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#tunnel bore war
cattimeswithjellie · 11 months
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Okay, add this to the growing pile of evidence on "Why Cleo is the best": her museum curation game is extremely on point.
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(Her museum accession game is also extremely on point in that she "acquired" a bunch of stuff from other people and put it in her base, but she's owning that and good for her. I'm sure everyone will be very happy with their dabloons!)
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overanalysingfandoms · 11 months
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Highlights from Scar's latest episode:
Cleo making an armourstand kid in a wheelchair and Scar tearing up I'M NOT CRYING YOU'RE CRYING
The return of the HotGuy gify shop!!!!
Gem, Impulse and Scar deciding to stage an intervention to make Grian do the back of his base
The intervention crew saying they'll keep Grian up all night to finish the back of his build
Scar treating Grian like he's a strict mum forcing his child to do homework because he's grounded
Grian immediately knowing what will distract Scar and the pair of them instantly bailing while Gem and Impulse shout in the background
Grian and Scar blowing up Doc's redstone
The slow turn Scar immediately did to face Grian (even in moments of disaster this mans comedic timing is on point)
Scar locking all his doors and hiding in the bathroom with Jellie and his Star Wars legos in real life
Scar hiding in the bathroom in minecraft too
The fact Gem and Impulse never appear again in the video
The way they try to fix it but are so bad at redstone and attempt to keep morale up by saying "WE'RE DOING OUR BEST" in a tone that sounds like they hope if they say it enough it'll be true
The 'We're sorry' made out of slime
The diamond pile that's made of cobble on the inside
The escape tunnel they made because they're so (rightly) afraid of Doc
The fact it's 2 am for Grian by the time he logs out
The return of the HotGuy gify shop being delayed because they blew up Doc's redstone
Scar attempting to spice up the diamond pile with Scarland merch and TCG cards
The fact we don't even see Doc's reaction
Not in the video but all of Doc's tweets suddenly having hilarious context
I can't wait to see what his reaction actually was (Grian and Scar are so dead)
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fruitcakebro · 8 months
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At this point this next Hermitcraft prank war is just gonna go until Pearl kills everyone involved because she's tired of cleaning up after them.
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crashtestbunny · 11 days
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Retirement (John Price x F!Reader)
CW: Mentions of Soap's death. Love at first sight. Fluff.
Summary: Price has officially retired and is trying to find his stride in civilian life. While coaching his local church's youth football team he meets reader and is immediately sure that retirement was the best call for him.
Word Count: 1k
a/n: This is inspired by the first prompt on the list! I absolutely adore the idea of retired Price getting to live a peaceful life. Man's workin' too hard.
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Retirement struggled to fit John Price. It took some time to find his stride when coming back to civilian life, a decade of service will do that to a man. He was bored senseless, under-stimulated, on high alert, and didn't particularly have hobbies that didn't involve shooting, the gym, or hiking - which he really slowed down on doing for obvious reasons.
So when he was at his mother's house helping to clear the attic, she mentioned the local church.
"They're looking some volunteers, Johnathan. I talked to Father Graham and he thinks it'd do you a world of good."
"Mum." He grunts as he's trying to squeeze around her with a heavy box of god-knows-what, "Really."
Seeing her son's hesitant disposition she folded her arms and strained her tone, "I told them you would help out, Johnathan. Do you want to disappoint me?"
He is pushing the back door open with his hip as she says that and his expression pales, "No, mum- why'd you- don't be at that." Then he sighs, "I'll go once, and once only. Alright?" and then he's heading out to the bins.
"Alright! Thank you poppet!" She calls after him with a satisfied little smile.
Three months later John Price is standing on the frost-covered pitch, a fleece jacket with 'CAPTAIN' adorning his broad frame. He's hollering in a way that feels good, encouraging his boys to pick up the slack, pass the damn ball, score the goal!
"Will, watch your flank!" He yells between cupped hands, just a moment too late. The boy is slide tackled and goes face first into the cold, hard, earth. The ball swiped from between his legs. Price watches the collision happen in slow motion, a chill running down his spine as he remembers that tunnel in London. He can't help but freeze up in the moment, can do nothing but watch.
A gentle hand is placed on his shoulder and a soft voice urges him, "Call time on the match, give him a chance to get up."
It's enough to make his body react on instinct - used to following orders as well as barking them - and the whistle shrieks out across the pitch to officially halt the match.
Will is pulling himself up, his face covered in dirt but otherwise he was fine. He immediately sprints over to rejoin his team, and Price feels the tension seep from his body. He's reminded that Soap was alright, in a hospital recovering, just as this boy had gotten up and shaken it off, Johnny will too.
"Cheers for that." John turns to address the woman.
Fuck. Her eyes glimmered like the starlight and her face looked as though God himself took a rest once he perfected it. That smile, that smile could send men to war, hell, looking at her now if she told him to get back in the fight he might just do it. Her lips are moving but he can't hear anything except his own heart reverberating.
"Sorry?" He breathes at last.
"I said, think nothin' of it, Captain. You seemed to be a wee bit lost in thought." She reassures, a gentle, warm hand placed on his bicep.
"Right- yeah yeah-" He fumbles awkwardly, and then turns back to refereeing the match, blowing the whistle to continue on again.
Throughout the match you're hollering and whooping, slinging your arm around him in celebration for goals, and he's so swept up in your energy he's almost forgetting what the scores are at, your sweet perfume warming the winter chill from his lungs.
At the end of the match Will is hobbling over, dirty, scuffed, and scraped up, beaming with pride.
"Captain Price, did'ya see me goal!?" he asks.
John chuckles and ruffles his hair, "I saw, good work there lad, just gotta work on your awareness and you'll be unstoppable."
"You did fantastic, Will." You coo, reaching towards your son with a proud smile.
It's then that Price sees the resemblance, and he can't help but take a look at your hand in vain hope.
There's no wedding band. His heart is thundering in his chest, but he sees his opportunity, and knows he should just go for it. He understands the dangers now of not executing things when they should be done.
"How bout I take you and your mum out to food to celebrate?" Price offers Will.
The twelve-year-old is ecstatic and pulling on your sleeve, "Aw ma, please, please! Just this once and I'll do all my chores for a week!"
"You'll blimmin' do 'em regardless." You laugh, but nod in agreement, "That would be nice, Captain-"
"-John." He quickly corrects, "You can call me John." and then he's reaching a hand out to place on the small of your back, "There's a place nearby, if you wouldn't mind?"
His smile is warm and saccharine, his cheeks meeting his eyes in an unfamiliar way, and yet it feels right to see him happy. You can't help but stare into those gentle blue eyes and be softened.
"Of course, I'd really like that. Will tells me so much about you, it'd be nice to finally speak to the enigmatic Captain Price." You joke with a playful roll of the eyes, and he joins in with a hearty chuckle that sings from his chest.
"Let's get you both out of the cold then." He gestures for you to walk with him, you on his right arm and Will on his left, chatting his ear off incessantly.
Retirement struggled to fit John Price. But if retirement meant that he got to speak to you more, hear that laugh, and make your son smile - if it meant he got to play happy family and commit to it, well, he could make retirement fit him.
@glitterypirateduck
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angelonasher · 9 months
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Everything so far about the season 9 Egg War
(in case anyone wants this lol)
Edit: please read the reblog with the corrections because I did make some mistakes/miss details :D
[you're here], Part 2
The links to the other parts are at the bottom of the reblog!
--
Grian steals The dragon egg from Pearl, dupes it, and returns it. (This will be important later)
Grian and Scar accidentally blow up Doc's tunnel bore as a way to procrastinate from finishing the back of Grian's base.
They make an apology pile with many gifts including diamonds, Scarland merch, and a dragon egg.
Doc retaliates by doing funky chunk repressor stuff to make Grian's nether portal one block and puts a load of wither skull projectiles in Scarland's sky.
Zedaph wants one of Grian's duped eggs for the Hall of All, and completes an egg quest Grian sent him on to get it. Part of the quest was blowing up a small section of Doc's base. (Without fixing it afterwards.)
Doc retaliates by making Grian blow up Mumbo's vault door in order to get a purple crown. (Which Grian wants because he claims it will make him "Mumbo's best friend.")
Grian leaves a sign saying he does not know how to "physically, emotionally, or spiritually fix this."
Mumbo pays Scar 64 diamonds to blow up a large part of his base because he didn't like it anymore. He then makes Grian think that it blew up along with the vault door, therefore making it Grian's fault. That causes Grian to burn (what they think is?) the one and only purple crown so far due to guilt.
Grian and Scar retaliate by creating a machine to fill Doc's perimeter with chickens. However, due to the Scar and Grian are banned sign in the perimeter, they go as their alter egos Poultry Man and Hotguy.
Doc cleans up the chickens with the help of Ren (who pledges his alliance to him), Zedaph (who he seems to be a bit on the fence about since he didn't fix his base), and some foxes.
Doc leads a bunch of the chickens Grian and Scar made into Grian's base. (With Zedaph's help.)
Grian, Scar, and Mumbo form the Buttercup alliance against Doc, because, according to Grian's research, buttercups are toxic to goats.
The Buttercup alliance makes a cute little tent area in the middle of Doc's path, raise a sniffer called "Xx_GoAtEaTeR_xX", and build their eyes overlooking the perimeter so Doc knows "they're always watching." (They also discover that falling blocks make Grian's game crash.)
The buttercups learn that Doc has a robot (the Goat Walker) that faces the path. They decide to build (let Mumbo build) a robot to fight it in a cool mech battle thing.
Doc uses the dragon egg Grian had given him as an apology to dupe a bunch more, then build an insane egg duping machine that makes a whole lotta dragon eggs.
Doc and Ren put these eggs in Scarland, Grian's base, the bridge connecting Grian's and Mumbo's bases, and Mumbo's vault. Ren encourages Doc to also put them inside Scarland's castle. (With loads of shulker boxes to spare.)
Pearl, as the server's resident cleaner lady, gets hired by Scar for a salary of 32 diamonds a week to clean up all the eggs in Scarland. (He also kind of throws Grian under the bus concerning the illegal eggs and logs off when asked to give her his stock of eggs.)
Doc calls Pearl to snitch- AhEm I mean inform Pearl of his neighbors' messiness. From him she learns that Grian's base also has eggs in it, that Doc was the one that duped all these eggs, Ren was the one to put them in the bases (although he did too), and that he had thought Grian had the original egg. (He also gives her almost two barrels full of shulker boxes full of dragon eggs. He does not tell her about the machine or the eggs still in it that he could easily use to make more.)
Pearl says something about Grian facing the cleaning lady's wrath idk i think she's gonna end up entering this whole fiasco too lol
Doc builds two butterflies flying above the perimeter in order to "kill them with kindness." The one facing directly towards Scarland is for him, and the one facing directly towards Grian's base is for Ren.
The butterflies are actually tnt-duping flying machines.
Doc tells Ren about and shows him the butterflies. Ren (apparently) thinks they are just flying machines, and Doc does not tell him about the tnt. (Doc's pov only)
Doc and Ren discover a beacon in the perimeter and that someone had been mining there. They conclude no one respects the Goat anymore, and Doc determines to find out who it was. (Idk if this is gonna be relevant but I've added it just in case.)
Ren tells Doc about his super awesome spy plans, which involves the cave right under the Buttercups's camp. (It's not elaborated on very much in Doc's episode.)
wooh. That is all I know so far :D
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piratefishmama · 8 months
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Finders Givers | Prompted by @aellafreya
Curiosity.
Some may call it a dangerous thing. Some may argue for its ability to lead you to the truth of things. Some may claim it leads you to temptation, to regret, to suffering.
Steve Harrington, was curious.
He’d found the source of his curiosity while visiting a bar he’d planned on purchasing. It wasn’t a huge establishment. Or a well known one. Not exactly big bucks in the making but it was sat in a prime location atop a cellar that led to miles of underground tunnels which frankly.
He wanted.
He wanted them and not for legal reasons either. The tunnels weren’t on any official city map, predating them, Robin and Nancy, his right hand, and his researcher, found them by pure chance while on a fun little jaunt through the local libraries.
Fun being a stretch for Robin, but she needed to hang out with another woman her own age. And so did Nancy.
But he wanted those tunnels, they stretched all over the damn city, with just a little bit of work they could pop up anywhere, perfect for many a less than legal activity.
So many by-chance happenings had led him to that ratty little bi-fold leather wallet. Wasn’t even quality leather either. It looked old too, black with an embossed devil head pattern that probably came from some truck stop somewhere.
He could have just handed it in to the owner he was trying to buy out, could have even thrown it away, but curiosity was a devil sometimes. So there he was, sat down at one of the many tables in that little bar while one of his people did the majority of his work for him (honestly what’s the point of having people if they cant do your work for you?) perusing the contents and feeling more and more depressed by the second.
First, there was a wad of coupons and a single quarter in there instead of bills, which was never a good sign.
Second, a single, solitary, sad, badly rolled little joint.
Third. A single bank card with Mr E J Munson on it. Not even a credit card, just. A debit. Which statistically didn’t mean great things about this person’s credit score. Could just mean the owner was trying to avoid debt, but… doubtful.
Fourth, a stick of gum.
Fifth, a guitar pick.
Sixth, a library card, oof couldn’t even afford to buy the books.
An expired driver’s license desperately in need of renewal registered to Edward Joseph Munson, the photo made him look like he’d just gotten out of jail or some shit, his hair a terrible buzzcut and eyes too big, too dark, and too haunted to be anything else, but then that was just sometimes how those photos turned out. He could have been a totally innocent man!
It had his address on it, a few descriptors, height half an inch shorter than Steve himself, brown hair, brown eyes, male, 140lbs at point of issue (he’d been seventeen), date of issue, issuing State, along with a date of birth, clocking him at a year older than Steve, twenty nine, and… that he was apparently a donor.
And finally, a month old pay stub from a local fast food joint. So minimum wage worker at best.
It was… kind of sad really. Steve actually looked up the address on his phone, just for curiosities sake, because he was already in deep enough to look through a guy’s wallet, might as well google the poor saps address, just in case he felt charitable enough to drop it off on the way back to the high rise.
Oh there was that deep sadness some people might yell ‘I told you so’ about.
It wasn’t bad. But it sure as shit wasn’t good either. Steve knew of at least six bottom dweller drug dealers that operated out of that block, which explained the joint.
And also made him sadder about the joint, the weed probably wasn’t even all that good.
“Hey Robbie?” His long time friend and platonic soulmate turned her bored gaze over to him, she’d been playing angry birds on her phone, he could hear the war cries of those birds every time she launched one. “We done any charity this quarter?”
“Mmmmmnmnnnnoooooo?” It always looked good to the public for a rich guy like him to do charity work. Wouldn’t look too deeply into him if he was seen publicly doing good. “Unless you count telling Dustin to go wild in that nerd shop last week as ‘charity’, your child nearly emptied the damn shop.”
“Nah that was his birthday present, can’t call that charity.” He wasn’t going to reiterate that Dustin wasn’t his child. He was basically mom at that point.
“Alright, so what’re you thinking?” She sat up, turning to face him properly, putting her phone screen down on the table “Sponsoring something? A drive? There’s this cute little animal shelter in Japan called HEART I read about last month, ran by just a woman and her husband working with volunteers, could be a good thing to donate to? Helping animals is always good for PR.”
“…Those sound way better than what I was thinking, this guy’s wallet is bumming me out.” The expression on her face could have probably put grumpy cat to shame. “Pick one of your choices and do something with it, whichever you want. Imma do something about this wallet.” It didn’t have to be a big PR stunt, the fact that he was doing it on the DL as well? It always came back around all sunshine and roses because people believed it was totally selfless.
Didn’t do it for PR, couldn’t be doing it for PR, he hadn’t announced it.
It was always for PR. Always. The reaction just took a little longer to circulate and people were suckers.
“Just give it back to him? That should be charity enough. It’s like nine bucks to replace a driver’s license, you’re saving him nine bucks. Charity.”
“For someone who started out poor, you’re awful, Robin Buckley. Deal with this bar thing for me would you? I’m going to go on an adventure.” Curiosity was a powerful thing!
“Alright but if you come home with another stray I’m suing!”
“That was—”
“Seven times Steve! Seven!!” It wasn’t his fault that he struggled to see teenagers down on their luck. And four of them were two sets of siblings so it technically counted as one time per set, and one came with Nancy so—!
“Fine!” –So, he wouldn’t argue.
Empires weren’t built with throw away people who held no loyalty to you although he did have many of those on staff. Empires like his were built on the foundation of family, and while the one he’d grown up with was a little bit lacklustre, the one he’d built was perfect.
So he wouldn’t argue, he knew she loved them just as much as he did, in her own way, and that any additions would be welcomed with open arms.
Steve didn’t take the car. Although he probably should have, he knew at least three of his people would be following him, keeping an eye on him for safety reasons. At a distance of course but they’d be tailing him for the sake of safety.
That neighbourhood wasn’t safe. No matter if he had a weapon on him or not, it wasn’t safe for people like him.
People with visible wealth.
The watch on his wrist alone was probably worth more than some of the buildings in that neighbourhood, and it wasn’t exactly early in the day either. The sun setting made for an excellent ‘rich person in the wrong goddamn neighbourhood’ future police report.
But he made it to his destination unscathed.
The fast food joint from that pay stub. He even double checked the address on it. The chances of this Edward Munson being there were low, but that was fine, he just wanted to check it out. The atmosphere in there, the management styles, he’d hang out in the corner, get a cheap coffee and people watch for a while. See how fun Edward's work life was so he could add it to his decision making tree.
Curiosity really was one depressing little bitch baby.
The manager on staff was loud. Rude. Sexist. And he was pretty sure he’d made one of the staff cry because she’d hurried out very quickly rubbing at her face and sniffling. The temptation to put out a hit on him? High. But no, that was a lot for one asshole… maybe he’d just send Jane out, let the kid take his knees out.
She deserved a little bastard ba—
Someone beat him to it. A commotion later started by someone with a lot of hair, hair that’d been put up in a net and half hidden beneath the uniform’s god awful mustard yellow cap. It’d been two hits, the guy hitting him, and the manager hitting the floor, blood pouring from a very broken nose, spectacular.
The rest of the staff looked on in wide eyed horror, one yelping “Eddie, holy shit!” as the man pulled his cap off to reveal all that hair. “You’re so fired!”
“Didn’t need this shit show anyway! Chris an I quit, peace out assholes!!” Eddie. Eddie. Steve rose to his feet. Godawful coffee forgotten in the face of the mystery Edward, who caught his eye once before continuing on his way, all big brown frankly beautiful Bambi eyes, less haunted but still so big, full, kissable lips, and god, so much hair, going in the same direction as the blonde who’d disappeared to probably go and cry.
Eddie did need that job. He really needed that job. Steve had seen the state of his wallet. He needed that job, or at least he needed the paycheque that came from that job. Couldn’t even afford to buy his own books! He rented them, he rented books.
Jesus.
God, Robin was gonna judge him so bad for the person he was about to become.
Part 2
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kaapstadgirly · 3 months
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Every day I wake up, a zionist reblogs my post, and I just want to go back to sleep.
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guys let's be fucking fr, the whole Jews vs Muslims war is getting boring. Am I the only person who has seen Jews supporting a free Palestine?
Hamas did not attack Israel because they hate Jews. They attacked Israel because their people have been living under their occupation since 1967, and this has been ongoing for 75 years. Hamas was established in 1987?
And don't even "human shield, tunnels, beheaded babies" me, because all of that has either been debunked or Israel has not provided any clear proof, and it's clear how Israel continues to lie so that the world can take their side, but fuck that.
Before October 7th, they lived and still live under an apartheid system. I do not support Hamas and their actions, but fucking hell you cannot expect people to just sit and take that kind of abuse. My people (South Africans) didn't. My people fought for the free country we live in today. You can not expect them to not resist. RESIST.
I don't indulge in silly internet kak, so I will leave this here. @abirbable @inklingm8 @archtroop , please stay off my page or create your own posts supporting your zionist faves.
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redstonedust · 11 months
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you know behind the scenes doc is probably having the time of his life. that man has been looking for a valid reason to go to war with either of his neighbors since they moved in. he's had to scrounge for petty reasons like ''i think one of them waxed my copper'' and ''scars morning announcement is kind of loud'' i am convinced the tunnel bore incident is the best thing to happen to him all month /hj
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cobblestoneore · 11 months
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How to start a war: by Mumbo K. Jumbo (spoilers)
First, lay your copper out to oxidize. The less optimized the positioning the better.
Have your friend, let’s call him G., have G take this as a personal challenge and stack your copper even more sub-optimally on your base.
Counter by oxidizing the copper on top of his base the shape of the statue of lib
erty
Have G use this as an opportunity to procrastinate building the back of his base
Make sure G advertises this to his friends as he does this. This step is very important. 
Have G's friends stage an intervention for his "Back of Base Building Bane"
One of these friends must be the one furthermore named S. We'll get to why later. 
Have friends threaten G until he starts building. 
Here's where S comes into play. S is a known enabler, and so he will undoubtedly distract G. This is crucial.
Have G bring up a certain someone's (we'll call them D) tunnel bore, and S will latch onto it, asking to see it.
G will of course use this as a means of procrastination, and show S the bore.
Have G and S go to the bore. 
G and S will be so impressed by this machine that they will of course try to use it
They do not know how to use it and it will most definitely fail and blow up. 
Have G and S try and fix it. 
If that doesn't work, have G and S suck up to D. Of course, as this is a starting a war tutorial and not a stopping a declaration of war tutorial, this will without doubt fail either way. But at least it’ll make G and S think they are helping before their untimely demise.
Have D notice the bore is broken, preferably while G and S are present. 
Have D declare war on G and S
Meanwhile, you will be working on your own sus base none the wiser of the chaos you have unleashed.
Congratulations! You have successfully started a war!
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siilvan · 7 months
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bloodsport – II
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prologue | part one | next
characters: vladimir makarov
summary: you never realized how boring captivity could be. you hate to admit it, but makarov is the only interesting thing around, and perhaps the closest thing you have to an ally in this place.
genre: angst, slowburn, enemies to ?, fem!reader (callsign: petra, no desc.)
warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, canon-typical violence, descriptions of blood/injuries, inaccurate medical procedures, reader gets harassed :/, reader kills a dude, russian written by a non-russian speaker (please correct me if it's wrong!!)
word count: 3.7k
note: the temptation to write the filthiest makarov/reader/yuri fic is slowly taking over my brain. i'm begging activision to reveal my ex-war-criminal husband already bc i have two hands for a reason
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true to his word, you don't see makarov for the rest of the day. after you're brought back to your cell and locked away, you take the time to rest and gather your thoughts. the lumpy bed provides little comfort as you try to sleep, but it's better than the cold floor. you manage to drift off eventually, even with every voice and sound in the corridor stirring you awake.
when you finally drag yourself out of bed the next morning, blinking away any lingering exhaustion and gently stretching your sore muscles, the sky is still dark. the storm that was raging all night had subsided for now, and through the single barred window on the back wall, you can see groups of soldiers outside. running drills, training in marksmanship, transporting supplies, patrolling the grounds - it reminds you of the bases you've visited with the team.
the team. you trudge over to the only other furniture in the room, the metal chair that you moved to sit near the window, and plop down onto the seat unceremoniously. with how muddled your mind has been since the conversation with makarov, you've hardly had time to think about them.
they're alive. you just need to keep telling yourself that. they'll come for you as soon as they can. all you can do until then is keep faith and survive.
as a pair of boots stomps down the hall towards your cell, you begin to ponder if taking matters into your own hands is the only way you'll escape. you're just as capable as the rest of your team, surely you can find a way out of this crumbling prison.
you turn your head at the sound of keys jingling. a guard is standing at your door, unlocking it, before looking at you. "let's go," he says, thick accent lacing every word. "you're on a schedule."
with a small wince, you rise from the chair and cross the room. the guard starts down the corridor, heading in the opposite direction that you went yesterday. you follow close behind, clammy palms wringing together. it almost feels like you're restrained again, with metal cuffs digging into your wrists and binding you, keeping you from struggling or defending yourself.
after descending a staircase and passing a few corners, you reach wherever the guard was taking you. he pushes a door open and ushers you inside, revealing a sizeable shower facility. you send him a cursory glance, confused as he motions for you to step further into the space.
"shower." he mutters, standing by the door. you wordlessly turn to the showers, then back to him.
"do you mind?" you ask, nodding towards the door. "i'd like a little privacy. it's not like i can tunnel my way out."
he shakes his head at first, refusing your request, until you decide to do the same, silently staring at him. a beat passes between you until he spins around, grumbling something along the lines of "hurry up," and exits the room. once the door slams shut behind him, you let out a relieved breath and walk over to one of the many stalls.
you scan the area before carefully undressing, paying close attention so as to not mess up your bandages or strain any of your healing injuries. you quickly dive past the thin curtain and toss your clothes over the curtain rod.
a string of curses fall from your lips when you twist the knob and cold water pours out of the shower head, prickling like ice against your skin. cleaning yourself up whilst protecting your bandages is a difficult task, but you manage to keep them relatively dry. you were in need of a fresh set, anyway. grains of sand and dust leftover from al-mazrah is washed down the drain, and as you start to adjust to the freezing temperature, some of your muscle aches follow suit.
a few minutes of relief pass by as you try to relax, though the bliss is short-lived when you remember your conversation from yesterday. you hate the thought of listening to makarov of all people, but did he have a point? are you truly just as bad as him, even with good intentions being your motivation?
you're well aware of what your job entails. as captain price so bluntly puts it: we get dirty, and the world stays clean. you know that some missions leave a sour taste in your mouth and a doubt in your mind. are you truly doing the right thing? can you do better? is there a way to save everyone?
as you shut off the water and attempt to dry off with a clean towel left on a small bench nearby, you realize that you're giving makarov exactly what he wants. he brought up the topic with the intent of messing with your head. he's trying to break you - for whatever reason, you're not sure. all you know is that you can't give up. you have to stay strong for the team.
you pull your clothes back on, nose scrunching at the uncomfortable feeling of damp gauze sticking to your skin. the guards seemed to bounce between civility and cruelty depending on the moment; perhaps you can catch someone in a good mood and request a replacement.
the door swings open and you jolt, spinning around to face the intruder. the man from earlier is standing in the doorway, a look of disinterest evident even through his balaclava. "you are done, yes?"
clearly he isn't the person to ask, you think, following him into the corridor. he leads you back down the same path as earlier, through winding halls and up a set of stairs, stopping once you arrive at the cell you call home. you keep an eye out for anyone along the way who looks to be doing well, searching for a person to seek help from.
no one catches your attention, leaving you only one option: the guard currently locking the door behind you.
"uh– can i ask you a question?" you turn around to look at him, wrapping your hands around the iron bars. he sends a small glare in your direction, but pauses nonetheless.
"what?" he murmurs, standing up straight.
you lift your arms, showing off the damp and gradually loosening bandages. "any chance i can get these changed?"
his eyes flit down to your arms, then back to your face. he sighs, heavy and deep, and grumbles out a reply. "i will get the doctor."
with that, he leaves your sight, lifting a hand to his radio and saying something that you can't understand. "should've agreed to those fucking russian lessons from price," you mumble, staggering across the room and sitting on the bed while picking at your loose gauze.
it feels like an hour passes by before you hear someone coming down the hall again. by this point, you were assuming that the guard had forgotten about you.
you sit up from your slumped position against the metal frame and are immediately greeted by a new person on the other side of the door. an older man, nicely dressed and carrying a heavy bag that you fear will topple him over, regarding you with a grin that feels out of place in this shithole.
"you must be petra," he starts, pushing the door open and letting himself inside. he keeps his distance, both hands visible and wrapped around the handle of the bag in front of his body. "doctor tarkovsky." he continues, introducing himself. you nod, watching closely as he approaches you and places his bag on the bed next to you. the chair is dragged over, much like the other day, and he sits.
"the work you did... you saved my life, doctor." you mutter, allowing him to take one of your arms into his gentle hold. he hums in reply, taking great care in undoing the dressings.
"спасибо, but it was not me that saved you." he chuckles softly, eyes briefly lifting from your arm to meet your gaze. "the commander was responsible for that. by the time you arrived here and into my care, he had managed to stabilize you."
he mumbles something to himself about "his military days" while dropping his gaze back down to your newly exposed skin. your eyes follow his, and you wince at the sight of burn marks and stitched lacerations. a cold breeze enters into the room through the window and stings as it sweeps over you, making you clench your hand into a tight fist.
"the commander? you mean makarov?" you ask, forcing yourself to look away and stare at the wall behind the doctor. the same man that put you here is the one that kept you alive. go figure. you glare holes into a random brick, trying to make sense of it. based on the few interactions that you've had with him, as well as the many things that price had to say, that kindness seems out of character.
the fact that he hasn't tortured you to the brink of insanity is odd enough.
"yes, he demanded that i give you the best treatment. said he wanted you alive and in good condition." the doctor rummages through the bag next to you and begins to clean your wounds and apply new dressings, deft hands making quick work of the process. you remain silent as he wraps your arm in a new set of bandages, waiting for him to finish.
you finally speak once he's halfway through rewrapping your other arm. "is he always so... touchy?" you murmur, almost a whisper.
"touchy?" he repeats the word.
"i think i pissed him off yesterday," you say, tongue darting out to wet your chapped lips. "ended up slammed against a wall. is he always so quick to anger?"
after securing the bandages on your arm, the doctor leans back and shakes his head. "commander makarov is usually the calmest person in a conversation," he replies with a surprised huff. "whatever you said or did must have struck a nerve, made him lose his temper. even the soldiers working under him struggle to do such a thing."
you furrow your brow at him. he waves off your befuddlement and gets started on treating your other injuries - namely, the large gash on your side and the burns on your back. as he's loosely wrapping your back in gauze, he makes another comment.
"it could be that you angered him, rather than what you did."
"i angered him?" you parrot back to him, craning your neck to look at him over your shoulder. the doctor nudges you forward again and hums affirmatively.
yet another thing that doesn't make any sense, you think. besides your affiliation with the one-four-one, there's nothing about you that should stand out to a man like makarov. you don't possess any top secret intel or really hold any importance to anyone outside of your team; so, why is he treating you so strangely? is it a game he's playing, trying to mess with his real enemy, the captain?
are you merely a pawn, a bargaining chip between two forces much bigger than yourself? makarov is dangling your life like bait, hoping to catch a better prize. you squeeze your eyes shut and take in a deep breath, considering your options.
makarov would only hold onto you for one reason. drawing out captain price. that means price is alive, at least to makarov. if you stay here, you might be able to confirm this plan for yourself. however, if you can escape and deliver all the intel you've collected so far, you could prevent the plan from advancing any further. no matter which option you choose, rotting away in this prison cell won't help.
as kind as the doctor is, he's still one of makarov's men. you can't trust him. you're on your own.
"so, is it going to scar?" you inquire with a smile, fixing your shirt after he pulls away. he moves to gather his things, reaching into his bag and handing you a dose of painkillers.
he sighs and sends you another smile of his own. "the burns aren't deep enough, thankfully, and the lacerations shouldn't scar so long as they're properly cared for. you are very lucky."
"guess i am. thank you, again."
you swallow down the pills - dry, much to your chagrin - and give him a small wave as he exits the room, the iron door closing behind him with a soft clunk. the guard from earlier reappears to lock it moments later, leaving you trapped in the cell once more.
⋆⋆⋆
another five days pass by, and you mentally curse whatever higher power put you here. your routine remains largely unchanged: at roughly seven o' clock, one of the guards stops by to take you to the showers. by seven-thirty, the doctor arrives to change your bandages. you're given your only meal around noon and left to your own devices until eight in the evening, when the doctor arrives to change your bandages again.
you are slowly beginning to heal, at least. the lack of nutrition was stunting the process, but according to the doctor, you were still on the mend. it won't be long until you can get the stitches taken out.
you've spent several of these past one-hundred-and-twenty hours wondering if that's what makarov is waiting for. he wants you alive to torture, to indulge in breaking something fixed by his own hand. maybe the doctor is in on the plan. you wouldn't be surprised to discover that he's reporting your healing process to makarov, giving him a countdown of sorts.
as you rest on the cold, hard stone floor, with your back propped up against the side of the bed, tossing a rubber ball that you pocketed at the wall, you question if your paranoia is getting the better of you.
the rubber ball rolls across the ground after you throw it at the wall. it starts to come back to you, before bouncing off the edge of your boot and heading towards the door. you lazily follow it with your eyes, until you notice a person standing at the other side of the bars, their gaze transfixed on you.
it's a man wearing an outfit similar to the doctor's, though you can easily tell that he's substantially younger. in his late thirties to early forties, you estimate. he carefully kicks the ball out of his way after entering the room. you watch him like a hawk, an uneasy feeling washing over you.
"i'll be handling your care today." he announces, plopping his similarly-designed supply bag on the mattress. you pull yourself up to stand and dust yourself off, taking a healthy step back from him.
"something happen with doctor tarkovsky?" you ask as the younger man rummages through his bag and slips on a pair of latex gloves. he shakes his head, not even bothering to look at you, and continues searching through his supplies.
"tarkovsky is busy," he responds, motioning for you to sit. you hesitate for a second, but ultimately decide to shake off the nerves and follow his orders. "i'm going to start with your back today." he adds. you nod, moving to face away from him and lift your shirt up.
he's silent while replacing the gauze, and you're not sure whether you prefer that or talking. his touch is slightly less gentle, which you chalk it up to less experience. eventually, he moves on to the gash on your side, settling in the normal chair with an expression that you find hard to decipher.
your unease is suddenly validated as he cleans the stitches. his unoccupied hand comes to rest on your thigh, just above your knee, catching your attention. your eyes fall from the wall to his hand, then to the open bag at your side. laying near the top of it is a scalpel - small, but lethal in the right hands. you clear your throat and shift, bouncing your knee under his hold, testing the waters.
instead of removing his hand, he slips it just barely higher. you squint, gnawing at the inside of your cheek, debating on acting now or waiting a little longer. maybe he doesn't realize it.
as his hand slides higher, though, gloved fingertips digging into the plush of your thigh, that notion goes out the window. you slowly lower your hand closest to the bag and place it on the mattress next to it. the younger doctor pulls back, examining his work, his thumb rubbing languid circles into your skin. you act while he's distracted.
with trained proficiency, you grab the scalpel from the top of the pile and shove the man forward, slicing across his neck in one swift motion. he stumbles backwards, reaching up to desperately grasp at his throat as he chokes on the blood pouring from the open wound.
"don't fucking touch me again," you seethe, fixing your shirt and holding the scalpel in a white-knuckled grip. the sounds of him tripping over the chair and falling to the ground alerts the guards stationed in the corridor, who immediately rush through the door with their guns drawn and pointed at you.
they're shouting at you, but you can't make out what they're saying over the blood pounding in your ears. you turn away from the dying man and stare them down, unmoving from your spot in the middle of the room.
after a brief standoff, the guards suddenly look over their shoulders and shuffle away from each other, revealing a familiar face. one you haven't seen in almost a week, and assumed you wouldn't see for a while longer.
makarov steps to the front of the small group as the ringing in your ears begins to subside. his eyes dart from you to the man lying on the ground, having choked to death shortly before he arrived at the scene. he chuckles, low and controlled, and turns to the guards.
"убрать этот беспорядок," he mutters, waving towards the corpse. the men holster their guns and move past him, lifting the body up and carrying it out. as the group disappears down the hall, you find yourself alone with makarov. the scalpel slips from your fingers and clatters against the floor, pulling his focus back to you.
"well? are you going to punish me for that?" you ask plainly, the pool of red still visible in your peripheral vision.
"should i?" he counters, casually sauntering across the room. his gaze flits from yours to your cheek, which you soon realize is wet with the man's blood.
you shrug, shoulders drooping. "i killed one of your men. most people would punish a prisoner for less."
he wipes the blood off your cheek with his forefinger and huffs softly, seemingly pleased with the situation. it's only now that you notice his slightly disheveled appearance; his white dress shirt is untucked and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his forearms that are covered in a light layer of dirt. minor cuts and bruises bloom on his skin, resembling self-defense wounds.
"i could never expect a member of the one-four-one to accept capture quietly," makarov remarks, picking the chair up off the floor. "i'm surprised it took you this long, if anything. i was expecting to receive reports by the second day."
he raps his knuckles against the seat twice, urging you to sit. you end up mirroring your first interaction after he sits on the bed across from you, elbows resting on top of his knees.
you grab a set of cleaning wipes from the bag forgotten at the foot of the bed and offer them to him. "so, i'm assuming you're not here to share the fun story behind those obvious self-defense wounds?" you tilt your head to the side, regarding him with a sarcastic smile.
"like i said in our prior conversation," he takes the pack from your outstretched hand and haphazardly wipes his arms clean, the lack of care enough to make you inwardly flinch at the potential pain. "once traitors are found, they are dealt with."
"seems like they got to you first," you snort.
besides a pointed glare, he doesn't dignify your comment with a response. instead, he takes your arm into his hold, removing the old bandages with almost the same level of indifference that he treated his own injuries with.
"ow." you grunt, a bit overdramatic. in truth, his touch isn’t any less gentle than the doctor you just killed.
"stop complaining." he responds bluntly.
"maybe be more careful, then." you snap, tugging your arm back. you're being intentionally difficult, pushing his buttons, but you deserve to be a little shitty to the man holding you hostage.
makarov grabs your elbow, one of the few relatively uninjured parts of your arm, and yanks you forward, until your free hand slams down onto the space next to him to catch yourself from falling. he leans in, your noses nearly touching, and sneers.
"this is the extent of my kindness, petra." he tightens his hold when you try to create some distance, locking you in place. "do not tempt me to withdraw it." he whispers, dark eyes boring into yours.
you swallow back a whimper as his grip tightens again, blunt nails digging into healing skin, nodding in reply. he releases you a moment later and resumes his previous actions, quickly yet effectively rewrapping your arm. you grudgingly decide to cooperate for the other set, making it go by much faster than the last.
"tarkovsky said you're usually pretty calm," you mumble as he secures the bandages in place. "is it the one-four-one that frustrates you so easily? or, am i just a special case, hm?"
makarov, clearly interested in continuing the running theme since your first meeting, does not respond. you really should get used to it. you say nothing more as he stands up and grabs the discarded supply bag, walking towards the door. he pauses, holding the door open, and you nearly miss the words said to you over his shoulder.
"anyone else would be dead already."
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translations:
спасибо (spasibo) - thank you
убрать этот беспорядок (ubrat' etot besporyadok) - clean up this mess
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taglist: @sofasoap, @roosterr, @rohansregret, @lonesome-doves, @thorrsexual, @miss-nob0dy, @woodeelf, @fbs-fc-ur-mommy, @soap-mactavish, @itsyellow
⋆ feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist! (18+ only please <;3)
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cattimeswithjellie · 11 months
Text
My favorite part of watching Doc's episode today is how clear it is that he finds the whole situation incredibly funny but is trying to hide it.
He went through the pile of gifts, ignoring the building blocks of course, and was amused by all the Scarland food and merch. He tried on the Jellie ears and showed them off in F5 mode, which was extremely cute, and then quickly took them off and reminded everyone that he was still Big Mad and Out For Revenge.
Then he gave a blow-by-blow account of how Scar and Grian destroyed the tunnel borer from their videos. He explained what they'd done and gave a detailed account of Grian's screaming and their horrified silence. He was practically laughing aloud at how the pair had been tripping over themselves to get away. Then he sort of cleared his throat and reminded us all that he was still Big Mad and Out For Revenge.
And then, after discussing his anvil cannon and the TNT-spewing mecha-goat all episode as potential tools of vengeance, in the end Doc decided to flex his baffling redstone skills to do something impossible to Grian's nether portal instead of blowing anything up. 100% True GOAT behavior right here.
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I'm wondering if you would write either a Roy Kent x reader where they go to NY or Disney? I'm a big MT fan and a big Disney World/Disneyland fan
The Happiest Place on Earth
Roy Kent x Reader 1.5k words Warnings: Language
Ahh this was such a cute request! Roy at Disneyland would be the cutest, funniest thing. (And if there's any artists out there, I am begging someone to draw that grumpy man in some Mickey ears!!!)
I hope you like it! ❤️❤️
~
“Where the fuck are we going now?”
You rolled your eyes and grabbed Roy’s hand. “Small World. It’s got a short line right now,” you explained, weaving through the crowd. “And stop having such a good time, it’s embarrassing.”
A bunch of the staff and players for A.F.C. Richmond had decided to spend some of their off-season at Disneyland, and you’d somehow managed to convince Roy that it would be fun. However, you were pretty sure he only agreed to go because you were so excited and that the allure of Mickey Mouse and princesses and Star Wars had absolutely nothing to do with it.
“If that fucking song gets stuck in my head, you’re going to have to perform a lobotomy,” he muttered, earning himself a sharp look from you. “Sorry, sorry. Look, we’re having fun, whee.” He offered a smile that was really more than a grimace as you approached the ride.
You wrapped your arms around his middle, gazing up at him, all grizzled and handsome and brooding- and wearing a pair of Mickey ears he’d reluctantly let you pick out for him when you bought your Minnie Mouse ones. It was a nice sight- or at least it would be if he was smiling. His signature glower would probably scare more kids than any ride on the Haunted Mansion could.
With a sigh, you tugged on his leather jacket. “Aren’t you hot in this thing?”
Finally, a smirk. “You tell me.”
“Just get on the damn boat.” You chuckled as you approached the front of the line, which was even shorter than you’d expected.
The two of you settled into the back row of the little boat, joined by a father and son duo. The dad’s eyes lit up at the sight of Roy, and he leaned down to whisper something in his son’s ear. The little boy turned around, mouth wide, and waved at Roy, who gave a little growl of acknowledgement. The boy didn’t falter; instead, his smile widened, and he and his father exchanged high-fives.
As the little boat traveled around the world, you bounced your head from side to side and hummed along, enjoying the familiar warmth of Roy’s arm draped around your shoulders. When you snuck a glance at him, your heart melted a little when you noticed the corner of his mouth moving ever-so-slightly along to the words of the song.
Once the boat finished making its way through the tunnels, Roy nearly jumped out of the boat, turning around to offer you his hand as you climbed out. You glanced at your phone, debating what to do next. With a grunt, Roy nudged you. You followed his gaze to a passing princess.
“Hi, Snow!” you called good-naturedly, not caring that you sounded like a child and not an adult woman.
Snow White paused, smiling at you. “Hello there!” Her voice was high and sweet, like cotton candy to your ears. She pointed to Roy. “Oh dear, is something wrong?”
Roy’s face bore the same expression he wore anytime someone called Jamie his best friend. “What? No.” He was clearly holding back a “fuck” somewhere in there.
You giggled and nudged Roy. “That’s just his face.”
“Ohhh,” Snow White responded, nodding in understanding. “He’s like my friend Grumpy!” she chirped with a giggle. “He always makes a face like that too!”
Roy’s frown deepened as you laughed.
“Could we get a picture?” you asked, pulling out your phone.
Snow White turned to the cast member that stood next to her, who shrugged in response. “Absolutely!” she answered, fluffing out her yellow skirt.
You handed your mobile to Roy, who quickly snapped a picture of you and the princess. After he handed the phone back to you, you nodded to him.
“No fu-” He stopped as a small child crossed between you. “No,” he grumbled.
“Roy, are you going to disappoint a princess?” you reasoned, nodding at Snow White, who was ready for another pose.
With a heaving sigh, he went and stood next to Snow, looking more like an inmate on death row than a man on vacation. After a quirked eyebrow from you, however, he smiled- at least, his version of a smile.
“Have a beautiful day!” Snow White called over her shoulder as she continued on her way, probably heading to a well-earned break after walking around wearing that dress in the Anaheim heat.
You showed Roy the pictures and smirked. “So, all it took to get you to take a damn picture was mentioning the beautiful princess, hmm?”
Another one of those grumbling sighs escaped his lips. “I didn’t do it for fucking Snow White.” He placed his hand firmly on your waist. “Did it for you. ’Cause you’re my princess, or some shit like that.” His cheeks were tinted pink, a telling sign of his embarrassment.
Standing on tiptoe, you kissed one of those warm cheeks. “Well, guess that makes you more like Prince Charming than Grumpy, hmm?”
He gazed down at you with a smile- a real one this time- and shrugged. “Are princes allowed to be grouchy?” he teased.
You took his hand and continued your walk. “Oh sure. Haven’t you ever seen Beauty and the Beast?”
“So, I’m a beast now? Fucking thanks,” he muttered, kissing the top of your head.
“Hey, if it makes you feel better, I think the whole ‘giving her the library’ thing is like the hottest thing any Disney character has ever done.”
Roy rolled his eyes as Sam and Jamie walked by, leading a group of Greyhounds wearing Disney spirit jerseys and waving to us enthusiastically. “Your standards are far too high to be dating me,” he mumbled, greeting the guys with a nod.
You shrugged. “Guess you gotta step it up, Kent,” you shot back.
The two of you made your way to Space Mountain, the only ride Roy had named when you’d asked him what he wanted to do that day. As you waited in the futuristic hallways, you felt a pair of arms wrap around you from behind.
“Careful, my boyfriend used to be a professional footballer,” you joked, looking up and seeing Roy gazing down at you tenderly.
“Oh yeah? Is he big and strong?” he played along, his mouth ticking upwards.
You twisted around to face him, wrinkling your nose. “I guess. But you could probably outrun him, he’s got shit knees.”
Roy rolled his eyes. “I see he’s got a very supportive girlfriend.” He tilted his head down and kissed your lips gently. “Lucky bastard.”
With an eyeroll, you playfully shoved Roy away. “Alright, relax, there’s kids around, Kent.”
“One more.” He ducked his head again and pressed one more kiss to your lips. “You having a good time?” he asked, shifting to keep one arm around your waist as the two of you shuffled with the moving line.
“I am,” you assured him. “Not sure if you are though,” you admitted.
His thick brows furrowed. “What makes you say that?”
You shrugged, a little embarrassed. “I mean, you’re hard to read sometimes.” You reached up and used your finger to push up the corner of his mouth. “The whole brooding scowling thing is sexy and all, but it’d be nice to be able to see that you’re having a good time,” you joked.
“Hmmf.” Roy gave your hip a small squeeze but didn’t say much else for the rest of the wait.
As the two of you climbed into the rocket ship, you turned to face him. “You mad at me?”
He made a face and shook his head as he took off his ears. “You’re fine,” he said, his gruff tone assuring. He shot you a wink before you turned around to make sure your things were secure.
As the ride shot through the dark, you couldn’t help but hear something familiar over the music: Roy’s laughter. The sound was different than his usual snickers at Jamie’s expense or the huff of air he’d let out when watching Step Brothers. This laugh was loud and gruff, sounding like it came from the depth of his lungs. It was punctuated by a few hoots and hollers when the ride picked up speed or took particularly sharp turns. By the time you returned to the start of the ride, you couldn’t tell if your heart was racing from the ride or from how happy Roy sounded.
Just like with Small World, Roy quickly got out and reached down to help you exit the ride. He gripped your hand tightly as you walked away from the ride. Though you intended to keep walking past the ride photos, Roy tugged your hand, pulling you towards the screens.
“Roy?”
He jerked his head up towards the pictures. “Want me to buy you one?”
You looked up and stifled a giggle at what you saw. There you were, gripping the rail in front of you tightly, mouth wide open in a scream. More importantly, behind you was Roy, hands in the air and a giant smile filling his bearded face. It made your heart burst to see him so full of… joy.
When you looked back at him, he was putting his ears back on, smirking at you. “There. Can you tell I’m happy now?”
“Yeah,” you answered softly, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Absolutely. Now, can you go buy one? I’m putting that on my Christmas card."
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blingblong55 · 1 day
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Epiphany- John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader x Simon "Ghost" Riley
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Based on a request: Hello do you do limbless? If you do would you write for reader who has no arms or legs and Soap and Simon finds her somewhere after she got lost while out (she doesn’t have fake body parts) it’s fine if this makes you uncomfortable but I’ll like to know if you do these types of writings ---- F!Reader, comfort?, fluff?, angst, platonic!relationship ----
A/N: I believe I did some limbless fic some time ago but yes, the answer is yes I do. 
Hello do you do limbless? If you do would you write for reader who has no arms or legs and Soap and Simon finds her somewhere after she got lost while out (she doesn’t have fake body parts) it’s fine if this makes you uncomfortable but I’ll like to know if you do these types of writings
A/N: I believe I did some limbless fic some time ago but yes, the answer is yes I do. 
It was the same old tale for a soldier like you. Losing part of your body for the greater good, but what does that even mean when no one remembers you?
It took months of therapy to get used to not having an arm and half of your right leg, but with so much support, you prevailed and now roam the streets of your town when the home gets too boring. It's also the reason why today, you're out and about. 
However, as good as the day seemed, all went wrong. A loud noise from the busy road workers triggered a deep memory of yours. The noise is all too similar to gunshots, the men yelling reminding you of the hours you spent thinking they'd be the last time you saw the moon. And before you knew it, there you are, sitting on some bench, creeping others away as you hold yourself. 
This wasn't meant to happen. 
Where's home? I need my home. 
Home...home...please...
Where am I?
What is this place?
Shit...I'm far from home. 
"Y/N!" the man says over the bombs. They are closer now. The guns are all out of ammo except yours. The blood and body parts of fallen comrades were scattered all over the grounds. "Y/N!" they keep yelling, knowing you were the last of them to do something. Do something. 
Your helmet falls to the ground as you try and cover the small child that crosses the fire. "Ma'am, I think he's bleeding out!" one of the young soldiers yells over the noise. Your gaze falls on the child. Oh...oh dear god. 
The things bombs and guns can do to a small child. The worry a war brings to those innocent. The memories a soldier takes to their grave. 
As the bombs get closer, the empty cases fall to your side. 
There are things you can never speak about and the child in your arms will be one of them. This isn't something they ever taught you in school. Grief was never part of the training. Death of a soldier was but never of a child. 
You serve the nation, the innocent and those soldiers with you. You would serve and die with them. Never leave a soldier behind, you remember. 
I want to go home. 
"I need to go home. Please.." you whisper as you silently cry. Your limbless self brings all the memories of those days. "Y/N?" Soap's voice stops all the memories. Ghost knew that look in your eyes. "Let's get her out of 'ere," he tells Soap and in some quick motion, you're carried out of the bench. 
You shut your eyes like a child that's in fear. 
"Where am I?" Your voice is soft, but the fear and worry leak through your mouth with these words. 
"You're home, Y/N," Soap whispers. 
Home, what a tragic word it must be to those in war. It'll always be a word you think about right before you reach the tunnel. 
Once in the comfort of the cosy and small place you call home, you hear the whispers of your friends. "Should we call Price?" Soap asks and for a second, you can hear the hesitation I Ghost's voice. "...No, she will be fine. We'll make up some excuse to stay the night here." And that they did. Never leave a soldier behind, they remind themselves. 
When Soap hands you your medication, they see as you drink it down. Within minutes, they can see a glimpse of relief. To many, this small glimpse is nothing but to you, it helps make sense of all the horror you saw. 
It's a sad kind of relief. 
For days, Soap and Ghost always rotated in taking care of you. They made sure to keep the home quiet if needed and never brought up the sad tales you whispered in the night. 
Your restless body looks a the missing parts, wishing that for just one more time, you could use them. That those scars from childhood would be there again, but now they are gone. All you have left is an appointment to be given prosthetic body parts and the two men who swear to care for you until their bodies give up. 
And today, as you woke up from some midday nap, they were sitting there. Arguiig over some game show, the same one they told you was absolute shit. You smile. Maybe after all, all will be fine. 
"Did yer see that! He fuckin' missed it! How do you miss it?!" Soap says as he stands up and with so much anger he walks away. Ghost laughs. " what's s'funny?" you ask with a small smile. "I recorded an old episode of the show and made sure it was one of the episodes where all goes bad," a sly smile on him. You laugh and shake your head. 
Yeah...all will be fine. 
Tags:
@liyanahelena @sampaisleyriot @uniquecroissant
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as-de-spadas · 11 months
Text
Ok so just to sum up the craziest happenings of JUST THIS WEEK:
Grian was busy one-upping Mumbo in an impractical copper-aging structure competition when Impulse, Gem (who are having an all out prank war with Pearl) and Scar arrived to absolutely bully him into building the back of his base, giving him twenty four hours to build it before they explode his base, later installing a giant TNT dispenser above his base set to explode regularly the front of his base after 24 hours. However, he was too busy accidentally exploding Doc's tunnel bore machine with Scar, later trying to rebuild it, leaving gifts as apologies and blowing a hole through the ceiling to escape when breaking the news to Doc, which just worsens his mood when he finds out not only that, but that Grian has been stealing copper from the walls of the Perimeter for months. Keep in mind, Doc is in possesion of an anvil launcher, a slimeblock moving mecha-goat which launches TNT, a charged creeper launcher and something even worse in the works. He then procedes to make Grian's nether portal one single portal block to haunt him. All of that just for one-upping Mumbo with an Amogus meme, who, by the way, created the Button 2, which dispenses the hermit's diamonds back to them, but if they wait to much to press it, it explodes them all. Also, Cleo, as a british person, built a museum with his friend's prized possesions and a lot of the king's memorabilia the day of King Charle's coronation irl, and also, Scar hawkeyed Bdub's day one horse "Mi Amore" ("My Love" in italian) just after he built a whole ranch in a custom horse head shaped mountain just for him.
So yeah. May is gonna be an interesting month it turns out.
Edit: Ok, so as @orangekingfisher pointed out, "Mi Amore" actually translates to "Me Love", which actually does not surprise me at all, the hermits have a history of messing up foreign languagues lol.
(See Bdubs calling Pearl a bitch in spanish by accident)
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here-be-booker · 5 months
Text
trouble has teeth.
written for the @clonefandomevents coruscant guard bingo prompt: shapeshifting.
it was also written for their haunted clone week day 8 prompt: free day.
and also their day 9 prompt: day where i misread the prompt but still write something in the spirit (pun intended) of it, 'write a scenario where the clones are victorious'!
warnings: light horror themes that quickly descend into crack, angst typical of the coruscant guard, character death (for humorous effect).
word count: 4228.
read it on ao3 here.
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Fox looks down at the massiff, narrowing his eyes at its seemingly innocent expression. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” 
The massiff gives a happy ‘woof!’ in response. 
“Hey, that’s a good name!” Hound unhelpfully pipes up. “You’re going to be fine, aren’t you, Trouble?”
( In the depths of Coruscant, Fox makes a new friend. )
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It’s almost three years into the war, and missions to the lower levels have become commonplace for Fox. He has long since grown accustomed to their quirks - and not much else, because when it comes to the depths of Coruscant, no two missions are ever the same.
One day he might be carrying out a simple retrieval mission, stealing data or supplies back from a gang that thought retreating to a deeper level might deter him, and the next he’s being chased out of those same levels by ghouls out for his blood.
So, when he finds himself in a deeper part of Coruscant than he has ever been before, he leaves any expectations at the turbolift. The kicker is that he isn’t even really down here for any purpose. This is a scouting mission, one that the Chancellor had even told him he could bring other troopers in on - as if he’d ever endanger any of the others like that unless explicitly ordered to. He has no mission objectives other than, essentially, ‘poke around a bit, see if there’s anything worth coming back for, and get out with at least enough life left in you to tell the tale’.
It’s a frustratingly vague objective to be given, but not particularly unusual. When he’s not bothering to play the part of ‘kind and weary old man’, the Chancellor appears to be, above anything else, insanely bored. Fox has long since resigned himself to playing his own part of the entertainer.
At least if he dies down here the Chancellor will likely just call it a bust, Fox figures as he sets off into the dark. He probably won’t send any other troopers down here to make up for his failures if Fox has already paid with his life.
Hours later, and Fox is about to call it a night. There doesn’t seem to me much of anything down in the tunnels, let alone anything interesting. It’s just endless empty corridors interspersed with the occasional equally empty room, and Fox has long since become tired of it. Not to the point of letting his guard down, but maybe to the point that he’s been racing through the last few sections just to get the job done. There are far better uses for his time, such as spending his sleep shift actually sleeping, for once.
It looks to Fox as if looters have already found their way down to this level and taken anything that might have been of interest - if there was ever anything of interest in the first place. There doesn’t appear to be much point in him coming down here at all.
Of course, that’s the thought that seems to interrupt the monotony. Trouble, ever considerate, waits until he reaches the last set of rooms before finally catching up to him.
The last area is larger than the others preceding it, a more open space with tall ceilings and a plinth in the middle of it. On top of the plinth is a statue, about the same size as Fox, and although he can identify the subject as probably being some kind of living creature, it’s a difficult thing.The statue has captured its likeness while it is in some state of fluidity, seemingly in motion, as if it’s attempting to bound out into the room with strangely mismatched limbs.
Fox makes sure the rest of the room is clear of any obvious threats before stepping closer, intent on taking some holos of the thing even if he stands no chance of carrying it out of there himself. It’s only as he steps up to the statue that he clocks movement in the corner of his vision, something that really shouldn’t be there given that he’d just checked that same spot.
He turns, slowly - and just barely has time to brace for impact before that same something is colliding with his side, sending him flying backwards into the plinth.
What happens next is difficult to follow.
He can feel his bones protest as he slides down the stone to the floor, but isn’t left with any time to gauge his status - the statue above him is toppling towards him, and whatever creature it was that had attacked him had to be winding up for another hit, and he needed to move.
So, Fox doesn’t get a good look at the situation until after he’s managed to scramble away, rolling out from under the statue just in time for it to shatter behind him, putting as much distance between him and his attacker as he can.
“Why can’t anything down here ever be friendly?” he curses under his breath.
It’s a fair complaint. The creature that had taken a swipe at him is advancing from its spot near the doorway, colour changing even now in a display of what must have been the camouflage that had slipped past his notice. Barbed, tentacle-like appendages arc from its back, and it crawls on six clawed legs.
It’s almost halfway across the room when it twitches. Fox follows its gaze downwards, and frowns. Near to where he’d first fallen, around where the shattered statue had been, there’s movement.
Another creature rears its head from where it had been sprawled against the floor, somehow hidden from sight before now.
This one is far more difficult to get a read on. Its form is all irregular shapes and disrupted lines, and for some reason quite familiar even to Fox’s adrenaline-focused mind. Although it can be seen to clearly look between him and the larger beast, its intentions are not clear, nor is its immediate reaction. Fox finds himself braced instinctively for another attack, mentally trying to figure out how to tackle a fight with not just one, but two creatures of unknown classification.
Then the smaller creature blurs - and somehow becomes twice as large as it had been just seconds beforehand, sporting far more spines and teeth.
Fox allows himself a few seconds to stare at the thing in shock, before very quickly backing away. He’s not a moment too soon, because then the original creature is clocking the far more impressive threat in the room, and switches targets. The space where Fox had once stood is very quickly occupied by brawling monsters seemingly intent on ripping each other apart.
As he tries to edge around the fight the tentacled creature heaves a warbled snarl, and tries to snag him as he goes - but is very firmly stopped in its tracks by the newcomer, which easily intercepts the hit intended for Fox.
Fox, not about to turn down an out when he's given one, turns and runs away.
He makes it past the door and down the short stretch of corridor away from the room, pausing only briefly to engage the same door controls he'd had to breach to reach this inner sanctum.
The sound of creaking mechanisms behind him tells Fox that the ancient rusted door is closing. It's doing so far too slowly for his liking, but Fox supposes he should be thankful that it’s still functional at all. He skids to a halt at the intersection, turns to see if there are any pursuers that he needs to deal with - and freezes.
The tentacled monster is bleeding, but still putting up a fight. The creature that had stepped in to fight in Fox’s place is caught in its grip, snarling as it shifts into something bigger and tries to snap at its attacker, but it’s obviously struggling.
As the original creature tears at it with its barbs, it lets out a pitiful whine that can be heard even over the door mechanism.
The idea that Fox owed it anything for stepping in to help him is a stupid one, in his opinion, especially given that it was probably an act spurred by random chance and not out of any real intent to assist him - but it’s still one that has him training his blaster on the original creature and firing off a shot at it just before the doors close shut between them.
The silence that falls around him is jarring.
Fox allows himself only a second to appreciate it, before he once again takes off running. No matter what the outcome of that fight is, he tells himself, he needs to put some space between him and that room.
The journey back up to the surface is a nerve-wracking one. Every distant clatter and clank is enough to make Fox jump, as if one of the creatures that Fox had just encountered might jump out at him at any moment. Fox wishes that it was just an irrational fear, but between the camouflaging ability of one of them and the apparent shifting ability of the other, the possibility of an incoming stealth attack is far too high for his liking. At the sound of the nearby air vent clattering in what must be a random gust from a higher level, Fox curses. He doesn’t remember these halls being the source of so many random noises when he’d first been making his way through them.
As a result, he can’t let his guard down until he’s back up on street level, and even then he struggles to shake the feeling that he’s somehow still being followed.
His arrival back in Guard territory is enough to somewhat calm his nerves. The jumpiness is just a result of the adrenaline rush wearing off, he tells himself, and the paranoia is more than excusable under any excuse given how his mission had ended.
“Fox!” comes a cry from ahead, and Fox looks up to see Hound waving at him.
Fox goes to return the greeting, then frowns as he realises that Hound’s focus isn’t on him at all.
“Who’ve you got there?” Hound exclaims, delight evident from his voice.
Fox, still frowning, turns around to find another massiff sitting behind him, with the size and build as Grizzer, but the same inky black markings and grey body as the creature that he’d seen down in the tunnels only hours before. The exact same markings, actually.
Fox freezes, then swallows hard. What the hell was it doing up here? How the hell had it got itself up here?
Grizzer, on cue, starts to growl. Her hackles rise and she sinks into a more defensive position, as if she would be ready to pounce at the thing on the slightest provocation. Fox appreciates the sentiment, but after having seen what had happened with the last creature that had picked a fight with it, he really doesn’t want a repeat of earlier. Casually, he moves a hand to his blaster.
Luckily for Fox, the massiff imposter very blatantly doesn’t get Grizzer’s message. It ambles forwards, and for a moment Fox tenses while it passes him by. Then, just as Fox is about to step in, it rolls onto its back, tongue lolling out of its mouth.
Grizzer, ever forgiving, blinks dumbly for a moment before barking once and padding over to inspect them. The sniffs quickly devolve into a chase around the alleyway, the two of them play-fighting and tumbling around together with cheerful canine ease.
Fox stares dumbly on.
He should do something, probably - but how can he shoot what might just be an innocent massiff? Then again, how can he not? It’s certainly acting like one, but what if it’s just waiting for the right moment to strike?
Before Fox can come to a conclusion the two of them come to a pause, the imposter-massiff at Hound’s feet, and Hound doesn’t hesitate before bending down to offer it scritches.
“Hey, don’t -”
Fox’s warning comes too late. Hound is already petting the thing, and Fox tenses…
But, it makes no move to bite his brother. Nor does it turn into some monster beyond sentient comprehension, or grow twice its size and double its normal amount of teeth.
“What’s wrong?” Hound blinks up at him.
“What’s - listen.” Fox scowls. “This thing must have followed me up from the lower levels. Please stop petting it. It could be dangerous.”
Hound is now looking at him with what Fox can easily tell is a hurt expression on his face, which becomes less confusing when he pulls the creature close to him in a very obviously protective manner.
“Oi, watch your language! She is a very good girl, not a thing. And just because she came from the lower levels doesn’t mean she’s dangerous, does it?”
Grizzer, apparently missing her trainer’s attention, immediately helps prove Hound’s point by settling down beside the two of them, all worries forgotten. The other massiff blinks up at Fox with its huge canine eyes.
Fox looks down at it, narrowing his own at its seemingly innocent expression. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?”
The massiff gives a happy ‘woof!’ in response.
“Hey, that’s a good name!” Hound unhelpfully pipes up. “You’re going to be fine, aren’t you, Trouble?”
The creature gurgles as if in cheerful agreement, and Fox fails to suppress a sigh. Then, he gets on the creature’s level, kneeling down by her head and looking her in the eyes.
“Fine,” he says grudgingly. “So long as you don’t go around trying to fight or eat anyone else, then I suppose you can stick around. But the moment you live up to your name, then…”
His hand drifts to his blaster, illustrating his point.
Hound’s laughing at that, but Fox maintains his very serious glare, and the creature holds it for one long moment of consideration, before barking again and looking away.
Fox prays to the Force that the creature had meant that as an agreement.
When Fox tries to tell Hound about his evening, he gets laughed off. Fox can’t even blame him for it, because ‘Trouble’ had spent the entire time that he’d been talking to Hound looking as cute as she could and acting as innocently as possible. Even Fox had begun to have his doubts after the third time the new massiff had rolled onto her belly apparently in search of pets.
Those doubts are quickly dispelled now, with Hound having left him in peace while he went to give his official report on the evening, and Trouble at his feet looking up at him with what looks uncannily like a grin on her face.
There’s a mountain of extra flimsiwork for Fox to slog through over the course of the following week, seemingly in retaliation for his ‘failure’ in the lower levels. It’s monotonous, but not uneventful, thanks to the dogged company of a certain massiff that refuses to leave him alone.
He’d expected Trouble to return to the ARF facilities with Hound after the first night, given how easily she’d bonded with Grizzer, but apparently the creature had decided otherwise. Now she sits at the side of his desk while he works, ignoring any attempt of his to persuade her to leave, and usually sleeping soundly while he taps away at his slowly shrinking pile of datapads.
Truthfully, he’s a little relieved by her focus remaining set on himself - it means that he can keep a very close eye on her. His memory of the fight between two monstrosities many levels below hasn’t faded one bit.
(But as the days pass by Fox can’t deny that the comforting presence of a massiff at his feet is slowly starting to bleed into it.)
Trouble is persistent not only in her presence by his side, but in every other aspect of his life, too. Apparently, she’s taken it upon itself to act as something of a guard massiff - and more.
When he tries to get some training hours in, she jumps between him and anyone else who arrives with work for him to do instead.
When he fails to sleep, she starts dragging him towards the bunk rooms.
When he fails to eat, she tries to leave him chunks of her own meal - and when he turns that last attempt very firmly down, she actually growls at him.
For a moment Fox startles, before mentally berating himself for the reaction and snarling right back. “I’d eat if I could!” he snaps. “I don’t have time.”
That’s enough to make her back off, and whine. Then she gets to her feet and trots away, leaving Fox feeling strangely guilty.
The next evening of flimsiwork is interrupted by the distant shout of a trooper in distress.
Fox doesn’t need much more of an excuse to scramble to his feet, though he does pause for a second when he then makes out the sound out frantic shouting, the sound of a whistle that he usually only hears the ARF unit using, and some very happy barking - barking that is getting closer to his office, Fox realises.
The cumulative noise of commotion is soon upon him, with the door to the office slamming open as a massiff followed by a gaggle of troopers all tumble into the room at once. All it takes is for Trouble to trip one of them for them all to go down, in one great domino effect.
Trouble, of course, easily dances out of the way, darting over to Fox to present him with her prize - half a crate of rations, it looks like, all covered in slobber and torn at the edges.
By this point the troopers have managed to untangle themselves from each other, and have joined him by his desk, all looking as sheepish as each other. Fox looks between them and Trouble, unimpressed.
“You were all outsmarted by a mutt?” Fox says, flatly.
He lets the collective cringe speak for them, and then bends down to scoop up one of the ration bars. Instead of confronting anyone about their unorthodox acquisition, he looks instead to Trouble, raising an eyebrow.
“You decided to bring my meals to me, huh?”
Trouble barks happily in response, with a look of content that must be obvious even to the other troopers.
“Well, I suppose it was a good test for the troops while you were at it. Keep up the good work.”
“Okay. Can you understand me? Blink once for no, twice for yes.”
Trouble blinks once. Fox stares back.
Trouble blinks twice. Fox holds his breath in anticipation of an ‘I knew it!’.
…Trouble blinks for a third time, then stops.
Fox glares. “Is three times for ‘I just like messing with you?’” he snaps, and immediately has to do a double take as the massiff blinks twice in quick succession.
“Hey!”
Trouble seems to enjoy the challenge (as little as he offers anyone, these days) of driving him insane. For weeks, Fox faces torment in the form of a doppelganger creature that just won’t leave him alone. The shape may occasionally change but he knows that it’s always Trouble, because when he finally manages to give the massiff the slip and lock himself in his quarters for a night of peace, only minutes later he’s faced with yet another critter with identical markings skittering across his bunk frame.
Apparently, she finds some amusement in making him jump.
The blaster bolt comes out of nowhere, and although Fox manages to dispatch his attacker with a retaliatory shot easily enough, without Trouble there to intercept the bolt meant for him he knows for certain that he would be too dead to have done so.
Trouble, for her troubles, is curled up on the pavement whimpering gently. The sound is familiar - it’s not quite the whimper of a massiff, instead reminding Fox of the last time he’d seen her in some position of vulnerability, when he’d stepped in to help her in her fight with the other creature below.
Like her not-quite-perfect imitation of a massiff’s whimper, her imitation of its form is also wavering, and Fox’s heart lurches with it. From his research into shapeshifting species (none of which seem to precisely fit the description of Trouble), he knows that they are powerful but also not invulnerable, and that blaster bolt had caught her right in the chest. If enough damage had been done, then would she…?
Even as the thought crosses his mind, Trouble shudders, and Fox is by her side in an instant.
It means that he’s close enough to feel the strange shift of atmospheric pressure around them, and the sensation of her skin melting beneath his hands for just a moment, replaced by a hundred blinking eyes for just a moment, unable to look away from her for just a moment -
Then he finds himself able to breathe again, and blinks, and she’s sitting in front of him completely unharmed.
No, he realises. She’s not like any of the other shapeshifting species that they have on record at all.
“You never needed any help fighting off that other creature down there, did you?” Fox says, hollowly.
Trouble blinks innocently back.
Then realisation dawns upon Fox once more. “Wait, if you’re not helping me now because I helped you, then why are you doing all this?”
He’s not expecting a response, but Trouble quickly ambles over to one of the statues that takes up one corner of the park that they’d found themselves in. She looks up at it, then back at him, and then she very deliberately leans her whole weight onto it and topples it over. It shatters into pieces at his feet, the sound of it echoing in his memory of the first time that they’d met.
Fox makes no move to scold her for the destruction. She’d made her point with great clarity.
For a moment, he stops to consider what kind of unnatural, undead, ever-shifting evil he might have unleashed upon the world with his blunder down in the depths - then he watches Trouble’s attention snap away, and a flock of unfortunate birds scatter out of the bushes nearby as she goes bounding happily after them, and dismisses the thought.
If this is what some form of evil incarnate looks like, then at least it was a form that he could more easily stomach than the evil incarnate he has to work under every day.
Predictably, however, there are some consequences to the incident in the park.
Trouble won’t leave him alone anymore, even when he presents her with very compelling reasons to do so. She’s a constant shadow, trailing behind him in one form or another, resisting any attempt of his to get himself some privacy.
In retaliation, Fox finds some amusement in immediately kicking her back out of whatever room she manages to worm her way into. In the beginning, this only means the rec rooms, and occasionally his quarters when Trouble is feeling a bit more like living up to her name, but soon that ends up turning into a game of cat and mouse (or, as Hound once jokes, “fox and massiff-from-the-undercity-of-origins-unknown”) with rather more serious consequences when he fails to succeed in finding her quickly enough.
The Chancellor, for example, is less than amused when Fox goes to give him his weekly security report, and finds a snake lurching down Fox’s arms towards him from where it had managed to hide itself along his armour.
“Commander!” the man snaps, pulling his hand quickly away. “How did you let that thing get in here?”
“Sorry, my lord,” Fox starts to ramble, trying to grapple the familiarly-patterned snake back towards him. “I didn’t realise - hey, wait a second!”
One of the Red Guard has raised their weapon, and has it trained on Trouble.
“Hang on, don’t hurt her,” Fox tries to fend them off, shielding her with one arm. “She’s, ah, a pet! She belongs to one of the senators!”
For a moment they stop, and Fox lets himself believe that maybe they believe him. Then the Chancellor turns to him with narrowed eyes, and his heart sinks.
“Liar,” says the Chancellor.
Fox struggles to regain his composure. He can’t let any more stress show, not now, not if he wants to leave without facing worse punishment that whatever it is the Chancellor surely has in store for him. If he lets it slip that he cares for Trouble in any capacity, then he’s sure that the Chancellor will find a way to hurt her, undead nature or not.
“That’s strike two, Commander,” the Chancellor croons. “And you were doing so well. Well, you’ve left me with no choice. Stay still.”
Fox braces himself, trying to push Trouble behind him out of harm’s way, and prepares for the inevitable pain -
From her resting place twisted around his arm, Trouble suddenly starts to feel a lot heavier, her quiet hisses growing into something far more like a growl.
“A dragon ate the Chancellor.”
“Yes, sir.”
“A dragon ate the Chancellor of the Galactic Republic, and four of his personal guards.”
“That’s correct, sir.”
“But it didn’t eat you?”
“No, sir.”
“But how did you, a lowly clone, get away when none of the others could?”
“I suppose I just got lucky, sir. Perhaps the dragon was full.”
“You’re joking? At a time like this? Your sole purpose was to protect those brave men, and you failed. You’ll be decommissioned for this.”
“...”
“What?”
“I’d be careful if I were you. She’s looking a little peckish again.”
“What are you talking about? Wait a second, where did- WAIT!”
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lunastarseeker · 9 months
Text
Grian: I'm not gonna start a war this season! :D
Doc: Grian blew up my tunnel bore and hired Poultry Man to fill my perimeter with chickens. This is a declaration of war, I need to start gathering allies-
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