on the other side of the room but then went on his way. He indeed had a lot of work to do.

[itsalwaysgarytime]

Commissioned by TheSphereHunter to draw her Halo 5 Spartan's appearance. Mark VI GEN1 with a Mark V Delta helmet and the Cat ear helmet attachment. Haven't drawn GEN2 styled "core" in quite a while. So this was challenging to go back the ultra designed 343 styled armors after they reverted back to simplified armor of Halo Infinite.  

[boomboomgaff]

Mark V[B] armour core

The Mark V[B] is generally loved by most of halos playerbase from its use in halo reach, the fan favourite instalment allowed players to modify their armour in the campaign, this in turn let players have a more individualised experience of halo in comparison to the mainline games. My mark 5 is pretty different to most of my other spartan builds, I normally don’t really go for the bulky builds instead opting for a more UNSC accurate looking spartan. However, me thinks I hit the mark on this build, finding a sweet spot between the two. Hope you guys like it!🙏

Lore

While its physical architecture is derived from the Mark IV[B], the Mark V[B] was the first mainline model of the MJOLNIR Powered Assault Armor to incorporate energy shielding technology. The Mark V[B] is largely similar to the final version of the Mark V. The only major difference between the two is the [B] variant's lack of an accompanying upgrade to the wearer's neural lace enabling the wearer to interface with a smart AI. This did not come to fruition until John-117 and Cortana successfully tested the final Mark V on August 29, 2552.

The Mark V[B] was manufactured by private organizations contracted by the UNSC rather than developed by the Materials Group as was typical for most other Mjolnir designs. The development of Mark V[B] was conducted in secret, with its prototypes tested by Spartan-III personnel.

The Mark IV[B]'s first known use was by Frederic-104 during an operation against Insurrectionists sometime before the Battle of Circinius IV on April 26, 2526. Fred continued to wear the armor during this battle when Blue Team was sent to evacuate the survivors from the Corbulo Academy of Military Science. The Mark V[B] entered service with the Spartan-IIs and select Spartan-IIIs on November 24, 2551.

/////ALL LORE AND INFO TAKEN FROM HALOPEDIA.ORG AND IS NOT MY OWN WRITING FOR SAKE OF ACCURACY/////

(I ain’t writing allat)

Components of my build

Coating: Kinetic Instruction

Helmet: Balor

Visor: Rampant

Chest: UA/Vauntlock

Shoulder pad L: SAP/SEC

Shoulder pad R: SAP/SEC [K]

Gloves: Challenger

Wrist: TAC/SRT UGPS

Utility: M10 Tactical soft case

Knee pad: UA/TYPE FJ

Halopedia reference images.

[helix-enterprises117]

"That child is staring at you.", "What would happen if I'd kiss you right now?", or "You hold no power here." from the drabble list!

Have some Halo!!

Fan - (Based on "That child is staring at you.")

Amid the throng of civilians milling about the bustling market square of New Alexandria, the Sangheili child stood out—not just for the slight silver streaks in its otherwise deep blue scales, but for its intense gaze fixed directly on John. The Spartan, towering and imposing even in his casual attire meant to blend in, scanned the surroundings with a practiced eye, his attention eventually drawn to the small figure as Fred nudged him lightly.

"Hey, John," Fred murmured, nodding subtly toward the child. "That kid hasn't taken their eyes off you since we got here."

John's gaze softened as he looked down at the young Sangheili. The child, barely reaching his waist, clutched a small, worn toy—perhaps a model of a Sangheili warrior—tight against its chest. Despite the hustle around, the child’s focus remained unbroken, a mix of curiosity and awe painted across its youthful features.

"I see him," John replied quietly, his voice carrying a warm undertone that seldom emerged. He stepped forward, minimizing the physical distance as he crouched to the child's level, an action that drew a small crowd of onlookers. "Hello there," he said, extending a hand but careful not to invade the child's personal space.

The Sangheili child, initially taken aback by the gesture, hesitated, glancing up at what appeared to be its guardian—a taller Sangheili with similarly marked scales—who gave a slight nod. Encouraged, the child stepped forward, its small hand reaching out to gently touch John's.

"You're the Spartan, aren't you?" the child's voice was a soft chirp, tinged with reverence. "My father told me stories about the heroes who fight alongside the Swords of Sanghelios."

"That's right," John smiled, his helmet under his arm now catching a glint of sunlight, making it almost glow. "My team and I are here to help make sure everyone here can live safely, including you."

Fred watched the exchange, a grin breaking across his face. "Looks like you've got yourself a fan," he chuckled, folding his arms and leaning back against a nearby wall.

John's smile remained as he spoke again to the child, "What's your name?"

"Rtas 'Mdama," the child replied proudly, standing a little taller.

"Well, Rtas," John continued, his tone encouraging, "maybe one day you'll be standing with us, helping to keep the peace. Keep learning and growing strong."

The child nodded vigorously, the earlier awe transforming into determination. "I will, Spartan. Thank you!"

As they parted ways, John stood and clapped Fred on the shoulder, the usual weight of command and duty momentarily lightened by the genuine exchange. "Let's head back," he said, the market square buzzing around them, yet the connection made with one young Sangheili leaving a subtle imprint on the day.

"Sure thing," Fred agreed, his gaze lingering on the retreating figure of the child, a small beacon of future potential amidst the crowd. "You're good with kids, you know that?"

John just shrugged, a ghost of a smile still playing around his lips as they walked on...

Kiss - (Based on "What would happen if I kissed you right now?")

John and Linda, fresh from what could only be described as a mildly torturous training session, found themselves at an isolated table. The air was tinged with the scent of overcooked vegetables and sterilized metal, a reminder of their utilitarian surroundings.

John, his plate bearing a modest portion that belied the exhaustion shadowing his features, watched Linda with a blend of amusement and awe. She, in contrast, attacked her piled-high tray with the ferocity of a starved predator, her metabolic needs dialed up to eleven thanks to Spartan enhancements and an appetite to match.

Linda, hair rebelling in wisps from her otherwise tight bun, seemed oblivious to anything not edible in her immediate vicinity. John, on the other hand, was less interested in his food and more in the peculiar thought fluttering in his mind.

The mess hall’s din dwindled to a soft murmur, offering a semblance of privacy. John, swirling the ice in his half-empty glass, broke the companionable silence with a curveball.

“So, hypothetical—what would happen if I kissed you right now?” His tone was casual, like he was asking about the weather or the state of her shoelaces, not contemplating a seismic shift in their dynamic.

Linda, fork midair, paused. She looked at him, her expression a mix of surprise and bemusement, as if she wasn't sure whether to laugh or raise an eyebrow. Slowly, she placed her fork down with the precision of a bomb technician.

“Is this your idea of small talk, or are you branching out into weird hypotheticals now?” She countered, her voice tinged with humor yet edged with curiosity.

John grinned, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. “Just thinking out loud. I mean, we’ve dodged bullets together, why not dodge awkwardness?”

Linda laughed, the sound bright and clear. “Because awkwardness isn’t as lethal, maybe?”

“Debatable,” John quipped. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table, his eyes not leaving hers. “Look, we’re good together. In the field, off the field... So yeah, I’m curious. What if?”

Linda leaned back, her chair creaking slightly under the shift. “It could get complicated,” she said, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You, me, us—it could mess up the great dynamic we have. Plus, fraternization regs...”

“But?” John prompted, his smile persistent.

“But,” Linda continued, a slow smile spreading across her face, “sometimes complications are worth it. Maybe it’s a risk that... I don’t know, brings something good?”

“Something real?” John offered, his voice hopeful yet laced with a hint of challenge.

“Something real,” Linda agreed, nodding slowly. “No hypotheticals, no what-ifs.”

They both paused, considering the gravity of the shift, the weight of a moment hanging between them. Then, almost imperceptibly, Linda leaned forward. John met her halfway, their movements syncing as if choreographed.

Their kiss was a gentle collision, tentative at first, then firmer—decisive. It was a kiss that spoke of shared hardships and unspoken promises, a seal on a pact that might just redefine their relationship.

As they parted, their eyes opened to the same mess hall but perhaps a different world between them. John’s smile was genuine, happy. “So, better than dodging bullets?”

Linda chuckled, touching her lips with the tips of her fingers, as if to preserve the sensation. “Much better. Though, let’s not make a habit of dodging either.”

Duel - (Based on "You hold no power, here.")

...The abandoned structure cast long, eerie shadows that danced around them as the glow from their energy swords—John's a stark blue, Jega's a vicious red—illuminated their armored forms.

The duel began with the piercing shriek of their swords. John, his movements a blend of human determination and the mechanical precision afforded by his armor, lunged forward. Jega, lighter and more agile, dodged effortlessly, his own counter-attacks a blur of red energy that John barely blocked in time.

"Your reputation precedes you, Spartan," Jega sneered, ducking under a high swing to deliver an uppercut that John deflected just in time. "But your kind are nothing more than pests in the sacred eyes of the Covenant."

John grunted, ignoring the sting of the near-miss as he pivoted on his heel, bringing his sword down in a sweeping arc that Jega sidestepped. "We might be pests, but we sure know how to bite," he retorted, his tone light but his eyes scanning for the next opening.

They exchanged a flurry of blows, each strike and parry ringing out like a deadly symphony. Jega's style was all about fluidity and grace, a stark contrast to John's brute force and tactical precision. Their swords locked, energy crackling and sizzling in the air between them, their faces inches apart.

"You fight well," Jega conceded, his breath a hiss as he pushed against John's strength. "But your efforts are futile. The march of the Covenant cannot be halted by mere will."

John pushed back, breaking the lock and swinging wide, forcing Jega to leap back. "We’ll see about that," he growled, his next moves a series of rapid thrusts, each faster and more dangerous than the last, forcing Jega into a defensive whirl of red light.

The battle raged on, their footwork a complicated dance among the rubble of the ancient structure. It was a test of endurance and skill, pushing both warriors to their limits. Finally, John feinted a strike to Jega's midsection, then swiftly reversed his grip, sweeping Jega’s legs out from under him with the broad side of his blade.

As Jega hit the ground, his energy sword flew from his grasp, skidding across the stone floor and darkening. Panting, the Elite propped himself up on his elbows, defiant even in defeat. "You may win this battle, Spartan, but you will lose the war. Humanity is nothing in the grand scale of the universe."

John powered down his sword, the blue light dying away as he looked down at Jega, his voice resolute and cold. "In this place, in this moment, you hold no power here."

Silence fell for a moment, heavy and absolute, before John extended his hand to Jega—not in pity, but in recognition of the warrior he faced. Jega looked up, the light from the setting of the distant sun reflecting off his visor, and after a tense pause, grasped John's hand. It was a warrior's acknowledgment, one fighter to another...

[adz]

master chief is more than a man. hes a man who kills aliens and lives inside a suit that jacks him off.

but more importantly he's a man who fights for lgbtq+ rights. not just on earth, but all across the vast galaxies and universes of our world.

now is your chance to own a unique piece of master chief lore that i made up: the moment when John Spartan 117 snorted up all of homophobia into his Mjolnir Mark V Helmet and ended discrimination forever. it's available, and it's not that expensive. theres a hoodie too.

[mbangelofdeath]

Spartan III Rifleman

Last weekend, I made a bunch of commission screenshots for a follower on Instagram. I wanted to share some of those shots with you all. Enjoy, my friends.

[hefty-halo]

Ngl...I feel like the Spartan-IIIs, or at least the ones before Noble Team, were kind of set up to fail by ONI trying to pump out a lot of them for lower cost. Yeah, sure, you get a ton more Spartans...but they're not of the same quality as their predecessors, like John, Kelly, or even their teacher, Kurt.

Their armor was meant specifically for recon assignments, not most of what being a UNSC Spartan calls for.

I mean, hell, in Ghosts of Onyx, I remember very vividly, towards the end of the book, a Hunter point-blanked Kelly and one of Kurt's Spartan-IIIs, a chick named Holly.

Kelly, IIRC, got just a concussion, but was otherwise just fine. Holly, on the other hand, literally ceased to exist.

They basically screwed over Forerunners-know how many kids because they tried to make a bunch of Spartans for less cost, by cheaping out on the armor that keeps them alive.

And I think that's why when they eventually went to Spartan-IV, they realized their mistake and chose instead to use GEN2 MJOLNIR armor for them.

Of course, this is just my own opinions, speculations, that kinda thing, you're free to agree or disagree as you see fit. I just saw that you were talking about MJOLNIR armor and that reminded me of this, so...nyeh

Oh they were absolutely set up to fail, they were made to be expendable shock troops and covert ops that they could afford to lose during or after missions. Just look at how the first two or three companies were deployed, in a huge suicidal frontal assault against a Covenant fuel refinery, where only a handful of them survived. Most of those survivors then went to train under Kurt, because they didn't know what else to do with the poor bastards.

The SPI armour was even worse in terms of the armour capability, they also had no shields at all to enable the cloaking capabilities. Even the Mark V B variant has shielding, despite it being a stripped down version of regular Mark V.

The poor IIIs never stood a chance in an open engagement, but they were deliberately made that way. Kurt could see this, and he hated it, he even reflects on it when one of his IIIs dies in his arms after not realising half his torso was missing, thanks to his brain's pain receptors being switched off due to combat stims.

While I don't particularly like Spartan IVs (especially their armour, don't get me started on the abominations that Gen3 brought about), they are at least good soldiers and well-equipped for the wars they fight in. Main thing I don't like about them is how cavalier they are. They are just stereotype Marine "jocks" in knock-off armour and hardly anywhere near as much augmentation done to them. They tried to make Spartans into an "everyman" sort of thing, but that's not what they're meant to be, it never has been.

Sorry, I'll cut my ranting off there. I just can't stand how they've been written since they first showed up in Halo 4.

[midnightactual]

Verse: SHADOW GUARD (Halo)

Yoruichi is a SPARTAN-IV. Yoruichi was an ODST. Yoruichi was a Phase 2 SPARTAN-I. Yoruichi was an ONI operative. Yoruichi was a Phase 1 SPARTAN-I. Yoruichi was on the Odyssey when it arrived at Reach. Yoruichi was born before the Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine was invented.

Yoruichi is the closest thing to biologically immortal that humanity has yet created.

Yoruichi is an ONI Rear Admiral.

Timeline

"That's all well and good, Doctor, but I'm almost as old as the M319, and just like with it, you still haven't come up with something more experienced than me." —Yoruichi Shihōin to Dr. Catherine Halsey

C indicates chronological age, A indicates apparent age, but note that neither is perceptual age from Yoruichi's point of view. (She's spent a lot of time in cryosleep in addition to having a dramatically reduced aging factor.)

2271 - (C-000, A-000): Yoruichi is born to the Shihōin family, which is highly influential within the Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI), particularly Section Three

2286 - (C-015, A-015): Yoruichi is accepted to the Academy at Mare Nubium (Luna OCS Academy), becoming the youngest person to have ever attended the school (followed by Miranda Keyes at 16 in 2541)

2290 - (C-019, A-019): Yoruichi graduates from the Luna OCS Academy and joins ONI Section One

2291 - (C-020, A-020): Yoruichi receives her first illicit prototype longevity enhancement prior to first assignments in outer Solar System requiring cryosleep

2321 - (C-050, A-023): Yoruichi enrolls in Project KYKLOS given family connections in Section Three; the only successful test subject and survivor of the program, she is extensively studied as the basis for future research; it's established that her genetic makeup (due in part to Shihōin illicit modifications both past and present) have made her uniquely predisposed to accepting augmentation; this research is hidden from official records by the family to cover up their complicity, directly causing the long interval until the ORION Project is undertaken

2330 - (C-059, A-023): Yoruichi is released from the continuing study program for use as a "novel" ONI asset under the auspices of Section One sub-unit Chi-9 Division, which essentially consists of her and token support staff

2361 - (C-090, A-024): Yoruichi is planted within the Colonial Military Authority (CMA) to monitor the colonization efforts of the Colonial Administration Authority (CAA); she is aboard the CAA Odyssey during its maiden voyage to Reach

2437 - (C-166, A-025): Yoruichi is first contacted by The Assembly, which is aware of her existence and recognizes her as "unique" among humans; she is not aware of their true nature for some time

2490 - (C-219, A-026): Yoruichi serves as the prototype for the ORION Project of modifications as colonial rebellions spiral beyond the CMA's ability to control; this data is subsequently passed to the CMA by ONI

2497 - (C-226, A-026): Yoruichi is attached to the rising Orbital Drop Shock Troopers to provide her actions with greater cover and opacity

2548 - (C-277, A-027): Yoruichi is brought in for research related to the genesis of the SPARTAN-IV Program, Project ORCHID

2553 - (C-282, A-027): Yoruichi is fully enhanced to SPARTAN-IV specifications and is thereby inserted into Spartan Operations

Details

Name: Yoruichi Shihōin (Yoruichi Shihouin) Allegiance: United Earth Government, United Nations Space Command, UNSC Naval Command (NAVCOM), Office of Naval Intelligence, Section One, Chi-9 Division Rank: Rear Admiral (O-7) Service Branch: Spartan Operations Role: Fireteam Leader (Fireteam Tiger) Nicknames: [CLASSIFIED] Armor: Upgraded (GEN3) Mark V [B]

Helmet: ODST - HUL[3]/BNR/COURIER PEARL - CNM/BNR/TYPHON - UA/Type C1

Visor: Helljumper

Armor Coating: Cinder Ring

Chest: UA/ODST

Shoulders: SAP/CQC

Gloves: Challenger

Wrist: TAC/MC5 TACPAD

Utility: M10 Tactical Soft Case

Knees: UA/Type GND

Yoruichi has served through half a dozen total personnel rotations at ONI and assumed hundreds of identities over her nigh three centuries of existence. Even her own staff don't know who Chi-9 Actual really is, as her record isn't just dipped in ink, but has been refabricated a dozen times over. The only consistent thing for the last good long while has been her rank. Ironically, she serves in Spartan Operations under her birth name—if anyone happens to know some trivia about Luna OCS Academy, she claims with a smile to have been named in honor of an ancestor.

[scribbledquillz]

Revka Tabris reference sheet for @siriskulksnerding - ask for OC gushing and ye shall receive.

Race: City elf, born and raised in the Denerim alienage

Skin tone: Rich chestnut brown with warm, ruddy undertones.

Eye color: Deep brown with notes of a lighter tone which turn up in brighter settings. In dark places her eyes can appear close to black.

Hair color / style: Revka's hair is solid black, and falls to her mid back. It is thick and - while not as textured as Ceral's bouncy, tighter coils - dose have a soft wave to it which is much more noticeable when she wears it loose. Typically while traveling, fighting or just going about day to day business she keeps the whole of it pulled back into a looser, simple braid - the sort which hangs low and only starts to gather up at the base of her head. She ties it in place with a scrap of ribbon, linen or twine if nothing else is available. Generally it will hang down the center of her back, but sometimes she will pull it to rest over one shoulder. It is washed and cared for regularly, but the routine is quite spartan. She's been known to fall asleep with her braid still in.

Cleanliness: In general, Revka will wash herself with a bowl of water, rag and block of simply soap before turning in for the night. She appreciates, but doesn't require perfumed soaps or oils, and is quite used to making do without as such things were a luxury within the alienage. A full bath typically happens twice per week, though obviously she will bathe if at all possible when she becomes excessively dirty or sweaty. While traveling during the blight she generally waits to bathe until nightfall for the extra sense of privacy the darkness offers, ducking away to wash herself quickly in a source of clean water (pond, river so long as the water is quite shallow / slow moving) and be back with wet hair before anyone notices her absence.

Notable features: Revka lost part of her left ear in the midst of the events which led her to be recruited into the Wardens. A hard strike to the side of her head from the back of a Templar's gauntlet tore deeply enough into the skin to make it unsalvageable, resulting in her losing the top inch and a half-ish of it. The edge is scarred and rough, making it clear it was not a clean cut. The strike also left her with three scars - akin to three fingers from said gauntlet - following the angle of the cut ear beneath her hair on her scalp, two of which are just long enough to peak out onto the edge of her cheek.

She has a small beauty mark - inherited from her mother - below and to the right of her bottom lip, as well as a few other smaller dots here and there on her face / cheeks.

Casual clothing: While traveling during the blight, Revka keeps her casual wear quite simple, though they are well made / maintained having come from her work as a prior seamstress. Around camp she can most often be seen wearing a loose fitting, off-white tunic which falls to her hips and is drawn in by a simple leather belt with a plain buckle. The neckline of the shirt cuts down into a V with laces keeping the cut fairly modest. The sleeves hang slightly from her arms and end in buttoned cuffs around her wrists, though more often than not she will roll these up, making the sleeve end just below her elbows.

For pants she tends to keep to one of two options - either a pair of equally loose linen breeches dyed a dark green or brown which fall a few inches below her knees, or a tight set of dark brown leather leggings which reach down into her boots.

Her boots are sturdy but old, the light brown leather stained and roughened by harsh Ferelden weather. They reach to mid-calf and fasten with three sets of buckles - two about the top of her foot and ankle with the other at the top of the boot.

As for underthings... being small chested, Revka doesn't HAVE to make use of a breast band very often, but chooses to at all times while traveling during the blight for the sake of modesty. When alone or with company she feels comfortable with, she'll choose to forgo one entirely. And smalls - generally they're basic and serviceable. But there are a couple pairs stashed away somewhere in her pack of the much more frivolous variety with LOTS of lace.

Class: Dual wielding rogue. Revka's style (if it could be called any such thing) at the beginning of Origins was far more brawling based than anything refined that could be put into a typical class. With weapons banned from the alienage it would be all but impossible for her to learn any refined fighting techniques, and so most of what she picked up was from her mother's defense teachings and her own trial and error. Eventually her tactics are honed to a more elegant, efficient style thanks to Zevran, who helps build her grasp of the assassin and duelist styles of fighting.

Armor: During the main bulk of her time contending with the blight, Revka makes do with piecemeal leather armor she is able to find, afford or loot. Her having daggers hidden away in the alienage was already a huge risk, and owning armor - even the most basic pieces - would have drawn too much attention. The pieces tend to vary in style / color for that reason, but will have several characteristics in common.

Revka prefers leathers to all other materials, finding them the best balance between protection and movement. Her cuirass is a full, close fitting piece which covers her from waist to mid arm to the base of her neck, and fastens at the sides with buckles. The sleeves meet with a set of sturdy bracers, and those with a pair of fingerless leather gloves to allow for dexterity while giving the more delicate skin of her palms coverage. For her legs she uses padded leather leggings with extra reinforcement put into the knees, thighs and groin, while the rest covering from the knee down being covered by sturdy, well abused boots which come to mid-calf. She does not tend to opt for a helm, finding it limiting for her field of view and hearing, both of which are essential for her style of fighting.

After the events of her capture and imprisonment in Fort Drakon, Revka's original armor is lost and unrecoverable. This is replaced by a new set of fine leathers - the first brand new pieces she's ever owned.

All in all, I generally picture her armor to be very similar to the long sleeved version of leather armor as seen in Origins - minus the weird excessive straps across the chest.

Weapons: Revka uses a mismatched pair of simple steel daggers, both of which are approx. 10 to 12 inches long and easily concealed beneath clothing if need be, though generally are kept in sheaths attached to her belt to either sides of the small of her back (see below). The handles are both wrapped in leather - one dark brown, the other a reddish ochre color - with a simply styled but sturdy pommel Revka isn't opposed to slamming into jaws as needed. She also will use throwing knives, kept on her belt within easy reach. Examples:

Outer layers: One of the few belongings Revka is able to bring with her after her conscription aside from her mother Lysha's amulet (see below) and essentials is a well made shawl which used to belong to her father Hammel. It's a deep jewel tone blue, simply but masterfully stitched by her mother and held in place around her shoulders by a simple brass pin. It offers warmth and a hood to keep her head dry during the frequent wet Ferelden weather while not hindering her movement too severely to be a burden.

Jewelry: Prior to her relationship with Zevran, the only piece of jewelry Revka wore was a simple round pendant which used to belong to her mother. It is made of glass with Forget-Me-Nots preserved inside, backed in beaten silver and hung on a silver chain. She does not remove it for fear of misplacing it while traveling, but generally will keep it tucked beneath both her breast plate and her tunic against her skin to keep it out of harms way while traveling, fighting etc.

Zevran gifts her the golden earring after Taliesin's death and Revka's imprisonment in Fort Drakon. I imagine it as a small golden hoop she wears on her right ear - pierced with Zevran's help.

Both pieces of jewelry can be seen in her tarot card portrait:

Makeup: Generally Revka chooses to not wear makeup simply because she feels it isn't a necessity she is willing to devote time to. If she decides to wear some for a more formal/important occasion, she will stick to simple kohl eye shadow and a touch of color at her lips, typically red.

Symbols: None until she becomes Warden Commander of Amaranthine, when she is given a proper set of Warden's armor with the griffin crest on the breastplate.

Expression: Stern, focused, a look which would most likely be described as uninviting and no-nonsense when not around those she's let her guard down for. In a fight she tends to look rather vicious, pointed elven teeth on display with a clenched snarl, nose wrinkled, eyes dark and pointed.

Favored skill: Revka is quick, light on her feet and clever. She prefers to use her speed and quick thinking to catch her opponents off their guard or pit their attacks and movement against them whenever possible. However she is also know to fight dirty, having no qualms with sweeping someone's feet out from under them, throwing punches or elbows if it means the difference between her life and their's. She has a rudimentary skill in sneaking which is grown only stronger thanks to Zevran's training, and gradually becomes quite competent with stealth attacks meant to cause the most damage to, if not outright kill her adversary.

Things I'd love to see: TEEEEEEEETH! Pointy elven teeth please I would LOVE that, as well as a chance to have her damaged ear visible - I've not managed to get a proper picture with that yet and it's such a prominent part of her appearance. I also see her with a very DA 2 elf style nose, so having that included if the image is in profile would be great as well. : 3

[ezikial13]

Books I have read throughout 2022

Valiant by Holly Black

The Fallen by Charlie Higson

Trapped at the bottom of the ocean by Frank E Peretti

Boneshaker by Cherie Priest

Reaper man by Terry Pratchett

A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab

Harry Potter and the Philippines

Daughter of the Deep by Rick Riordan

The Maze Runner

Rats by Paul Zindel

Crescent City: House if Earth and Blood by Sarah J. Maas

Holes by Louis Sachar

Demon Stalker:Torment by Douglas Hill

The Scorth Trials by James Dashner

The Vagrant by Peter Newman

The Death Cure By James Dashner

King Lear by Willy Shakes

Legends of Dune: Battle of Corrin by Brian Herbert and KJ Anderson

Twelfth Night by Bill Shakey

The Richest man who ever lived, by Steven K Scott

Song of Achiles by Madaline Miller

The Iliad by Homer

Thief of Corinth by Tessa Afshar

The Odyssey by Homer

The Talisman of Troy by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

Sons of Encouragement by Francine Rivers

Spartan by VM Manfredi

Corydon and the fall of Atlantis by Tobias Druitt

The Painted Man by Peter V Brett

Prince of Thorns by Mark Lawrence

Titus Groan by Mervyn Peake

Maskerade by Terry Pratchett

The Fellowship of the Ring by JRR Tolkien

The Wind Singer by William Nicholson

Rashomon and Sevnteen Other Stories by Akutagawa Ryunosuke

An Elegy for Easterly by Petina Gappah

The Two Towers by JRR Tolkien

Slaves of the Master by William Nicholson

Firesong by William Nicholson

Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson

Sea Stories by Joseph Conrad

Zorro: The Novel by Isabel Allende

The Return of the King by JRR Tolkien

Dracula by Bram Stoker

Don Quixote by Miguel Cervantes

Gormenghast by Mervyn Peak

Slated by Teri Terry

The Orphanage of the gods by Helena Coggan

Elke dag saam met God by Henk Gous