#never caught the squaddies doing it though

[darkstrawberrytimetravel]

This... There's a cinema close by to me that has double seats.

The idea that you sit and stir over Soaps words, how excited you are when they visit again.

Nervously you do your first check only to find it empty, seemingly, but you can still smell sex in the air. Walking up the steps in the dark, your senses in overdrive but the movie and sounds fucking with your senses.

Then you feel it, big muscular hands wrapping around you and pushing you on your knees to their spot on a double seat. You see an even larger dark muscular form walk up past you and settle on the seat right in front of you as you feel Soap undo your trousers and run his fingers up your slick slit. Ghost palms the hard bulge under his jeans and you stay there, locked in place as you feel Soap push into you from behind, fisting your hair and leaning down to whisper into your ear.

"Da ne worry love, he loves tae watch me fuck the pretty ones." His thick Scottish burr resonates down your ear.

I just know that Ghost and Soap come to the small, crappy cinema you work in every weekend, pick a movie they know will be dead and then fuck in the second row from the back. You have the seat numbers bloody memorised.

This falling apart cinema doesn't have fancy tech to keep an eye on things, it's all manual screen checks by the staff. Every 30 minutes you are supposed to pop your head in and check everything is OK. Your eyes find them like a heat seeking missile everytime. It's not worth interrupting these two huge, scary looking guys. You work on minimum fucking wage. So as long as they are the only two in the screen you just leave them to it and hope that they'll not leave a mess (they don't actually, you try not to wonder where exactly all the, uh, fluids wind up).

You're hauling a bin bag through to the garbage compactor room when someone squeezes your arse.

"Naw that we dinnae love our wee voyeur, but it's been months now hen and I'm starting tae feel a little insulted you're naw joining in."

[beautifully-lumpy]

✨ RAMBLY POST ABOUT THE CADDICARUS SPYRO VIDEO ✨

non-spoiler thoughts:

THIS VIDEO WAS AMAZING!!! it was everything i ever wanted and more. i'm an old ancient caddicarus fan from 2014 and oh my goooooddddd i loved this video. i loved it so much. it was beautiful amazing wonderful immaculate i want to marry it. nay, i want to marry the entire goddamn 2020-present caddicarus show.

i can't think of any jokes that fell flat in this episode. like usually there are at least a few that fall flat but this episode was wonderfully written.

it's like...i've been waiting 8 years for this video. there was a point in caddicarus history where we were certain the channel would never hit a million due to the stagnation it was experiencing in the late 2010's. the spyro video was becoming less and less of a possibility...until caddy changed up his content.

this change happened just under a year after i stopped watching, though. for two and a half more years, i kept hesitating and hesitating to watch the newer videos...until he actually hit one million subs. i was sitting in the college library on my first day of junior year when that happened, and i realized at that moment i HAD to return. so i watched the newer videos and was like "holy shit they really are as amazing as they say".

so the spyro video was my first new caddicarus episode since returning to the fandom...and man...i just missed that feeling so much. that wondrous feeling of getting a notification for a caddicarus episode. it's a feeling i hadn't felt in nearly 4 years.

OK BUT LIKE i have so muuuch stuff i wanna do rn. gifs, fanart, edits, etc...like BROOOO. i've fully been transformed back into my teenage self making tons of caddicarus fan-stuff for each new video that drops lmao.

and now for the spoilery thoughts... (this will be very incoherent i'm sorry)

ok but the CAMEOS? genius. if this video was made in 2016 i GUARANTEE he would've dedicated like 2 minutes to each of them, and they would've been saying stuff like "CADDY, PLEASE do NOT play this game, i played this on MY channel and it will CURSE YOU for LIFE!!!". but nope, the cameos lasted like 2 seconds each and almost ALL of them were just them being slightly caught off guard. I LOVE THIS GODDAMN SHOW SO MUCH.

and THE CADDYS RETROSPECTIVES INTRO!! I REMEMBER THAT! I CLAPPED!!!!

and THE BEGINNING CAMEO WITH THE NORMALBOOTS GUYS AND BRUTALMOOSE......crying

it's so funny that the few side characters we saw return in this were spons, baddy, long dennis and sam widge...but we got a shitton of new side characters. AND I LOVE THEMB.......WHEREDIGO MY BELOVED. face face is my new favorite eldritch horror, the COW... and the NEW LONDON COCKNEY CHARACTER WHO PULLED UP TO BEEFY BOYS. i DEADASS thought jim was gonna bring back quick J and was kinda disappointed he didn't jiaowefjoife. but he DID bring back daddy caddy so it's a good compromise.

OH AND WALLACE BIG TOO....AND COUSIN SQUADDY had me laughing my ASS off.

but obviously andrew van is the greatest caddicarus character of all time.

i have lots of favorite bits in this one, like the one where he puts on the clown shoes and kills moneybags. i also loved the one where he greenscreened himself skateboarding, and the return of that bit where he was flying out of the window to katamari music (it was some 2016 video i forgot what it was jsjsjjsjsj), and he ALSO brought back that "just melt it. i'll soak it up. i'll eat it" bit from the spyro orange video. and the SURPRISE MEXICAN BOUNS ROUND...god i'm going to reference this every time i go to a mexican restaurant.

that PUZZLE BIT...jim is such a genius like HOW. HOW does he come up with these things.

and i'm pretty sure that "you have to collect diamonds to FAST TRAVEL???" was a reference to "NOT EVEN THE ARCADE MODE???" from rascal racers

AND I'M NOT SHUTTING UP ABOUT THIS. MATRIX JIM. I WAS CHOKING,,,,

we got some new songs, notably "pink poo bag on your keys" and "i got a million subs". i will have lots of fun learning all the words to these and annoying the hell out of my sister with them.

i hope dead bird of the week becomes a regular thing.

and HOLY SHIT HE JINXED THE REPEAT OF THE CHEESE GRATER INCIDENT. WHY JIM. WHY.

[javierpenaspinkshirt]

House Keys & Cocktail Umbrellas

Horacio Carrillo x F!Reader

One shot - 18+

Warnings: smut with an attempt at story line, oral sex, daddy kink, dom!Carrillo, orgasm denial, edging, swearing, Horacio Carrillo is his own warning, the willful disregard of canon, and some nasty formatting.

Words: 3.7k

Summary: set in the early/mid 80s before he became everyone's favourite Colonel, Horacio Carrillo comes home from a week away to find his girlfriend waiting to greet him.

A/N: it was about time I stopped thirsting in the tags and actually wrote something, right? So here's a totally self indulgent attempt at a pre-canon Carrillo smut-fest. 

House Keys & Cocktail Umbrellas

Your heart skipped as you slid your new key into his lock. He’d given it to you a week ago when he’d left and you hadn’t used it yet. You liked to think there was a romantic symbolism to being given a key to his apartment, a signal as to the direction in which your life together was headed. But you also suspected he’d had the same thought as you had and was secretly hoping you’d be here to greet him when he got home.

You would be.

Horacio had been away for a week. Occasionally his job demanded that he and his fellow officers do a week’s residential training somewhere. Last time had been in a safe house in Bogotá doing urban assault drills, this time it was at a repurposed coke lab somewhere in the jungle that had been seized by the Colombian military and then used as a training facility for narco policing.

Horacio was an officer in the Colombian National Police. He was currently a Captain but he was fast approaching the rank of Major. You were sure he’d be a General in no time. But for now he was Captain Carrillo, fiercely proud of his country, sworn to protect his people, and hopelessly in love with you.

It was probably your favourite thing about him; the juxtaposition of the tall, strapping Captain, feared by many a drug lord across your country and the next, and the soft, kind, dimple-cheeked man you knew him as. You loved that he commanded respect wherever he went but at home he was like warm wax in your hands, soft to your touch and endlessly pliable under your fingers.

You entered his apartment cautiously like it was the first time you had ever been there. It wasn’t, you had been countless times over the year or so you’d been together. Though you remembered the first time well. It was your eighth date, you’d made him wait and prove he wasn’t just some squaddie looking for a hook up. He’d brought you back to his after a meal out followed by several many drinks at your favourite bar in the city. You had spent the night and had ruined his bedsheets. Not through any amorous activity, nothing of the sort. In fact you had thrown up your strawberry daiquiris in a horrifying projectile all over his bed. How he hadn’t kicked you out then and there you didn’t know.

Instead he had looked after you… and then subsequently taken the piss every time you’d walked passed that bar since.

You’d bought him new bedsheets the next day. You’d taken the gaudy blue sheets with little red and yellow cocktail umbrella detail you’d found at the market to his front door in an apology and he’d laughed hard and pulled you into his arms, telling you you were a fool but you were his fool.

His sense of humour was such that he’d actually put the gross blue umbrella sheets on his bed the next time you came to visit. You’d laughed so hard together and ended up making love all night under them. Now they sat in his linen cupboard. He hated the garish bright colours and the badly stitched pattern, but they made him smile every time he went into find some bedsheets that weren’t ugly blue.

You considered putting the umbrella sheets on his bed as you closed the front door behind you and dropped your new key into the bowl next to the door where he usually kept his. You decided against it. As much as you loved the way he laughed when you brought them up you wanted his attention to be solely on you tonight. You’d worn that dress he liked so much, a white sun dress with delicate yellow flowers dotted across the skirt. It was garishly girly and not wholly appropriate for the time of year as the weather began to change and the cold seeped into the city, but he liked it and that was good enough for you.

You’d been shopping in the week after work and bought new lingerie that would horrify your mother and give your grandmother a heart attack. The friend you’d gone with had waggled her eyebrows at you when you’d picked it out causing the both of you to burst into fits of giggles in the shop. She’d laughed knowing what you were planning for the weekend.

You were wearing said lingerie now. You’d had to wear a jacket over your dress to stop the red lace being so obviously visible as you sat on the bus to get to Horacio’s. The only person you wanted looking at your new red lace was him, not the bus pervs.

You slipped your jacket off and kicked off your shoes and made your way to his kitchen. His apartment was small and open plan all save for the bedroom and bathroom. It was light and airy and surprisingly tidy for a man who lived his life in organised chaos. You had seen his desk at work.

He would be home soon and you knew he’d have nothing substantial to eat at his place. Food shopping was his least favourite chore. You dumped your bag onto the kitchen counter and began stacking his fridge with meals you’d cooked for him. Just enough to last him the weekend, you weren’t about to start cooking every meal for a man you didn’t even live with yet. But he’d need the weekend to catch up on rest after his week away, so you’d allowed yourself this one domestic nicety… just this once.

You packed the last Tupperware tub away in his fridge when you heard the key in the lock. You spun round and leapt onto the couch, attempting to look as causal as you could, pretending to read the old TV guide left on the coffee table.

Horacio closed the door behind him and caught sight of you, sat nonchalantly on his sofa, flicking through his discarded newspapers and magazines. You turned to look up at him and batted your eyelashes at him, unable to keep the smile from spreading across your face.

It was a rare day that he wore his uniform home, but today was just such a rarity. He was dressed in his khaki greens, Captain’s rank slides displayed on his shoulders, and his name emblazoned across his chest. His broad shoulders were barely contained by the short sleeved shirt and his tanned arms were very much on display, muscles rippling as he reached out to take your hands and pull you up to stand in front of him.

You expected him to make a comment about the dress, or about the red bra strap he could see peaking out from beneath the neckline but instead he surprised you,

‘I missed you’, he smiled as he said it, showing the dimples you loved so much and that sparkle in his eyes reignited as he looked you over.

He pulled you into a hug and you buried your face in the crook of his neck. He was warm and strong and you could smell the remnants of cigarette smoke and cologne on his shirt.

He slowly dragged a hand up your body, reminding himself how soft and good you felt beneath his large palm, and stopped as he reached your chin, gently nudging you to look up at him and kiss him.

You obliged and sunk into him as his lips chastely brushed yours before pulling you in for a bruising kiss. You had missed him so much. It had only been a week and you knew you sounded like some love sick teenager but as he splayed his palm against your back, pulling you hard against him, at least you knew the feeling was mutual.

He broke the kiss and grinned down at you, your height difference never more apparent than when you were stood up close to each other.

‘How was your week, mi amor? How much did you miss me?’ He winked at you as he squeezed your ass, pulling your dress up so he could feel your hot skin against his palm.

‘Oh you know how it is’ you ran your hands up his chest, working your way up over his shoulders and up to his jawline, cleanly shaven and smooth. You threaded your fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck and stood up on your tip toes so you were eye level with him, ‘I guess I thought about you maybe once or twice’.

Your words elicited a growl from your captain who grabbed at your thighs and pulled you up, your legs wrapped around his waist and your back against the wall. He easily supported your weight with one arm and palmed at your now exposed thighs with his other, pushing your dress up as high as he could, catching a glimpse of your new red panties, your arousal beginning show itself.

‘Don’t be like that, niñita, tell daddy how much you missed him’.

You dug your nails gently into the back of his neck, letting him know his words were having an effect.

A shit-eating grin was plastered to his face as he pressed his forehead to yours. You hated how easily he could make you come undone. He loved it.

You shifted to try and steal a kiss but he was wise to you and pulled away.

‘You haven’t earned that yet, baby, you have to earn that’.

He pulled a whine from you as he dragged his fingers slowly over your folds, your underwear giving away your slickness.

Horacio laid wet, lazy kisses up your neck, pausing only to suck on your pulse point, leaving a blushed purple mark you’d be wearing for the next few days. He kissed along your jawline tentatively and stopped to bite gently on your ear lobe.

‘Are you going to be a good girl for me?’ He whispered before pulling back to look you in the eyes.

You couldn’t help yourself as you responded, ‘yes, Captain’.

His commanding stare wavered and he let out a laugh, knowing full well you were taking the piss, before kissing you quickly then dropping you down back on to your feet and taking your hand.

He lead you into the bedroom and set about pulling your dress off you.

‘I’m so fucking glad you didn’t put the umbrella sheets on the bed’ he chuckled, recognising with relief the white sheets he’d left on the bed a week ago.

You laughed with him as your dress was yanked over your head, leaving you standing in only your underwear.

He paused for a moment to take in the sight of you.

‘You are just… god I love you so much’ he looked at you with what you could only describe as adoration.

He was domineering in bed, in control at all times and loved to hear you call him daddy. He would edge you until you were begging him to let you cum, loving the way you writhed underneath him, clawing at his back and up his arms and all but crying his name as he worked you the way he wanted.

But other times he would look at you like you were the only person on Earth that mattered to him. Sometimes he would look at you in a way that could break your heart clean in two. You hoped that would never change.

You sidled up to him and began unbuttoning his shirt slowly. You peeled off the khaki layer, letting his shirt fall to the floor as he stood perfectly still for you. He would take control in a minute, but for now it was your turn.

You untucked his white undershirt, tugging at it to get him to take it off, you couldn’t reach up high enough to take it off him yourself. He did as you wanted and pulled his T-shirt off as you dragged your nails over his bare chest. He sighed and lolled his head back at your touch. Just like putty in your hands.

You inspected his torso, running your fingers over every new bruise and laid gentle kisses over each one. You didn’t know what exactly they did on these training weeks, but it was rough. He always came back battered and bruised. He couldn’t say much, wouldn’t even if he was allowed to, but what he did tell you made you worry about him. He was a dedicated officer, he believed in his country and believed that he was serving it to the best of his ability. But everyone knew the narcos were beginning to tighten their grip around Colombia’s throat, choking their own home land to make a point to the rest of the world.

And who was meant to stop them? Your Horacio. The man almost whimpering before you as you kissed down his ribs. You knew he could be fierce, you feared he could cruel, but you couldn’t believe it right now, not as he threaded his hands into your hair as you dropped to your knees before him.

You wrestled with his belt for a moment and finally managed to pull it through the loops of his slacks, letting it fall to the floor as you looked up at him, eyes locked on his, as you unbuttoned his trousers and went for his zip.

His hands grasped yours and before you could do anything more and suddenly he was squatted down on his haunches in front of you, eyes level with yours with a smirk on his face.

‘No baby’ he crooned so smoothly, ‘you haven’t earned that’.

He scooped you up in one movement and dragged your legs around his waist again, his cock pressing firmly against your inner thigh. He sucked another purple bruise to your skin just above your collar bone then knelt to drop you down on the bed.

He stood above you, tall, shirtless, a sheen of sweat beginning to form across his body. You looked up at him, lying on your back on the bed, your hands above your head and legs bent at the knees hanging off the edge. His eyes raked over you, taking in the soft flesh of your hips, the way your chest was rising and falling in anticipation, the bruises he’d left on you blooming nicely, the purple of them complimenting the way your skin blushed under his gaze.

He leant down over you, kissing up your belly and pulled at bra down until he freed both of your breasts and rolled a nipple between his finger and thumb. He took the other into his mouth and you let out a low moan, making him pinch hard with his fingers and lick up your chest, up your neck until his lips crashed against yours.

There was less composure this time, a mash of teeth and tongue as you pulled on his hair and held him close to you. He pulled away as he felt your grip on his hair tighten and slipped down off the bed and sat to remove his combat boots and trousers, leaving him in just his boxers.

He knelt on his knees and positioned himself between your legs.

‘Were these expensive’ he asked, a sly grin on his lips as he ran his finger under the waistband of your panties.

‘Very’ you crooned as you leant up on an elbow and unhooked your bra with your free hand, pulling it off you and leaving your chest exposed. Your grin matched his.

‘Good’ was all the response he gave before he ripped your panties off you, tearing the lacy fabric easily with one hand.

He dragged his hands down your thighs and grabbed your ankles, hooking each knee over his shoulders and dragged his tongue hard over your clit. You gasped at the sudden sensation and let your head drop back as you collapsed down on the bed.

Horacio dove in, licking and sucking at you like it was the last time he would ever get to do it. He set a relentless pace before he slid a finger into you, making easy work of finding that spot that made you moan. Your thighs tensed as he added another finger, all the while bearing down on your clit, feeding off every moan and whimper that left your mouth.

You felt the heat rising in your lower belly, knowing you were just moments away from release, his name dripping from your lips when he stopped. He knelt up and looked at you from between your thighs, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and arched an eyebrow at you.

‘What’s the matter, baby?’ He teased.

You knew he wanted you to beg but you weren’t going to give into him yet, you wouldn’t let that smug satisfaction bloom across his face so soon. You leant up on your elbows again, meeting his gaze.

He saw your refusal to play a long and leant down to lick slowly up your folds and swipe lightly across your clit. You bit your bottom lip hard and let your head fall back to your shoulder blades.

He kept his eyes on you, fascinated by the way he could pull you apart with just a flick of his tongue. Instead he ran his hand up your thigh a pressed his index finger to your clit, his cock jumped as your body jolted against his touch. He rubbed hard circles on your bundle of nerves until your breathing hitched and he felt you right on the edge of orgasm and pulled away again.

You stared at him again, pupils blown black but refused to beg. You wanted more and you were going to get it.

‘Not going to be a good girl for me hmm? I’ll show you what happens when you’re not good for me’ he stood quickly, unhooking your ankles and pushed your further up the bed. He pulled off his boxers and let his cock spring free. You ached for him.

He positioned himself above you and leant down to kiss up your neck. He pressed the tip of his cock to your entrance as he felt you clench around him, desperate for him.

He grabbed your arms, pulling them above your head and grasped them both with one hand, using the other to lean himself above you.

‘You don’t get to cum until I say so, you understand? Don’t you dare cum until I tell you you can’ he demanded in your ear. You could hear from the strain in his voice that he was almost as desperate as you were, he was just better at controlling it.

Your response was low and breathy, ‘yes, daddy’.

He groaned as he pushed into you, deep and throaty, a string of curses whispered into your ear as he gave you both a moment to adjust.

The heat had coiled up in your belly again and god did it feel good just to have him inside you. He was so cocky and demanding but you could feel him fighting back his own release already. He slowly began moving his hips, building up a rhythm that didn’t have you both coming undone too soon.

You were hot and tight around him, your legs wrapped around his hips as he picked up his pace, chasing his high but denying you yours. He knew just how to hit that spot inside you, knew just how to make you moan low and utter his name like it was the dirtiest of curse words. But he denied you until he was snapping his hips against yours, the filthiest of sounds filling his small bedroom.

He released your hands from above your head and you instantly raked them up his back, nails digging in to his soft skin, feeling every movement of every muscle. He dragged his thumb across your clit, causing you to clench down on him. His eyes snapped closed and his head hung as his pace faltered slightly. He slowed, catching his breath and denying himself release until he had you right where he wanted you.

Your eyes were lidded and your breath quick and shallow as he pressed his thumb to your clit again, his forehead against yours, his gaze meeting yours.

‘Tell me, princessa, tell me what you want’ he slowed his thrusts even more and you moaned, your orgasm so close, held back only by your stubbornness.

You gave in.

‘Fuck me, Horacio, please, let me cum’ you pulled his hair and barely managed to form a sentence before he leant down and bit your bottom lip, pulling and sucking on it as he thrust into you, rubbing his thumb over your bundle of nerves.

His touch had you seeing white, you gripped his biceps, sure you were going to leave little indentations with your nails.

‘I’m gonna-’ he cut you off before you could say it.

‘Cum for me, mi amor’ the last word came out as a moan as he felt your body tense under him.

You moaned his name and clawed at his shoulders as you were finally allowed your release. It washed over you as you felt his hips stutter and his head dropped down to your shoulder. He bit at your neck as he filled you, unapologetically pulling at your hair and sliding the hand that had been tending to your clit up to grab at your tit, squeezing hard sure to leave bruises.

You felt him slump against you as he came down. You pulled his body against yours, letting the mattress take the weight of both you, spent and sweaty as your skin stuck to his.

He kept his head buried against your neck as he caught his breath and willed his heart rate to slow enough to let some blood flow back to his brain.

You traced circles on his back, feeling marks and indentations from your nails raking over his tan skin, the aftershocks of your high waning. You knew he liked the marks you left on him, knowing under his shirt he was marked and owned was a secret just between you two.

His breathing slowed and he leant up on his forearms to brush the hair from your forehead and smile down at you.

He placed a gentle kiss to your lips, soft and loving and you felt him smile against you.

‘Glad to be home, Captain?’ You bit his lower lip and smiled back.

He groaned as he pulled out of you, keen for the next round but spent for the moment, and flopped down on his back next to you.

‘I’m really fucking glad I gave you that key’.

You laughed and agreed, you were pretty fucking pleased too.

He turned to look at you and brushed your cheek gently with his hand, ‘and I’m really really glad you didn’t put the umbrella sheets on the bed’.

[this-account-is-abandoned]

I was tagged by @actualsunflower ❤❤❤

Name? ➔ “Gabriel Jimenez. My friends call me Gabe, Gabby, or General.”

Are you single? ➔ “Nah. Put a ring on Preston as soon as it felt right.”

Are you happy? ➔ “Very. I made the Commonwealth the safest region on the East coast. Turns out a little military training goes a long way.”

Are you angry? ➔ “Only if you’re trying to fuck over people who ain’t done nothing wrong.” 

Are your parents still married? ➔ “They were until my padre got sick working on an oil rig off the Gulf Coast. Chemical leak. Mama never remarried.”

NINE FACTS 

 Birthplace? ➔ “Laredo, Texas.”

Hair color? ➔ “Black, but Preston likes to pretend he’s counting how many grays I’m getting. I love when he calls me ‘old man’.”

Eye color? ➔ “Brown.”

Birthday? ➔ “January 11th.”

Mood? ➔ “Generally, I try to stay laid back when it comes to things I can’t change. Always try to look on the bright side, y’know, but I can come off as a bit of a stiff in today’s crowd. Two hundred years and anyone would stick out like a sore thumb.”

Gender? ➔ “100% Grade ‘A’ man. Pure beef. Okay, I lied. I have a dangler, but to be honest, it doesn’t matter to me what I am. I feel good in both fatigues and a dress so neither I guess. I am beefy though.”

Summer or winter? ➔ “Winter. People resort to cuddling me for warmth because I’m a natural hot-rock. Win-win situation.”

Morning or afternoon? ➔ “Morning. I feel like my garden is more awake then and I like to encourage the flowers and crops when they’re not napping.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

Are you in love? ➔ “Honestly, Piper? I think I found my soul-mate. Don’t get me wrong, my late wife Nora was amazing. I still think about her. Preston reminds me of her sometimes, especially when he scrunches his face up when I do something dumb, but he’s also a completely different person entirely. Half of me didn’t seem to wanna move on at first out of respect for Nora’s memory, but the other half just clicked with him the moment I met him. I think she would’ve liked him. He means everything to me now.”

Do you believe in love at first sight? ➔ “Happened to me twice now.”

Who ended your last relationship? ➔ “The mother-fucker who’s gun in hanging over my mantle place and collecting dust, right now. He thought he knew how shit worked, just like every other rotten sonofabitch I ran out of Boston. Thought because the world dealt him a shitty hand, that justified him shooting my wife in cold-blood. I don’t fuckin care what life did to you, the moment you take it out on someone who did you no wrong to you, you just completed the cycle and became as bad as the villain in your own story. It was no wonder that his life ended at the barrel of the 10mm pistol I’d named after her. l put her away when I’d gotten my skin, buried with my whip-smart, beautiful Nora and that’s when I really accepted I’d never see her again.”

Have you ever broken someone’s heart? ➔ “I used to be quit the heart-throb in my day, before the war. My face was on posters, I did public talks, felt like Elvis, y’know? My Army days are a bit of blur now, but I do regret saying I maybe flirted with one too many naive hopefuls.”

Are you afraid of commitments? ➔ “Not in the slightest. I love risk. Y’know, Nora was actually a government agent sent to keep an eye on me? Y’know, cause of the prototype super soldier stuff. She flirted and I dove head first. I took my time with Preston, though. It still feels like he’s out of my league and I didn’t wanna bother him with my baggage an matching luggage.”

Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ “Piper, please. We made the ‘cuddle puddle formation’ just last night when we were watching Loony Tunes in my house. I’m pretty sure I hugged: You, Preston, Dogmeat, Codwsorth for a little bit before he got squirrelly, Deacon, my second dad Longfellow, Nick, Joe, Cait, Strong, Ada, Curie, my five other dogs Gracie, Mishka, Duke, Sophie, and Screwball, and those Brotherhood boys came over too. Bruce and Danse, I think? X-6 was busy and Porter doesn’t really cuddle. I don’t know, there might of been more there. Point is I hug, a lot. (Out of character: Bruce is another OC. More on him later?)

Have you ever had a secret admirer? ➔ “I used to be famous. Had tons of those I’m sure. If only they knew.”

Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ “Oh yea, but that comes with life. It’s like a term I heard from a fellow squaddie. She called it ‘Kintsugi’. Means when I break and repair the damage, and I come out with a unique design.”

SIX CHOICES

Love or lust? ➔ “My other head gets the better of me most of the time, twice now that has led be down the path to love, so I guess both?”

Lemonade or iced tea ➔ “Iced tea. Living in Texas, even during the pandemic, you could roll up to any joint and get a gallon of un-sweet delight for just sixteen bucks. Pretty cheap if you ask me.”

Cats or dogs? ➔ “Dogs. Preston has a cat, “Endicott’, and I try to be friendly with the feral creature but I swear it’s up to something. It just stares at me, menacingly.”

A few best friends or many regular friends? ➔ “I seem to make friends anywhere I go. Deacon says it’s because I have ‘charisma’ but I think my seven foot tall stature just makes people wanna be on my good side. Who knows?”

Wild night out or romantic night in? ➔ “Both. I make sure to mix it up with my ‘rey amor mio’”

Day or night? ➔ “Oddly enough, night-time in this new world is so beautiful. The stars are out, no air pollution, I have plenty of time to finish up my paperwork for the Minutemen in fucking peace. It’s quiet.”

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

Been caught sneaking out? ➔ “I would never...Okay that can be fact checked. Don’t include this okay, but yea, I sneak out from the Castle all the time. Gotta get away from Ronnie sometimes.”

Fallen down/up the stairs? ➔ “Never. I have the reflexes of a weasel... I think.”

Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “Yup.”

Wanted to disappear? ➔ “...Yea...Don’t wanna talk about it though.”

FOUR PREFERENCES

Smile or eyes? ➔ “Jeez. Can’t pick. Preston has both in spades. If he smiled at me an looked at me with those eyes I’d jump off a cliff at his command.”

Shorter or taller? ➔ “Doesn’t matter. Although, I’m seven feet tall so everyone’s shorter than me.”

Intelligence or attraction? ➔ “What?”

Hook-up or relationship? ➔  “I’ve done both. Preston is my choice.”

FAMILY

Do you and your family get along? ➔ “The Minutemen are my family. I try to make sure anyone who signs up for our lifestyle is known and compensated. Only had a few men go AWOL in the first few months, but most came after watching our progress. My closest friends are even closer. I would do anything for them.”

Would you say you have a “messed up life”? ➔ “Oh, definitely. I’m considered pre-war. That in itself it a fucked up term. I watched my padre die, joined the Army at sixteen, agreed to horrible experiments out of desperation, got my leg blown off in Anchorage, watched my wife die and my baby-boy kidnapped, and now I have to live in a world two hundred years older than the world I left behind when a fucking greedy, sadistic corporation called ‘Vault-Tec’ froze me. I’m still trying to get used to everything and probably won’t be able to ever feel at home ever again. Preston had to teach me a lot. That’s not even the short of it.”

Have you ever ran away from home? ➔ “One time when my older sister was arguing with my parents I got mad that no one was paying attention to me so I packed up my toys and made it a block before I got lost and started crying. Mama found me and I never ran away again.”

Have you ever gotten kicked out? ➔ “Feel like I got kicked out of the Army. I was supposed to be there big ticket to Anchorage, and I did win it back, but when they saw their ‘Super Soldier’ got his leg blasted off, they dropped me like a hot sack of shit. Still stings.”

FRIENDS

Do you secretly hate one of your friends? ➔ “They just need more love.”

Do you consider all of your friends good friends? ➔ “I have somehow managed to turn the Brotherhood to the Minutemen’s side. Long story. I met an Institute Courser and helped him with his personal issues. He’s my buddy now. Met a raider in Nuka-World during the Nuka-Siege, he’s currently in the Castle giving us counter-intel on raider tactics. I consider even the most unlikely of people I’ve met to be important friends. Not because they help, but because I hope the path I’ve offered them all is a road to peace and recovery.”

Who is your best friend? ➔ “Uh...Preston, Dogmeat, Codsworth, Gracie, Mishka, Sophie, Duke, Deacon, Longfellow, Hancock, Joe, Piper, Curie, Ada, Strong, Cait, Danse and Bruce, I guess, oh I forgot about X-6 and my crack-head dog Screwball. I would probably tell all of these people my secrets. Maybe.”

Who knows everything about you? ➔ “Preston, and no Piper, he won’t tell you nothing about the secret stash either, either.”

I tag anyone who wants in on the fun. 

[blessuswithblogs]

My Experiences with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

Today's piece has very little to do with video games, but instead, me. This is more of an exercise in catharsis and thought ordering than something really meant for other people to read and go "o yea thats neat," but you're welcome to do so anyway. I'm also putting up some content warnings for Mental Health Junk like eating disorders and severe anxiety, as well as allusions to stomach flu symptoms (this one probably bothers me more than anybody reading). If you wish to proceed with all that in mind, by all means.

Let's start at the beginning. I've suffered from minor post-traumatic symptoms for over 20 years after the conclusions of traumatic events, usually severe illness. In the past, these symptoms have been self-limiting and usually resolved after a couple of months. Even after I was terribly ill with pneumonia, had an allergic reaction to pneumonia medication, and spent several afternoons with a nebulizer in my mouth, it only took half a year or so to mentally recover from the incident, and all I really suffered from was mild worry when I started coughing. All this changed, however, in September of 2008. A number of unfortunate circumstances occurred in quick succession and I ended up dreadfully sick with gastroenteritis alone with my dad, who also caught it. It was an uncharacteristically virulent and severe strain of whatever norovirus was going around at the time. My working hypothesis is that my brother caught it at Disneyland after using the bathroom without washing his hands like a frickin idiot, because he caught it first and then spread it to the rest of us. My mom seemed unaffected, or was extremely adept at suppressing symptoms, so she hauled my brother's sick ass back up to his dorm in Santa Barbara. Originally, this was going to be a family outing, but I argued that I really didn't need to be there for other reasons entirely, which, as it turned out, ended up dodging a bullet. We both got sick after they left, and it was a miserable night by all accounts.

It marked a couple of milestones for me. Sheltered child that I was (let's be honest, sheltered child that I am), I had never been in a position where I was seriously debilitated and my mom wasn't there to be mom at me. It was also the first time I sort of had to take care of somebody else being ill, because as sick as I was, my dad was even sicker. He's also an unreasonable old fuck who demanded that I didn't let mom know that we were both the next victims of the plague, but I disregarded that order because I was freaking out and in that pre-sick period where you feel pretty nauseated but you're not really sure if that's because you ate too fast or something or you're actually sick. She came back the next day with some pedialite or however you spell it. I was actually kind of delirious at that point, utterly sleep deprived and running a nasty fever. I still vividly recall a strange sort of fever daydream I had in the shower about The Big O being featured in the upcoming Super Robot Wars Z, which is really strange to me to this day but there it is. Showtime, I guess. Prior to this bout of sickness, I had been struggling with tummy troubles the whole year due to the stress of acclimating to living in a new state and a few unfortunate cases of much more mild gastroenteritis. By the time of this incident, I was already pretty worn down, and it turned out to be the straw that broke the camel's back. After making a physical recovery and doing okay for a few days, I started exhibiting severe anxiety symptoms. At the time, I didn't know it, but I was actually a fairly textbook case of post-traumatic stress disorder, and it basically stopped me from being a functioning human for a good year or so.

Let's talk a little about PTSD. The classical understanding of this disorder is that of combat fatigue, something that only soldiers in hellish warzones suffer from after seeing their squaddies get blown up by the Vietcong or whatever. A largely more enlightened view than the previous perception of the disorder as "shell shock" or, even worse, "malingering," but one still inadequate for a modern clinical context. PTSD can be brought about by any sufficiently traumatic event meeting with a sufficiently susceptible person, as per the diathesis model of medicine. If that's what they're still calling it. It's actually been pretty long since I've taken any psych courses, the last two years of college was mostly just filling in credits with random bullshit. At any rate, while soldiers are a large demographic of PTSD sufferers, people can contract it from just about anything -- car accidents, sexual assault (this is a big one, almost assuredly more prevalent than in active combat personnel), and, of course, severe illness. It took me a long time to actually be honest enough with myself and my various therapists to reach the diagnosis. I had suspicions, because even then I was studying psychology, albeit in highschool elective curriculum, and I was at that point familiar with most high profile mental illnesses like PTSD, depression, schizophrenia, and what have you. I also knew, however, that young students diagnosing themselves with diseases they had recently read about in a textbook was also a definite phenomenon. Thus, I was reluctant to bring up the possibility and actively downplayed symptoms, both because I had no faith in myself to make an even marginally accurate diagnosis and because I felt ashamed of the possibility. People get PTSD from actual trauma, not a weekend bout of stomach flu, or so I thought. To be honest, I still feel pretty ashamed of it, but I'm old enough now to know that lying to myself and others will get me precisely nowhere.

Fortunately for me, I think that my therapists and psychiatrists at the time were altogether too clever and perceptive to be fooled by a fairly half-hearted show of resistance. We didn't really give what I was feeling a name until quite a ways into it all, but from the outset, my treatment was focused on alleviating these symptoms. And, wouldn't you know it, the SSRI anti-depressants I had been on-again-off-again taking since I was 14 were also the medication of choice for treating post-traumatic stress. It took a long time, but I eventually managed to get myself together enough to start community college, then transfer to a UC school and graduate. Not without difficulty, mind you, but it's still fairly miraculous to me that it happened at all. I had occasional flare-ups, usually linked to a trigger of somebody else throwing up in my general vicinity. My brother seemed to make a habit of coming home from college only to immediately get sick, which was always harrowing. To this day, I don't know how one person can contract so many instances of gastroenteritis. I always seemed to avoid catching his bugs, probably due to my redoubled hygiene practices and general hypervigilance, though there was a period in the summer of 2012 where I got sick with -something- that made my stomach miserable. Not enough to puke, but enough to make me really worry. That was the summer right before I went to go live on my own in campus housing, so, I ended up coming home on weekends to keep myself together.

Recently, as you may or may not know, I've had a major resurgence of symptoms after a very mild case of stomach flu. I honestly wasn't sick for very long, or very violently, but it was enough to bring bad memories flooding back and reopen a terribly inconvenient can of worms. At the time, I was not on any medication due to just generally being at a fairly high level of functioning but a fairly low level of Have Money. I still feel that the decision was mostly sound, but I severely underestimated my potential reaction to a triggering event. Which I suppose in and of itself was a good indicator of my mental health prior to the incident. With the old wounds reopened and no psychoactive agents to help with the pain, I got. Bad. I'm doing better now, thanks to meds and the passage of time, but I'm still not at full capacity, and summer was utterly dire. One of the halmark symptoms of PTSD is going to great lengths to avoid situations and stimuli similar to the trauma that originated the illness. Unfortunately for me, it is very difficult to avoid "feeling nauseous" or "eating food," though God knows I gave it my all. With my comorbid emetophobia back in full swing, I drastically altered my diet and eating habits. I heavily favored foods that I could cook or supervise the cooking of and foreswore fast food and takeout of any kind. Going to a restaurant to eat was out of the question - my first time back to one was this sunday, and it was an altogether miserable experience for a lot of reasons. My handwashing has increased in frequency to the point where I occasionally need to stop myself from doing it unless absolutely necessary so my skin doesn't crack open. Above all, I have been eating a lot lot lot less. Hearing compliments about weight loss is nice, but given the circumstances, it's hard to enjoy them. I spent most of the summer forcing myself to eat and drink when I really, sincerely did not want to. I found comfort in hunger. Hunger was a signifier that all was well, that my body was operating within acceptable parameters, that being hungry and vomiting were not states that could coexist - at least, that was the thought process. The stomach is more complicated than that, of course, but defense mechanisms rarely make a lot of sense.

The anxiety, fear, and tired listlessness of post-traumatic stress disorder are all well documented. I had those in spades. I think my mom caught me doing the whole thousand yard stare a couple of times, though I doubt she realized the significance of me spacing out. A particularly nasty foible to my particular situation is that one of my body's most cherished stress responses is to get sick to my stomach. Feedback loops are quite common in mental illness, and if I am not Queen of Feedback Loops, I am at very least a Minor Duchess. I know the cycle all too well. Stomach pain into anxiety. Anxiety into worsened stomach pain. It doesn't take long on my bad days to literally think myself sick. My symptoms have trended towards the more mild side of the spectrum, at least after medication was reintroduced, but I make up for it by having a trigger that creates itself. A lot of the time, the only way I have to deal with bad episodes is to try and throw myself utterly into something else and forget about physical being for a while. Long hours in FFXIV and Civ6 can attest to this. When that doesn't work, I often have to lie down and bury my head into a pillow until I calm down enough to start feeling better. It is, in a word, disruptive.

One aspect of the disorder that is not often discussed is the heightened fight-or-flight response and startle reflex. It is especially ridiculous in my case because you cannot run from your digestive system. It tends to follow you around. Be that as it may, being constantly on alert for any and all signals of potential gastrointestinal distress is utterly exhausting. You listen to your surroundings. To other people. To yourself, for any normal stomach noises that you're convinced are the sign of the apocalypse. White noise becomes torture as you try to pick up any salient sounds distinct from the hum of the fan, and a great deal of innocuous noises start to sound a lot like worried words and puking. Coughing is the worst because it shares a pretty similar aural profile to vomiting. Naturally, my dad has been suffering from acid reflux induced coughing jags at all hours, so I'm never at a loss for something to listen to in alarm. And alarmed I am! A constant state of hypervigilance necessitates a constant state of being easily startled. People coming up behind you when you're occupied with something else, for instance, becomes a terrifying experience because they just seem to materialize out of thin air. My new room has my back to the door and my headphones are noise-cancelling, so I am snuck upon on a regular basis, though at least with no ill intent. Probably. The garage door just below me seems almost vindictive in its loud rumbling, but I shouldn't add inappropriate anthropomorphization to large sheets of metal to my list of neuroses.

All of this comes down to a single thing: it's hard to feel like yourself when all of this is going on. Sometimes in a moment of lucidity you realize that this bizarre stranger who washes her hands way too much and refuses to eat anything has been ruining your life. Severe, prolonged stress creates a deep and abiding sense of unreality. You lose faith in yourself. You stop trusting yourself. The things you do don't seem to come out quite right. Interacting with other people feels like trying to talk to somebody on the other side of soundproof glass that's kind of smudgy and gross. Sometimes you yell too loud so that they can hear you, other times you mumble halfheartedly because you don't expect it to work anyway. And on rare occasions, you sort of lose touch with reality and try to beat down the pane and make a terrible fool out of yourself because to everyone else it looks like you're slamming your fists into a wall for no reason as you scream and cry. Even then, it's sort of worth it, just so you can say you've felt something other than creeping dread for a little bit.

I suppose, in a way, that this piece is part explanation, part apology, part anecdote. I haven't done as much stuff lately. I've been more reclusive, quicker to upset, a good bit spacier than usual. I've mentioned a few times that I've been suffering from a PTSD resurgence, but those are just words. There's no context behind them. It bothered me. I wanted to put down, in more concrete terms, how I've been feeling and coping and why that's cut into me being me. I don't know what this will accomplish, but maybe somebody out there will find it resonant, or even helpful. It feels necessary to get it out in the open and be honest about why I don't make many videos or streams anymore, or why I'm harder to get in touch with, less willing to do stuff with other people. I'm making progress. Hoping that I can get to the point where I could maybe hold down a job. Gotta dream big, right? Either way, thanks for taking the time to read this. It doesn't make anything that's happened better, but maybe it will help with things in the future. I'm rambling. I've never been good at conclusions, even when they're obvious and big and juicy. When it's just my thoughts, sort of stream of consciousness, I don't really know how to wrap things up because I could keep writing for a while, if we're being honest. Look in closing, 2017 fucking sucked okay.

[stormlit]

OATHBROKEN.

it probably is a concussion, you know. that, and everything else on top of it. balfour’s a fit guy, athletic, knows how to fight if he really has to, but he’s not a fighter, per se. or, more accurately, he’s not the kind of guy who can kill somebody with his bare hands, which is what he attempted with howe. it all sort of backfired. rendon got in a couple of bad hits of his own and– 

     ‘ would you? take a look? at my head, i mean. ’ 

he thinks it’s for the best, and he doesn’t think he can go to hospital anyway. best to keep it unofficial, casual. that way, nobody can trace it back to him and point fingers or… whatever they do on all those procedural tv shows. he doesn’t think he’ll get caught, but– well, they never do, do they? 

still, he wants to make sure he’s alright. or maybe he just wants to be with somebody, though you’d never catch him admitting such a thing. even people like him get lonely though, right? with the shit with his family, the awol girlfriend, the best friend who left after balfour fucked him over like that… 

everything seems to have caught up with him all of a sudden.

              ‘ think i fucked my hand up too. ’ 

        admittedly, she wasn’t expecting him actually take the offer of help; georgie had thought there’d be more brushing off, or claiming to be fine. but she’d have tried, at least. (she’s never understood that --- there’s nothing wrong with asking for help, is there? it makes a person brave, not vulnerable. of course, she’s probably a hypocrite, since georgie isn’t known for asking herself, but she’s not the one who got in a fight.)

        ❝ yeah, yeah, course. i offered, didn’t i? ❞ at least this is more interesting than anything else she might have done today; she hasn’t got to report ‘til later, and if she‘s on base, there’s more chance she’ll get accosted by some squaddie wanting to up their standings, or something. that, or she’ll end up with too much time to think. georgie does her best to avoid that, now she’s got dark rabbit warrens for her thoughts to tumble down.

        her gaze drops to his hand, and yeah, at the very least he’s gonna end up with some nasty scabs; she nods, patting his arm in a friendly come on.  ❝ let’s go and find somewhere to sit and i’ll check it out for you. i think there’s a park round the corner. ❞ (what, it’s not like she can just take him back to barracks, even if she does have a better kit there. they’ll have to make do.)

[andyplayslongwar2]

Day 17: Operation Cold Apollo

With this mission, X-Com came one step closer to liberating East Africa. There were more enemies on the ground than we’ve gotten used to but that didn’t stop the team. Almost as soon as we got back, though, one of the havens came under attack, so we’ll need to move fast to keep everybody safe.

Operation Cold Apollo

Date: April 21st, 2035

In this mission the team needed to capture or eliminate an enemy VIP. If we brought the VIP in alive, we would be rewarded with an additional resistance contact. Either way, completing this mission would reveal the location of Advent’s regional nerve center, which we would need to take down before we can liberate the region.

The team on this one will likely become our third official squad once Whinny is able to train as an officer. Here was the lineup for this mission:

Ezra “Magic Man” Schrage, assaulter Mahmoud Mansoor, grenadier squaddie Sidney “Whinny” Payne, horse specialist Jan “Top Notch” Meyer, sniper Raquel “Gold Hawk” Sanchez Paul “Mirror Beard” Franzen, ranger with a focus on defense. Patrick “Solar” White, technical with a near-worthless rocket attack.

We landed with concealment to the South of the building where the VIP was stationed. Our evac was directly to our West, meaning that we would once again have to go to our objective and then trace our steps back across the map. Luckily, the twenty turn clock was fairly accommodating. Enemy activity was labeled as “light” meaning that there would be between 13 to 15 Advent troops on the ground.

On our first turn, Solar got things started by moving up, where he immediately spotted and engineer, a trooper and a drone to the North West.

Ezra and Paul Franzen both moved up to position themselves for an attack next turn (or in Franzen’s case, on Advent’s turn since his Ever Vigilant ability allows him to enter overwatch at the end of any turn in which he spends both actions moving).

The rest of the team went on overwatch after a small move except for Top Notch who couldn’t reach any good sniping spots without alerting Advent. Instead, he steadied his weapon for next turn.

On their turn, the Advent pod was joined by an officer from the West. The drone moved and spotted us, causing the whole pod to scramble. 

Our aim was true and most of the overwatch shots connected. The officer, the trooper and the drone were all shot down and we went into our next turn facing just one engineer who had taken cover in a nearby building to our North.

The clock was generous, but it was a forced retreat mission, meaning that when it ran out, any remaining solders would be left behind. We needed to keep moving so I wanted to deal with the engineer quickly. Franzen moved up to get a better spot but woke up two troopers and an Advent turret.

Solar has the Shredder ability, allowing his shots to destroy armor, so he moved up to take aim at the heavily armored turret. Top Notch helped him out with rapid targeting on the turret and Solar took the turret out with a single hit.

Franzen spent his second action moving up onto a small Advent guard post. His overwatch at the end of the turn would put one of the troopers in a flanked position.

A few of our soldiers missed their shots, so Whinny threw in a flash bang to keep the engineer off guard (and unable to use his own grenades) and Gold Hawk laid down suppressing fire on the two troopers.

On Advent’s turn, another drone flew in from the North. The engineer moved to reposition but got caught in Franzen’s overwatch fire. The two troopers fired on Franzen and Mansoor, but both missed. The one that Franzen had been flanking moved, but Gold Hawk missed her reaction shot.

That trooper had taken up cover inside the building. Unfortunately for him, it was a spot that Ezra could easily get to.

Now we had one trooper and a drone to deal with. Franzen moved to get a flanking shot on the other trooper but woke up a large pod in the process.

A drone, an engineer, a trooper, and a gunner ran in from the building housing the VIP. Franzen was pretty far up from the rest of the group and was the only one with eyes on this new group. There wasn’t much we could do to subdue them this turn. Rather than retreating, Franzen took the flanking shot and killed the trooper. Whinny did what he could to keep Franzen safe by sending aid protocol.

Most of the team dashed up, with a few taking position on the guard house that Franzen had been on. They couldn’t do much this turn, but next turn they could hop in. Whinny spent his second action to temporarily shut down the drone closes to Franzen. Turns out we can succeed in a hack when our odds are 100%.

On Advent’s turn, shots were fired at both Franzen and Mansoor, but nothing hit. We were in the clear and could start fighting back!

The last few turns had been busy, but we were making good progress on our objective and taking out a lot of Advent in the process. The VIP was nearly in sight, but there were five enemies standing between us and our target.

Ezra used run-and-gun to dash through the building and get closer to the action. In doing do, he discovered another turret on top of the building. He had originally moved up to fire at the gunner, but with the turret in the mix, I decided to hold off on having him use his last action until I could see how the rest of the turn shook out.

Solar attempted to use his wrist-rockets to damage the enemy and take out some cover. It missed spectacular, destroying nothing but a nearby car.

Franzen spent both actions firing at the nearby drones and managed to destroy both of them.

Top Notch climbed onto the Advent guard post, finally getting some elevation and threw a smoke grenade to keep Ezra safe. With concerns about the turret slightly alleviated, Ezra fired at the gunner, killing it.

Gold Hawk suppressed the engineer and Mansoor dashed up to join Ezra in the smoke so he could land a grenade on the following turn.

Advent’s turn began with one of the fallen troopers being reanimated into a psi-zombie. This meant that there was a sectoid out of our visible range that had already been woken up. The turret managed to shoot through the smoke and hit Ezra for three damage. The trooper went on overwatch and the engineer missed.

I’m beginning to think that I should give my snipers armor piercing rounds. These turrets are tricky. Because they have two armor, any damage dealt to them is reduced by two (unless I am able to shred it first). Top Notch had a good shot on the turret, but it was likely to only do a minuscule amount of actual damage. Ezra could run up and take a point-blank shot on the turret, but the psi-zombie was blocking the ladder. Ezra still moved, drawing out the trooper’s overwatch fire. His Lightning Reflexes kept him safe.

This got him close enough to the engineer to take a point-blank shot, killing it.

It also got him close enough to the mystery sectoid to reveal it, along with a stun lancer and a drone.

Mansoor threw a frag grenade up to the turret to remove some of the armor. Top Notch followed up with a shot from his sniper rifle, but missed. Whinny sent some aid protocol to Ezra and a few of our people went on overwatch.

The psi zombie was the first Advent unit to move. Gold Hawk took it out, but I couldn’t help but wish that her overwatch fire had gone towards a bigger threat. Franzen’s overwatch came in useful, though, as he took down the stun lancer as soon as it moved. The sectoid used its psionic abilities to panic Ezra. The Advent forces that fired missed, but the drone shot a helpful beam to the turret to repair it: an ability of theirs that I had forgotten about.

Whinny started the turn with some revival protocol to get Ezra’s head back in the game. Freshly invigorated, Ezra climbed the ladder to the roof and destroyed the turret with hit shotgun.

Mansoor moved up to grab some loot and to lob a flash bang at the sectoid and Top Notch took out the drone.

Franzen dashed again to give himself the best possible overwatch shot on the trooper and the sectoid and Gold Hawk suppressed the trooper.

On their turn, the trooper reloaded his weapon and hunkered down, not ready to face the forces arrayed against him. The sectoid fired at Franzen but missed.

Solar had been steadily moving up as either he or Mansoor were likely candidates to be the one to carry the VIP back. He used his flamethrower on the sectoid and although he did damage, he did not set the alien on fire.

Ezra attempted to finish the job with a frag grenade but the sectoid was left at one health. Whinny sent aid protocol to Franzen and everybody else missed their shot. Gold Hawk kept the trooper suppressed.

When the sectoid got its turn, it shot Solar, doing three damage.

Given the sectoid’s resilience so far, Top Notch decided to help everybody by using his rapid-targeting on it. Luckily that was enough for him and he took the sectoid out from across the map with his sniper rifle. That left just the trooper, which Franzen was able to deal with.

Solar ran in to knock out the VIP and carry her out.

We had a few turns before reinforcements arrived so we started to hoof it back towards the evac.

When reinforcements did land a few turns later, we were ready.

An officer, a sentry and a gunner hopped out. Our initial overwatch fire took down the officer while the sentry and gunner scrambled for cover. 

Ezra ran up and took out the gunner.

We were not able to kill the sentry that turn, but we did leave it at one health. When it tried to shoot at Whinny, Franzen was granted reaction fire and took it out.

After that we had a enough turns to reach the evac. Reinforcements were due on the turn we left, but we never had to see them.

Despite the larger number of enemies, the mission was flawless.

MVP: Paul “Mirror Beard” Franzen

The defensive ranger build is not always as exciting as the more aggressive route, but when it works, it’s fantastic. Paul’s ability to spend both actions to move around the enemy and still go on overwatch was invaluable when combined with his strong reaction shots. He kept a lot of our people safe by killing the enemy as soon as they fired on us.

Promotions

We had a few!

Ezra “Magic Man” Schrage reached sergeant and learned Fortify, which he can activate to greatly increase his defense for a turn.

Jan “Top Notch” Meyer also reached sergeant and learned HiDef Holo, increasing the effectiveness of his holo-targeter.

Sideny “Whinny” Payne reached staff sergeant, learning Field Medic, an ability I’ve been looking forward to that grants him additional uses of his medkits.

Mahmoud Mansoor reached lance corporal and learned Rapid Deployment, letting him occasionally launch flash bangs and other defensive grenades without spending an action.

Back at the Base

By bringing in that VIP, we learned the location of the East African regional nerve center. This is where Advent is organizing their forces (and blasting out propaganda).

There is no timer on this mission, and it is a hard one, allowing a squad of only four. We should take it soon, but I need my people to be a bit more ready first. Once we raid the regional nerve center, the location of the Advent base in the region will be revealed and we will take in a much larger squad for the assault.

In the mean time, It’s time to get our third squad going! Whinny went in for officer training. While he learns about command, the rest of his team is going out on Operation Starving Hawk to round up some new recruits.

No specialists on this one, so they’ll need to play it safe.

There is still time on Operation Steely Fear, so I’m going to wait for one of the other squads to come back before we take it on to prevent a dark event.

Right after I sent out Operation Starving Hawk, though, we got word that Advent was retaliating in East Africa. The haven there was under attack! We only had 24 hours to respond, so I launched Crash Bandicoot early. Hopefully they will stay safe and that squad can turn right back around and save the Haven.

See you next time for Operation Hellborn Doom.

If you want a recruit named after you, tweet at me here!