#the sentries have guns on them

[rottmnt-residuum]

Alternate roof scenes (tw: major character death)

(instead of the update i didn't draw (￣▽￣)" )

If leo decided to jump off:

If leo had just blew past bishop when she started talking to him:

If leo had taken three (3) seconds longer to follow bishop:

[triglycercule]

thinking so much about horror and dust,,, gosh these SILLY goobers theyre so EYDAGHGGG!!!!! compliments to eachother,,,,,

i need them to make puns about topics that absolutely nobody should be laughing about and then DIE cackling because no waaay the punchline was a human's execution :333 (phantom papyrus is shaking his head in dismay)

need them to share stories about shitty experiences with humans and for horror to be impressed by dust's ability to keep coming up with new ways to kill his human and then for dust to also be impressed by horror's ability to handle with all different types of humans!!!

they make eachother food but dust poisoned horror's food and horror added rusted nails to his so theyre just like no you first you really should eat first i wouldn't wanna be rude no but i INSIST! they both know. it's a fun little game isnt it??? horror gets a bit scared of having to eat the food when dust's eyes turn red and cyan but it's okay because then he can just shove the shitty eggs he made into those eyes because theres literal NAILS cooked into it

sometimes they fight because thats normal and dust is annoyed at horror for hating undyne because she's a good person who just wanted to help others and horror's getting pissed because DIDN'T YOU LITERALLY KILL HER DONT YOU JUST VIEW HER AS EXP WHY ARE YOU DEFENDING HER!!! and they bicker back and forth and dust is really starting to wonder why he even empathizes with horror atp.... but its ok after a little quarrel they simmer down and move on. they dont change opinions at all the fight was for nothing

but then there's also times when they just wanna confide in each other because likeeeee theyre both shitty people who fucked up their undergrounds by their own accords and miss how peaceful life was back then. dust tells horror stories of life back before the human came because horror doesn't really remember it that well anymore and horror speaks to phantom papyrus through dust so he can pretend that this is just a conversation between sans and papyrus and everything's okay for just a moment. they both linger onto their memories of how things were before everything went to shit even though horror can barely remember and dust hates his previous self back then,,,,,

dust thinks horror's sooo much better than him for not literally mass murdering everyone but then goes around and stink eyes him for forcing his snowdin to eat humans and then leave the rest of the underground to starve. WHY DIDN'T YOU DO BETTER HORROR WHY DIDN'T HELP EVERYONE ELSE. horror scoffs because even though he kinda lowkey gets dust's philosophy of saving everyone and stopping the human through gaining LV he still killed everyone??? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO THEM YOU IDIOT SHOULD'VE JUST FOUND ANOTHER WAY OR LET IT HAPPEN!!! the way they understand eachother on paper but then in reality despise what the other did,,,,,

ok SO WHAT if they encourage eachother's delusions. SO WHAT if they pretend the past never went away so WHAAAAT!!! it doesn't matter at least they found someone who can match their freak,,,,,, dust and horror peak duo PEAK DUO DARE I SAY OK

[automatonknight]

hii! do you have any tips for drawing robots?

honestly not rlly? but when i draw them i try to include as many fun shapes as i can (rectangular fingers for one, i like drawing that). also i think adding random pieces to the chassis like lightbulbs, tubes and wires and hatches (like for looking at the robot's insides) makes them look more interesting, especially if you're looking for like. a messier robot (and you don't worry about it looking like. an actual robot that someone would build). um what else. try including different materials as well! a robot with a shiny metal chassis is fun but i think adding maybe joints or an entire torso made of different material is a cool choice and spices it up a little. speaking of joints, try looking at a human body/skeleton and try breaking up the chassis into smaller pieces based on how they apply to the robot's movement (i mostly draw humanoids but this should work with animals too) add a tail definitely too it always works ^__^ again, i mostly draw humanoids but i like it when there's something distinctively non-human about at least one of their body parts (like big claws, tube arms, wings or a camera instead of a head). try playing around with proportions maybe too? aaand try looking at other's designs as well for inspo :] i think that's all

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

How would AK!Jason go with the fact that Y/N got kidnapped by Harley Quinn’s thugs while he was busy on a mission with his Militia. Love your stories by the way!

Abducted

Hi, nonnie! Thank you! Fair warning, this gets angsty. ~2.3k words

The Arkham Knight is surrounded by the dead bodies of nine of his most trusted and skilled men. It's not a mystery how they got that way. He shot the ones that were still alive himself.

Number ten is cowering on the ground, it's pathetic, really. They were supposed to be the best of the best.

That's what he was paying them for. So why the hell aren't you in the safe house he left you in? He unloads the rest of the clip into number tens leg, voice flat as he seethes, "Where are they?"

Number ten cries out. Jason doesn't really care. "They're– Harley! Quinn's gang got 'em," number ten chokes out, shaking and sobbing and weak.

"And where, exactly, did they take them?" Jason asks, reloading his gun.

"I don't know," number ten wails, and if Jason wasn't so pissed he'd roll his eyes. But he doesn't. This is serious. You're missing, and he's on the verge of blowing Gotham to hell.

"Guess," he hisses, pressing the barrel of the gun to the man's forehead.

"I don't�� they said something about a carnival," number ten chokes out.

"Anything else," The Arkham Knights asks. Number ten shakes his head vigorously. Jason pulls the trigger and watches the body slump to the floor. He turns to the rest of the men, watching as they stiffen and shift under his gaze.

He's already stalking past them, "What do you have?"

"Sir, Harley Quinn hasn't been in Gotham since the Joker died," one of the men starts. Jason wonders if they notice the way his hands clench. "But there's rumors about a separate cell of Joker apologists, fanatics trying to keep his name alive."

He grits his teeth. Fine, that's not new information. But why would they go after you? "And," he forces out, "What does that have to do with them?"

His men follow him uneasily, "GCPD flagged a shipment to ACE Chemicals that went missing a few days ago. They– it was mentioned the truck was carrying chemicals similar to the ones used in the Joker and Harley Quinn cases, sir."

If he was any less trained, any less used to the hell that is Gotham, he would have stumbled, let out choked sounds and anguish and fear.

"One of the techs has a theory it's a revenge kidnapping," one of the sergeants continues, "for taking over Joker's old hideouts last week. It looks like they used a form of the laughing gas on the sentries outside."

"They're all going to be dead by the end of the night," He snaps, gesturing towards one of the lieutenants, "Get the men to set up a parameter. No one leaves the area. And no one moves in until they're secured. Understood?"

They nod vigorously. "Bring the fear toxin," the Arkham Knight grits out. He's out of the safe house and sprinting over Gothams rooftops without another word.

He knows Gotham better than most. Knows to take a shortcut over city hall, knows to jump in three... two... one... to land perfectly on a passing train. Knows when to shoot his grappling gun for the quickest route to the abandoned fairgrounds.

His heart is racing. He can see the number tracking his pulse steadily rising. He glares at the little number on the corner of his screen with a vengeance. He doesn't get to be scared. Doesn't get to panic until you're back at the base, warm and safe in his bed.

There's bile in his throat as he stalks through the shadows of the carnival. It rises with each thug he leaves crumpled and lifeless in the dirt. He's only acting on his training now, on the drive that he has to get to you, has to save you.

He slips past decaying attractions, clenches his fists at the abandoned ACE Chemicals truck crashed into a rotted ring toss booth. He follows the laughter and taunting voices to a ripped and decrepit tent.

There's not many places to hide, but Jason's the best at what he does. He thinks he might have been born to stalk the filth of Gotham.

His eyes narrow at the sight of you. Arms tied behind your back. Bruise forming on your cheek. Dazed expression, likely a concussion. Balanced precariously on the seat of a dunk tank over a pool of neon chemicals.

His fingers twitch over his gun when one of the goons throws a ball at the target, barely missing as the others laugh.

He counts the number of Joker fanatics in the room. Thirteen men. Eight women. Six posted close enough to you where they could hit the target if he's not fast enough. Seventeen with visible guns. All with visible weapons. There's more voices outside the tent.

He eyes the woman swinging a bat covered with barbed wire a little too close to the dunk tank, too close to you. Jason wants to get you out first. There's too many variables. You could get shot. He's not fast enough.

Someone throws another baseball. It's a perfect toss. He shoots it out of the air.

"You have something of mine," The Arkham Knight drawls, stepping out of the shadows. He would smile at the way most of the room flinches at the sight of him. He would if you weren't teetering over a vat of bubbling chemicals.

One of the men steps forward. Stupid of him, really, "Finders keepers." He says it like it's a game. Like you're just some toy they picked up off the street.

Jason laughs. It's funny, that they think just because they stole you, it makes you any less his, "I'm going to give you two choices. One, you drop your weapons and leave. Two, you stay and you learn exactly what the chemicals in that vat can do."

More people leave than he expected. Huh. Guess they aren't so loyal to the clowns' legacy as they said. "I'm not scared of you," Goon number one spits. Goon number one gets a bullet in his stomach.

"You will be," The Arkham Knight murmurs. It's quick work. They're untrained, inexperienced. Half of them are high. It becomes increasingly clear with each body that hits the floor gasping that someone paid off his men to get to you.

He's pulling you off and out of the dunk tank as the last thug hits the floor, "How bad is it?" Jason's hands do not shake as he unties your wrists. (They do.) His breath does not leave his lungs when you say your head hurts. (It does.)

His eyes dart over your face and he picks you up to cradle you against his chest, "I'll have a medic look over you when we get back." He tries to sound soothing, the modulator makes it sound emotionless. You don't even acknowledge it.

He carries you out of the tent. The Joker fanatics that left are kneeling in the dirt and his men have their guns trained to kill. The Arkham Knight nods to them, "Use the Fear Toxin. Inject them with the highest dose we have. Drop the freaks still alive in the tent into the vat."

"Yes, sir," his men echo. Jason ignores the begging that starts up behind him as he carries you to the armored truck. He maneuvers you inside with him, settles you on his lap as his hand brushes the bruise on your face.

"Boss," the soldier behind the steering wheel prompts.

"Take us back to base, sergeant," The Arkham Knight says evenly, gloves still tracing your bruise. He doesn't ask questions, doesn't make any promises. The only comfort he offers is his hand gripping your waist tightly, paired with the gentle caressing of your face.

He knows it's not kind, the way he's holding you. He sees it in your eyes, even through the exhaustion and headache you're feeling, he's overbearing. He can't bring himself to care. All that matters is that you're safe in his arms.

The rest he can take care of later. It'll be simple for him and Deathstroke to pick through the rats in his ranks. Scarecrow's always in need of new test subjects, after all.

His grip tightens on you as the truck stops. The Arkham Knight picks you up easily, pushing the door open and carrying you inside the base. His soldiers are quick to move out of his way. They should be. Anyone with a brain can tell he's angry.

He's livid, at the way you hardly move, barely react to him. A medic files after him quickly as he sets you down in his personal quarters.

It's not a room he ever uses, preferring to sleep at whatever safe house you're in, but you're safer here until he can weed out the traitors. He watches you shift slightly in the chair, eyes unfocused.

Jason steps back and studies you with sharp eyes as the medic talks to you quietly, taking note of each wound and stumbled answer you give.

"Mild concussion, some scrapes and abrasions. Nothing that won't heal," the medic decides, "They shouldn't sleep for the next hour and need to be monitored for any worsening symptoms."

Jason motions them to leave. He hates to leave you alone, even for a moment, but there is one more order he needs to give. He follows the medic out the door.

A group of squad leaders stand rigid outside his quarters. Good. They should be on edge. "Make an example of any Joker or Harley Quinn sympathizers," he says, tone an unquestionable command, "Anything that's theirs, is a part of our operations by the end of the night."

He doesn't bother to stay and listen to their replies, already turning back into the room where you're waiting. Jason locks the door behind him, crossing the room in three strides and kneels at your feet.

You blink down at him. He hates the distant look in your eyes. You should be here. With him. He tugs his helmet off, "Does your head still hurt?"

You nod a little, the only proof you're really listening. He takes your hand in his brushing his thumb over your knuckles, "Say something." It's a command. It makes you jolt a little. He hates himself for it.

"I thought– they were gonna kill me," You stumble out, voice weak.

He nods, there's no pretending that's not true, "They can't kill anyone now."

He thinks you would have looked alarmed, if you didn't know what he was now. Relentless. A monster. A killer. But you do know, he's made that more than clear since the moment he got you back by his side.

You look resigned instead. Jason wishes you'd look relieved, "Do you need anything," he asks instead, reaching up to brush the bruise on your cheek. He can't help it, it's his fault that it's there.

You shake your head. He hates how quiet you're being, "Say something," he prompts again. He knows he shouldn't, knows you're in shock and you're hurt and you're tired and you're probably scared and he's not helping. But, he squeezes your hand anyway, a silent demand.

"What do you want me to say, Jason?" You breathe out, eyes finally focusing on him.

"Anything. Ask me for anything. Yell at me. Curse me out. Tell me you hate me. Hit me. Give me a bruise to match," He says almost desperately, pressing himself closer between your knees.

There's something wrong with him. He realizes that. The Arkham Knight is well aware that something inside of him is twisted, that you deserve better than this, especially after what you just went through, but he doesn't stop himself.

"I don't wanna hurt you," You murmur, "You came for me."

"I'm the reason you were there in the first place," Jason protests, both hands moving to cup your face, "I would deserve it, welcome it, if it was from you."

"I want," You start, and Jason leans forward eagerly, ready for whatever punishment you deliver, "I want to lay down. I wanna feel safe."

He falters, but doesn't move from between your legs, "You can't sleep for at least another hour."

"I know," You say quietly. Jason stares at you. You're the only thing that makes him unsure now. You always manage to knock him off center, never doing what he expects.

"Okay," he relents, scooping you up just as easily as he did in the tent. He carries you over to his bed. It's unused, perfectly made. He only ever sleeps wherever you are.

Jason carefully places you at the edge of the bed and digs through a drawer, handing you a shirt. He tugs off his armor, and frowns when you don't move.

"You don't want to sleep in that," it's not a question, and maybe he should frame it as one. Try to get nicer. But he thinks he might have forgotten how. You nod and slowly change. His eyes never leave you.

There's a few more bruises than he expected, and it makes rage coil in his chest. There's nothing he can do but crawl into bed at your side. It makes him uneasy, how little he can do for you.

He tugs you against him, he's not as gentle as he means to be.

You curl against him, fingers tangling into his shirt. He should comfort you here. Tell you it's going to be okay. Promise to protect you. He should rub your back and kiss your forehead and ease whatever pain you have in your heart.

But he's not gentle. He's not good. You're like this because of him. He holds you tighter when tears start to soak his shirt, lets you tangle your legs with his.

He doesn't manage to find the right words to say, doesn't manage to do the right thing before the hour is up, and you drift off to sleep. He doesn't think he ever will.

[prettyboypistol]

How to Seduce the TF2 Mercs

Scout

Pay attention to him. Give him genuine compliments and honest feedback. He wants to feel loved and like he's worth someone's time.

Kisses and physical affection. Mans thinks about the time you put your hand on his shoulder for weeks.

Just say you love him, man. He's been overlooked his whole life.

Soldier

Take him seriously- don't belittle him or make jokes about how he views the world. He knows he's a little crazy but he is genuinely trying his best to make the world a better place.

Defend him!!! If someone shit talks him, punch that motherfucker in the jaw!!

Honest discussions with you asking a lot of questions, take the time to get to know him and you'll have a defender for the rest of your life.

Pyro

Much like with Soldier, defend them and take the time to get to know them.

Gifts, gifts, gifts!!! Give them gifts!

Be a little flirty ;> don't baby them! Treat them like the adult they are!

Demoman

Bro just ask to fuck. He'll probably say yes.

He loves a bold mf that knows how to take what they want. Come on to him, buy him a drink, and ask if he's got any company for the night.

If you're going for something a little more long term, just remove the sleeping aspect. Just say you're interested in getting to know him you'll most likely get a date and see how things go.

Engineer

He's a sucker for practical use gifts (i.e. mechanical oil, a new wrench, etc) or sentimental gifts (photograph of you two, love letters)

Call him handsome! Call him pretty and a gentleman! Appeal to that cowboy energy and treat him all respectful like and you'll definitely catch his interest.

If you're not the type to do all that song and dance, go the opposite route. Stump him with a logistic problem and tease him about it. He'll nonstop think about you for months and bitch about you to his sentries.

Heavy

Mikhail likes hotheads and determined people, someone who's not afraid to fight if the situation comes to it.

Ask him about general things and slowburn that mf about nice conversations until you two can talk about personal things.

Ask him to help you clean your guns! Ask him weaponry questions about what would suit you better in the field!

Medic

GET THIS MAN SOME ORGANS. GET HIM SOME FUNDING!!!! get him a lil lovebirddddd

Take the time to get to know his birds and if the birds like you, Medic automatically likes you more.

Take an interest in his medical discoveries and his life! He's a prime yapper and wants to t a l k. That's why he never shuts up when doing surgery.

Spy

Romance him traditionally, to be honest. Keep it classy and court him like the romantic he is. Roses placed in his locker, prime dinners delivered to his door, BE A ROMANTIC ABOUT IT.

If you can't dance, ask him to teach you "for a mission" (He will know that you're the one behind all the flirtatious gestures bc he's SPY)

Butter up that man like he's a piece of toast. Handsome young man who captured your heart and holds it hostage. Classy gentleman that could get away with world domination with gorgeous eyes like that.

Sniper

Don't come on too strong, he's a bristly one. Be calm and casual. Hit him with that friends to lovers.

He's more of a tough nut to crack and insecure of if you actually like him, so be sure to flood his mind with ambiguous hints when you think you see signs of him showing interest in you.

To really seal yourself in his heart, spend a lot of quality time with him! Go camping, hunting, fishing, driving, anything that gets the both of you alone and quiet.

[solarmorrigan]

Something is Out There

For the @steddie-spooktober day 2 prompt: Woods Rating: T | Words: 935 | CW: None | Tags: established relationship, sleepwalking, Eddie Munson takes care of Steve Harrington, spooky!, open ending Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Eddie doesn’t know why he wakes up, but he finds that he’s alone when he does.

Steve’s side of the bed is cold, and Eddie struggles out from under the sheets and rolls to his feet with a curse. This hasn’t happened in weeks; Eddie had thought they were past it, but maybe it’s had more to do with the fact that they’ve been spending more nights at Eddie’s place than at Steve’s.

Then again, Eddie thinks as he pads down the stairs, maybe he’s jumping the gun. Maybe Steve is using the bathroom, or getting a glass of water, or couldn’t sleep and is sitting up somewhere with the book Dustin had recommended that Steve’s pretending he’s not reading.

He turns the corner into the living room and then moves for the sunroom, breathing a sigh of relief when he finds it empty.

Then the cold hits him.

His anxiety comes rushing back when he sees the back door hanging open – and through it, a pale silhouette against the dark backdrop of the woods, is Steve.

Eddie curses again, low and hissing and fearful, because when Steve had started sleepwalking, Eddie had only found him standing sentry at the windows, staring out into the trees; if he’s escalating to leaving the house, they really might have to address this.

The concrete is freezing beneath Eddie’s feet when he steps out onto the back patio, and a shudder runs up through him. At least he’s wearing a shirt; up ahead, he can see Steve standing stock-still in nothing but the sweatpants he’d worn to bed.

The picture he makes reminds Eddie uncomfortably of another time in their lives, when Steve had been barefooted and exposed to the elements amidst the twisting limbs of a dark forest, and Eddie has the same urge to cover him now as he’d had then.

“Steve,” Eddie calls out as he draws closer.

Steve’s head jerks, turning briefly in Eddie’s direction before his attention snaps right back to the woods. As Eddie draws up at his side, he can see that it’s the same as every other night he’s found Steve out of bed: his eyes are trained on the trees, hazy and half-lidded, his brows furrowed like he’s concentrating on something – something Eddie can’t see.

“Steve,” Eddie says again. “Hey, it’s freezing out here, honey, why don’t you come back inside?”

Slowly, Steve shakes his head. “Can’t,” he murmurs, just like every other time. He never agrees on the first try.

But Eddie persists. Close as he is now, he can see the goosebumps raised on Steve’s bare skin, can see him trembling in the cold. He reaches out to lay a hand on Steve’s arm and hisses to feel how chilled he is.

“Steve, come back to bed,” Eddie says, gentle, but firm in his order.

“Can’t,” Steve says again. “There’s something out there.”

He says it with the same certainty he has every time Eddie’s found him like this, and even though Eddie knows it’s just some kind of fucked up dream, it gives him chills that have nothing to do with the temperature.

“No, Steve, there’s nothing out there,” Eddie promises, leaning in to wrap his arms around Steve, trying to share what warmth he has. “We’re safe.”

“I heard it,” Steve insists, but his voice is fainter this time. “I saw something.”

“There’s nothing there, baby, it’s just a dream,” Eddie says, rubbing his hand up and down Steve’s side, as much in an effort to ground him as to warm him up.

“I saw something,” Steve mumbles, beginning to flag.

“Come back to bed, Steve.” Eddie pulls back, catching Steve’s hand and giving him a gentle tug.

After a moment, Steve turns and allows himself to be pulled along.

Eddie leads him back up to the bedroom, slow and careful on the stairs to make sure Steve can navigate them, before helping him back into bed, tucking the covers in around him.

He’s about to join Steve beneath the blankets, ready to make sure he warms up properly, when it occurs to him – Had he locked the back door?

“Damn it,” Eddie mutters, slouching down in frustration. He lets out a harsh sigh and leans down to press a kiss to Steve’s cold forehead. “Stay,” he orders, though Steve seems to have slipped back into normal sleep. “I’ll be right back.”

He takes the stairs two at a time and rushes back to the sunroom, not so much worried about Steve getting up again as he is eager to be back in bed himself so they can put this incident behind them. Eddie flicks the lock into place, turning and tugging the doorknob to be sure, and then glances up to look through the glass door.

The woods rise up behind the house like a sweeping wave in the dark. He can see the higher branches swaying in the late fall breeze, giving the trees the appearance of having taken on a life of their own. From here, it’s hard to tell for sure if there’s anything among them, moving through the shadows, calling out–

Drawing back with a bit of a start, Eddie shakes his head. He’s letting Steve’s dreams get to him. It’s damn spooky when he finds him staring out into the woods like he has been, but that’s all it is – a bad dream.

Eddie turns away and leaves the sunroom behind. He’s just shutting the adjoining door when he hears it, loud and unmistakable– a bang– a knock on the outer door. Eddie goes cold.

Something is out there.

[help-the-horse]

TF2 Backstab Models and What They Mean for the Mercs

In my travels in the TF2 meta, I've noticed that when using an Australium or ice themed weapon, such as the Spy-cicle, each Merc has a few different models for their "frozen backstab" pose. I thought this was interesting and decided to take it upon myself to document the different models and extrapolate what that might mean for each merc as a character. Keep in mind the "canon" of TF2 and the characterization of the mercs is very much up to interpretation but I think this can give us some insight at least into what Valve thinks of each character and how they react to injury, particularly the backstab.

Let's get into it.

SCOUT

Scout with his quicker speed assumedly has a faster reaction time compared to a lot of the other mercs, so it tracks that in many of his poses he is almost completely turned around/facing back. I don't think he necessarily expects to be back stabbed but his fast reflexes makes it so that he is one of the mercs who is closer to actually catching the Spy before the stab. Clearly he isn't always fast enough if he gets stabbed though. On a side note I personally find his poses to be some of the most unnerving ones.

SOLDIER

Clearly Soldier's slow speed catches up with him when it comes to backstabs. Being one of the slower classes in the game, and one of the more burly/stocky characters, it makes sense that he would have trouble catching a Spy before a stab. In a few poses you can see that he reaches behind himself, but you never see him trying to turn his torso or head around to catch his attacker. It's also interesting to note how he reaches to his lower back, either because of how he holds his rocket launcher on his shoulder, or because of his lack of physical flexibility,

PYRO

Pyro's poses are all rather similar, so I don't find that I have much to say about them. Given what little we do know of Pyro, it's reasonable to assume that they probably don't notice Spy's through their pyro-vision very well, so it would make sense that they wouldn't be prepared for a backstab. They also don't need a particularly fast reaction time for their weapon/attack style so they don't show the same reflexes as Scout or Demo. Pyro just be silly with their pose.

DEMOMAN

Demo is very dramatic to say the least. I find it very interesting how he seems to be very close to actually grabbing the knife/Spy relative to some of the other mercs like Solly, Medic, or Pyro. This supports my personal theory that Demo plays up his drunkenness on the battle field/in general. He clearly has a good degree of flexibility as well looking at the curve of his spine, and a reasonable amount of balance shown by his repeated "one toe on the ground" style stance.

HEAVY

Unfortunately I wasn't able to get many screencaps of Heavy, but all his poses are essentially this with little variance. He is probably one of the least flexible out of all the mercs, which makes sense given his body type and how built up his shoulder/back muscles must be from carrying a 300 lbs gun around all the time every day. You can see that he probably doesn't expect a backstab and has a slower reaction time than others, which is in line with his in game movement speed.

ENGINEER

This man really just always be on his knees. I would assume that this is due to the fact that most of the time you would see an Engie crouching behind a sentry or dispenser, in game and in the character sense. It also reinforces Valve's mocking of his VERY NORMAL AND AVERAGE height. I also like to think Spy kicks his knees out from behind as he stabs. The models also tend to have effed up hands for Engie for some reason which I find very funny. Arguably his right hand tends to be the more messed up one, which is also his mechanical hand/Gunslinger. Food for thought, perhaps a mechanical malfunction/short when he dies?

MEDIC

Medic's poses are all very similar as well unfortunately. What stands out to me the most is how INCREDIBLY TALL Medic is compared to all the other mercs. You can see that he also doesn't work to turn around or even reach behind him to any large degree, which I think shows how unexpected a backstab is for Medic. He's usually busy chasing some screaming Scout or hiding behind a corner to pocket a Heavy so it would make sense he wouldn't expect a backstab as he usually has some power class with him to protect him. We stand with our Medic's though, no hate only love. Stay strong Medic army.

SNIPER

Sniper is the most interesting to examine for me, as he and Spy tend to have a rivalry in every sense, from the Spy v. Sniper update/event released by Valve way back when, to in game play, to in the comics/canon media we have of the mercs. It's clear he is the most prepared for a back stab most of the time, and arguably the closest to actually stopping Spy. I think he generally has an average reaction time if the in game movement speed is anything to go off of, but the fact he is so close to stopping the attack just shows how used to the backstab he is. He also has a higher degree of flexibility on par with Scout and Demo.

SPY

And finally, we come to the man of the hour. The tl;dr is he's a drama queen who's holier than thou attitude and cockiness causes him to not expect or prepare for another Spy's backstab, which ends up being his ultimate downfall. The long version of it is that he is a drama queen who's holier than thou attitude and cockiness causes him to not expect or prepare for another Spy's backstab, which makes him a little bitch boy who's pride gets hurt more than the actual pain of the stab. All of his poses are pretty similar, showing he has a good amount of flexibility but a piss poor reaction speed if he's able to get beat at his own game.

ANYWAY, if you've made it this far in the post thank you very much for reading it all and indulging my TF2 brain rot. I have no idea if any of this deeper reading was intended by the devs or Valve, but I think it's interesting to explore what little we get in regards to any hints about the mercs as characters and what they might be like on and off the battle field in a story sense. Would love to have more discussion in the comments and if anyone has any other niche requests for me to overanalyze TF2 game play/lore please let me know and I'm sure I will find more than expected to talk about.

Stay strong TF2 fans.

[averagebioweaponslover]

“He and I were close but I wouldn’t say we were freinds… I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead…your father was a good man in a bad crowd.” cmedic wasn’t sure if dell wanted to hear that went on, cmedic wasn’t even sure how he felt about it. Quinn quickly switches subjects not wanting to linger on his team and the mixed feelings he had. Quinn always respected Fred but at the end of the day he turned a blind eye to a lot the worst behaviors. “That may have been one of the prototype blueprints for the emp gernades- your dad was a mess when it came to organization. So bad infact I ended up pestering him for the copy of my medkit- just in case something happened to him.— if you ever want to take a look over of it I could send you a copy of the blueprint!”

Sending my condolences

" Thanks, Mister. " Dell’s voice held a note of surprise, his eyes studying his dad's old colleague. He hadn’t expected the man to track him down in the workshop, let alone to send his condolences for his late father — a subject he had barely touched on since he got the news.

He hesitated a moment before asking, " So, er�� what was workin’ with my dad like? " The question felt odd on his tongue. Growing up, his dad was often a distant figure, always busy with mercenary work, rarely home for more than a few days at a time. Yet, Dell had been happy every time he returned, excited as any kid to see his father walk through the door, even if the moments were brief. They'd have spent time tinkering with junk they found by the side and went camping together. He'd considered himself luckier than a lot of kids, he'd considered himself lucky for having a 'father figure'. He looked up to him, and wanted to be like him.

Yet as the years passed, his dad’s absences became longer, and their once-easy closeness turned to a comfortable silence, then to something else — distance, he supposed, though he’d never labeled it. But it felt comfortable. Mr. Conagher had been a presence Dell didn’t question, the kind of man who stepped in and out of his life but who left a big enough shadow for Dell to feel like he still had a father. But thinking back now, Dell realized just how little he’d known about him. That was something he’d never thought too deeply about. It had been easier not to.

Their time together had been enough.

" Ahem, wanna come inside and have a drink? "

[paper-mario-wiki]

scout how do i get into tf2. i want to play but i'm intimidated

u can choose one of the 9 guys, and theyre all fun to play.

first guy is the fastest and jumps twice, but has low health. he has a strong shotgun as his primary that can kill people from full health in 2 shots if youre close enough and aim well enough

second guy is kinda slow and has a rocket launcher, which does a lot of damage (but not enough to kill anyone in a single hit like other FPS games, unless you get a crit), and hes got a lot of health

third guy is my favorite one and is one of the more mechanically complex. u can do a lot, but for now think of it as area denial. not very much range, but high output and leaves them on fire

fourth guy is like junkrat: he launches grenades that explode on impact with a target, but if they hit a wall or the ground they wait out their natural timer before exploding. he can also leave bombs that he can detonate at any time. hes also pretty slow but has more health.

fifth guy has the most health and the strongest gun, but is also the slowest and one of the easier guys to pick off from a distance. hes got a big gatling machine gun

sixth guy specializes in utilities. he can deny an area by putting down a sentry that fires automatically and be upgraded twice (faster firing + rockets with levels 2 and 3). he's not great in 1v1s but he can hold is own if you play smart.

7th guy is the main healer. you point at a guy and click on him to heal, but after youve connected to him you dont need to keep looking at him the whole time; as long as youre within a certain distance and you keep holding down the mouse button you'll keep healing. he also passively regenerates health slowly, but as the worst offensive options in the game

8th guy is broken. you can instantly kill anyone from any distance as long as you click on their head. not super great in close combat but has optional weapons that can enhance his survival rate when he's rushed down

9th guy goes invisible, can disguise as enemy teammates to fool them, and can instantly kill anyone with a backstab, but he's also easy to kill and has poor defensive options if he's caught out by himself.

the game is free to download, and once you do i suggest queuing for casual selecting any maps that look good

i suggest Harvest, Badlands, Sawmill, and Viaduct for King of the Hill

i suggest Badwater, Upward, Frontier, Snowycoast, and Borneo for payload

i suggest Turbine, 2Fort, Double Cross, and Landfall for Capture the Flag

go have fun. dont worry about being bad. just play and find joy in any way you can.

[jcwdrawskinda]

My first time playing Fallout 4 has been awesome! Sometimes you're on a super serious mission and suddenly you're dragged into helping robot pirates. It's great! That said, this was the first time I've disappointed my entire team because I sided with Ironside and, uh, killed all the scavs :(

But listen, Vault Boy here has a soft spot for sentry bots like Ironsides, he used to serve with them back in the day! It was nice to be treated like a fellow soldier again, and yes, the added bonus of them being pirates helped sweeten the deal.

So it was all worth it. And now I have a cannonball gun for Boe the Vault Boy!

[jellyfishoreo1206]

hey dude! really like ur work lol :3 can you write a tf2 medic with a fem or gn reader who is alternative (like punk/goth?) it can be headcannons or a drabble or whatever u want :) thanks bud!

Medic with an Alt! Reader (gender-neutral)

Notes: Of course! Again, I'm sorry if it seems like I ignored your ask! For that, I'll attempt to make it extra long :3 Please correct me if I get anything wrong about the history of Alternative fashion/music, I mostly referenced Wikipedia, but I don't think there was enough information for me to go on. I didn't know if you wanted this to be a romantic pairing or just platonic, so I'm doing both!

So coming back to this, I realized that the first half of this is talking about Alt Reader, but then the next half it's literally just romance head cannons that have nothing to do with the ask. I've been carried away by the amount of ideas that have been flooding my brain at night that I completely forgot what I was doing in the first place. At this point, I'm just rolling with it, I'm sorry Anon

Warning(s): Medic being medic, cussing, mentions of reader smoking, slight spoilers for the TF2 Comics.

M/C = Merc Class

---

Platonic

Considering that this is the late 60's (and alt becoming a thing somewhere in the 1970's or 80's), Medic would take a keen interest in you.

Whether you take interest in Emo, Goth, Hip-Hop (which apparently is a form of Alt fashion! Good to know), Punk, Rocker or Grunge fashion; all of them have a few things in common, they all stand out from the mainstream fashion going on in that time, some are more artistic and attention-grabbing, and some coming to be as a break from beliefs.

I'm not going to lie to you, at first he thought it was some type of disorder

"I want to find out what's wrong with them" That's what's going through his mind 😭

He's so curious, you're going to be his new subject of interest until he has studied every inch of you

Whether that be operating on you or studying how you behave from afar.

---

Several days have passed since you've joined the mercenaries. You seem to be adjusting well enough to the team, getting along semi-okay with your teammates (if you ignore how the on your first day Soldier nearly killed you because he mistook you as a demon, shouting absolute nonsense). Engineer has been one of the most welcoming out of your teammates, offering to show you around and letting you know what to watch out for.

But there is one teammate that you can't even bring yourself to being around. The Medic.

God, you would think that the Engineer would at least warn you about him and his behavior, dude is seriously all kinds of creepy.

Ever since you got here, he's been watching you like a hawk. Always seeing him out of the corner of your eye, conveniently always being in the same room as you; Hell! Even following you out in the battle field. You even think you woke up to him crouching menacingly in the corner of your room, watching as you slept with a creepy smile on his face and an insane look in those eyes of his. (Desperately wishing that it was some kind of paranoia-filled nightmare and praying to whatever god that is up there that it wasn't real.)

"I swear! Was it something I did??" You decided to express your concerns to the Engineer, considering he is one of the more reasonable one's out of the mercs, and being the first person you hit it off with when you first arrived. He hummed in thought—putting down the sentry gun that he was tinkering with—turning to face you as he pushes his hard-hat back into place.

"Medic is a strange fella, I know tha'. But I don' think I've ever heard him act like this..." His response only seemed to add on to your distress, sitting yourself on the floor of his workshop with a loud groan. Great, so even he doesn't know what's going on either. "I'll hafta talk with him la'er, see wha's up with 'im."

"I appreciate it, Engineer."

"Please, call me Engie."

---

When the Engineer brought up the Medic's behavior to him, he just laughed it off

"Oh Herr Engineer, you must know as a man of science that this is simply an observation!" "...What exactly are ya' observin'?" "Haven't you noticed? How they dress! Is it a form of trauma? Or a type of disorder! I must find out!" *Cue him holding a bloody hand saw in the most menacing way possible* "Then..why don'tcha jus' ask them up front?" "I like my methods better."

Yeahhhh, he has a really bad case of autism

When Engie told you what the Medic told him, you just got even more confused.

What would the way you dress have anything to do with your mental state?

I mean, yeah, you've turned heads whenever you went out to do mundane tasks back home (such as picking something up from the store or returning something to a friend), and you had several people tell you that'll they will pray for you, but you've never had someone assume that it was straight up a disorder??

The thought itself just confuses you

Engie was right about him being weird..

---

A month has passed, and it seems like the Medic's behavior has calmed down a bit. Emphasis on a bit.

He stopped following you around out in the battlefield as much and seems to be getting back into his regular schedule of being the medic for the team; but you're starting to notice something else...

It seems he's attempting to talk to you! The whole entire time you've been here at the base, you two never actually had a proper conversation (mainly it was because you were attempting to avoid him as much as possible at the start, and Medic because he just saw you as another subject). The first time it happened was late at night, almost the early hours of the morning. You were in the kitchen, making some coffee for yourself and the Engineer (who has yet to go to sleep). You were pretty sure it was only the two of you awake at this time, since you didn't hear anything else other than the distant clinging and clanking of the engineer's machinery.

With both hands occupied with a mug of hot coffee, you were about to make your way out of the kitchen when you felt your heart drop. Jesus FUCKING CHRIST, HOW LONG WAS HE STANDING THERE????

Might as well be called The SPY instead with how fucking quiet he was.

You both made awkward eye-contact—awkward for you anyway—he seemed tired, but that didn't stop him from smiling at you—teeth and all.

"Ach, guten morgen!" He offers a small wave, his voice cheery despite his obvious exhaustion.

You didn't say anything, you bolted out of there.

Nope nope nope nope nopenopenope-!

---

The Medic didn't seem to take that reaction personally

If anything, it made him more curious

So he attempts to strike up another conversation, but this time with company around, since he was scolded by the engineer the very next day

Whether it was during dinner-time, before a match, or even game-nights (as chaotic as they can be); he always attempts to strike up conversations, whether you don't respond or you give one-word responses.

Going on to long rants about any topic that comes to mind, whether you want to listen or not; most of them are usually about the human biology or his previous experiments

You wish you could erase the memory when he told you he got a man pregnant with baboons.

When you asked why he wanted to talk to you, he merely gave a shrug and a almost sheepish smile

His response?

"Oh for no reason, I just got bored when I realized there were no results in my observations."

Yeah

You kept your distance as much as possible, still feeling a bit uncomfortable around the man

Though it eventually started to slowly fade away when he kept attempting to talk with you, a big part of it was also due to his birds perching themselves on you whenever you needed something from the medbay, cuddling up to you in a mass of feathers

You actually started to enjoy the conversations when he asked why you dressed the way you did

---

"Let me give you a brief summary," You start, sitting on the worn-out couch with the Medic on the far-end, a freshly lit cigarette in-between your fingers, "-there's a small community of us, people who also dress like me. But like I said, small community, not many of us." Taking the first drag of your cigarette, you see from the corner of your vision Medic holding a scolding look, eyeing the cigarette in your hand with disgust.

Blowing the smoke out in small puffs, you continued, "But, the reason why we dress the way we do, there's several and it varies from person to person."

"It could be a way of self-expression, a break from the mainstream style, or...damnit, I always forget the last one's. But there's many reasons why is what I'm trying to get at."

"What was your reasoning?" The Medic finally spoke, crossing his legs as he (un)discreetly takes out a notepad, writing down the information that you have just stated. The question processes in your brain, taking a long drag, repeating it over and over until an answer formed.

"Mm, nearly everyone dresses the same, no variety in their fashion." Finishing the last of the cigarette, you put it out in the ash tray atop the coffee table, leaning back into the couch with a stretch. "Everyone is always expected to dress the same. I wanted something different."

"Interesting..."

---

Romantic

Now for the romantic part of the relationship, it would take him FOREVER to figure out that he likes you

YEARS if nobody brings it up

He would just brush it off as excess adrenaline from the battles (even if there was a ceasefire)

He would also began to show a certain type of favoritism towards you (his birds especially)

Whether that be storing a jar of lollipops in his office for you to take from (and only you), telling you a in-depth explanation/step-by-step of his experiments before anybody else, scolding you whenever you do something that's unhealthy, or just treating you like a normal doctor whenever it comes time for the yearly check-ups (like not experimenting on you/doing a random surgery or injecting random chemicals into your body to see what effects it'll have on the battlefield.)

---

"Aye, doc! How come you only give M/N loli's!" For what seemed to have been the tenth time that day that Scout has complained about the same thing—over and over again—it was starting to get on the doctors nerves as he attempted (emphasis on attempted) to rescue his beloved bird that has somehow snuck his way inside of the scout and got himself tangled in the intestines while the Medic was preforming surgery.

"And for the last time, Scout." A sharp snap fills the tiled-room, a small piece of the Scout's rib cage in-between the Medic's gloved fingers, throwing it somewhere behind him without much concern for it as he continues with his current task at hand, "They aren't such a nuisance, unlike you."

---

That's his only excuse whenever someone asks really :/

He always seems to enjoy your company the most out of all the mercs and is seen with you more times than anybody else on the team

It's until one of the mercs bring up his favoritism from another point of view that he begins to think...differently

Not a bad differently, but a "What do I do" differently

Like that's the moment when he begins to realize his affections for you

Personally, I believe that man has never been in a romantic relationship/had romantic feelings for someone

So him being in love for possibly the first time in his life, he's stumped

Like what does he even do in a predicament like this???

Would probably go to Engie or Heavy about this predicament for some sort of guidance.

His behavior around you would change a bit

He would still act like his regular self

But with you around he could be seen fidgeting with whatever he has in his hands and stumbling over his words more often, maybe even calling you pet-names in German

There will be times where he'll have a red flush seen on his normally pale face whenever you do something he sees as attractive/adorable (whether that be ruthlessly killing the other team, laughing at something one of the mercs did, cooing at Archimedes, etc.)

Like, flushed to the tips of his ears down to the nape of his neck type of blushing

You can tell he's blushing whenever his glasses fog up <3

---

"Who's a pretty bird? You're a pretty bird!" Said blood-covered dove cooed at the various praise he was receiving from you, flapping his wings in a joyful matter. You came to the medbay to ask Medic for something that the Engineer needed but quickly got sidetracked when a certain dove flew down from his perch and decided to greet you.

Bringing a finger up to the dove, you give him small gentle scratches atop his head, continuing to coo at the bird with a big smile stretched across your lips.

Medic watches as the whole thing happens from his desk, a look of adoration in his eyes as he watches the on-going interaction between you and his bird. A feeling of warmth began spreading across his face, the beating of his heart increasing just from the sight alone.

He's absolutely clueless on what to do—the well-composed Medic, the man who has made a deal with the Devil and tricked him, sowing 8 souls to his very own, and has done many experiments that should be impossible to achieve—is confused on how he should proceed with his arising feelings for someone he considered a colleague and friend.

What a very troublesome situation.

---

He would probably be a bit straightforward when he decides to confess to you, probably in a private space like in the Medbay or when it's late at night so nobody is awake to walk in on the two of you

When I say "a bit straightforward", I mean like he'll beat around the bush for a brief few seconds before just going for it, and keeps eye-contact throughout the whole thing

If you accept his feelings; he's ecstatic! But he doesn't know how to act, to say.

'What do couples do??' 'How does one act when they are in a relationship?' Mainly the questions that are going through his mind

If you reject his feelings; he'll become quiet and distant around you. He might even be a bit mad at himself, whenever he's by his lonesome; staring at his reflection on his bone-saw as his birds attempt to comfort him

Like, you guys will still talk, but it'll just be awkward—a tension between the two of you

Okay moving on.

Once entering a relationship with the Medic, it's best if you take things slow; discuss boundaries with one another, what to do and what not to do, etc,.

Would probably become a bit more touchy? Like, small brushes against your hand or one of your limbs, holding you hand or just linking pinkies with you whenever the two of you are alone

Like those kind of touches, soft.

Kisses would probably start off small too; small kiss to your knuckles or a kiss to the palm of his hand to bring a flush out of him (Though he prefers both of these in private)

Would absolute want to attempt to do your hair and make-up

I feel like he's either the kind of person to keep his love life private, but also not? Like, he would drops hints that he's in a relationship with you, but they are so subtle they fly over a few of the mercs heads

---

Again, Anon, I'm sorry for going off-topic

[bcdrawsandwrites]

[ID: A Team Fortress 2 fic banner featuring a silhouette of Pyro using the stock flamethrower and setting things on fire. Pyro is light gray with darker outlines, with its class symbol and canister markings in orange, and its lenses yellow-white. They are on a dark gray background with faint gray text behind them reading numbers from 999,996 to 999,999. The title is in the top right in yellow-white text on a darker background reading, "CHAPTER ONE: PYROMANCY." /end ID]

Flickering

Fandom: Team Fortress 2 Rating: K+ Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship Characters: Spy, Pyro, Engineer, Medic, Sniper Warnings: General references to trauma, TF2-typical violence Fic Description: After the events of the comics, the mercs try to go back to how things were, but it’s never that easy.

Spy can see his teammates going through their own struggles… but something seems to be very, very wrong with Pyro in particular.

And since no one else seems to be doing anything about this, Spy makes it his mission to get to the bottom of what is troubling Pyro. For no particular reason. Beta Readers: @mechmolar, @gonturan0, @junuve Notes: I have no idea what was supposed to happen in the final comic, so for the sake of my sanity I'm going to have the mercs go back to business as usual, somehow.

---

Chapter 1: Pyromancy Summary: In which Spy takes on a new mission.

---

After everything was said and done, the scars they endured were more than physical.

Sniper had been the first to admit it, quietly mentioning during the chaos between rounds the fact that he sometimes still felt the pain of bullets long-gone, and not the ones they endured from their usual matches.

(The matches had resumed, even after the death of all three Mann brothers. It was a touch of normalcy that they all needed.)

Heavy made frequent trips to Medic's office, not for any treatment, but just in case there was still some Australium left in that brute's veins and he came after them again.

Spy, meanwhile, had escaped unscathed and had absolutely nothing to hide from anyone.

But as for the others, this was, of course, all very normal. They'd all been through a lot of strange events—or stranger than usual—and a bit of lingering trauma was to be expected. Nothing to be concerned over.

Except for one thing.

Spy had noticed it during a match. An enemy merc had been preparing to sneak up on Pyro, who was removing a sapper from a sentry. But the second they got too close, Pyro swung around with its homewrecker, striking the merc again and again until they despawned. On the surface it had seemed little different from how Pyro usually handled things. Even so, something about the incident felt... off to Spy.

So he decided to keep an eye on things. During matches, whenever he could, he would take a moment to observe Pyro. He observed it charging into battle, firing its flare gun with impressive precision. Efficient, and yet...

Another moment he caught was when it had a brush with an enemy spy. The spy had just attempted to backstab Pyro when it swung around, striking with its ax and slashing, again and again. When the bloody remains disappeared, Pyro stared blankly at the red stain they’d left behind for a few uncomfortable moments before moving on.

At this point, Spy wasn't even sure what he was looking for, or why he cared, beyond the fact that it was his part of his job to study people's behavior should he need to imitate it later. No one else had taken notice of any of this—or if they had, they said nothing of it. If he just dropped the matter, likely no one would care, and they could continue to move past the mess from the past six months.

...But a little poking around wouldn't hurt. It wasn't like the Administrator was sending him off on any high-profile missions right now.

Engineer's workshop was meticulously organized, and a place Spy did not typically set foot in, for good reason. Instinctively he cloaked the second he heard the beep. The sentry's gun was trained on him anyway, but, recognizing a friendly merc, did not shoot.

"I'd say it's funny seein' you here, if I could see you," Engineer said, following his sentry's eyeless gaze.

With a snort, Spy de-cloaked.

Engineer's gaze darkened as he rested the Gunslinger over the top of the machine. "You ain't here to practice with those sappers of yours, are ya?"

"What? No. I have no need for that."

"Huh." Withdrawing his prosthesis, he relaxed slightly. "What can I do ya for?"

"I seek... information." Spy strode closer, idly lighting a cigarette. "You often work with Pyro, no?"

Engineer shrugged. "Well, sure. Don't need to explain to you how we collaborate on the battlefield. Sometimes collaborate here in the workshop, too. That fella's got a knack for makin' new flamethrowers, and it'll sometimes ask for my input." He tilted his head. "Why? You lookin' to partner with it for something?"

"Ugh, no." Spy shuddered. "No. I was wondering if you had... noticed its behavior on the battlefield as of late."

At that, Engineer leaned forward, rubbing a finger against his chin. "Lately? Mumbles's been doing pretty well on the battlefield. Better than I can remember, even." Shrugging, he sat back. "Guess it's been missin' the usual matches, pointless as they are, same as the rest of us."

Exhaling a stream of smoke through his nose, Spy looked the Engineer in the goggles. "And outside of battle?"

"Dunno. Haven't seen it much."

"Do you find this... concerning?"

"Nope." Engineer looked away. "I know I was pretty much out of the fray for all of that, but it sounds like all y'all had it pretty rough. Don't blame anyone for wantin' to take a bit of time to themselves. I'm sure it'll come around."

"Perhaps." Sighing, Spy turned, heading back toward the door. "I'll leave you to... whatever sort of contraptions you have here."

"What are you worried about?"

Spy stopped in the doorway. "What?"

"You ain't the type to come in to ask about someone for no reason."

Spy glared over his shoulder. "I worry about nothing."

"All right," Engineer replied, and resumed tinkering with the sentry. When the fellow merc said nothing more, Spy went on his way.

No, he was not worried. But as his mind wandered back to their short time imprisoned in Gray Mann's base, he was wondering. And there was someone else who might be able to satisfy his curiosity.

Medic's lab, in contrast to Engineer's space, was cluttered and chaotic, not helped by the doves nesting and perching wherever they could find space, nor the young baboon scampering around the floor. The sight of Heavy sitting on a chair made Spy pause, wondering if he was interrupting something, only to realize that the Heavy was only reading a book. He did not look up when Spy entered. The baboon, meanwhile, scampered up to Medic (who was studying something at his desk) and tugged on the hem of his coat.

"Ah, Aristotle. Did you find it?" Medic asked, bending down to accept a small red vial from the baboon's paw. "Let's see..." Adjusting his glasses, he peered at the vial's label, only to frown and toss the vial aside, where it shattered on the floor. "Aristotle! I told you I needed an O-positive blood sample, not another B-positive!"

The monkey, evidently named Aristotle, gave a sad chirp.

"Now, now, try again," he said, and shoo'd the monkey off. "Unless you want this experiment to fail, anyway." He watched the monkey scurry back across the room and run past Spy, and did a double-take. "Ah, Spy! I didn't hear you come in."

"I should hope not, or else I'd be doing my job poorly." He sidestepped the broken glass as he approached.

"Are you recovering well from your emergency blood transfusion?" Medic asked, flipping through some papers at his desk.

"Actually, I had a question about that."

The Medic's face lit up. "Ah! You're in luck!" Setting the papers down, he gestured excitedly toward a series of vials lined up in front of him. "I'm currently working on a method of separating different blood types that may have gotten—hmm—mixed together, by some means, and I needed a human test subject to—"

"No."

Medic's expression immediately soured. "Oh." He turned away, flipping through the papers again. "Well what do you want? I'm very busy."

"You also performed an emergency transfusion on the Pyro, did you not?"

"Oh, yes!" Medic smiled as he held up a paper; Spy was able to spot the Pyro's class symbol on it. "Yes, it's always fascinating working with that one."

Spy didn't have to ask what was fascinating about the only non-human mercenary on their team. "Did you notice anything... unusual when you performed the operation?"

At that, Medic scratched his head. "Well now... I was quite busy at the time, trying to prevent everyone, including you, from dying from blood loss, you know. I didn't have time to focus on the details."

"But you did open Pyro's suit to slice it open and fill its chest cavity with blood."

"Yes, yes. Your point?"

"And you didn't see anything strange when you did this?"

Medic clicked his tongue. "I told you, I had no time to focus on the details!" Sighing, he turned back to his desk. "Besides, it's hard to notice anything past all that soot."

Spy paused. "Soot?"

"Yes, it gets everywhere," Medic replied, as though that had answered the question. "Anyway, why do you ask?"

Tempted as he was to ask about what on earth lied beneath that suit, he held himself back, and very nearly shot back a "classified" at the doctor. However, something else struck him, and he hummed. "You worked with those other mercenaries for a time. Were you familiar with their pyro?"

"Oh, Beatrice?" Medic chuckled. "Yes, she was an interesting one. Quite sadistic, I would say. But what does this have to do with—?"

"She interrogated our Pyro for an extended period of time, and I am wondering if this may account for its strange behavior."

"Strange behavior?" Medic echoed, then laughed, the noise grating on Spy's ears. "No, our pyromaniac is just as crazy as it ever was, in case you haven't noticed! Perhaps you could do with a head examination." In one swift motion he retrieved a clipboard. "I could put you in for next Tuesday—"

"No, thank you." And with that, Spy strode out of the lab, nearly stepping on Aristotle's tail on the way out.

As he crossed the base, he tossed his cigarette to the ground and stomped on it as he passed.

This was ridiculous. Was it not obvious to anyone else? Or was he really just looking for something that wasn't there?

He found himself glaring out a window, staring out at the desert. It was growing dark, now, and he had no reason to be hanging around here—several of the other mercs had already gone home, or to whatever hole they slept in.

The hair stood on the back of Spy's neck, and he whipped around to see someone staring at him from the other end of the hall. He shuddered. "Don't do that."

"Am I not allowed to look at people without a scope up to my eye?" Sniper asked, approaching Spy. He held a cup of coffee in his hand that fogged up his glasses as he brought it to his mouth. Nonetheless, he joined Spy in looking out the window. "You're here late."

"As are you." Spy glared out into the darkening twilight. "Don't you have a van to sleep in?"

"Don't much feel like sleeping," Sniper answered, taking another swig of coffee.

"Then go somewhere else to produce your jarate."

The Sniper only heaved a sigh. "Went to the phone again."

"Yes, very exciting." Spy continued to glare out the window before it struck him what the man was talking about. His annoyance quickly melted. "...Oh." He hesitated for a moment before glancing at Sniper. "My apologies."

"Been a minute since I've done that," he said, and shook his head.

The two stood in awkward silence for a moment.

"...Since you're here," Spy said, "perhaps you could help me with something."

With a lifeless shrug, Sniper did not look away from the window. "Shoot."

"Tempting as it would be to kill you right now, I must decline," Spy said, eliciting a chuckle from the other merc. "Have you paid any attention to Pyro on the battlefield?"

"Some. It watches my back sometimes. Why?"

"Have you noticed anything... strange about it?"

"Hmmm." Sniper turned to face him, and Spy nearly got his hopes up. "Why, have you?"

Spy grit his teeth. "At this point, I'm starting to wonder. Its behavior seems unusual to me for some reason, but no one else in this stupid base seems to think so."

"Everyone's been actin' different, mate. Including you."

Something snapped, and Spy pounded a fist against the windowsill. "Can you answer the question or not?"

Sniper was silent for a moment before he tipped his head back, draining the rest of his coffee. "If somethin's up with Pyro, it hasn't said anything to me about it."

"You—!" Spy sputtered, but Sniper was already leaving. He glared after him, fuming, before spinning around and storming toward the base's entrance.

But as he neared the door, he froze.

It hasn't said anything to me about it.

That was it.

The next day, during their match, Spy kept a closer eye on Pyro than before.

The merc was charging through the map, blasting its flamethrower at anyone and everyone who came near it. If a fellow merc was ever on fire, it quickly put them out before going straight back to setting everything else on fire.

Months ago, when committing such atrocities, it would typically be giggling and laughing and whooping in glee as it stormed through the burning destruction.

Now, it was dead silent, its movements sharp and hurried as it set every enemy in sight ablaze.

Spy, who was cloaked, nearly gave himself away, laughing as his suspicions were confirmed. Yes, something was for sure wrong with Pyro, and he was not going crazy. Satisfied, he resumed his role in the match as normal, decloaking and backstabbing a soldier that the Pyro had missed.

But as the match came to an end and the team returned to their base, it dawned on him: Yes, he'd confirmed that something was wrong with Pyro.

But he still didn't know why.

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

[...]Winters was informed about the patrol. “Damned fool,” he muttered. He turned to Welsh. “This sounds like an ego trip, Harry. Alert Fox Company. Have them be on the lookout and not to get trigger happy.” “Yeah, right,” Welsh said. Then he forgot. That night on the lonely, darkened Rhine River, Leach’s patrol was spotted by alert American sentries. Machine gun fire from Fox Company’s 2nd and 3rd Squads raked the water, sweeping the hapless soldiers, some with the words “don’t shoot” screaming from their lips, from their bullet-riddled boats. Six days later the bodies of Leach and his four men were fished from the Rhine downstream, at Sturzelberg. In his heart, Winters held two people responsible for the senseless tragedy. Mainly he blamed Leach for taking out a patrol that was a high-risk venture for little or no purpose. He also found fault with Welsh who, as he had when Moose Heyliger was wounded six months earlier, failed to alert those most in need of alerting. “He heard me,” Winters later said of his friend. “But sometimes he didn’t absorb what he was hearing.”

~ Larry Alexander

[masked-fools]

❝ your old buddy sampo is a model citizen these days. y'know the guards on sentry duty in the restricted zone? i deliver their breakfast every day! ❞

— Sampo Koski, ancient relic specialist

Tavern Notice Board

7th of August — 13th of August

(1) forsaken and yet not [blade, kafka] — @leonistic

even when the world is against them you stand by their side

(2) an apology [kafka] — @c0metes

reader is a stellaron hunter and got their shoulder hurt. some love acrobatics. guns and bullets and swords, average day for a stellaron hunter

(3) vacation on jarilo-vi — @xieni-logs

astral express crew with a child!reader

(4) with a vidyadhara reader [blade, dan heng, jing yuan] — @pyroxeene

them with a vidyadhara reader whose tail gives away their true feelings

(5) habits before bed [sampo, jing yuan, gepard, dan heng] — @cnnmairoll

their habits before going to bed with you

(6) under the lotus leaves [dan feng] — @milksnake-tea

you've known dan feng long before he became the high elder of the vidyadhara, before he donned the title of imbibitor lunae and became the legend he is known as now. long ago, back when the two of you were mere children, playing in the waters of the xianzhou luofu.

(7) hot and cold [dan heng] — @eggluverz

in which dan heng runs hot and blasts the air conditioner to keep cool, and you feel like you’re living in the arctic [college roommate au]

(8) how to take care of your lover when they're sick [jing yuan] — @generalsmemories

scenario in which jing yuan’s significant other (a short life species that isn’t a xianzhou native) has gotten sick

(9) showering them in affection [blade, sampo] — @pyroxeene

headcanons of them with a very affectionate s/o

(10) goodbye, halcyon days [jing yuan] — @bladesmuse

as time passes, its branches grow thorns, impaling themselves into your heart. it is most evident as you reflect upon your life, about the three men you loved most who came and went like the sun, moon, and stars. domestic fluff, potential high cloud quintet lore spoilers, angst, hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort

(11) i didn't know where else to go [blade] — @milksnake-tea

blade x gn!reader, angst

(12) catching smoke [sampo] — @bladesmuse

you are a silvermane guard who has been assigned to catch Sampo. However, every time you get remotely close to catching the shady merchant, he always disappears. cursing, violence, suggestive content

(13) dropped your hand while dancing [gepard] — @particular-one

angst. hurt/no comfort. failed relationships. fluff to angst. passing mention of alcohol. marriage proposals. set after the events of the jarilo-vi trailblaze mission.

(14) a beloved tradition [luka] — @starboyshoyo

a paper marriage in belobog isn’t the only way to show off the love between a couple.

(15) wildest dreams [poly; blade, dan heng] — @bladesmuse

love, lust, and revenge are often inextricably linked, unsurprisingly causing complications in your relationship implied sexual content, combined undertones of fluff and angst

(16) accidentally falling asleep on him [sampo] — @milksnake-tea

you accidentally fall asleep on sampo's shoulder mentions of alcohol

(17) interlocks [nanook, yaoshi, lan, xipe] — @milksnake-tea

braiding their hair

(18) weathering the storm [gepard] — @meaningofaeons

gn!reader, meet cute, reader is implied to be part of an affluent/noble family, soulmate au wherein you have a countdown on your wrist until you meet your soulmate

(19) back home [dan heng] — @meaningofaeons

gn!reader, fluff, reader is part of the nameless but did not join the belobog mission

(20) not quite so slick [sampo] — @meaningofaeons

gn!reader, fluff, silvermane guard!reader, belobog story spoilers, pining

(21) only in the limelight [dan heng] — @meaningofaeons

gn!reader, actor au, angst/no comfort, unrequited love

(22) could you be any more dense? [gepard] — @meaningofaeons

gn!reader, hurt/comfort

(23) starry night bakery [dan heng] — @eggluverz

in which the cute baker down the street catches your eye and you decide to become a regular to keep seeing him [modern au]

(24) everything i need [blade] — @eggluverz

in which you’re feeling down about not seeing your boyfriend in a few months and blade takes time out of his busy tour schedule to surprise you. idol!blade x barista!reader, modern au

(25) lucky day [luka] — @antimatterz

you found the cutest plushie in a claw machine, but can't get a hold of it. fortunately, a handsome stranger shows up to help you out [modern au]

[elmothedictator]

Engineer!Jaune (Based on my ask to @howlingday) Ruby: YOU WHAT?!

Jaune: Yeah, just like my Uncle Dell Conagher-Arc said: “Hey look, buddy. I'm an engineer — that means I solve problems. Not problems like 'What is beauty?' because that would fall within the purview of your conundrums of philosophy. I solve practical problems.”

Ruby: BUT YOU DELIBERATELY CUT YOUR OWN ARM!!!

Jaune: Yeah? So did my uncle

Ruby: JAUNE!!!

Jaune: What?! It’s the only way to make sure Nora or you fires my Plasma guns!!!

Ruby: But you didn’t need to cut your own arm!!!

Yang: I heard screaming, what’s wrong?

Ruby: JAUNE CUT HIS OWN ARM!!!

Yang: WTF JAUNE?! I KNOW YOU’RE CRAZY AFTER ALL OF THIS 3 YEARS, BUT THIS IS TOO FAR!!!

Blake: Yang, honey, please don’t scream *Sees Jaune’s arm* What happened to your arm

Ruby: HE CUT HIS OWN ARM OFF!!!

Blake: WHAT?! PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE JOKING

Ruby: I’M NOT!!!

Weiss: WOULD ALL OF YOU PLEASE SHUT UP?! PLEASE STOP SCREAMING!!! *Spots Jaune’s arm* What happened to your arm?

Blake: He cut it himself

Weiss: YOU WHAT?! THAT IS PREPOSTEROUS!!!

Jaune: I did.

Weiss: ….

*Knocks on the door*

Jaune: Who is it? *Opens the door and sees Uncle Dell*

Ruby: Who is it Jaune?

Jaune: *Excited* It’s my uncle! Uncle Dell? What’s up!!!

Uncle Dell: Hey kid, heard you cut your own arm. Is it true?

Jaune:*In a slight Texan accent* I did

Uncle Dell: As i expected from a 10Y/O kid who obtained 11 PhDs

RWBY: He’s what?!

Uncle Dell: Yup, he sure did. *Speaks back to Jaune* Hey kid, who’s these fine ladies? Is one of them is your girlfriend?

Jaune: *Still in the same accent* No uncle, all of them are girlfriends and girlfriends. And one of them is in a polyamorous relationship. *Points to Ruby* That’s Ruby *Points to Weiss* Her girlfriend Weiss *Points to Blake and Yang* The emo one (Blake: HEY!) is Blake and the Yellow one is Yang. They’re the one whose on a polyamorous relationship.

Uncle Dell: With who?

Pyrrha: *In the door* Blake! Yang! Can you help me with my groceries please? *Sees Jaune* Jaune!!! *Proceed to run at full speed to hug Jaune*

Jaune: Whoa! *falls into his own back

Pyrrha: We’ve missed you so much!!!*Felt something metallic*… What happened to your arm Jaune?

Yang: *Helping Pyrrha with the groceries* He cut his own arm

Pyrrha: HE’S WHAT?!

Yang: That’s not even the most shocking part, he also got 11 PhDs.

Pyrrha: *Staring at Jaune and Dell talking to each other and seeing him gives an Australium to Jaune*…. No wonder he’s always the top in every class except combat.

*After helping the girls with the groceries, maybe around 5-10 minutes*

Jaune: Welp, We’ll talk later Uncle Dell, we’re going to have a cookout and those groceries won’t lift by themselves.

Uncle Dell: Yeah, we’ll talk later about the sentry improvements. Got a call from work. Y’know, the usual RED and BLU stuff.

Jaune: No problem uncle, how about we meet at our usual bar?

Uncle Dell: Sure thing bud, say the time and date and i’m on my way. With the rest of the crew ofcourse.

Jaune: Heavy still pissed at me for beating him in an arm wrestling huh?

Uncle Dell: I mean, you’d rarely sees a 15 Y/O kid beating a 6’5 400 Pounds man with Aura in arm wrestling contests. *Chuckle* Well i gotta go *Gets in his 1966 Chevy Pickup*

Jaune: Sure Uncle Dell. Be sure to not be dead

Uncle Dell: The machine’ll revive me kiddo *Dabs Jaune perfectly* Bye kid. *Drives off*

Jaune: *Chuckles* Bye uncle Dell! *Waves his metallic arm*

The girls: *Speaking together in a dark tone* You got some explaining to do. Jaune~.

Jaune: Oh… shit….

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟔   ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜   |   NAKAWE PALACE, AUGUST 1991

❧  𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲  /  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

   ❛  In the premier’s sitting room, Beatriz’s memories transported her back to a formative childhood moment. Her education began early, as was customary, but the distance between Canarís and Nakawe in those days meant she didn’t shadow the king himself until later. She was instead inseparable from her father, observing the birthright governorship that the men of Uspana’s assembly would deny her some years later. Still, her memory of Fernando was strong—a perfect jester of a grandfather, energetic and jovial. He was unlike her father in many ways, but they had both been paternal men. Beatriz believed to this day that her papa was the best father in the world, and she regretted that he hadn’t lived to become a jovial grandfather, too. Of course, the most notable difference was her grandfather’s effectiveness. Liberal pens rewrote history in the succeeding decades, but Beatriz remembered that fact well.

❧ ran out of time but didn't want to postpone so i kinda totally 100% phoned this one in dsfsdfjk BUT nando cameo !!!!! grandpa !!!!! uses the phrase "people of means" unironically !!!!! love him, can't wait to go back to the 1930s someday

𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

The room belonged to Hernan Perdignon when Beatriz entered it for the first time. Fernando had disliked him on ideological grounds, and Alfonso respected him for his principles, but it had been neither that led to his being gunned down in a public market midway through his first term. The Depression ground down everyone. Even Beatriz recalled those as lean years—if, primarily, because her father’s guilt made him insist their household behave as if though its purse shrunk along with everyone else’s. It did, but not in a way they felt. Her mother’s ongoing spending, the very spectacle of it, proved as much. Meanwhile, Alfonso insisted they buy only food without import taxes and pay for cheap fabric at the market. It didn’t matter that the bolts went from the weaver’s mangled hands into those of better paid seamstresses and tailors. Her father reduced their estate’s livestock by half, but they didn’t have to take them out back and slaughter them to do it. 

Before they departed for the meeting at Nakawe Palace, her grandfather had knelt down to give her instructions with uncharacteristic seriousness. Neither her grandparents nor her parents ever lived at Nakawe Palace itself. They rode over, whether in a carriage, a chauffeured town car, or one of her mother’s sleek, dangerous roadsters. When she could drive herself, Beatriz visited in a doorless military issue four-by-four. A black sedan was to Fernando’s back on this day as he explained that he wanted her to stand perfectly quiet and still, doll-like, while he talked to the premier. It wasn’t just a matter of being well-behaved. ‘Stare him down,’ Fernando intoned. ‘Don’t look away for a minute. If he looks at you, don’t back down. Keep him in a fixed gaze, and keep your ears open.’ She’d asked, confused, ‘Open?’ and prompted a laugh from him. ‘Listen to us, Bird. Listen like you listen to your papa.’ That, she knew could do.

Perdignon laughed, deep and good-natured, when he saw her stroll into the room ahead of the king. That was the desired effect, and Fernando assured him with a wink that six year old Beatriz could conduct a meeting with a politician just as well as anyone else. Indeed, the premier noted she was a somber child. She stood like a sentry at the edge of the king’s chosen sofa, her hands clasped, the maturity of her comportment undermined only by the girlish ribbons in her hair. Most of the conversation went over her head, and that was fine. She focused as best she could on what her grandfather had requested: although at times distracted by a bird in the window, a vase on a shelf, the movement of aides just beyond the room’s open door, she stared hard at Perdignon’s expressive face while the men conversed. Like their spirited debate about economics, the reason Fernando had asked this of her was beyond her grasp at the time. She only understood later what it accomplished—in the tense quiet between barbed words, when the king’s expectant challenges went unmet, when the premier fell silent in resignation. Perdignon found the attentive audience in miniature charming. As the meeting dragged on, though, he found it unsettling. 

There was an art to it, to unsettling and intimidating and domination. It demanded subtlety. Although some pretended to forget, her ancestors had known that and passed the wisdom down. It was the warm bath that became a boiling pot. It was a gentle touch. It was an unexpectedly stifling room, an uninvited guest, inexplicable body language, threats delivered with luxurious kindness. Beatriz could browbeat and curse when it suited her. In fact, that’s what she loved. Neither her stature nor her pedigree suggested as much, which became its own kind of unsettling. Still, she approached her work more often as a strategist rather than with self-indulgence. She learned early and well that her claim to dominion—her queenhood, her king’s crown—rested on precision and finesse just as much as the very real force underwriting it.

Eladio Guillen’s sitting room was worlds away from the one that had belonged to Hernan Perdignon. Much of the decorations remained unchanged in the six intervening decades, but this was a different time and place. This was, too, a different premier. Unlike Perdignon, Guillen wouldn’t be lionized for his devotion to the nation. His aspirations were not grand; by Beatriz’s measure, they were small and petty, which made him more susceptible to precision, finesse, and force alike. It was her prerogative to choose a premier from among the winning coalition’s candidates, and she had chosen him for that very reason. Her mind wandered to a memory of instruction, but it was only because Guillen failed to maintain her attention. There was no real need for strategy today. He talked about nothing, meandering and wandering. Beatriz was a shepherd. He was a chicken, headless.

Beatriz refocused herself soon enough, crossing her ankles as she interrupted Guillen to state, “Arnaut was here yesterday. Was it productive?”

Guillen readjusted as well, leaning back into the cushion with a sigh. They regarded each other as he thought through his response. “Well,” he began, meeting Beatriz’s sharp eyes. “It’s a good kind of sentimental, what you all are trying to do for my late princess. Believe me.” The queen prompted him to continue with a raise of her eyebrows. “Still, I was skeptical when she was pitching it herself, and she was a much better communicator than my prince. He’s just all over the place and nowhere at the same time, I hear. Hard to find a mess he hasn’t stepped in.”

Beatriz’s expression remained unchanged as she listened. There were no surprises in Guillen’s report; his were words she could have just as easily said herself—and, whether casually or in frustration, likely had. Yet, it roiled her to hear them from him. She could imagine the meeting, and she could envision Guillen’s smirking face as Arnaut made a show of his inexperience. There was no trace of amusement as he sat before her now, but she found his apologetic demeanor just as rankling. 

Maintaining an even tone, she followed up with, “What do you want, Guillen?”

“What?” He sounded surprised—or, she thought, feigned it. 

“What do you want?” she repeated, leaning forward. “Do you have strong feelings about higher education? Do you want to humiliate my son? Is it completely irrelevant to you and just … 'weighing interests'?” That was Guillen’s terminology. He ferried it from his corporate background into the premiership, and now it cropped up time and time again in meetings Beatriz had to endure. This vague, euphemistic bandage encapsulated his politics well. Likewise, it had infected underlings, admirers, and enemies indiscriminately. 

“It has nothing to do with him, my queen,” Guillen protested.

Beatriz shrugged. “Perhaps that’s how I heard it.”

However feebly, the premier was determined to defend himself. It seemed apparent to him that he had hit a nerve, even as the queen performed nonchalance. He hadn’t addressed her other suppositions. In a way, that didn’t matter. They both knew he had no abiding interest in this particular arena of policy. His mind, when it went into the weeds, entertained more attractive prospects like free trade and technological innovation. Even then, the name of the game was weighing interests. The outlier was pointed, almost as sharp as if she’d jabbed him with a pin: had he humiliated her son? It wasn’t his place to clarify that someone else had done it, actually, and he had only piled on by letting it happen in his presence. Perhaps that had been ill-advised, he wondered now. Still, it wasn’t often in the course of his business that someone’s mother checked their work. He was unsure how to handle it.

“That may be,” he conceded with a short sigh “But, I didn’t mean that.” 

Beatriz sniffed. “You said what you said, and that tells me something.” She paused, and Guillen straightened in anticipation. “I don’t need you to respect my son. That’s his concern. What I need is for you to work with him. These are not playdates or sentiments. For this project, he is my emissary. His work is the Crown’s work. And, for the Crown to work with your work … Well. Do you understand me?” 

This, Guillen understood all too well. It was almost all he understood.

TRANSCRIPT:

[Premier talking]

BEATRIZ | Arnaut was here yesterday. Was it productive? GUILLEN | It’s a good kind of sentimental, what you all are trying to do for my late princess. Believe me.

GUILLEN | Still, I was skeptical when she was pitching it herself, and she was a much better communicator than my prince. He’s just all over the place and nowhere at the same time, I hear. Hard to find a mess he hasn’t stepped in.

BEATRIZ | What do you want, Guillen? GUILLEN | What? BEATRIZ | What do you want? Do you have strong feelings about higher education? Do you want to humiliate my son? Is it completely irrelevant to you and just … "weighing interests"?

GUILLEN | It has nothing to do with him, my queen. BEATRIZ | Perhaps that's how I heard it. GUILLEN | That may be. But, I didn't mean that.

BEATRIZ | You said what you said, and that tells me something. I don’t need you to respect my son. That’s his concern. What I need is for you to work with him. These are not playdates or sentiments. For this project, he is my emissary. His work is the Crown’s work. And, for the Crown to work with your work … Well.

BEATRIZ | Do you understand me?

GUILLEN | Of course, my queen. I'll call him soon. Why don’t we return to the matter at hand? Pending bill forty-seven and excluding the Armorica provision, as you requested—

BRISIDA | The Canarís location? You’re sure? [Door opening]

??? | He requested the number. They do have a good auction there. We have a fax of the purchasing arrangement proposal, if you need it—company policy. It’ll be signed at the sale next week, I believe. BRISIDA | What day? ??? | Tuesday morning. Ten o’clock, if they’re punctual.

BRISIDA | Great. Nothing further; just let it proceed. Thank you. ??? | Our pleasure. Please give my queen our warmest wishes. BRISIDA | Uh huh. Goodbye.

BEATRIZ | The surveillance order? BRISIDA | Just needs those details and your signature. BEATRIZ | Always on top of things. Good.