#again and ill just have to kill. someone. not me. yeah

[scramjettracy]

Maaaybe had a li’l whisky. Is not often I don’t have to be ready to fly for 24 hours and I was trying not to think.

I still don’t know what your obsession with the word smug is… but I don’t like it and it doesn’t fit you at all. You’re not any of those other things either - please don’t write yourself off like that. You’re amazing and a better man than I can ever hope to be. It kills me that you can’t see that.

Everything you ever cared about implodes, huh? I guess I can see how it feels that way. But we’re still all here for you Fish, despite all the nonsense the world has thrown at us. And we always will be.

You aren’t alone. Ever. Not if you don’t want to be. Obviously things with you and Penny should be private - it’s not like we need or should have details or be in your face about it all the time because that would be creepy and weird. But also? If you’re worried, or confused or anything we’re here. I can tell all this stuff has been tying your brain in knots for ages and I wish you hadn’t felt you had to hide it and manage it on your own.

I totally understand that you might not want to talk to me about things (although I’m truly honoured you’ve confided in me here, thank you huge glass of wine perhaps). I get it - I’m patronising, smothering, frustrating, infuriating. As much as I wish I was still the big brother you used to run to when the world was unfair when Dad was unfair I understand that circumstances changed. Maybe I changed too. But what has never changed is I adore you, I respect you and I want you to be happy, whatever that looks like. Whatever alternative impression I’ve given in my idiot moments, whatever bad-tempered ill-thought-out words have bothered you - please please ignore them.

But you have Virgil and John who will listen and who are both so wise. Let them in. At least talk it through. Don’t feel like you’re supposed to have it all figured out by yourself, y’know?

Re Dad… look I don’t think we’re ever going to agree on which of us is the bigger disappointment to him 🥴. I didn’t mean to imply he was a perfect father and I highly doubt he was a perfect husband either - I just meant he was one. The fact he fell apart completely when he lost her doesn’t mean he might not have anything helpful to say about what went before. I feel kinda useless to you on that front.

But - you don’t have to tell him any of this. Unless you want to. Unless you think he can help. You don’t have to suddenly go in full throttle and bare your soul to a man you hardly know. Just give it time, get to know him with the easier stuff.

I mean yeah he should probably hear that you guys are serious from you personally rather than second-hand but the rest? That’s for you and anyone you choose to confide in. As long as you confide in someone and don’t get eaten up with anxiety.

I know everything I say just sounds patronising and stupid (and yeah that isn’t limited to matters of the heart, huh?). So I don’t really have the right to an opinion here, but… whisky… and just in case it helps at all… If it doesn’t - ignore, delete this from your inbox and pretend I never said it.

You’ve found happiness and a true partnership with Penny and that’s worth fighting for. Even if it’s terrifying. Even if it might implode one day. Even if it’s inevitable one day one of you will have to grieve. It’s worth it. And nothing Dad says or thinks about you should change any of that. Nothing changes the fact you deserve every happiness under the sun for as long as you have the chance.

FYI no Situations. Nearly made stupid decision once or twice but narrowly avoided so all was fine. No diplomacy needed tomorrow John will be pleased to know. . We walked past the bar with the whale… it’s still there.

Somehow it is now 3am here and I’ve rewritten this so many times it probably makes zero sense anymore. If I’m talking BS again just uh, delete it ok?

Love ya Gordy

S x

I’m sorry! I’m sorry ok? Didn’t mean to make it about me… I didn’t know I had.

Didn’t mean to make light of your worries. God knows we’re all terrified of losing him again right? ‘M just scared if we don’t let him live a li’l we might lose him again. Despite appearances I don’t actually want to trap everyone on the island with me if they don’t wanna be there.

But you and Dad should talk - properly - not just about Penny. He really wants to make up for everything and you should take advantage of that. I know I’ve sucked at all this but he’ll do better. It’s gonna be ok now you’ve got a proper father again.

Again, sorry for everything. I do love you Fishy, I wish I was better at proving it instead of just pissing you off all the time.

S x

This is such a load of BS Scott, what does a “proper father” have to do with anything?!

I know Dad and I need to talk. So aware of it that it’s dragging me out for middle of the night swims. I can’t even face him right now though, and I just… thought maybe the king of ‘easier said than done’ would get that? Guess I was wrong.

I love you too Scotty, and I hate fighting. I absolutely hate it, and I hate that we keep ending up on opposite sides like this. It feels wrong. Like I’m letting both of us down.

I think I feel that about everything at the moment, if I’m honest, but… anyway.

Enjoy NYC.

( @scramjettracy )

[jayjamjary]

At some point I want to go to lesbain/gay bars. I don't want to drink and I have horrible social skills but ai just want to sit there and look at people and if someone comes up to me and starts talking to me get I'll get really nervous and die.

[hellaverse-critical-confessions]

(from this video)

[isasweetie]

in which you’re forced into having a talk with your ex-boyfriend, rafe cameron, on the boat ride to morocco.

being a pogue and rafe cameron’s ex was not easy. although you dated shortly before he killed peterkin, and you were sure he barely even remembered your favourite colour, seeing him blatanly disrespect you and his friends, and go down a path you tried so hard to prevent him from, was hard to watch. but now he’s picked himself up since ward died. you thought you had another chance to at least be on good terms. sending flowers and a card to tanneyhill when ward died, smiling at him when you’d see him around. it didn’t work, he still hated you and your friends.

fortunately, he redeemed himself ever so slightly by volunteering to take the pogues to morocco. rafe had to find chandler groff, you guys wanted the blue crown. it was perfect.

until jj punched him, that is. he knocked him out cold. with a scolding “jj!” coming from majority of the pogues, including you, jj carries him down into the downstairs washroom and ties his wrists to a pole. they don’t trust him, which is fair. you don’t either — you shouldn’t, anyway.

rafe was down there quietly for a mere half hour until he woke up with a groan from his head hitting the ground earlier, followed up with yelling once he realizes he was stuck down there.

all touching your noses and saying ‘not it’ the minute pope suggests someone going down there to check on him, you’re the unlucky one who said it last. shutting up your protests, john b gently coaxes you downstairs, saying things like, “you used to mack on him”, “this is good, you know him”, “he won’t hurt you,” john b leaves you downstairs once you make it to the door of the bathroom. knocking gently, you timidly ask, “can i come in?”

there’s no answer. you can picture him. wrists tied, brows furrowed, eyes closed tightly as his head leans against the wall and towards the ceiling. his gorgeous stressed face. you slowly open the door, peeking your head in. “hi,” you say gently, timid around the scary and aggressive man you have the curse of calling your ex.

“…hey,” rafe says, voice rough as he shuts his eyes tight.

unsure what to say, you awkwardly stand there and stare down at him. “um, i brought asprin,”

“right, right, like i can fuckin’ swallow it. what, you gonna throw it in my mouth like a.. seal or something?” sassy, his upper lip lifts a bit as he thinks about it and isn’t very fond of the idea.

a second of silence as you figure out what to say. “…um, ill just set it down here,” you say, putting the container down beside him. “sorry about your head.”

“yeah, uh, your little boyfriend can’t control his fists, huh?”

“…not my boyfriend,” you correct softly, though you’re not sure why you feel the need to tell him that. “but no one really.. trusts you, rafe, so you kind of brought this on yourself—“

he quickly interrupts you. “bullshit. you know why that’s bullshit? because i was helping. who got you this boat, huh? me. i did. rafe. i’m the reason that you guys aren’t swimming, or some shit, to north africa. i’m being helpful and understanding, and this is what i get. you think that’s fair?” when you’re stood there in silence at his sudden raised voice, he repeats, “you think that’s fucking fair, y/n!?” he kicks a can in anger.

it’s like you’re his girlfriend again as you sit down next to him instantly instead of running. you get deja vu to the time three years ago when he was high on coke and got kicked out of the house. everyone ignored him except for you. “..um, okay, i’m gonna give you some asprin,” you say softly. “help your head. open,” you tell him, grabbing a pill as he gives you a look but opens his mouth. you pop it in his mouth and he dry swallows. “there.”

you two share a look. you don’t think it’s a bad look by any means. he looks frustrated still, but there’s an underlying gentleness in his eyes, as if he registers you’re still the same girl you were when you two were together. “…and, um, for the record, i don’t think it’s fair that you’re down here. you helped us, thats.. nice.”

the word ‘us’ when referring to you and the pogues makes him feel weird. “i don’t get why you hang out with them,” he mutters as he looks at the ground. “tried so fucking hard to keep you away from them when we were.. together.”

“i know,” you whisper, your gaze dropping as well, to his tied wrists. you feel awful. “trust me, your warnings still play in my head when i’m with them sometimes,”

“you remind me of sarah.” he says. you’re not sure what that means.

“you hate sarah,”

“nah, nah— i don’t hate her. hate who she’s turned into,” he adjusts himself. “she makes me sad. i’m sad for her, alright? she had so much potential.“ he shrugs. “but there’s no saving her. she’s in too deep,” he looks back up at you again. “i think there’s saving you, though,”

“…this is weird, rafe,”

“how?” he asks.

“because in the years we’ve been broken up, you’ve never talked to me about this. feels like it’s a… trick or something,”

“it’s not a trick,” he assures, voice still rough. “look, i’m out half a mill, i’m tied up in a bathroom, i’m probably gonna.. die or something. i got nothing to lose, may as well tell you my concern,”

“um, i appreciate it,” you say gently, unsure how to respond. “and i’m gonna go back upstairs.”

“hey— no, woah, woah, woah,” he stops you quickly. “stay. okay?”

“i should go up and help with dinner, though—“

“no, stay. i— i want you to stay, okay? i don’t wanna be down here alone, and i want you away from the pogues,”

he doesn’t wanna be alone. you feel bad for him all over again, nodding gently as you sit back down beside him. you always were so good for rafe.

you’re not sure how long you’ll be down here with him. maybe until it’s late at night and he’s asleep. so gently, after about five minutes of silence, to ease some of the tension and pass the time, you murmur a, “truth or dare?”

rafe just smiles.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Bob Reynolds NSFW headcanons ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

+18 MDNI!!

He's incredibly considerate. He's always checking in on you, on whether you're comfortable, on whether you want to continue, on whether he can touch you there, now, like this.

His hands were on your hips, firm but trembling. You could tell he was making an effort not to lose himself in the moment, even though you could feel how much he wanted it. “Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice raspier than usual, as if every syllable cost him. “Yes,” you replied, sliding your fingers along the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Bob closed his eyes for a second. He inhaled deeply. “I need you to tell me if you want to keep going, because I swear if you kiss me again like you did a minute ago, I won't have a head to think.” You smiled a little, but his gaze was intense. It burned. “I want to keep going.” “M'kay…” he exhaled, resting his forehead on yours. His lips barely touched yours, as if he were trying to retain control just out of respect for you. “Is this okay?” he asked, slowly running a hand down your back. “Yes, Bob…” His fingers slid a little lower, his breath ragged against your neck. “Can I…?” he didn’t finish the sentence. But his body spoke for him. His gaze, his breathing, his hands. “You can do anything,” you whispered. So needy And then he let out a low, almost inaudible moan and murmured against your skin: “God, I… You’re killing me.”

He has a thing about touching you with his hands. He loves using them slowly: on your waist, on your neck, on your lower back… as if caressing you were a ritual and not a casual action. He loves using his fingers to make you come. You could swear he likes giving you pleasure more than receiving it.

After sex, he stays silent. Not out of discomfort, but because he's processing everything. He stares at you with half-closed eyes, with a half-smile as if he doesn't know how someone like you can be with someone like him.

He's very verbal, but soft. He doesn't shout, he's not loud, but he whispers things close to your ear that make you lose your train of thought. They're almost always unintelligible grunts or sighs against your neck that make your hair stand on end.

He has a slow, steady pace. He's not rushed. He doesn't need to prove anything. He likes to take his time, explore, learn what you like, and repeat it until you can't take it anymore. Sometimes, he just stands there, looking at you, his fingers tangled in yours, his thrusts constant.

Aftercare is sacred. He covers you, cleans you, holds you. If he notices any part of you trembling, he stays longer. And he doesn't let you sleep without kissing your hair or telling you how important you are to him.

"Was that good for you?" "Of course it was, Bob," you whisper, leaning in to steal a kiss from his lips. "Do you want anything else?" "Just to have you close, sweetie."

Plus, he loves to be pampered.

He likes it when you touch him first. Because, even though he could take you hard if he wanted to, he loves feeling that you choose him. That you want him. That you're also as hot as he is. It gives him security, and when you do… he just goes crazy.

He has a soft spot for seeing you wearing his clothes. Sometimes you forget to do the laundry and steal a sweatshirt, a shirt, or a pair of sweatpants. The moment he sees you, his heart races and the blood pools in his cheeks. If you put your clothes on right out of the shower, with the fabric clinging to your still-wet body, the blood rushes further down his body.

"Is that my shirt?" "This one? Oh, yeah! Sorry, do you need it…?" "No," he says quickly. Suddenly, one of his hands tentatively goes to your waist, slipping under the fabric to your fresh skin. "You look…" His voice broke at the end, and the sentence hung in the air as if he didn't know how to finish it himself. "…too good, actually." You bit your lip, and his expression—that mix of restrained tenderness and ill-disguised desire—disarmed you more than you cared to admit. “You don't mind, do you?” “Huh-uh,” he hummed. With a mischievous, calculating expression, you stood on your toes to kiss him. The way you sucked on his lower lip just before you pulled away was such a lascivious move that he couldn't resist. There was no need for you to take off your shirt. He'd gladly do it for you.

He's a sucker for morning sex. There's something about seeing you with your hair disheveled, or your lips swollen from sleep, that drives him absolutely crazy. If you look at him in that state, he's no longer in control of himself and simply throws at you. The warmth of the sheets, the lethargy from previous sleep, and the softness of your skin are reasons enough for him to need you. After that, you usually take a shower together and although everyone in the tower suspects, no one says anything.

[alien-magnolia]

You Saved Me

Tw: logan howlett x fem!reader, domestics, description of childbirth/pregnancy, breeding knk, fem/mutant! reader, domestics, Logan being so caring <3 18+ MDNI

A/n: please support your creators and reblog if you love this content <3 xoxo, Liz

——-

You never believed in being absolutely crushed, enamored with someone just from one instance of meeting. Just from one glance. That never fell to be true. Until you met Logan.

He saved you from Striker’s Island, saved you from life in a cage, life as an experiment, carrying you off the grounds of the facility because you had a broken leg. He was so caring, so gentle, with you that day.

You sobbed as the bone in your leg bulged out, itching to relieve itself in the fresh air, away from the mess that was your thigh. “I know it hurts. Just hold on to me, yeah? Won’t let anything happen to you,” he consoles, his gruff voice and warm, heaving chest a comfort to you as the pain from your leg was asinine — slowly killing you.

He was gentle on the night you eloped, as well. The two of you fell enamored with each other in only a span of a few months. You needed each other to heal. The two of you spend some time away from the X-mansion, back in the outskirts of the Colorado mountains.

“Let me carry you over these rocks, bub. Don’t want you to strain yourself,” he chided at you, and once again, those strong, hairy arms you loved so much, picked you up as if you weighed nothing, and carried you to the edge of the cliff. “It’s beautiful here, Logan,” you exclaim in quiet awe. “It’s nice. Private,” he replies, a large hand coming to cup your face. “You saved me, bub. After losing my brother, having all these god-fuckin’ awful memories. Had so much pain,” he sighs. “I know. You’re safe now, Lo,” your hands cup his cheeks, pulling him into a slow and chaste kiss.

—-

“Can’t! Can’t take it anymore — Lo!!,” you squealed, as his broad chest pressed up against your back, all the chest hair leaving marks on your back. His large hands cradling your front, occasionally squeezing at your plush tits, his grunts animalistic. “Doing so well, sweetheart. Taking me so well. Give me one more squeeze bub, I know you can,” he reassures, as you feel like you’re about to explode from his thick, eight inch cock ramming into you, over and over.

You’re in complete bliss as you feel his seed seeping into you. You were fertile. You were his. His claws come out as he finishes, almost touching your neck. He pulled them back quickly, checking if you were okay. “Love you so much, sweetheart. You’re my moon, I’m your Wolverine,” he whispers, as he rolls you over onto your back, wiping you with a towel. He lays down next to you, cradling you on his big chest, in an almost paternal way.

You were safe, you were loved.

He continued being the softest, gentle, man that he could be, with you. Even when the both of you returned to the Mansion. He would constantly check in on you if you were teaching class, advising the students of how you gained control of your telepathy. He would always make sure you went to bed at a reasonable time, and that you wouldn’t over exert yourself while teaching.

His love and care for you was innately fierce, and it grew even more fervorous when you told him you were pregnant. You’ve never seen the man so happy.

He was insanely protective over you. He was your shadow, always around where you were. If another at the mansion even so simply looked at you, he would get defensive. “We got a problem here?,” he would ask, claws slowly inching out. They would shake their head quickly and walk away.

He would hold back your hair as you had morning sickness, constantly ill. He would tell you everything would be okay, as you gained a bit of weight, as your hormones raged out of control.

“What do you need, bub? Water? I can make you somethin’ to eat too, don’t hold out on me, now,” he asks, as he walks into your kitchen after a long day of working with Charles on a new project. You sniffle, “I never knew pregnancy would be this hard, Lo. I’m losing it.” “Hey. You’re still my moon, y’ know. You saved me, sweetheart. Still love ya just the same, even if you’re all heavy with my kid. It’s a new life we made,” he reassures, bringing you in to the safe haven of his chest again. You smile warmly, as he continues to hold you.

He was there with you for the birth. You were in so much pain, and he held you — every step of the way. When the infant was finally out, the three of you spent hours just laying together, having skin to skin contact. “My moon. Did so well f’me, sweetheart,” he tells you, as you have your infant laying on his chest, and your fingers gently touch his beard.

He saved you, after all.

A/n: I want this man in a very bad way, a very, very, very, very bad way. Screaming. References here are from original X men movie and X men origins: Wolverine.

[heartsforkatsuki]

you look tired. ｡°✩ k. bakugo

pov; katsuki yearning for you after the fallout

pairings ; yearner!katsuki x reader

tags; angst/no comfort, light angst, yearning katsuki, no happy ending (unless someone requests it ahah ill do a part2.), childhood friend katsuki.

the song with all the exact dialogue!!!

katsuki bakugo was your best friend all throughout your life.

you grew up together, your parents being best friends.

he’d been by your side through every breakup, every crisis.

and he was in love with you the entire time.

now, katsuki was sitting at a table across from his best friend, kirishima, 2 years after graduation.

“and, well. she understood.” he paused, fingers tapping on the wooden surface.

“and you know that sucks.. because, she was my best friend.” he sighed, running his hand through his hair.

“you know, beyond.. having feelings for her.”

“um..i just.. i was never..” he thought, he’d never really felt like that with anyone, he told you everything. absolutely everything. he could.. trust you. it killed him to see you in relationships, only to be let down each time. he’d do anything to have one more moment of that friendship.

“i don’t know.. i never had a relationship that close with.. anybody.”

“she knew everything about me.. i knew everything about her. and it just..” he sighed again. yeah, him and kirishima were close. best friends. but not like you and katsuki. you guys were one. or so he thought.

“we.. i mean, in every literal sense of the word ‘bestfriend’ thats what we were. and, yeah, it was awesome.” he smiled sadly, swirling the coffee in his cup. “it was awesome to have.. gotten to know her, help her. and she helped me.”

he thought back to two years ago, before everything fell apart. after the war, you helped him recover, you cheered him on during physical therapy, wiped his tears when nobody else could.

“it was a great.. fulfilling friendship. so yeah, i kind of just..”

he sniffed, blinking back tears.

“told her we gotta stop talking. cause its not healthy for me to just be sitting here waiting for you, i have to move on.” he swallowed, every one of his words oozing with regret.

“so.. i sort of just forced myself to do that. and i did.” he didnt. the thought of you kept him up at night, reeling through different ways you could’ve still been friends, at the very least.

he would’ve waited years. he got impatient.

“and it’s tough, the first day after i sent that text to her i lied i said yeah yeah im doing fine, im doing great! it just…” he smiled tearfully, downplaying his feelings.

he finally let a tear escape.

“you cant move on that quickly.. you cant.”

[the-teufort-nine]

The BLU Chemist Reader returns for their final fic! 11k words and about a week of work and beta reading by @pinkypiechar have led to this! I hope it lives up to expectations!

If you like the idea of a Chemist Reader, please consider checking out my longer, RED Chemist Fem!Reader fic, whenever I actually get around to writing it.

Mercs x GN!Reader | Respawn Malfunction PART 3: Chem and RED's Excellent Adventure

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ Hurt/Comfort, Discussion of Poly Relationship, Crossfaction Flirting | NSFW, because while technically no sex happens, its definitely discussed/implied| Cw: starvation, mentions of graphic death/description of a corpse, mentions of pet death (non graphic), possesive behaviours ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Featuring:

Everyone! Even Miss Pauling is here, as well as a particularly charming duo from the enemy team.

Scenario: Having been stranded at the new base with no hope of making it back to their team alone, the BLU Chemist must ask their mortal enemy for help. Thankfully, even a RED Engineer has some good ole' southern hospitality, and the Texan offers to get the BLU back to their team. (Un)fortunately, someone else has joined in on their little quest...

The RED team's Engineer had seen many things during his time working for Mann Co., but the sight before him now may have been the strangest yet.

The BLU Chemist, whom everyone knew had died during that horrible Respawn failure, was standing on the other end of his trusty shotgun.

Well, standing might have been too generous a word. The Merc was swaying like a sapling in a storm, trembling from the effort of staying upright. Their usually vibrant eyes were dull behind their safety goggles, which didn't hug their face like usual. Everything they wore looked baggy and ill-fitting, barely hanging onto their gaunt, thin form. They looked dead, as though their soul had been dragged back from the afterlife and shoved into their corpse.

“How the hell…” he lowered his gun, blue eyes narrowing in disbelief, “Ain't you supposed to be dead?” 

“I was.” They shrugged weakly, stumbling slightly, “Now I'm not. I actually just died again a few hours ago, and I'm pretty sure my team might think I'm actually dead. Again.”

“Jesus Mary and Joseph.” The Engineer cursed, before opening the door wider. “Well, I reckon since it's a ceasefire, ah ain't bein’ paid t’ kill ‘ya, so y’ may as well come in. Just try ‘n keep the noise down, otherwise you're gonna have 9 curious bastards pokin’ atcha.”

“I'll be as quiet as a church mouse.” The BLU replied, wincing as they stepped into the illuminated interior. “Jesus, that's bright.”

“It really ain't.” The Southerner arched a concerned brow, “You’re just sick as a dog.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Came the Chemist’s grumbled response.

“Where’d you come from? Ain’t much ‘round here that could get ‘ya killed, aside from us.” He asked, extending a hand to steady his unexpected guest as they tilted towards the wall.

“Uhhhh,” The Chemist scrubbed at their eyes, letting their hand drag down their face. Their E/C eyes stared blankly at the wall as they tried to call forth an answer. “Colorado. Yeah, we were in Colorado. We had to stop at this little town called Limon ‘cause there was a tornado.”

“A tornado?”

“Yeah. It knocked down a utility pole. That’s how I died again, actually! Biggggg ole electric shock.”

Engineer let out a low whistle. “Nasty way to go. You are one unlucky sumbitch, huh?”

The Chemist inclined their head. “Or, I’m a lucky ‘sumbitch’, depending on how you look at it. I’ve cheated Death twice now, after all.”

Engineer snorted at their attempt to mimic his accent. It reminded him of his own team’s Chemist, who was tucked away upstairs, sleeping peacefully. She often copied his countryisms, and he would sometimes catch her unconsciously copying the accent or speech mannerisms of whomever she was speaking to.

“Maybe.” he acquiesced, “Yer a right tough bastard, ah’ll give ‘ya that. No wonder yer such a pain in the ass when we’re scrappin’.”

The other Merc grinned a bit. “Being a pain in the ass is my specialty.”

Before he knew it, Engineer found himself standing in the Intel room, where the base’s phone was located. Thankfully, their Intel was still packed away in a secure safe, but even if it wasn’t, the man was fairly sure that this BLU wouldn’t try and snag it.

“Here ‘ya are! Hope ‘ya get through to someone.” He said, offering the phone to the exhausted Chemist.

“‘Preciate it.” They said, taking the phone and punching in a few numbers. They leaned against the wall, head resting on the wood as they listened to the phone ring. After a minute, they frowned, letting out a soft curse.

“Pauling’s not picking up. The storm must have knocked out her signal.” They sighed, “Great. Guess I'm waiting back at our base for them to show up. Whenever that is.”

“Are you gonna be able to hang on that long?” The Texan questioned, “No offense, partner, but you look like yer gonna drop.”

The Chemist sighed again, in a long, drawn out way, the way someone did when bone deep exhaustion finally caught up to them. The way animals do when they've given all they can, and now simply must lie down and wait for the inevitable.

“It's not like I have much of a choice. I mean, what else am I supposed to do?” They asked.

“Well,” The RED Merc scratched at his chin, contemplating if what he was about to do was a good idea, “Ah don't know if you know this, but we're in good ‘ole Texas, and Colorado really ain't too far from where we're stationed. If ‘ya want, ah could drive ‘ya on over there.”

The BLU raised their head off the wall, eyes widening in surprise.

“You- you'd do that? For me? Why?” 

Engineer shrugged. “Ah feel bad fer ‘ya. ‘Sides, if you die, then they're gonna replace you with someone new, and ah rather prefer the enemy ah know to the enemy ah don't.”

The two mercenaries stared at one another for a long moment, the only sound being the cricket song coming from outside. Finally, the Chemist let out a dry, wheezing laugh, their teeth bared in a vicious grin.

“Good God I must be insane, trusting a RED.” They chuckled, “You know what? Sure, I'll take you up on that offer, cowboy.”

They reached forward and playfully tugged down the brim of Engineer's hat, causing him to lightly bat their hand away.

“Cream gravy! Alright, let's mosey on out then. Ah wanna be back before mah team starts wonderin’ where ah went.” He said, starting off in the direction of his truck, which was parked faithfully outside.

The Chemist plodded along behind him, and there were a few times where he had to glance back to make sure that they hadn't fallen behind too much. When they finally did make it to the truck, Engineer let them climb into the passenger seat while he nipped over to the trunk. Flipping it open, he pulled out an old, well loved blanket. It was black and white and gray striped, something he'd gotten for his childhood dog, Bucket. Bucket had been a fat, lazy beagle who did nothing but lounge around and bark at guests, but the man had loved him more than anything.

Bucket had passed away some time ago, but he'd never stopped taking the blanket along with him. Now, it would finally get to see some use again.

“Here,” he passed the blanket to the shivering Merc, “It ain't much, but it should help keep ‘ya from freezin’ over ‘till the heat kicks on.”

“T- Thanks.” The Chemist replied, gingerly taking the offered fabric. They thumbed the worn fabric, setting it across their lap.

“No problem.” Engineer replied, shutting the door to his side. 

For a moment, it almost sounded like one of the back doors had shut as well, and he looked back over his shoulder, eyes squinting in the low light. His gaze lingered for a moment, but when nothing revealed itself, he slowly turned back around and started up the truck.

“Ah’ve got a map in ‘m glove box. Pull it out and let's find that little town of yers.”

The Chemist nodded, and Engineer put the truck into drive.

It was going to be a long drive.

A couple of hours into their trek, the RED Engineer noticed that his passenger was starting to droop more than usual. Worse than that, he could hear their stomach growling like an ornery gator every few minutes.

Wordlessly, he eyed up the nearby fast food places before pulling off the road they'd been driving on. The Chemist didn't even seem to notice, too preoccupied with just staying somewhat awake.

“You up for a snack, Darl’?” He asked, gently nudging the BLU.

“Mnhm.” They mumbled back, “C’n I have m’ cheeseburger yet?”

“Sure, we can do a McDonald's run.” Engineer replied, turning into the nearest drive through.

He quickly placed an order for both his guest and himself, paying and grabbing the food before finding a spot to park.

“Here ‘ya go. One genuine American cheeseburger.” The Texan said, handing the Chemist their food.

The Chemist stared at the offered meal, gently cradling the wrapped burger in their hands, as though it were some sort of priceless treasure.

“Engie, I could genuinely suck your dick right now.” They said softly, before sinking their teeth into the cheeseburger, not even bothering to take off the wrapper.

The RED Merc’s face turned the same shade as his uniform, and he pulled down his hat to hide his rosey cheeks.

“Don't- y’ cant just-” he stumbled, trying to make words come out of his mouth properly, “Jesus, don't eat the wrapper!”

“Sorieh, ah can't heawr you.” The Chemist replied through a mouthful of cheeseburger and cheeseburger wrapper, “Ahm too buwsy eaghting.”

“At least slow down.” He muttered, tucking into his own food.

And yes, he did take the wrapper off, thank you very much.

“Yes, please do. I have no desire to see you hork down that disgusting slop like a wild beast.”

Both BLU and RED mercenaries choked as a third voice piped up from the back, scaring them out of their wits. 

“SPY!” Engineer whirled around as the Chemist hacked up their mouthful of food, the BLU thankfully having the wherewithal to stick their head out of the window, “What the hell do you think you're doing here?! How did you even get in mah truck?!”

“I followed you and slipped into the back when you were rooting around for that rag.” Spy replied, indicating to the blanket, which had halfway slipped down onto the floor. “What are you doing here, labourer? Having some sort of illicit affair with zhe enemy?”

“If- If you actually thought that,” the Chemist coughed, pounding on their chest, “then you hiding out in the back is super creepy, dude.”

“Yeah, well bein’ a creep is about all this one knows.” Engineer grit out, nostrils flaring like an enraged bull, “But usually, he knows better than to try that with me.”

“I was simply curious as to why you were sneaking off with someone who is supposed to be dead.” The masked man said, producing a cigarette from one of his pockets, “Zhe Administrator is not going to be pleased when she finds out you have been acting rather… friendly with each other.”

“Yeah, well, what is she gonna do, kill me?” The Chemist snarked. “If she wanted me dead, she wouldn't have let Pauling go ‘n get me. I must be worth more to her alive than dead.”

“She ain't got no eyes here anyway.” Engineer added, “Trust me. Ah personally go over every inch of mah equipment and vehicles at least once a week, t’ check for any bugs or cameras. Mah Betsy is as clean as a whistle.”

Engineer moved like a striking cobra, his prosthetic hand closing around Spy's suit jacket. The Frenchman dropped his cigarette as he was jerked forward, a flicker of fear coming over his face.

“And you, spook, ain't gonna breathe a damn word to Her ‘bout anything that happens on this trip, ‘cause if you do,” he tightened his grip, the metal components straining slightly under the pressure, “ah’ll know, and you won't like what happens next.”

Spy rolled his eyes, but both the Chemist and the Engineer could see that the man was sufficiently intimidated.

“Very well, I shall be silent about your little ‘road trip.’” he sneered, “And zhe Chemist's generous offer.”

“Great.” Engineer said cheerily through gritted teeth, “Ah can tell this is gonna be real fun.”

“Yippee.” The Chemist added dully, before taking another bite of their burger.

“Wh- TAKE OFF THE DAMN WRAPPER!”

Travelling with the RED Engineer had been surprisingly nice. It was almost like being back with your own Engineer, what with the southern man being so kind and polite to you, despite you both being on opposing sides.

Travelling with the RED Spy was not nearly as pleasant.

Him and the Engineer bickered almost constantly, and when they weren't bickering, Spy started semi-flirting, semi-picking on you, which usually led to yet another round of bickering.

Truly, it was almost like being stuck in a car with two overgrown toddlers.

“Is he always this insufferable?” You hissed to Engineer after Spy started listing off all the ways your outfit was offending the very concept of clothing.

“No.” Engineer sighed, looking very much like he'd like to drive all three of you into a ditch, “He's purposefully bein’ more of an ass than usual ‘cause you're here. Usually, he's a lot more quiet.”

“I'd like to see that.” You groused, before refocusing on the map in your lap. Your previous consumed cheeseburger and fries felt uncomfortably heavy in your weakened stomach, but they did help to restore some of your lost energy.

“Okay, it looks like we need to take a left in about 6 miles. We'll be turning onto Canyon Rd.” You read aloud, “We'll be on that one for a while.”

“It's real nice to have someone along who can actually read a map.” Engineer chuckled, “Usually, it's either Scout, Solly, or Pyro who rides with me into town every time we need t’ get supplies, and none ‘a them are any help when it comes to navigatin.’”

“Heh, yeah, mine aren't real great at that either.” You smiled, thinking of all the times you'd heard the three of them bickering on missions.

“Are zhose three good for anything besides destroying zhings?” Spy asked, lounging in the back like a smug cat.

“Sure.” You replied, not looking up from the map, “My Scout's actually really good at impersonating other people, Soldier is a baking whiz when it comes to bread, and Pyro can sniff out backstabbing French bastards like nobody else.”

Spy definitely didn't start pouting as Engineer started cackling like a madman, his shoulders shaking with mirth. You grinned at the sound, your own quiet chuckles joining in.

“Hooo-wee! They gotcha there, slim!” he laughed, wiping at his eye.

Spy glared. “I'm glad you find zhe idea of me dying so amusing, toymaker.” 

“Oh, lighten up, would you.” You glanced back over your shoulder to look at the masked man, “Are you seriously going to tell me you guys don't joke about killing us?”

“I don't joke about killing,” Spy sniffed, “I just kill.”

Engineer snorted as you rolled your eyes, turning back to your map. “Uh huh. Sure. Whatever you say, frog legs. Turn left up here, Engie.”

“No insulting names for zhe cowpoke?” Spy arched his brow.

“Considering he's been nothing but nice to me? No. Maybe if you turn your attitude around, I'll think of something nicer to call you, too.”

“I have no desire to be as, ah, close as you two seem to be.”

You gripped the seat as you whipped around again, eyes widened in anger-tinged disbelief. “Holy shit are you still fixated on that? What, do you want me to offer to suck you off too?!”

Spy recoiled back a bit, stiffening up as the exposed skin of his upper cheeks turned a shade of pink usually reserved for flowers. However,

He didn’t say no.

“Oh, my God.” You said, raising your brows as a smirk pulled the corner of your mouth upwards, “Oh, my God.”

“Merde, no, zhat’s not what I-”

“Well,” You relaxed your grip on the seat and folded your arms, tilting your head slightly as you watched Spy squirm, looking every bit like the cat that got the cream, “you’d have to be very nice to me to get that sort of offer.”

“Je vais t'éviscérer comme un poisson si tu continues à parler!”

“Now, see, I don’t know what you just said, but it didn’t sound very nice.” You turned back around, barely holding in your laughter, “No blowjob offer for you. I guess you won’t have to share, Engie.”

“Well don’t that beat all?” Engineer replied playfully, “You sure yer team won’t mind, though?”

“The way I see it,” You said, readjusting the blanket the man had given you, “you have gone out of your way to bring me back to them, and you let me actually eat the cheeseburger you bought me. They can suck it up.”

“Sounds like you’ll be the one suckin’.” The Texan murmured under his breath, too quiet for you to hear.

“What was that?”

“Nothin!” Engineer replied, “Just talkin’ t’ m’self.”

“Is that a thing all engineers do?” You asked, “My Engie does that too, usually when he’s working on something.”

“Maybe. Mah Pa used to do it fer sure.” The RED Merc shrugged, “Wait, does yer Engineer let y’all into his workshop?”

“Well, he let’s me and Pyro in.” You said, recalling all the times you and the firebug had hung out in the space, “Sometimes Medic is allowed in, but everyone else gets the boot, unless he calls them in to help him with something.”

“Interesting.” Spy said, apparently having recovered from his embarrassment enough to speak, “Zhis one has barred us all from entering his sacred domain. Not even our Chemist get’s zhat privilege. You must mean quite a bit to him.”

“If y’all didn’t go ‘round putin’ yer grubby mitts all over everything, maybe I would let y’ in.” Engineer smacked the steering wheel, frustration in his tone, “Honestly, it’s like herdin’ cats when I let y’all anywhere near mah stuff! ‘Sides, don’tcha remember what happened the last time I let someone play around with mah equipment, Spy?”

“Oui.” Spy shuddered, “I don’t zhink we will ever fully get zhe smell of bread yeast out of zhat base.”

“I’m sorry- bread yeast?” You shot the two RED members a confused look, “What does bread have to do with you not letting anyone near your stuff?”

“It’s a long story, but I suppose we got the time.” Engineer cleared his throat, “It all started one afternoon. We’d just got done killin’ yer team and makin’ off with yer Intelligence…”

Engineer and Spy’s wild tale of love, RED victory, and bread monsters kept you entertained for the next few hours or so, the three of you eventually getting sidetracked by various other topics. By the time the sun started to rise over the Colorado horizon, the conversation had switched to being about everyone’s favourite foods.

“Look, there ain’t nothin’ better fer breakfast than a nice cup’ a coffee, bacon ‘n eggs with a side of buttered toast, biscuits, and sausage gravy ‘n grits.” Engineer said, voice full of confidence.

“I think I would actually explode if I ate all of that.” You stuck out your tongue, feeling ill at just the thought of eating so much food. If this man ate like that every morning, then it was no wonder that he sported such a plump figure in comparison to most of his other teammates.

Not that you were complaining.

“I agree, mon petit saphir.” Spy said, curling his lip. “Zhat is a disgusting amount of food for zhe very first meal of zhe day.”

“Ooh, whatever that name was, it sounded a lot nicer.” You said teasingly. “See? I knew you could do it!”

“Well would ‘ya look at that? You actually got him to simmer down.” Engineer grinned, ducking when Spy swiped irritably at his head, “Maybe you should come join up with RED. We could probably stash you away somewhere, hand y’ over to Spy when we need him to settle.”

You laughed, imagining yourself with a little service animal harness. “Tell you what, If my team decides to murder me for dying again right in front of ‘em, I’ll switch sides.” 

“Heh, partner, you’ve got yerself a deal.” Engineer stuck out his hand, and you gripped it, giving it the best shake your weak arms could manage. 

“It seems as zhough you’ll be making your decision sooner rather zhan later.” Spy leaned forward and pointed at an upcoming road sign, which read “Limon Welcomes You!”

“Oh SHIT we’re here!” You sat forward quickly, before wincing and holding your head, “Oh, woof, headrush. That was a bad idea.”

“Good Lord, this place has seen better days.” Engineer said, gazing at the many fallen tree branches and damaged buildings, “Where did you say y’all were stayin’ again?”

“We sheltered in an old garage near the outskirts of town.” You replied, wincing at the amount of damage you saw, “I hope they haven’t gone too far, but I wouldn’t blame them for wanting to get away as soon as possible.”

“I doubt zhey wanted to linger around your charred corpse.” You nodded grimly at Spy’s comment, not particularly looking forward to seeing it yourself, but needing to check if your team was still around.

Soon enough, the three of you pulled up to the abandoned mechanic shop. The building looked even worse than when you had last seen it, and the lack of nearby vehicles did not make you feel particularly hopeful that you would find your team here. Still, your temporary RED companion pulled over and hopped out of his truck, putting a steadying hand on your shoulder when he saw you struggling to maintain your balance. Spending so many hours sitting down did not help your already weak legs to support your weight. Stepping inside the building proper, you were careful to avoid the downed utility pole and various cables. Only a few feet away from the door lay an unmoving mass with a familiar colour scheme.

Seeing your own dead body never got any less unsettling. Usually, it was blown into unrecognizable pieces, or shot so full of bullet holes that it resembled red and blue swiss cheese, but this time it was wholly intact, save for the skin that had burned and blackened from the intense heat of the electricity that had rocketed through your body. The stench of burnt clothes, hair, skin, and the early stages of rot permeated the still air, and you quickly tugged your respirator on in disgust. 

“Eugh, thank God I ate earlier, because I think I just lost my appetite.” You scrunched your nose, pulled down your goggles over your eyes, and began gathering chemicals from the various pockets and vials on your person. “Step outside, gentlemen, I’ll have this gone in a moment.”

The two RED’s quickly nodded and left, eager to get away from the smell and knowing exactly how dangerous your materials could be.

After a few minutes and a decent amount of hydrogen fluoride and antimony pentafluoride later, you emerged from the workshop’s interior to see Engineer kneeling on the ground, looking at some tire tracks that you hadn’t noticed before.

“Looks like they turned themselves ‘round and went back the way they came. They’re probably takin’ one’a the nearby backroads.”

“Think you can catch up to them?” You asked, praying that you wouldn’t have to return to your new base without your team. You wouldn’t be able to make it by yourself, and you doubted that the rest of the RED team would be as kind and hospitable as their Engineer had been.

The Texan gave you a sharp grin as he pushed himself up, dusting off his overalls.

“Do sheep wear sweaters? Hop in, and ah’ll show ‘ya just how fast ol’ Betsy can be.”

If you asked Florence if she knew her mercenaries well, you’d probably end up with a bullet in your skull, because you were not supposed to know about her mercenaries. Well, technically, they were Reliable Excavation & Demolition and Builders League United’s mercenaries, and, really, the Administrator’s above even them, but she was the one who scouted them out, checked in on them, interacted with them, gave them their assignments, and helped cover up their fuck ups. 

So, yeah, they were her mercenaries. And you weren’t supposed to know about them, so now you’re lying in a shallow grave after getting very well acquainted with her hacksaw.

But if she pondered your question after the fact, then she’d say that, yeah, she did. She’d spent almost all of her very limited free time around them for the last few years, after all, and she kept an eye on them through the various hidden cameras almost as much as her boss did. She knew both teams equally well, easily picking out each of their many similarities, as well as all their little quirks and differences. For example, she knew that the RED Scout had far more freckles than the BLU one. She knew that the BLU Soldier was actually slightly more tame than his counterpart, and that he wore earplugs more often than not, though he is dedicated to never ever letting anyone find out. She knew that both Pyro’s were afraid of the dark, and she knew the exact brand of cigarettes the Spies liked to order.

She knew that both teams were full of loud, borderline rabid, bat-shit insane lunatics that enjoyed the thrill of killing almost as much as she did, maybe even more. She knew, from experience, just how difficult it was to get most of them to quiet down.

Which is what made the situation she was in so damn eerie.

She was back in Spy’s car, having taken the now available passenger seat. Her eyes kept flicking to the neatly folded blanket in Spy’s lap, its minky blue fabric still damp from the rain. The car was silent, save for the occasional muffled wheeze from Pyro, who had just about cried themself hoarse. Medic was sitting next to the arsonist, hands folded as he stared out the window. To a regular onlooker, he likely would have appeared chillingly nonchalant or uncaring. However, as has been established, Florence Pauling personally knew the men she hired to kill each other, and so she was able to see the little cracks in the man’s facade; the way his lips twitched occasionally, like they almost started to wobble before he caught himself, the slow, controlled breaths he was taking, the way his eyes were wet behind his glasses.

Spy was much the same; a perfect picture of poise and aloofness, unless you knew where to look. His suit had been left lightly rumpled, his expensive leather gloves creaked when his hands shifted, showing just how hard he was gripping the wheel, and his mouth was set in an unnaturally tense line. Occasionally, one of his hands would release their death grip on the steering wheel and slip down to feel the blanket in his lap, gently rolling the fabric between his thumb and forefinger.

None of them spoke. 

What was there to say? What could any of them possibly say to make this situation better? 

What could she say? ‘Sorry for your loss, let me fax you those application forms Medic shredded?’ ‘I know you’re mourning, but we need to hurry up and get back so you can all go back to killing the RED team, which still has their Chemist?’ 

No, silence was the better option here by far.

The purple-clad woman leaned back in her seat, head resting against the window as she committed to memory the sound of a tired yet happy voice saying her name, and the feeling of gloved hands pushing her back towards safety. It was better to think of that, rather than the sight of the BLU Chemist’s body spasming wildly before collapsing to the ground, their smoking body giving a few last jerking, dying nerve reactions. 

As she stared out into the vast, dusty nothingness of the New Mexico landscape, something odd began to appear in the corner of her vision. At first, she thought it was a mirage, a strange flash of red in an otherwise sky blue and sand yellow landscape. 

But then it didn’t go away. 

In fact, it actually began to get bigger, becoming clearer and more defined as whatever it was drew closer. On instinct, she reached for the radio and tuned it to a specific frequency, drawing confused looks from her fellow passengers.

“Guys, I don’t want to alarm you, but something’s coming at us. Fast.” she said, leaning in close to the speaker.

“What zhe hell?” Spy said from her left, taking his eyes off the road to squint towards the horizon.

Pyro and Medic peered outside as well, squeezing in close so they could both get a look at the strange thing that was approaching.

“Sniper, can you get eyes on that thing?” Engineer asked over the radio.

Yeah mate. Just gimme a sec.” came the marksman’s reply.

Turning around in her seat, the raven could see Sniper’s van through the rear window. The man was in the passenger seat now, holding up his rifle and peering through the scope. After a moment, he jerked back, a look of shock on his face. He ducked his head back down to look again, as though he wasn’t sure he’d seen something right. In the driver’s seat, Heavy, who had taken the wheel, gave his teammate a confused and slightly concerned look.

Sniper lowered his rifle after another few moments passed, sliding back into his seat as he shouted something to Heavy, who’s confusion visibly deepened. The Russian did a double take when the marksman said something else, and he quickly said something back to the Australian, who shook his head and pointed out towards the still encroaching… whatever it was.

“Sniper wants team to slow down.” Heavy relayed, his tone making it clear that he wasn’t onboard with the idea. “Says that he… believes he saw leetle Chemist.”

“Oh joy,” Spy snarled, baring his teeth in clear disdain as he spoke into the radio, “our Sniper has finally lost it. I knew too much time spent in zhat deathtrap of his would eventually get to him.”

“Ah hate ‘t say it, but ah agree with Spy. We all- we all saw what happened to ‘em. Even if they survived comin’ back again, they'd have died of exposure, thirst, or starvation by now.” Engineer added glumly, “‘Sides, how in the Sam Hill would they get all the way out here? Snipes, ah think you should maybe go lie down for a bit while we deal with whatever's chasin’ us.”

“What is that?” Pauling asked in a low whisper, rolling down her window to get a better view.

Tuning out the sound of fully grown men bickering behind her, she focused on the anomaly. It was a bright, almost familiar shade of red, and it was kicking up quite a bit of dust as it moved across the desert. Pushing herself slightly out of the window, she picked up on the faint sound of… an engine?

Wait a damn minute.

Wait a Goddamn fucking minute.

Faster than a striking rattlesnake on cocaine, Pauling whipped her phone out and began dialing, holding it up to her ear. After a few rings, a man answered in a thick, smug-sounding Southern drawl.

“Why hello Miss Pauling! To what do ah owe the pleasure?”

“Engie, you fucking asshole!” Florence screeched, getting a confused, offended yell from the BLU Engineer, who could still hear what was being said over their shared transmission, “Did you seriously find the BLU Chemist and not tell me?! Do you know how mad the Administrator was going to be at me?!”

She could hear the RED Spy's telltale snorting cackles in the background of the call, while his BLU counterpart looked the farthest thing from amused.

“Qu'est-ce que c'est? Il vaut mieux que ce ne soit pas une mauvaise blague, sinon je jure devant Dieu que je tâcherai de rouge le sable autour de moi.” he growled as he began to slow down, shooting a deadly glare at what was now obviously a RED vehicle, likely their Engineer's truck.

“Woah now lil’ missy, we didn't mean any harm by it. You were outta range back at the base, and ah just figured it'd be easier to just deliver ‘em right to ‘ya.” The RED chuckled, “Iffen y'all are lookin’ t’ shoot us as soon as we come near, though, then we can always keep ‘em. They make pretty good company, and ‘ah know Spy likes ‘em well enough to help vouch for ‘em to the rest of the team.”

“Shoot you, what are you-” the young woman turned around, spotting several members of BLU pointing their weapons at the approaching REDs, “Scout, Soldier, Sniper! Put your guns away- Engie DROP IT!” 

The other Texan had been gearing up to toss down a mini sentry, but paused at his boss’s shout. Disgruntled, he acquiesced, dropping the beeping little robot back down onto the seat.

“Now that's a might bit better. Chem, you wanna take over communications?” The RED Engineer said, before sounds of rustling fabric and a quiet ‘Thank you!’ came over the line.

“Hey, P.” Pauling could almost hear the smile in the other's voice, something that was rather impressive, given the explosion of noise that came over the radio at the sound, “Guess who's two for two on kicking Death's ass?”

“Hello, Chemist.” She replied softly, smiling back, “Are you alright?”

“Oh yeah, I'm fine!” The mercenary replied quickly, sounding tired, but cheerful, “These two have been great company. Well, Engie has, at least- Spy I'm kidding- and guess what? I finally got my cheeseburger!”

“Zhose are not vhat you should be eating!” Medic chastised from the back, “Zhey are nothing but empty calories! 

“Shut up! I was hungry, and Sniper didn’t let me have mine!”

“Chem,” Pauling interrupted, not wanting to be caught in the middle of another argument, “I’m happy you’re alive, really, I am, but how did you get here?”

“Oh, I Respawned at the new base. I guess the system kicked on because the other team was already there.” the Chemist explained, “I tried calling you, but it didn’t go through, so Engie offered to take me so I didn’t, you know, curl up and die.”

“I… wow, that was really nice of him.”

“Yeah, it was. I seriously owe him for this. I’ll have to buy him a nice dinner some time, or, uh,” they snickered, clearly trying to muffle their laughter, “do something for him.”

Florence got the feeling that she was missing something here.

Judging by the intense glares and scowls Medic, Spy, and likely Pyro were directing towards the truck, which was now close enough for her to pick out details, she knew she wasn’t the only one who picked up on the Chemist’s friendly tone.

“Whatever it is you two end up doing, just remember that, if you want me to not have to rat you out, the Administrator cannot know about it, which means I can’t know about it.” the purple-clad woman stressed.

“I would certainly like to know what zhat cow-boy analphabète believes our Chemist shall be doing for him.” Spy muttered lowly, finally bringing the car to a stop as the RED Engineer’s truck parked on the dusty scrubland a few feet away from them.

“No fighting guys. We don’t need anyone else having to risk not coming back.” Florence warned.

Like a pack of stalking wolves, the nine BLU mercenaries leapt out of their respective vehicles and formed an almost defensive group, most of them having only heard bits and pieces of the phone call, but understanding that they were not here to fight. They walked with an air of tenseness, hands flexing as they resisted the urge to reach for their weapons, clearly feeling uneasy in this unprecedented situation.

Still, there was a clear feeling of nervous excitement. The emotional whiplash of the past few hours had left their emotions raw and more sensitive than usual. All of them stopped when the passenger door of the dusty red truck opened with a soft ‘click!’, the wearily smiling face of their teammate popping up over the metal as they shuffled carefully towards the road.

“CHEM!” Scout yelled, unable to hold himself back anymore. A fond smile made its way onto Pauling’s face as she watched the young Bostonian dash over and scoop the other mercenary up, spinning them around for a moment before gently setting them back down on their feet.

Like deadly, man-slaughtering ducklings, the rest of BLU followed after, warmly welcoming their missing friend back into the fold. Medic was on the Chemist in an instant, examining them while asking more questions than was probably necessary. Soldier gave them what was likely meant to be a gentle pat on the back, but which ended up nearly sending poor Y/N to the ground. 

Meanwhile, Pauling, Spy, and Engineer moved to greet the RED team members, who were stepping out of the vehicle themselves. The two men at Pauling’s side kept their professional appearances well, but she knew they’d like nothing more than to give into their instincts and go for their counterparts’ throats.

“Hey guys,” Florence started, hoping to make this conversation as smooth and bloodshed-free as possible, “thank you so much for bringing the Chemist back. I’ll arrange for your team to get a bonus or something for this, I promise.”

“Aw shucks,” the RED Engineer replied, tipping his hat, “it weren’t no trouble. Ahm sure y’all woulda done the same if y’ were in our shoes.”

“But of course.” the BLU Spy responded, “We’re mercenaries, not monsters.”

“What you are is lucky. Your Chemist should have never survived zhe first time, let alone a second.” the opposite colour Frenchman said, producing a cigarette to light, “Tell me, has your team figured out why Respawn went down?”

The BLU Engineer frowned. “Can’t say we have. I reckon y’all haven’t either, then?”

“Unfortunately not. It's got our team all twisted up with worry, ‘specially our Chemist. The stress has been makin’ her feel just plum awful these past few days.” the crimson-clad Texan sighed, pushing up his goggles to pinch the area between his eyes, “To be honest wit ‘ya, ah’d somewhat hoped that travelin’ with yer one might’a given me some answers, or at least an idea of what went wrong, but ah couldn’t find one single tell. If yer feelin’ amicable enough, ah’d like to work with ya t’ find the problem, so we can all stop bein’ so damn nervous.”

“Hmm.” the BLU Engineer hummed, resting a hand on his chin before glancing over at his boss, “Would that be alright, Miss Pauling?”

Florence adjusted her glasses and nodded. “Usually it wouldn’t, but under these circumstances, I’m sure the Administrator will understand.”

Suddenly, she jumped, remembering something.

“Oh, shit! Guys, we actually need to get going! I need to give the RED Chemist a contract and, like, a thousand other things that have been piling up since I’ve been gone.” She said apologetically, before turning to the RED team members, “Do you two mind if I ride back with you?”

“‘Course not.”

“It’s always a pleasure to have you around, mademoiselle.”

“Okay, great!” the raven said, smoothing down her skirt. She looked over at her companions, tilting her head slightly, “You’ll be fine getting back, right?”

They nodded, and started walking back over to rejoin their teammates. They explained that their employer wouldn’t be coming back with them, and, to her surprise, Chemist pulled away from the rest of the BLUs, walking as fast as they could over to her.

“Hey, I just wanted to ask if you were alright before you left.” The goggle-wearing chemist said, their worry clear in their voice as they laid a hand on her shoulder, “You were pretty close to that powerline too, and I wasn’t sure if you’d gotten injured or not.”

“I’m fine, Chem.” Florence reassured, giving her friend a smile, “My clothes are going to smell like burned cloth and skin for a bit, but that’s it. You got me out of the way in time. Thank you, for that, by the way.”

The Chemist inclined their head, smiling back before turning their attention to the two RED Mercs. “You two get her back safe, understand? I’d hate to have to kill you permanently after all this.” they joked, pointing a ‘stern’ finger at them.

The RED Engineer raised his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t worry, Darl’, she’ll get there right as rain.”

He stepped forward, took the white cowboy hat off his head, and plopped it down onto the Chemist’s, tugging it down gently to secure it.

A few feet away, the other Engineer’s mechanical hand nearly crushed his gun as he shot daggers at his counterpart. 

“Y’ can give me that back when y’all finally show up at the base.” he smirked, “And, iffen yer still up for it, ah think I’ll take ‘ya up on that offer of yours from earlier.”

The Chemist turned a very interesting shade of pink as they tipped the brim of the hat up slightly, revealing that their pupils were blown wide.

“Mnhm, sounds good.” they replied softly, before spinning on their heels and making a beeline for their teammates. 

“I-” Florence started, before cutting herself off, 

“You know what? It’s better if I don’t know what that’s all about.”

You watched as the RED Engineer, Spy, and Miss Pauling drove off, waving to them as best you could.

“Well, ain’t you ‘n them real close.” Engineer said in a tight voice. While it was quite hard to tell where the man was looking most of the time, you got the distinct feeling that he was staring at your new accessory.

“I had to listen to them argue for, like, half the trip.” You replied, “If you come out of that having not murdered them or killed yourself, then it's because you learned to like them.”

“Kinda sounded like you didn’t just like ‘em.” Scout pouted, crossing his arms, “What the hell did youse three get up to?”

“Well let’s see.” You raised your hand, ticking off your fingers as you recounted your joyous road trip shenanigans, “I got the ever loving shit scared out of me by the RED Spy, melted my own corpse, got a cheeseburger so absolutely scrumptious I offered to suck off the RED Engineer,”

“You did what now?!” your Engineer yelped.

“I listened to two fully grown men bicker like toddlers, got regaled with a tale of bread monsters, got my outfit called every French insult under the sun, and passed out from, like, severe malnutrition, probably.” You finished.

“Uh, can we walk that back a couple’a steps, mate?” Sniper asked, flushing pink.

“What, you mean the bread monster? Yeah, no, I didn’t believe it at first either, but Spy swears-”

“Not the bloody bread monster, ya daft tit!” Demo groaned, slapping a hand onto his face, “Why the bleedin’ hell are ya offerin’ t’ give our enemy a gobble?!

“Dear GOD, have they brainwashed you?!” Soldier gasped suddenly, “I swear, I will hunt down each and every one of those communist RED bastards if they so much as touched-”

“Woah, woah, woah!” You rushed to clear up the misconception, “Easy, Sol! No one did anything to me, I promise. I’m still one hundred percent me.”

“Zhen vhy…?” Medic questioned, coughing into his gloves as he trailed off.

“It started as just a joke, honestly. I wasn’t seriously thinking about acting on it at first, but when their Spy accidentally revealed that he was jealous, I started thinking about it a little bit more.” You shrugged, “Plus, well… he’s hot! And he’s nice! And he’s clearly into the idea, so… why not?”

“Why not? Why not?” Spy growled, “Because you are ours! You wear zhe same uniform and kill zhe same men as us! You are a member of BLU, and your standards should be higher zhan zhe first, non, not even zhe first, man who shows even zhe slightest interest in you! Il n’y a aucune raison de se prostituer à ce gros, analphabète Texan!”

You threw your hands up into the air, letting out your own growl of annoyance.

“Look, unless one of you is going to help me take care of my needs when I’m better, I’m walking my ass over to that pretty little base they have!” You stated firmly, crossing your arms and tilting your chin up in a petty, almost defiant way. “Maybe I’ll even proposition the rest of ‘em, I don’t know!”

“Oh my freakin’ GOD!” Scout yelled, “We are literally right here! I don’t know a guy on this team that wouldn’t fuck you if you just asked!”

There was a moment of silence after that sentence, the Bostonian’s words echoing slightly in the empty desert scrubland. The ten of you all stood there, turning red from something that wasn’t the harsh New Mexico sun.

Heavy made a sound first, awkwardly clearing his throat. 

“Scout is- what is word- tactless, but he is also… not wrong.”

“Er, yeah,” Sniper scratched at the back of his neck, “the big guy's got it right. It's just we, uh…”

“Mh muph mmnmnh mhmh.” Pyro finished, talking animatedly with their hands.

“The arsonist is correct.” Spy agreed, still looking a bit flustered under his mask, “This is far from something that is easily brought up.” 

You blinked slowly at your team, absorbing the information. Now, technically, you'd heard this all before, right before you'd died, but hearing it again solidified it in your mind as being real. 

“Well shit.” You swore, planting your hands on your hips, “We all could have been a lot happier ages ago, huh?”

The gathered mercenaries made various sounds of awkward agreement.

“Okay, we definitely need to talk about this, and I mean a real conversation, not all of us standing around like idiots, cooking our brains in the sun while we all blush over the fact that you'd all like a piece of me.” You said, “But I think I'd rather talk in the comfort of our base, wouldn't you all agree?”

Your teammates nodded in agreement, dispersing into their chosen groups as they started back towards your vehicles.

“Yo, Chem, you ridin’ with us?” Scout asked hopefully, hooking his arm beneath yours instinctively as you wobbled slightly. He looked as though he was still feeling a bit hot under the collar, but was doing his very best to keep your conversation casual. 

“Sorry, Scout, but I think I’m gonna pass out soon if I don’t lay down.” you admitted. “I promise I’ll spend some time with you when we get back. Maybe I could help you pack when I’m feeling a bit better?”

“Don’t even worry ‘bout it. You should focus on gettin’ bettah first.” Scout replied, leading you towards Sniper’s campervan, “‘Sides, I already packed up most of my crap, and I think Pyro handled your stuff, so you can just take it easy. Pretty sure the Doc is gonna make you stay in the Medbay, anyway.”

“Scout is correct, mein Chemiker.” Medic piped up, matching your slow, careful stride as he came up beside you, “Now don’t give me zhat face; it vill only be for a few days. I just want to ensure that jou are okay after going through Respawn again in jour state.”

Your expression, which had been one of pouty, light annoyance at being forced into mandatory bedrest in the Medbay, softened a bit. You could hear the genuine concern in the German’s voice, and you knew he had good reason to be. You yourself were worried that something might have gotten messed up, and you knew you were due for another round of supplement shots.

Still, it was going to suck to not be in your own room, surrounded by your familiar comforts. You knew that you’d have a lot of pent up energy by the time you got out.

Huh, actually… you could think of a few fun ways to burn off any excess energy.

“Okay, Doc, I’ll come to my appointment, I promise.” you said, smiling, “But this time, I get to choose the operating room music. You’re not cutting me open to Lili Marlén again.”

“But jou said zhat jou enjoyed it last time! Lale Andersen has zhe voice of ein Engel.” Medic pouted.

“Yeah, but if you keep playing it while you're dissecting my spleen, I’m always going to associate it with getting picked apart like a biology student’s frog.” you explained, “I won’t pick anything too bad, swear on my good beakers!”

“Hmph, I vill hold you to zhat.” the doctor warned teasingly, “Zhere vill be no more ‘Sugar Pie Honey Bunch’ in my operating room.”

“Ugh, you’re so boring.” you teased right back, sticking your tongue out at the man as Scout handed you off to Sniper, who had a fond, lopsided smile on his face. “Hey there, Stretch. Mind helping me to the bed?”

“Not at all, mate.” Sniper replied, laying a warm, sturdy arm across your shoulders, “Not at all.”

Sure enough, after around two weeks of being kept in the Medbay upon your return, your prediction of being just about ready to explode with unreleased energy had proven to be true. Your organs had actually suffered a bit of damage this time around, which had necessitated a longer stay. On top of that, you had needed to move to the new base midway through your treatment, which hadn’t helped things. However, this also meant that Medic could focus on accelerating your healing, and by the time you pranced out of those swinging double doors, you were feeling like your old self again.

Scout and Soldier were waiting there for you, just as they had been on the day you’d failed to come back.

“Heyyyyy, there you are! Freakin’ finally.” Scout whooped, bringing you into a tight hug. You returned it, squeezing back with all your regained strength, “Oof! Yup, you’re bettah alright!”

“Sure am.” you grinned, before releasing the Bostonian to tackle Soldier, who grinned and crushed you to his chest.

“It’s good to have you back in fighting shape, private! Your presence has been missed on the battlefield.” he said, patting you in between your shoulder blades, “Also, I just missed you.”

“I missed you too, Solly.” you replied, knocking your forehead against his helmet gently, “Show me around the base? I saw a bit of it when I Respawned here, but I wasn’t exactly taking in all the finer details.”

“Of course!” Soldier set you down, taking the lead as you, him, and Scout headed off down the hall.

He gave you a tour of the base and the battleground, loudly and excitedly chattering about all the great places to set up ambushes and assaults that this new location provided. You nodded along, adding your own ideas occasionally as you took in your surroundings, inhaling a lungful of warm, apple-scented air for the first time without pain. In a few days, the RED Chemist would be returning from her contract, and you would be returning to the fray, but for now you got to revel in the relative peace of the time between battles.

Eventually, Soldier led you to the barracks, showing you to your room. It had been partially set up; your bed was made and your uniforms had been hung up in your closet, but your casual clothes and personal belongings had been left in their moving boxes. You smiled softly when you flipped open the first box and spotted Pyro’s drawings sitting on top. The firebug had added a few new ones, depicting a healthy you and them frolicking through a shimmering candyland, or petting beautiful unicorns. You snorted with laughter at one of the last ones, which showed you and Pyro sitting aside a golden, fire-breathing dragon, flying high above the base, the arsonist flipping off the RED Spy and Engineer, who were being roasted by the beast.

Speaking of…

“Hey, has anyone seen my hat?” you asked Soldier and Scout, who were peering into one of your, currently empty, terrariums. The two mercenaries glanced at each other.

“Uh, I think Engie took it.” Scout rubbed his chin, “Kept mutterin’ something about the ‘cowboy hat rule.’ He sounded real pissed about it too.”

You tilted your head and frowned. “Cowboy hat rule? What the hell is that?”

“Dunno.” Scout shrugged, “You’d have to ask Hardhat.”

“Maybe I will.” you said, putting the drawings down, “Where is he?”

“The grease monkey is in his workshop!” Soldier said helpfully, “I saw him go in there before I went to wait for you.”

“Perfect,” you smiled, “I’ll be back soon, fellas. Oh, actually, could you two do me a favour?”

The men nodded.

“Tell the others I’d finally like to have that conversation we talked about.” you winked, stepping out the door, “We’ll talk at dinner, yeah?”

Slipping out into the hallway proper, you left two very warm-cheeked mercenaries behind.

“What are the chances we actually score tonight, you think?” Scout asked, biting his lip slightly.

“If Engie doesn’t make ‘em mad?” Soldier grinned, tipping up his helmet slightly, “I’d say I like our odds.”

“God, he bettah not screw dis up.” Scout huffed, folding his arms, “I hope he’s smart enough to just give Chem that hat.”

“Ah ain’t givin’ you that hat.”

The Texan and the Chemist stood almost chest-to-chest, locked in a standoff. Engineer folded his arms and fixed his colleague with the firmest look he could muster, standing absolutely resolute in his decision.

Chemist set their jaw, squinting in annoyance.

“Engie,” they started, voice firm and tone indicating that they were done with this argument, “that hat was a temporary gift. I need to give it back. I don’t know why you’re being such an ass over this, but-”

“Because it ain’t a gift!” the man finally shouted, gritting his teeth.

Chemist reeled back as if they’d been struck, shocked at the man’s outburst. They blinked, then slowly shifted to a more passive stance.

“Okay, clearly I’m missing something here, and it’s making you upset.” they said, backing up a step to give Engineer some much needed space, “Mind filling me in? Does it have something to do with that ‘cowboy hat rule’ Scout mentioned?”

“It has everything to do with that.” Engineer sighed, deflating slightly as his anger returned to a very low simmer, “A cowboy’s hat is considered an extension of his body, a real special article of clothin’. If he puts it on someone’s head, or if someone takes it and puts it on, then that’s basically the same as sayin’ yer real interested in ‘em. The ‘rule’ is basically that if you wear the hat, y’gotta ride the cowboy.”

He folded his arms again, looking into Chemist’s wide eyes. “Him puttin’ that hat on ‘ya like he did and bein’ all flirtatious was almost like him brandin’ you; a real bold move to pull right in front of all of us. You bein’ so friendly ‘n receptive ‘bout it all was just salt in the wound, and now he’s been down right gloatin’ about it ever since we got here!”

Chemist winced, rubbing at the back of their neck. “Aw, jeeze, I’m- I’m sorry, Engie. I didn’t realize how much that might bother you. This has really been eating at you, huh?”

“It has.” he confessed, feeling slightly ashamed by just how much it bothered him, “Ah know yer a grown adult, and ah obviously can’t control what ‘ya do in yer free time, but as ahm sure you’ve figured out, we’re all rather fond of ‘ya, and I ain’t no exception. Seein’ you with him? And then having to work with ‘im these past few days?”

The man shook himself, scowling. “It’s like swallowin’ glass.”

“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this worked up outside of battle.” the other mercenary said, before reaching out and taking Engineer’s hands into their own, causing the Texan to jolt slightly in surprise, “Look, I might joke around sometimes, but I am one hundred percent loyal to BLU and everyone who’s a part of it. That other Engineer might get me once, but you can have me as many times as you like.” 

Chemist winked, and Engineer’s eyes widened like saucers, his mouth turning dry as cotton as any words he might have intended to say died in his throat. The other BLU leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek, and Engineer closed his eyes, burning the sensation into his mind as he swallowed.

“And if you’re still worried,” they whispered into his ear, “you can always leave your mark on me.”

“Careful, Darl’,” he growled lowly, wrapping a hand around their waist, enjoying the feeling of muscle and fat, “you don’t know what yer askin’ for.”

“Oh, I think I do.” they grinned ferally, nipping at the Southerner’s neck. Engineer inhaled sharply and let out a curse, tightening his hold when he felt a warm tongue lave the area lovingly.

Suddenly, the contact was gone, Chemist pulling away with a satisfied grin and leaving the poor Texan stunned.

“You can hang onto the hat for now, but I really do need it back.” they tapped his nose, causing him to blink, “Now, we’re all gonna have that little chat at dinner tonight, so don’t be late.”

And with that, they sauntered right back out the door they'd come through earlier, leaving Engie to try and collect himself. Eventually, he managed to shake himself out of his stupor, a grin coming across his face.

“Well, this ought to be mighty interestin’.”

The conversation at dinner had been, to absolutely no one’s shock, awkward as all hell to begin with.

Once everyone had gotten a plate of food in front of them to stare at when things got too uncomfortable, you started laying out basic ground rules. You stressed, through your many stutters, the importance of boundaries, consent and communication, and you made it very clear that if anyone was at all uncomfortable with what you were proposing, then they were more than welcome to voice that without judgement. You were firm as you warned that if you caught wind of anyone teasing or pressuring another teammate about this was going to lose any and all privileges, as well as getting a face full of acid at any given time. 

“Any objections or questions so far?” you asked, taking a bite of your dinner, which was macaroni and cheese.

“If ve’re really going to to zhis, I vould like to propose regular STD tests und use of condoms.” Medic said after a few moments of silence passed in the room, folding his hands in front of him, “Zhis isn’t exactly a closed relationship ve’re talking about here, und I for one vould feel a lot better vith zhat reassurance, zhough I know jou’re all clean as of right now.”

Everyone made noises of agreement. No one wanted to take that risk.

“Do we have to do stuff with everyone? ‘Cause, uh, I definitely ain’t cool with that.” Scout asked, rubbing his arm in discomfort.

“No, of course not.” you reassured, laying a comforting hand over his. “You’re free to be with whoever you want, and you certainly aren’t going to be forced into a relationship.”

Scout relaxed, some of the tension leaving his body. Around the table, a few others seemed to relax as well.

“We will have to keep zhis a well-kept secret. If zhe Administrator finds out, zhen I suspect we will be punished in some cruel and unusual manner.” Spy added, resting his chin on one hand.

“Yeah, she’s real good at that.” Soldier mumbled, still sore over the fact that he’d be tricked and threatened into breaking off the best friendship he’d ever had, one that still hadn’t recovered.

“So no flirting, or anything else, on the battlefield or during work hours.” you nodded, “We’ll save it for contracts, ceasefires, and late night meet ups, I suppose.”

Sniper raised his hand slightly, swallowing his mouthful of food. “And how exactly are we plannin’ on deciding who gets to do what, and when?”

“Scheduling.” you replied, having pondered that very same question, “We’ll come up with a schedule. You guys can draw straws or wrestle or something. I’ll leave how the order gets decided up to you.”

“Battle’s comin’ up in a few days.” Demo said, taking a sip of his Scrumpy, “How’s about we use our performances to decide?”

“Heavy likes that idea,” the large Russian man nodded, “it means I will be first.”

“Hey, woah, back it up, tons ‘a fun!” Scout protested, jabbing his fork in the other’s direction, “You musta hit yer head or somethin, cause everyone knows I’m gonna be the one comin’ out on top, as usual.”

“You? Do something aside from running your mouth and getting shot full of bullets? Please, don’t make me laugh.” Spy snarked, picking at his dinner while side-eying the Bostonian.

“Don’t get too cocky, Spook. God knows yer gonna end up on the hot end of the enemy Pyro’s flamethrower more often than not.” Sniper teased, “Meanwhile, I’ll be rackin’ up kills left ‘n right.”

“Hey Py, ah’ll share mah time if y’ team up with me.” Engineer offered, smirking when the arsonist mumbled in cheerful agreement, giving the Southerner a fistbump.

“Ooh, ve’re making alliances?” Medic perked up, “Heavy, team up with me, ja?”

“конечно, доктор.” 

“Oye, that ain’t fair!” Demo shouted, banging his fist down on the table, “Soldier, yer with me!”

“Affirmative!” the American saluted, “We are going to crush each and every one of your pansy asses!”

“This is bullshit!” Scout yipped, realizing that his teammates were absolutely willing to partner up if it meant having a better shot at first pick, “Yo, Snipes, we teamin’ up?”

“Bettah you then Spy.” the marksman leaned over the table and shook hands with the runner. “Alright, jackrabbit, let’s do this.”

“Feelin’ left out, Spy?” Engineer asked, reaching for his cup of sweet tea.

“Not at all.” came the Frenchman’s smooth reply, “I am confident enough in my abilities to not feel zhe need to rely on zhe help of another to win. Unlike you, toymaker, I am not willing to share my lovers.”

“Keep a good hold on that confidence ‘a yers.” the Texan chuckled, “You’ll need somethin’ t’ help repair yer shattered pride once you come dead last.”

You took another bite of your macaroni, enjoying the growing sense of… friendly competition. The next battle was going to be a bloodbath, and you absolutely could not wait to see it.

And, of course, you were very excited to see who came out as the victor.

The sound of gunfire and dying men was like music to your ears as you finally returned to the battlefield. Your limbs ached from the lack of use, and you could certainly feel the strain now, but you welcomed the pain, grinning into your mask as you lobbed another vial at a passing Scout, your smile widening as you snickered at his howls of pain.

Your team was dominating the battlefield today, each member striving to get the most amount of kills. The energy of the battle was even a little bit lighter than usual today, likely due to the fact that the mystery of the Respawn malfunction had finally been solved on the Sunday before the battle.

Apparently, according to Engineer, the issue had been caused by too many units being active at once, which all but confirmed your theory of other teams existing out in the world. It had nothing to do with you specifically, you’d simply been the unlucky bastard who had come through at the boiling point. The information had come as a huge relief, even if the answer had left you with quite a few questions. You would have to ask Miss Pauling about it the next time she came around the base, though you doubted you’d get any real answers. Something told you that, if the other teams had never been mentioned to any of you before, then you weren’t supposed to know about them.

Actually, maybe you should just keep your mouth shut this time. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction wouldn’t be enough to bring you back, if the Administrator decided to disable your Respawn capability.

Shaking your head, you dashed forward, side-stepping the sizzling corpse at your feet. Running across the dry Texas grass, you threw yourself against the side of the nearest building, a smaller, ramshackle barn at the edge of the treeline. From where you stood, you managed to catch a glimpse of Pyro, Soldier, and Engineer taking a new vantage point to set up a sentry, before the arsonist suddenly spun around, blasting a plume of flame at your helmeted friend. You winced, watching as the RED Spy’s illusion melted away, along with his skin.

Well, you supposed you wouldn’t be seeing too much of him today. That was a shame; the Frenchman could be surprisingly funny, when he wanted to be. You’d hoped to get a chance to tease him and see if you could make him blush again, or perhaps some part of you wanted to provide your own Spy with an easy kill.

Just as you started off towards your teammates, ready to help them secure the nearest point, you saw something whip over your head. Before you knew it, your arms were suddenly pinned at your sides, and you’d been tugged backwards, landing on your rump with a sharp yelp of pain. The white cowboy hat that you’d managed to get back from Engineer, which had been sitting snugly on your head, slipped down over your eyes as you were dragged back towards the trees, leaving you blind.

You panicked for a moment, struggling against the tight rope. However, you paused upon hearing a familiar voice, chills running up your spine, both from fear and from pleasure. A gloved hand plucked the hat off your head, the mechanical movement clicking softly in your ear. You tilted your head back, looking up at the man who was holding the lasso that had left you so defenseless.

“Hello there, Darl’.” The RED Engineer purred, leaning against the trunk of one of the apple trees, “Ready to make good on that offer?”

Annnnd that wraps up Respawn Malfunction! Again, big thanks to @pinkypiechar for reading along with me in the wee hours of the morning, keeping me motivated and catching any mistakes I made. You a real one pookie. <3

[nickythehickey]

*emcee voice* hello sfth fandom, by the request of myself and literally four people (hi @not-an-idiot @very-confused-alpaca @chaostributary97 @bbatcat), i give you

my best attempt at a list of disability representation in the sfthverse

*for the purposes of the list, "disability" includes physical/mental/developmental disabilities, neurodivergence, chronic illnesses, and mental health conditions

*i went through and added as many as i could think of but easily could've missed some. also i can't get the patreon rn so there's no patreon exclusive characters, sorry. if you know of some more feel free to reply/reblog and i'll add them!

canon (either explicit or heavily implied)

bubba (inside the mysterious cube) is stated to be an amputee with prosthetic legs

peter steven (the milkman) is stated to have adhd; granted its a throwaway line but i think it's true. since adhd has a large genetic component, that implies that either janet or david or both likely also has it- my money's on david since peter seems to mostly take after him

post mortem, L (the creak in the attic) is mute and uses mime/sign language and possession as forms of aac

donnie (the detective vs. the christmas tree bandits), my personal blorbo, is explicitly stated to have adhd and a seizure disorder- likely photosensitive epilepsy based on the mentions of the lights in the strip club. "i was never good with numbers" could be interpreted as dyscalculia as well. frankie may also have adhd bc again genetics, but if he does he can mask like a motherfucker

chip (the cardboard stegosaurus) has an unspecified seizure disorder (although i can't find one that turns you french), and while she isn't present, we learn that his mother marie-claire was suicidal

queen of representation that she is, amanda (clarissa's diy wedding) is all but confirmed to have prosopagnosia, or face blindness

according to divorces and teddy bears, the entire north pole elf population has adhd. congrats on the diagnosis luke i mean snowdrop

"that one gas station man" as @doodle-ratz called him (the pilot's final flight) is blind

mrs jeffery (the milkman) was blind at the beginning of the scene, they ended up not going with that but she probably does still have poor vision

the bartender (the hare who wore a sweater) slut dropped so hard his knees exploded, and that's now a sentence i've said on the internet. im.... not sure what to count this as tbh, but as a person with vague undiagnosed joint fuckery myself, he makes the list regardless

they don't like... SAY IT say it, but john hobson (the creak in the attic) with the whole "thunderstorm killed my parents" thing probably has ptsd. like yall see it too right

based on body language, granddad (wine under the bridge) appears to use a walker, suggesting mobility issues

headcanons (still implied like at least a little bit but mostly up to interpretation, this is mine)

*(this one's messy, its more me sensing vibes than anything else, there's almost definitely some projection in there, honestly you can disregard it if you want. spoilers its mostly autism bc that's me)

frankie (the bard with a scar) says that he can't run fast, maybe implying mobility issues? i like to think so

i don't think their ages are ever established so i may be completely off base and they're just meant to be children, but jimmy (toby's secret pocket) and jeffery (party quirks) are both autistic teenagers/young adults to me. jeffrey specifically bc he reminds me immensely of how i acted the first and only time i threw a party

i get... a vibe. from titch (the unrelenting aubergine). im not sure what it is, but its there

fellow autistic people yk how there's this weird kinda split that happens where when you're a kid people think you're mature for your age but then once you're older people think you're immature? yeah johnny and janae (the neighbor's under the bed) are the extreme incarnation of that dichotomy

someone in the comments of ballet on the battlefield pointed out alexa stimming after she befriends janusz and i love that so im saying she's some flavor of neurodivergent

troll-son (wine under the bridge) probably has some kinda allegory for something idk

because of the way i visualize character designs for sfth, pretty much any character luke played while wearing glasses (like andrew (all eyes on nigel) or fullset o'hands) also wears glasses. im not gonna list them all just know they're included

i've been working on this list for seven hours. i feel like sysiphus (thats a very smart reference). im going to bed

EDIT: if you're seeing this now there's an update in the reblogs!

[cheolieji]

Seungcheol

warning: Smut,unprotected sex, breeding kink and idk what else im too lazy

A/N: This is in no way to say mingyu acts like this. it's just part of the fiction

not proofread

I'm lowkey bad at writing smut🫢

feel free to send requests!

check [17] (pink highlighted) to see my yes and no's

seungcheol is the type of guy to walk on the street side of the sidewalk

seungcheol is the protective boyfriend everyone wishes for

the perfect and clingy boyfriend

you wanna wear a short dress? go ahead, he can fight

a guy just looks at you the wrong way, his fist is tightened, his jaw is clenched, and his death glare... goddd if looks could kill

you love it when he's protective over you

but something happened that made you think, is he a little too protective?

now you're sitting in his living room beside him, hands rubbing against each other, nervous to say it

seungcheol, of course, notices this. "You okay hun?" "Yeah! why wouldn't i be?" weird... but he just nodded his head, turning his attention back to the show playing. the sound of tv playing in the background mixing with your thoughts, should you really ask him about something so little that could turn into a heated argument?

"Hey-" "babe-" "Yeah? you say it first"

"no its just uhm. i" his eyebrows raised in confusion. What are you trying to tell him?

"Okay. will you promise not to get mad?" "Of course baby, why would i get mad at you?

"You know how we went to the kims gathering?" he just nods "yeah and how mingyu kept looking at me and stuff?" "Where are we going with this" his eyebrows still raised

"Nothing like that. It's just the way you were glaring at him. felt a little.... i don't know.. rudee? I'm sure he didn't mean it like that. " "Ah, that? i know him, babe he doesn't have good intentions. when he looks at someone like that, it means he wants something out of them." he pauses for a second, "and plus, you're mine..."

you blushed in your seat

"okay good i guess... i thought you were being a little too protective"

"Hey. It's good to be protective over what's mine!" he giggles while hugging you and placing you on his lap. and you're straddling him now. Suddenly, the air shifts

noticing this, seungcheol pulls you in closer before pressing a kiss on your lips. It starts to turn into a makeout session with you grinding on him while heavy breathing leave your mouths

"Can i?" As he's looking down at your pants, you nodded. he takes your pants along with his off. "No panties? want me to fuck you that bad? huh?" You nod again, eyebrows furrowed. "Say it, baby, i wanna hear you" "yes please cheol just fuck me, please"

he teases your opening with his dick before slowly entering your already wet cunt. shit did he get bigger?

"You feel so good, baby, just for me." Now he's fully inside you. He waited a bit for you to get used to his size

he's balls deep inside you, and you're a moaning mess, but he's looking at you like you're the prettiest thing in the world

he's hitting all the right spot "ah- cheol please" your gummy walls wrapped around his thick cock feels like heaven, for the both of you

he's leaving hickeys all over your neck as you're riding him like there's no tomorrow

bouncing on his dick as you're moaning his name loudly. it's like music to his ears

you feel the familiar pit in your stomach "fuck cheol im gonna cum" he lets out a loud grunt before cumming inside you "fuck ill fill you with my babies"

" gonna make you forget about that fucker" he continues thrusting inside you until you reached your high before softly kissing you

you let out a loud moan before falling on his shoulder. "You know, if you wanna put babies inside me, we should probably do more." "you wanna move it to the bedroom?" he carries you to the bedroom for a night of pleasure

[valentinaagarcia]

twisted wonderland characters as things i've heard in the locker room... pt.3

(yall re probably like "what the hell val? another one🤨🤨 yes. another one. ans for my new readers- im on the boys team as a gril)

(yuu is what i responded)

----

floyd: sometimes i just feel like i wanna kill myself

ace: me too man

jamil: im actually gonna kill myself.

----

ace: sticking our your gyatt...

floyd: for the rizzler...

jamil: get out.

----

ruggie: i love you man have a good game

leona: yeah.

ruggie: your not gonna say i love you back?

leona: what if i killed myself

----

yuu: someone hook me up

kalim: i have a cousin i dated for three months before realizing she was my cousin, i could hook you up with her!

yuu: what th???

----

ace: yeah and the worker was like "dont open door i told you dont open door!" (filipino accent)

deuce: oh oh and then he was like "i scold you, you open door again i hit you!" (filipino accent.... not filipino)

ace: ohawh.. man uh.

deuce: what?

yuu: dude you cant say it like that since your not asian

deuce: what? but you talk like a hispanic person all the time?

yuu: i wonder why.

----

riddle: okay, lets just move on from the accent thing alright?

deuce: yep! ill stick to my accent and stop using others

trey: howdy y'all, good game mate

deuce: howdy mate! good gam..

riddle: ...

deuce: ill stop using other accents... starting now

----

cater: hispanics are so HOTT like you guys dont get it

jack: shut up were meditating before the game quit it with your hispanic fetish.... god

cater: you guys dont get it.

----

ace: personally, i listen to justin bieber

jamil: im more into lana del rey

jack: megan for me

floyd: i listen to cardi b! how about you, yuu?

yuu: laufey and alex g

malleus: i love you (listens to both)

----

malleus: mary or sarah?

yuu: sandy

----

ace: yo dude i think yuu might be buffer than jack

deuce: no way???

ace: YUU JACK

yuu:huh

jack: hm?

ace: can you both flex your muscles???

----

jack: you are not buffer than me.

yuu: shut up hoe, this is why i got a bigger dick than you

jack: you have a penis?...

yuu: for sure bigger than yours.

(i do in fact, not have a penis)

----

floyd: okay so listen guys, we need to get the shampoo and shove it upp our areolas and run around naked on basket field

azul: who.. wha??? oh my god are you high?

yuu: its the ace incident all over again...

----

epel: yuu genuine question, what does pussy taste like

yuu: ....? it tastes like pussy?

epel: i just ate a pussy.

yuu: man....good for you i guess? wait WHAT

----

(for context a bird flew into the glass and flew into the locker rooms)

deuce: OH MY GOD?!?

epel: KILL IT

kalim: no dont kill it!

ace: yuu do something!!!!

yuu: why are you asking me? your the man

floyd: JUST DO SOMETHING

yuu: ugh.... men only act proud and strong to flaunt.

----

floyd & kalim: THERES A SPIDER

kalim: JAMIL HELP... me?

jamil: *fucking hiding on top of the lockers*

----

yuu: why didnt i become a cheerleader.

[ryuucam]

Hii im the person w the previous Mizuki ask, im not rlly good at asks but could I request Mizuki + hot spring sex and praise? Im seriously obsessed with her

PERFECT STRANGER

˓𓄹 ࣪˖ it’s scientifically proven that regular hot springs visit can make your body healthier - the benefits seemingly increase when the main shareholder for the bath house you visit the most keeps you company.

tw implied ill reader (projecting much..) even if nothing is specified, sickly sex hear me out… dubcon-ish, first meeting hook ups, porn WITH plot (i love writing wlw..) very condescending dom!mizuki (sub mizu here), slight exhibitionism, yandere tendencies if u squint. 1.6k words

a/n she’s so cutesy why does her kit have to suck </3 also just noticed that in one of her voice lines she talks abt how awkward it is to have conversation with a stranger .. queen sorry for making u ooc .. this is so long and the ending’s a bit messy </3

spring can’t come fast enough. you’re sick of the constant rain and snow in inazuma - your body’s not reacting positively either. the pumping headache you’ve had the last couple days doesn’t seem to go away, your nose is still stuffy, and your cheeks are flushed. you’re not too worried though, this has happened before: every winter, to be fair. you figured long ago that your probably have a shitty immune system, and you’ve acted accordingly: regular check ups, health treatments, massages and countless evenings spent at the local bath house.

growing up in inazuma, visits to the hot springs were never a surprise, so much so that the current owner of aisa bath house knows your name by heart, even making small conversation as you deposit your mora for their services. “still sick?” aikawa, the owner, asks. you sniffle in reply, murmuring something about how it’s just the usual winter fever. he chuckles, before handing you a soft towel and speaking up once more. “y’know, miss mizuki is visiting today. she’s back from natlan, came here to check up on how the baths are doing.” “mizuki?”, your eyes perk up in curiosity. “haha, yes! miss mizuki, one of your best investors. be careful, yeah? she can be a bit peculiar at times.” you just nod - your head’s killing you and you feel like passing out any second by now.

once you undress and prepare your body accordingly to the bath house instructions - which you know by heart by now, you wrap a towel around your body. before noticing it, you find yourself checking out your reflection in the mirror, wondering about this miss mizuki, how’s she like, and what did aikawa even mean by peculiar? you sigh, moving your attention to fixing up the towel, which is, as always, short, maybe too short this time. well, whatever, it must be one of the new changes implemented by the shareholders.

as you slowly walk over the main bath you feel your skin heat up once more, head growing dizzy in seconds. when you manage to sit down in the bath you let out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding - your eyes close in relaxation while the foggy atmosphere entrances your mind. it’s so warm, so peaceful and - "oh, didn’t know someone was here already.” a calm, peaceful voice interrupts your pensive state. you lethargically turn around, not recognizing your interlocutor.

a girl stands in front of you, blue-ish hair tucked into a bun, deep, spiraling eyes staring back at you. her skin is of a milky, ghostly even, white, smooth and soft, wrapped in the same towel you’re using. despite your feverish mind you can still figure that it’s a bit too short on her too, hugging her dreamy figure in all the right places. “ah, uhm, don’t worry about it.” you stammer - maybe you’ve been staring at her a bit too long. you move away slightly, giving her space as she sits next to you. “you don’t look well.” her voice interrupts your train of thought - again. “my health is quite feeble. my doctor recommended i visit hot springs regularly.” your reply is curt, dry, a poor attempt to cover your irritation.

“my, that doesn’t sound good, miss.”, the lady replies. “you seem tense. would you like a massage? don’t worry, i hardly ever get sick.” her honeyed words go straight to your head, and, against your better judgment, you nod. she seems so sure of herself, so comforting, but at the same time so eerie and distant. as you turn around, back facing her, you feel her cold breath hitting the back of your neck, leaving goosebumps over your skin. suddenly, a pair of cold hands grabs your shoulders, and begins working on knots and tight muscles. your head slumps forward - a mixture of pleasure from her massage and the fever acting up once again. her cold fingers are magic against your burning skin, a greatly appreciated sense of relief.

“i’ve - ah!.. never seen you around here.” you speak up after a few seconds. an amused chuckle hits the back of your neck. “i was on a business trip in natlan, i returned here a few days ago.” her hands slide down your shoulder, gently grabbing your arms. "it’s a shame, really”, the lady continues, “that we haven’t met sooner.”she leans forward, placing her chin on your shoulder. her eyes scan your figure, then go back to look at your flushed face. her hazy, dreamy eyes meet yours, and you find yourself lost in the deep purple hue. “mizuki’s my name.” you almost don’t register the newfound information, almost don’t recognize her as the esteemed benefactor that keeps the bath house open, too mesmerized by something you just can’t figure out. mizuki giggles again, her smile soon replaced by a grin. her hands start moving again, up and down your upper arms, warming up your body even more. your breath becomes heavier, almost panting, and your eyes flutter shut, letting her do her thing.

her fingers start tracing the outline of your shoulders, then drop down to your back, where you’ve messily wrapped your towel. in a swift motion, the piece of fabric falls, leaving you exposed. she presses herself further onto your back, before reaching out to untie her own towel. a flimsly piece of satin now shields your back from her breasts, but you can still feel her plush skin with no issue. mizuki’s hands move back to your shoulders, keeping up the slow, sensual strokes. then, they drop down to your chest, feeling the weight of your own mounds with her very own hands. it takes a few moments for mizuki to grow bolder with her touches, now squeezing the fat of your tits with little to no regard for the whines you started letting out. her cool fingers are torture against your nipples, throbbing and swollen because of the sensation play. your back arches, and you throw your head back, getting dizzier with every move.

with one final squeeze, mizuki stops groping you for a second, just enough to hear you whine and plead to just keep touching you. “oh my, you’re so cute. i’ll make you feel all better, ‘kay? let me take care of you.” she litters small kisses all over your shoulder blades, as one hand starts rubbing your nipple again, and the other slowly makes way to your cunt. her fingers poke your soft cunny, feeling the sticky sensation of your juices even under the water. her pointer finger nudges closer and closer to your clit, rubbing agonizingly slow circles onto it, mirroring the motion of her other hand circling around your nipple. you can’t think straight - you don’t know if it’s the fever or mizuki’s fault, though. her middle finger moves too, pressing itself against your hole. when you give her a meek nod, she enters you, immediately feeling your tight walls flutter around her finger.

she begins pumping her finger in and out of you, gradually going faster and eventually adding another digit. you’re panting, everything’s spinning and you feel so dizzy, but oh, mizuki feels so good. her tongue is licking long stripes across your neck, her nipples pressed snugly against the arch of your back. this is too much - she is too much - and you squirm out of her grasp, turning around to meet her face to face. she thinks you’re so cute. your hair’s all messy, sticking to your forehead, pupils dilated and saliva staining your lips. she knows what you need. and she’ll give it to you.

she lounges forward, throwing the satin towel away and exposing her full body to you, before gently pressing you to the ground. as soon as you’re sprawled across the floor, she climbs on top of you, lips engulfing yours, muffling your sniffles and whines. your chests are pressed together, her soft tits moving against yours, lubricated with both sweat and steam. mizuki chuckles when she feels your nipples poking hers, amused by how much you’re affected by this. she separates from you, letting you catch your breath for a second. “you doin’ okay, cutie?”, she speaks. her voice is even softer, lower, just a whisper meant to be heard only by you. you’re not focusing on her, too overwhelmed by your heightened, feverish senses. mizuki’s nice, too nice, she won’t even reprimand you for not answering. she just lowers her pussy onto yours, both of your sticky folds squelching against one another. “hehe, don’t worry, angel, i’ll make you feel all better.”

she starts moving, riding your poor cunny to oblivion, taking delight in your moans. you’re going dumb, so overwhelmed, unable to do anything but be still and let mizuki fuck you. the more her clit bumps into yours the louder and dumber you get - uncaring about how the door’s so thin, and anyone could walk in at any moment. “cutie, are you going to cum? ‘m not going anywhere.” her voice is honey for your poor, sick brain, stimuli going straight to your cunt. you nod, tears spilling out of your eyes. “shh, it’s okay, you’ll get all better soon, do you trust me?” she gets closer to you, tongue licking your tears away. she feels your pussy twitch against her, your own fluids squirting on her tummy. she cums quickly after, feeding on your own orgasm.

before mizuki can even say anything, though, you’re passed out, the fever taking its toll on you. she just smiles, and wipes the sweat off of you with a stray towel. she’s a psychologist after all, she knows this is much needed rest for you, so waking you up is out of the question. she slowly dresses you up again, and calls over one of the female employees working at the moment. mizuki just gives her instructions to leave you to rest at your house before discharging her. she hopes you’ll remember her, and not dismiss her as just a character in your dreams.

well, even if you do, she’ll come to visit you. again and again, no matter how much it takes.

[mangocurist]

ngl i almost forgot about this wip because of yesterdays excitement LMAOO anywayyyyy MORE ZINCEWAM CONTENT (followup to the prev drabble i wrote, but like. longer this time)

before we start though. @daylilie @jumped-for-the-yaoi @nevervoterfrauded You two. Be Normal. no more than 30 max reblogs for u two each or i will NEVER post again. got it ? Okay now have fun reading !!!! (sowwy for the ooc aspect thats just inevitable LOL . on the bright side i did get through wemmbus first vid w zam on uu soooo hopefully ill get more in character after that!!)

𓇢𓆸࿔°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:˚°❀⋆𓇢𓆸𓇢࿔°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:˚°❀⋆𓇢𓆸𓇢࿔°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:˚°❀⋆𓇢𓆸࿔𓇢

“So the server mechanic is that when you kill someone, you gain an extra life?” Wemmbu asks as he trails behind the green-clad version of a person he swore to never think about again, doing his best to focus on the surroundings instead of the Prince stood in front of him. 

They’re walking back to the place they’d spawned, and Wemmbu is… nervous. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Pretty simple, I think. Way easier to keep track of than something on like, I dunno, Bliss or something,” Zam— not the one he knows, but a different one, who he’s not (yet?) sure he can trust— says, picking at the thrice-bitten nails on her one remaining hand (his Zam had also had a problem with nail-biting, but he had stopped letting Wemmbu see his bare hands about a week before the betrayal, so Wemmbu supposed he would never know if that was still true) nervously as they stand by the border of the spawn chunk, waiting for the person who’d dropped them off here— which, according to Zam, was another SpokeIsHere— to show up once again to take them back to her home server. 

(Ironic, wasn’t it. He met his Zam searching for Spoke to kill and ban him, and he meets this one because Spoke, a friend that Zam trusts found them— found him, somehow, and brought them here.)

He’s still not sure if going to Zam’s home server is a good idea, but… for all his possible misgivings about his own Zam, there’s no reason not to give this one the benefit of the doubt. If worse comes to worse… Wemmbu still has ways to get out. “Oh, though, it’s not… it’s not really like, a life, though. It’s a heart. You know. Like with gapples, but, uh, they’re permanent— or as permanent as long as you can keep yourself alive. And it’s not hardcore, so at least you’ve got that going for you! You know, not having to worry about permanent death if you get farmed a few times. I’d… know about that last bit.”

“Yeah, okay. I think I get it.” Wemmbu’s voice is still a little raspy and his nose irritated from the conversation they’d had only thirty minutes ago, and it’s a little embarrassing to be face to face with Zam when he’s like this, so he turns away, trying to make sense of the things she had told him. “Uh. You– Zam. Can you, uh, give me a second? I think I need a second. You know, to. Uh. Think, and stuff.”

“Sure! Sure. I… I’ll go, uh. Over there. By the, um, the crater-pond thing, can you see—? You can see it from here, I think.” Zam waves his hands over at a small pond off in the distance, just barely visible in the chunk border. “I’ll just— yeah. Um. Go ahead, I won’t be listening. Take your time, man. Um. And let me know if you… you know, change your mind on going to Lifesteal. I won’t be mad, I promise, I just… don’t really think it’d be good to leave you here.”

Wemmbu wants to tell Zam just how right she is, that it’s probably one of the worst ideas to leave him alone back on Unstable, after everything that’s happened— but he doesn’t. Instead, he just watches as Zam starts to jog off over to the pond, the scrappy green cloak around his shoulders billowing in the wind as he runs. 

It’s so… unfamiliar to him. 

He’s not sure what to make of it, what to make of Zam and the fact that there’s a pin on his cloak of Wemmbu’s face even despite her own misgivings about him (because this Zam’s Wemmbu wronged her badly, too, and he doesn’t know what to think about that either. He isn’t sure what to make of Zam at all, and the worst part is, even though the likelihood of Zam lying is as high as he’s ever known it to be, Wemmbu believes him almost fullheartedly). He’s not sure what he should think about the ribbons and hairclips and trinkets that represent the people this Zam loves (or loved?) and how she wears her hearts on her sleeve, literally, with a heart count of fifteen hearts earned from people who cared about Zam enough to give him a part of their own vitality.

How was it that someone who lived on such a seemingly cruel server had turned out better than the Zam Wemmbu knew? Why didn’t he get to meet this version of Zam earlier? Why did it have to be another version of him, with cruelty running through his veins and bloodshed in his heart, that met Zam for the first time on Lifesteal?

Goddammit.

Wemmbu doesn’t know what he wants. 

He buries his head in his arms as he sits down by a rock next to what looks like a man-made explosion. Oh— wait, that’s right, hadn’t Zam said something about this too? Something like how this was one of the servers used to test for her Wemmbu’s orbital cannon nuking. Which… yeah, okay. That was totally something he would’ve done, before the Prince Zam Empire and everything that happened afterward.

The Prince Zam Empire… no. Nah. Let’s not— yeah. Don’t think about that, man. Just don’t even go there. 

Wemmbu slouches forward slightly, lifting his head just so to see if he can catch sight of Zam instead of getting himself stuck in his head again. 

She’s made a fishing rod, somehow, and is currently looking like he’s going to town on the tiny pond. The green cloak— so very unlike the Zam he knows, with a deep crimson red cloak trimmed with fur and decorated in jewels upon jewels— pools around her shoulders as he yanks back fish bit by bit, the metal arm where his left hand should be glinting in the sunlight as the eternal sun beams down on them. 

He sighs, and stands up, stretching each of the spider legs he usually hides underneath his shirt as he does so. Depending on how long Spoke’s going to take to pick them up, Wemmbu may as well spend some time getting to know this Zam better. There’s no use speculating about what is and isn’t there, if he doesn’t know anything about her besides her trauma.

“Hey, Zam,” Wemmbu calls as he nears the little pond, giving Zam a nervous wave as she smiles back awkwardly at him. “Uh. Can I…”

“Yeah! Yeah, uh, feel free to join, if you want. I— I’ve fished a few rods out already, so let me just, uh—” Zam places down an E-Chest (which Wemmbu now belatedly realizes is probably where he’d gotten the rod from in the first place) and pulls out an anvil, a shulker with a few books inside and three fishing rods, before combining them all and handing Wemmbu a new enchanted fishing rod. “Here. Use this.”

“Thanks,” Wemmbu says, the word feeling unfamiliar on his tongue, not only because he doesn’t usually thank others genuinely, but also because he can’t remember the last time he thanked Zam. “Uh. So… do you… ugh. Do you like fishing, usually?”

Zam laughs at that, a mannerism so similar to the Zam Wemmbu knows (no, knew) that it makes his heart clench. He— fuck. He has to stop associating them with each other. It’s seriously not good for his heart. “Oh, not really, but it’s funny cause recently, a lot of the more serious convos I’ve had have been while fishing. I guess it’s just cause there’s just like, nothing else to do here. I mean… unless you could figure out how to get the orbital cannon working.”

“Huh? Orbital cannon? What do you— what do you mean, man?” Wemmbu glances over (perhaps a little quicker than he really should) at Zam, who shrugs. He hopes he doesn’t sound too desperate to her to start on a new topic. No offense to fishers, or anything, but. They’re kinda boring, just a bit.

“I don’t really know much about it, cause I was usually, uh, you know, doing my best to like, not exploit— actually, you don’t know because I didn’t go into detail on the Season Four stuff— but. But! This used to be the testing server for hacks and stuff. When, uh, Wemmbu… Lifesteal… was president season five, he used this to test out his cannon thing. And Squiddo— I did tell you about her, right? She kind of also found admin powers and used this server to test her stuff out too. That’s where the elevator down to the void came from,” Zam points over at a deeper crater hole some blocks away from them. “And, uh— yeah. So, I guess, if you could figure out how to build your own little cannon here then there’s that to keep us busy until Spoke comes to pick us up.”

Wemmbu glances down at the fishing rod in his hands, almost missing the tug of a fish on his string. In the shaky reflection of the water, the red of the salmon’s scales in his hand looks almost like the blur of blood. “I… well. I guess I don’t… really know.”

Liar.

“Well… well, I mean, that’s okay too!” Zam clasps her hands together, fishing rod left forgotten at their side as he takes the salmon away from Wemmbu’s hand, depositing it in a bucket that he hadn’t noticed before. It swims around the bucket excitedly. He wishes he could be like that salmon. “Um. You know! Like, whatever you wanna do is fine by me.” 

“I want…” Wemmbu sighs. Whatever, sure, he’ll put all his cards on the table. Who even cares anymore? Not him. “Fuck, dude, I— whatever. I wanna like, get to know you, but it’s like– I just don’t know where to start.” 

Zam looks at him, short golden curls falling into her eyes as he does so. “That’s okay. That’s, like, totally okay! It’s great, even, cause I want to get to know you too, Wemmbu. And I don’t think we, you know, have to really know where to start with this stuff. We can just– you know. Go. Like— like, you know, right now! What’s your favourite colour and stuff, you know?”

Despite himself, that manages to wrench a laugh from Wemmbu. “What’s— what’s my favourite colour? Dude, is that— is that the best you can manage?” 

Zam beams. It makes Wemmbu’s chest hurt a little. “It made you laugh, didn’t it? That means it’s pretty great, in my eyes.”

“You know— you know what?” Wemmbu says, and then, because he can’t help himself but try to ruin every nice thing that comes his way, adds on, “I can see why, uh, why people liked to torment you, back on your home server. Like— like, dude, you’re… seriously… way too open. Too… you’re too…”

“Loud? Unusual? Trusting?” Zam shrugs. “Well, I know that already, dude. But I don’t care.” 

She doesn’t look affected in the slightest by his words, and— god fucking dammit, Wemmbu, god dammit, stop thinking. Just stop thinking. He reminds Wemmbu so much of his Zam and yet at the same time, when she says things like this… it makes him want to mace something. Maybe himself. 

“I just… you know. I think I want you to be happy. You— you know? And I think… I think we can try working on that, you know, if you come back to Lifesteal with me. It’s… well, actually, it kinda sucks, and all that, but, like. It’s my home. And everyone on there isn’t trying to kill each other for real unless we are, but like, we’re not right now, and I’m doing a really bad job of selling this shit so I’m just gonna stop now,” Zam says, practically all in one breath. “I just think. I think I want to see you be happy. You know? And I want to be your friend, and it’s not because I couldn’t make peace with the other you or anything, and— are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Wemmbu says, and yet, even as he says it, he can feel the wet trail of tears making their way down his face. He sniffs— his nose is still fucking irritated from half an hour (or more?) ago and it makes him feel honestly disgusting, and he tries to wipe away the tears staining his face and collar. “I— I just—”

“Do you want, like, um— a handkerchief or something?” Zam looks so concerned, and it makes Wemmbu almost choke on an irrational peal of laughter, because she’s never been concerned for him, but this is a different Zam who’s kind and bright and so much like the Zam that Wemmbu misses, and he can’t fucking deal with it. “I can— fuck, dude, I dunno what you, uh— fuck! Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m just not good with this kind of stuff—”

“You’re— you’re fine,” Wemmbu coughs, and he brings up a hand to his face. “I’m. Fine. We can— um. If you want me to go— to— uh, your—”

“Lifesteal,” Zam says. “You want to come back with me to Lifesteal?”

“I— can give it a try,” Wemmbu manages to choke out, and even through his tear-blurred eyes, he can clearly see Zam’s radiant grin.

[bloodyinkandquill]

Venomshank x Reader who’s immune to his bite

another venomshank request yippee, this will likely be rather short we shall see, OH YEAH, my last one is now outdated due to us now knowing that to fly bro just uses his bird but oh well, ignore that lmao

- The first time you met the deity of decay (hc) was a terrifying moment, you thought you were about to die, after all you had heard the tales of his feral nature, so when you came across him without his mask and green dripping form his mouth you figured you were done for, you’d become a zombie and your life was over

- So when after being bitten nothing happened, you both stared at your arm, that he was still bitten into mind you, for a solid minute straight, it was so shocking that it somehow snapped him out of his feral period at it, he’d never encountered anyone immune to his bite, barring his siblings, he was so confused in fact he let go and bit you again, he hates when he turns people but he just had to make sure he was understanding what was going on

- Once he let go the second time he seemed to sober up fully, whistling and an oddly large bird flying in carrying his mask, he slipped it back on before apologizing to you for biting you, all that combined probably made for the most confusing 2 minutes of your life all things considered

- That led to him wanting to talk to you, he asked you many many questions first revolving around the bite but they then morphed into just questions about yourself instead, he found you fascinating, and not just the being immune to him thing, just in general, he’s met thousands of inphernals before but you were something special, in his eyes at least, and well one conversation one day led to a different another, and next thing you know you’re in a relationship with the deity you thought was about to kill you (if this is bad sue me i’m tired and trying my best)

- As opposed to other mortals Venomshank’s known, you’re the one he’s not had to worry about his greatest fear, he loves his son, and he tells you it very often, but he has a nagging deep dark fear that one day he won’t have his mask on around him and he will loose him, but with you, that isn’t a problem, for once he can have his mask off around a mortal without fear of turning them to an undead creature, it’s a breath of fresh air for him, literally

- Because of this he also feels comfortable enough to jokingly give you little love nibbles, since he knows they can’t hurt you, we’ll turn you into a zombie, they can still hurt if he bites too hard, but it’s nice in his opinion, even if you swat him away because it tickles after a minute or two

- He is far more comfortable kissing you as well, since he knows with his oddly shaped mouth the threat of kissing someone and accidentally grazing them with his canine is a possibility he’s also relieved he can kiss you as much as he wants and it won’t be an issue, you’d think for a centuries old deity he’d be more demure when it comes to affection but he does not care in the slightest, he will be kissing you any opportunity he gets, even if your busy, have your hands full, are asleep, he’s kissing your forehead, hands, neck, lips, cheeks, it’s just such a new experience to him, and he adores it, almost as much as he adores you yourself

- Being the only inphernal to ever taste his feral… saliva? And live to recount it means you’re the only person to ever walk the inphinity and know what it tastes like, the texture is like acid but since you’re immune it almost dulls down into the equivalent of drinking a monster, carbonated and kinda like battery acid, it’s an interesting taste that’s for sure

yup midnight has passed, i’ll update the thing then work on my final request, which will definitely be the longest since it’s uh general x reader hcs… actually on second thought ill work on it in the morning, im tired and have a few things to do tomorrow and i can just add it to the cue after i finish, yeah that’ll work, let me just get everything else ready and then ill go to bed

[ilium-ilia]

Daughters with Soft Underbellies

john price x fem!reader | cowboy/outlaw x preachers daughter | masterlist

Chapter Five: here in the midst of this pack of wolves

tw: arguing, talk of non-con

The shot from John’s gun still deafens you. 

Horrisonant ringing plagues your ears as you watch him lower his hand and shove his six shooter back into his holster. He swings it around with ease—like he can’t feel the weight of such a weapon that can snuff out human life so easily. With it clicked back snuggly against his hip, his thumbs hook into his belt, unmoved. 

“Auf Wiedersehn," he hums tartly. 

The man’s horse shifts uneasily, frightened by the sudden sound. He rears his head in order to look at the body watering the earth next to him, then huffs as if it’s of no consequence before flicking his tail. Everything stays in motion. The world doesn’t stop turning and the sun still bakes you within your skin, but you feel frozen as you watch John and Riley talk as if they’re speaking over afternoon tea. 

“W-Why did you do that?” The words nearly fail to leave your lips as your eyes stay glued to the cooling corpse resting in the grass. That strange mask has pulled up on the man’s face, showing the pale skin of his chin and bottom lip. The epidermis is tight and textured with waves like the melted wax of a candle that’s hardened after a flame is extinguished. You grimace as his jaw slowly falls open—flies already begin to dance around his face. 

“He was threatening us,” John answers nonchalantly as he turns around to face you. 

“So you killed him?” you shriek. Each word you speak feels as if it’s ripping through your throat, leaving it shredded and raw. “You murdered him in cold blood!” 

Hands resting on the crook of his belt, John looks at you with raised brows and a lowered head. The brim of his hat keeps his eyes shaded, but that uncanny blue hue still rips through you. Slowly, he steps closer to you. Each crunch of a twig beneath his boot leaves your chest fluttering with nervosity. 

“The way you’re talking has me thinking we didn’t hear the same conversation just now,” he says lowly. 

“I heard what he said,” you defended. 

“Did you?��� John challenges. “And you still think I shouldn’t have shot him? Should I have just stood with my arms held wide in invitation for his bullet?” 

Trembling fingers pulse with each beat of your heart as you grip the skirt of your dress. John continues to stalk closer to you like a wolf does a flock of sheep, slow and strong. 

“I-It’s not right. Killing someone,” you say stiffly. 

“Is that so? Do you really think that, or do you think that because your god wants you to?” John chuckles. Eventually, he stops. His arms cross over his chest with bulging biceps as he rocks back on his heels with a sour, tight lipped smile. “Because I’ll tell you one thing sweetheart, he would’ve done the same to all of us in a heartbeat. Except for you. You know what he would’ve done to you, yeah?” 

Both his smile and chuckle are deceiving, and you find yourself ill prepared for the acidulous bite in his tone. Your eyes fall to the ground, and suddenly you’re back in the pews again—staring at a pair of boots that always seem to be the precursor for your next painful lesson. 

“Did you want me to just let him take you? You know what he would’ve done with you, yeah? You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you understood what he meant. He’d steal you away and force himself on you like a fucking dog. I doubt he’d even bother to gag you because men like that always enjoy the screams. What’s your god say about that, huh? Would he have praised that bastard for ruining you while condemning me for protecting my men in the same breath?” John continues. “Or do bad deeds go unpunished as long as there’s not a corpse left over?”

When you still don’t look at him despite his monologue, he raises his hand. Muscle memory forces you to flinch as two gloved fingers reach for your chin, but he quickly pauses. Sighing, he drops his hand. 

“Look at me, little lamb,” he says softly. His hard sapphire gaze has softened by the time you finally gather the courage to look at him, but yours has only gotten wetter. “If I have to choose between my men and some ugly pig, I’m choosing my men every time, and I don’t want you questioning me on that ever again, yeah?” 

Your neck feels too stiff, but you manage to nod. “Yes sir.” 

John breathes in soft and slow as his arms drop to his sides. “Good.” 

Your world seems to turn once again when he steps away from you and the others begin to fall into action. You stand motionless as the others retrieve the stranger’s horse and check his body for anything useful. Hot, vexatious tears stream down your face leaving you to bat them away with frustrated fingers as you wander away from the murder scene at your feet. 

Though your father has always tried to convince you that you have been slick with sin your entire life, you haven’t ever felt it until this moment. The weight that accompanies it is worse than anything else you have ever felt. It keeps your heart clenched between ruthless fingers and it squeezes until all the ichor has been drained from your body—it’s only one degree away from grief. Instinctive fingers reach for your necklace where you clutch the charm of your crucifix and pray silently into your fist, but the more your words meander, the less you think you’ll be able to repent enough to absolve yourself. 

“Hey, Lamb!” 

Soap pulls you out of your prayers with little concern as he leads the stranger’s horse behind him. He looks at you with a smile so bright that you feel silly for the tears on your cheeks. 

“Yes?” you ask as you wipe your face once more. 

“I heard you were in need of a horse,” he says with a grin. 

Your teeth grit together as he holds the reins out for you to take, and you stare at him with a look that feels unfamiliar on your face. Huffing, he places a hand on his hip as he gestures out to the pasture. 

“Oh, come on,” he groans. “He doesn’t have any friends here. Without this sick bastard to keep things in order, he’ll starve come winter. You’d be doing him a favor taking him. Besides, it can’t be comfortable riding on the back of Garrick’s horse all day.” 

Mulling his proposition over, you eventually take the reins with a huff. He’s one of the largest horses you’ve ever seen, standing much taller than most men, and burly enough to pull an entire house if one was on wheels. You awkwardly wander to the side of the horse where you pull at the saddle—it doesn’t budge. 

“You ever ridden a horse before?” Soap inquires. 

You nod your head but decide to leave out the important fact that you’ve only ever ridden a horse once before, and it was when you were a child. In his younger days, Mr. Beckett used to breed thoroughbreds that he’d sell for a pretty penny. Every day on the walk to church, he’d catch you peering at them from across the field with wide eyes and twitchy fingers. One day, he invited you and your mother into the pasture so that you could ride one, with heavy supervision of course. 

Your memory grows sour when you remember your father’s bitter words, and how long your mother cried when you returned home. 

Really, how hard can this be?

Pulling yourself out of your anamneses, you quickly hike your foot up until it’s steady in the stirrup. Then, with great effort, you hoist yourself up, swinging your other leg over the saddle and settling into the worn leather. You quickly adjust your skirt before moving your hips with a huff. Stiff fingers grip the reins as the horse sways, seemingly annoyed by your presence, and you attempt to soothe away his discomfort with a gentle scratch on the side of his neck. 

Chuckling, Soap pats the horse on his flank before wandering off. “Relax, Lamb. You act like you’ve never had a stallion between your legs before.” 

Obloquy bubbles in your chest before you smother it with indifference. You’re very quickly starting to learn that you don’t have the time to sulk—not here in the midst of this pack of wolves. 

You don’t talk for the rest of the day. You ride with your head down and your scarf over your head as you follow along the line of horses in front of you with Kyle at your rear. The men talk every now and then, reliving stories that you weren’t there to witness, or even singing unfamiliar songs beneath their breaths, but otherwise it is quiet. You have nothing to accompany you but the rustling of your carpet bag, the crunch of the earth, and honking geese in the sky. 

As dusk begins to skirt the horizon, John has everyone camp next to a babbling stream. Riley and Soap leave for a short hunt while you and Kyle are sent off to fetch water. He teaches you where to collect water in a place that won’t get everyone sick, and even shows you how to properly boil it. John has set everything up by the time the two of you return, and the others arrive an hour later with three rabbits and a squirrel. It’s not enough to feed an army, but it livens up your stale hardtack and repetitive jerky. 

Come nighttime, you settle next to the fire on the same canvas tarp you rested on the previous night, but sleep does not come easy. Chatty crickets sing deep in thickets while coyotes scream and squabble with one another. You find yourself flat on your back, staring up at the stars as they wink and soar through the sky. Even the moon herself is restless as she glows in her full glory—though she is no longer full, you still swear she’s winking at you as you finally drift off. 

It does not take long for the sun to pull the blankets off of the sky. She does it slowly, gently peeling off the indigo hue and replacing it with puffs of pinks and oranges. A few stars linger in the sky only to fizzle and die out, smothered by a light infinitely greater than their own, but you find yourself not of the right mind to enjoy such a scene with John Price in your way. 

He towers over you as you lay on the ground, and though the unforgiving wilderness has your neck wailing with stiff vertebrae, your body moves of its own accord as it forces you to sit up. He is no more menacing than he usually is with his low sitting hat and watchful gaze, but the repeater that rests on his shoulder has your mouth running dryer than any riverbed in winter. 

“Mornin’ Lamb,” he greets flippantly. 

“Good morning.” Your response is stiff. Aching muscles refuse to get your jaw to work correctly and it only burrows deeper into your chest until it reaches your heart. You swear it stops the moment you see John’s hand rise and motion for you to stand. 

“Come with me.” 

You maneuver as fast as you can, but no matter how much you push your body for speed, everything feels too slow. Torpid muscles move at their leisure as you follow behind John who leads you out of camp all while your brain urges for them to make haste. The others are not awake yet. Or if they are, they are pretending to still be lost in their slumber as you trot over their bodies. 

John doesn’t speak as he leaps across the stream. You follow suit and try to ignore the way the crystalline water wets the edge of your skirt. Walking with your head down, you take care to avoid cactus patches and unforgiving sagebrush, though every now and then your eyes can’t help but flicker to the rifle slung over his shoulder. Its barrel shines underneath the dull light of the dawn but you do not bask in its beauty. 

Plagued with a bitter incertitude, your mind begins to wander as you’re led further and further away from camp. He’s much too quiet—it reminds you of your father. It was his favorite weapon to use against you; silence. Forcing you to sit with your own thoughts and let his words worm through your brain until you’re left with nothing but his gospel. His truth. It always follows behind one of his many lessons and lectures as if the crack of a ruler against your knuckles wasn’t a good enough teacher. 

Is John about to do the same? What can he expect to teach you with a gun besides what blood soaked soil looks like? Unless there is nothing that he wishes for you to learn. Perhaps the only thing he covets is the fresh meat of a willing animal—leading a sacrificial lamb to her slaughter as if your own blood might wash you clean. 

“I-I’m sorry about yesterday,” you murmur, words slicing through the air like the wings of an owl—dull and stilly—begging for forgiveness.

“I know you are,” John says. 

Arms crossing over your chest, you don’t realize how viciously you shiver until you retreat into yourself. Still, you continue to follow behind John even as the air seems to avoid your lungs. 

“I shouldn’t have questioned you like that. It was unkind, considering all you’ve done for me,” you continue. 

At that, John chuckles. “If dragging you across wild terrain is what you consider hospitality, I’d hate to see your idea of disrespect.” Pausing, he twists on his feet so that he’s walking backwards to face you. “There’s a lot of things to be grateful for out here, and I’m not one of them sweetheart.” 

He turns away from you with another one of his tight lipped smiles as you continue to stumble behind him. You let his words sit and soak for only a moment before pressing further. 

“But you saved me yesterday,” you press, “and I’m grateful for that.” 

“Saved you?” John repeats incredulously. “I thought I was a murderer for that. A cold blooded one.” 

“Well…” you stutter. “But you said he would’ve… well… I don’t know.” 

“It’s hard thinking for yourself, isn’t it?” he quips. 

Before you can respond, John stops walking along his imaginary path and glances around the terrain. You’ve come up on the underside of a large hill that plateaus with a thin hanging ledge. Rusty sand and rock decorates the earth in thin, compounded lines like the ring on the tree. You attempt to count them—to see if you can decipher the age of the earth—but you give up the moment John swings the repeater off of his shoulder. 

“This ought to do,” he muses to himself. Striking eyes finding yours, he holds out the rifle with both hands and extends it to you. “Your daddy ever teach you how to shoot?” 

Blinking, you shake your head. “No. He’s got a shotgun but he’s never let me touch it.” 

Humming, John presses the rifle closer, giving you no choice but to take it into your hands. It’s not as heavy as you were expecting. For something made of solid wood and iron—for something that can snuff out a life as easy as squashing a bug—it’s lighter than you could have ever anticipated. 

“About time we fix that, then,” he says as he begins to scour the ground for something. Wandering between stray patches of grass and sagebrush, he bends down to pick up large stones before he wanders closer to the base of the plateau. “You never know when you’ll have to fend off animals, or worse.” 

“Or worse?” you repeat. 

John shoves the stones into the side of the hill where they precariously rest in the dirt, but have yet to budge. “Men.” 

Right—you should have known that already. 

Once the stones are secure enough to his liking, he saunters back up to you. “Right then. Do you at least know how to hold it?” 

Nodding, you quickly shove the butt of the rifle against your shoulder as you mimic the way you’ve seen your father hold his shotgun. It feels awkward and uncomfortable against your collarbone, but you ignore the feeling as you raise the gun as if you were to actually fire it. 

“Keep your elbows tucked in. We’re not trying to have you flap those things around like wings,” he says, tapping your arms. When your arms start shaking too much, he huffs and grabs the stock. “Give it here.” 

As if realizing just how dull his little lamb’s teeth are, John takes things slower. First, he starts out with the mechanics: how to tell the gun is loaded, how to rack a bullet in the chamber, what to do when it gets jammed. Then, it’s on to safety: proper storage, handling, and of course—

“Never ever point the barrel anywhere you wouldn’t want a bullet,” he orders. “If you wouldn’t want to shoot your foot, then never point it there. Even if you think it’s empty, you never take that risk.” 

When it comes time to actually shoot it, you don’t find yourself any more comfortable with it than you were before. With your palms sweating and fingers nearly splintering the wood with your grip, you find you can hardly hold the thing steady enough to line up your sights. You’re staring down range for what seems like an hour before John eventually speaks up. 

“You’ll be alright, it’s not going to hurt you,” he reminds. “It’ll kick, but this caliber is small. Just focus on lining it up with one of those stones.” 

Your vision tunnels just as you pull the trigger. A crack echoes just as loudly as it did yesterday and the kick of the rifle nearly shreds your heart. Lowering the barrel, you let out a shaky breath as you stare at the rocks in front of you, all still intact. 

“You’re flinching when you pull the trigger. Try not to make it a quick jerk, but one smooth motion. Your aim will be better if your whole body doesn’t jump,” he lectures. 

“I don’t think I can do this,” you spew with shaky words. “Shoot. Kill something. Anything. Anyone. I just- I don’t think it’s meant for me.” 

Sighing, John slips the rifle from your hands where he situates it in his arms. He looks comfortable with it, as if he were holding an infant, well aware of its delicateness yet almost flippant. A soft equanimity obscures his eyes similar to the way he looked at you that night when you wandered into camp, beaten and bruised. That already feels like a lifetime ago, and yet here you are standing in the middle of nowhere with a stranger. In two days you’ve managed to run away from home, watch a man get shot off his horse, and fired a gun. 

You fear that the next time you look in the mirror, you might see a different woman entirely. 

“You don’t put a gun in your hands to kill people, you put a gun in your hands to protect yourself, yeah?” he prompts. His tone morphs from the gruffness you’re used to into something more demulcent. As he speaks, he keeps his chin tucked low, looking at you from underneath the brim of his hat. The sun rises above the horizon now, and you realize the light makes his eyes look softer than any fine silk you’ve ever touched. “It’s nothing more than a tool. Something you feed yourself with, something you brandish to ward off people who would want to hurt you. It’s no different than a knife. You use it to chop food and skin meat, but you can also slice a man’s throat with it.”

“It still feels different,” you insist. “I just—I don’t know.” 

“A gun doesn’t make you a killer anymore than anything else does. It just makes you smart. It makes you safe,” John rationalizes. When your silence continues to stretch, John holds the rifle out towards you once again. “One more shot. You don’t have to be a professional, but I want to make sure you know what you’re doing if things ever get messy.” 

It’s easy to give in when you feel as if you have no other choice. You take the gun from his hands before situating yourself the way he showed you—legs wide and sturdy, elbows tucked and stable. John steps behind you where he places a hand on your shoulder. You tense underneath his touch, but he shushes you. 

“Nice and easy now,” he murmurs. “Breathe out slowly, and squeeze.” 

The warmth of his hand bleeds through your clothes, but it grounds you. Now tethered to the earth, you line your shot up as best as you can before following through. 

Inhale. Exhale. Squeeze. 

Crack!

The gun discharges with a cacophonous sound that splinters as if a tree has suddenly split in half, but this time you don’t even feel the recoil. Lowering your aim, you squint and see that your target is now misshapen. It hasn’t exactly turned into dust, but the edge of the stone fractures like fine china. Pride swells in your chest as John gives your shoulder an affirming squeeze. 

“Atta girl,” he praises. 

He slips the repeater out of your hands before slinging it back over his shoulder. When he smiles, you figure it might be the first legitimate simper he’s ever given you. 

“Come on, Lamb,” he urges while gesturing back towards camp. “We’ve still got a lot of ground left to cover today.”

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[glitter-stained]

I always feel like a little sad seeing posts about how Jason's character is inherently tragic and that's what makes it good, how him being unloved, a tragic consequence of his own actions, is inevitable, and how that shouldn't change because any change on that regard is a fundamental misunderstanding of his character. Yes, Under the Hood is a tragedy. Yes, Jason survived and for a long time people have been pretty confused at what to do with the character that survives the tragic ending. That doesn't mean he should continue to be trapped in the tragedy, that there's only value in him as long as he's unloved. And maybe that's me preaching and being a party pooper again but the idea that the teenage-to-young adult character with a mental illness that has damaged all his relationships is doomed to be lonely and have bad/upended relationships forever, that he's only good as a character as long as he's hurting others and/or himself (and usually both) and isolated because of this... It's sad, at the very least. I refuse the presumption that tragedies are the only stories wise and worth telling.

Also I personally really dislike the idea that Jason isn't and shouldn't be anyone's favourite, because he made himself nobody's favourite on purpose. Did he make himself a villain on purpose? Fuck yeah. Does any of his early attempts at reaching out to people hurt them? Indubitably. I maintain that this is because he wants to be someone's favourite as he is, at his worst, with his hands covered in blood. And I think he should be. (Without contradicting or damaging, by comparison, the relationships between other characters, that's the tightrope we need to be weary of when making such things, of course.)

It's like this: love, in most relationships, is conditional: you don't owe your friend or your partner to continue to love them if the relationship changes, if you change, if you become violent etc. If my girlfriend started murdering puppies, I would stop loving her. Ideally, however a parent's love for their child is unconditional. That's very often unfortunately not the case, but ideally it'd be, it's really not great for a kid to have zero parents that love them unconditionally. And most importantly, it's not just about actual unconditional love, it's about it being perceived. So it doesn't matter in the debate if Bruce actually loves Jason in spite of the murder, it matters that Jason asks for confirmation of it at the end of UTH and receives a negative answer. (similar arguments to be made about Catherine loving Jason and dying of drug overdose and Willis going to jail and dying - it's the potential perceived abandonment of it that would matter, not their agency and actual love. And it's not a question of whether he would be angry at it so much as that he'd yearn and hurt for it. And of course Sheila didn't love him at all.) That's why he, upon learning about Mia and reaching previously unknown to man levels of projection*, tries to rally her with the hope that, because she's "so similar to him" she would understand him. That's why upon learning about Dick "killing" Blockbuster Jason, again projecting more violently than a bullet, Jason makes Dick into his new favourite person (god, the concept behind BiB has so much potential why did it have to suck so bad...) Anyway, Jason to me is a character with a very intense, very overwhelming conception of love both in who he loves and how, who struggles to understand that other people love and show it differently, and it makes so much sense for him to keep looking for a person who will love him unconditionally (something that's both very rare and not necessarily healthy since, again, most relationships aside from parent-child relationships do not and probably should not include unconditional love). This is particularly interesting in the context of him having bpd (again, using bpd because i'm focusing on the interpersonal dimension that's been mostly studied within that frame) because BPD often functions around a vicious circle of "is afraid of rejection/abandonment -> does maladaptive behaviour in attempt to prevent rejection/abandonment OR protect oneself by being the one to leave first" which is what leads to the instability in relationships. It's a doomed prophecy: i have maladaptive patterns that make me think my girlfriend is gonna leave me at any time, I keep demanding to see her phone, assuming she's cheating everytime she leaves and thus demonizing her even though I was glorifying her five minutes earlier" then she's going to leave me, which is gonna reinforce my thought pattern that everyone always leaves me. But that also means that in rare instances in which the other person in the interact, for whichever reason, sticks around through that, then these incorrect thought patterns begin to change through the sheet logic of extinction: if i think that people always leave me because of something fundamentally wrong with me and people don't leave then eventually the idea that people are doomed to abandon/reject me is going to lose its power. That's, btw, an important part of why therapy works.

(*that one's a joke, btw. He's not projecting onto mia and dick to levels impossible to mankind, just pretty intensely. Very human levels of projection, might I add'. Just to clarify.)

Now, be mindful: I'm not saying make Jason an abusive boyfriend. I'm not saying put him in a relationship where the other stays because they're afraid of him, that's not unconditional love or acceptance that's just fear. Of course, the ideal version of it would be Jason goes to therapy but because dc hates me specifically this is never gonna happen, but imagine him being in a relationship, romantic or otherwise, with someone who is as intense and "unwell" about him as he is about them. I'm not saying it would fix him (again, get him so goddamn therapy jfc) but it would change him. And just as it doesn't have to be healthy it doesn't have to be tragic.

I was asked a while ago my thoughts on Jason's current stagnancy as a character and if I thought he could become interesting again, and I said yes and talked about the directions I dream would be explored with his character and their potential. My answer hasn't changed, and it's completely compatible with this, but I will add: I think Jason as a character has largely and for long enough been defined through his yearning to be somebody's favourite, and that if you want his mode of interacting with others and dynamic with different characters to change then this is a very logical way to do it. And it would make a lot of sense for it to be the catalyst for other changes in his character (ie in his name or philosophy).

Get that boy into a super intense long-term codependent situationship, is what I'm saying. Please.