#where the machine gun runs out of ammo | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

melancholic-hues · 5 months

Text

the hectic way of things (take a break)

posted on AO3

fandom - honkai: star rail

rating - general audiences

warning - no warnings apply

category - f/m

pairings - boothill/robin ; robin & sunday ; boothill & robin ; boothill & robin

tags - written before version 2.2 ; alternate universe

word count - 7848 words

chapters - 1/?

She is just about done with her makeup, about to move onto her wig, when she hears her balcony door lock get picked. Then comes the distinctive sound of the door sliding open, and the clacking of heels against tiled floors.

“Boothill!” Robin shoots up and runs over as the cyborg opens his arms wide. She crashes into him, her landing against his metal chest softened by the vest he’s wearing, and he twirls her around, his cold, metal hand in her own soft, warm ones. “You came!” she beams, expression genuine and sincere.

“Wouldn’t miss a second of you for the world, darlin’,” he drawls, accent all western and sweet, leaning down to kiss her. “‘sides, I did promise I would come, didn’t I?”

“You did,” she smiles, giving him another peck on the lips. “Through my balcony.”

“Aye, cut me some slack. I at least picked the lock. If it were one of my targets, I would’ve blown the darn thing to pieces,” Boothill grins, his smile sharp and charming and all the reasons why she fell for him in the first place.

“You could’ve come through the door, you know?” she says, grabbing a light trench coat and leading him over to her vanity, where a blonde wig sat atop a bust. They’re going to an amusement park just to have fun, so she has to wear a disguise. Thankfully, she’s done this before with ease — get a disguise, she means. She hasn’t been to an amusement park in a while.

Boothill trots over, footsteps soft, leaning on the wall, next to her vanity. He says, “didn’t want your freak of a brother to stare at me. Climbin’ through windows are more my style.”

“He’s the one driving us there, so you might as well have given him a proper hello,” Robin hums a light and happy tune, carefully tucking her blue hair under the wig cap. “Don’t stare at me like this, I’m practically bald right now.”

“And I’d still love you all the same,” Boothill reassures, “with hair or no hair.”

Even though it’s meant as a simple and silly sentence, Robin blushes. “Thank you,” she mutters, carefully putting the blonde wig on. She hates using wig glue, and, since this is only for a short while, clips will suffice. While she is snapping the clips together, she looks over at Boothill’s appearance.

It’s not often you get to see a cyborg, especially one who is a Galaxy Ranger and, well, pretty, like Boothill. He looks the same: a worn, black leather jacket and similar-looking pants; a belt full of ammo, his revolver, and a coil of lasso; and, of course, a wide-brimmed cowboy hat.

“Ay, quit staring,” Boothill teases, throwing her a wink.

Robin giggles. “Alright, alright. Aren’t you going to do anything about that belt? Pretty sure you can’t bring that to the amusement park. Which, might I remind you, is in the public. Also, you’re notoriously well-known around here.”

“Can’t help it if the people recognize this absolute perfection of a face and this machine of a body,” Boothill sighs, popping his hip out, all cold, metal plates. She agrees; his face is absolute perfection, and she would be lying if she said she doesn’t often think about the machine of a body that he has. “I’ll just swallow my gun and bullets.”

“We can keep your stuff in Sunday’s car. Most likely, he’s just going to sit around and work.” Work, work, work. That’s all there is, these days.

There was a time, far before, when her brother wasn’t so caught up in work and professionalism. When he was actually, you know, her brother. When he was just Sunday, not the leader of the Oak Family. Not the head of Penacony. They used to escape their lives all the time when they were younger: she, standing on a box and singing; he, sitting on the ground and being her first and most loyal fan.

Now, they barely get twenty minutes of face-to-face time with each other a day.

Hopefully, this day trip to the amusement park can change that. Even for a day. She’s willing to give up her entire singing career for a good, solid week with her brother.

“…you alright?” Boothill asks slowly, leaning down to check on her, hands stuffed casually in his pockets. “Robin?”

Robin nods, smoothing out the fabric of her knee-length dress and shrugging on the coat to hide her wings. “I was thinking. Sunday wasn’t always this obsessed with work.” After pausing for a second, she continues, “I’m worried about him, Boothill. What if he’s overworking himself? I feel like he’s a ticking time bomb, just about to blow.” She stares at her reflection in the vanity mirror. The crease in her brows shouldn’t be there. She has to be happy.

“Your brother, ah,” Boothill sucks in air through his sharp teeth, “as much as we don’t like each other, and don’t tell him I said this, but he can handle this. He’s a tough one. Takes more than that to crack him.”

“But everyone has a limit.” Robin takes a deep breath, the tears retreating. She puts on a smile. Her reflection does the same. It’s a practiced expression, one too often used. “What if we take him along? Invite him to go on some rides with us? He’s probably already donning a disguise. Might as well put it to good use instead of wasting it, sitting at a table and creepily watching me.”

Boothill stares at her, incredulous in his target-shaped eyes. “Your brother? In an amusement park, actually going on the rides with us? I’m sorry princess, but the chances of that happenin’ ain’t somethin’ I’d bet my best revolver on.”

She rakes a hand through the wig, smoothing out its strands. “Maybe. I don’t know. I want him to stop working for more than an hour straight in a time when he isn’t sleeping.”

“Well, you sure as hell can try. For goodness sake, you’re his sister. He’ll listen to you more than any of us,” Boothill shrugs, the sunlight from the balcony behind glinting off the metal pieces of his jacket.

Robin looks down at her vanity, various cosmetics spread across the surface, and wrings her hands together. She looks away from Boothill for a moment, her shoulders tensed in worry.

Boothill strides over, his metal hands on Robin’s soft shoulders. She looks at both their reflections in the mirror and thinks, kind of wryly amused, of how different yet how compatible they are. She has never known a day of hard, arduous labor underneath a scorching sun, chasing an elusive target; Boothill has never had anyone to fret, to worry over him, almost to the point of overprotectiveness.

“Hey, now,” Boothill softly coaxes, mechanical voice husky yet calming, “you’re the Robin. You’re magnificent, darlin’. Now, you don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise, ‘cause you ain’t nothing less than wonderful. If you really set your mind to it, I’m sure your brother will understand and do whatever you want. Hell, maybe he’ll even give the head position to someone else if you ask hard enough. Got it?”

Robin’s shoulders drop. They lock eyes in the mirror reflection, and she gives him a genuine smile, her hands holding onto Boothill’s and her wings softly fluttering. There’s something about his words that, even though she’s heard them hundreds of times before from other people, makes her actually believe him. “Got it.”

“Great, now get out there and wow us all, sweetie,” Boothill urges, jutting his chin toward the door. He extends a hand toward Robin.

In moments like these, she finds it all the more lucky that Boothill is here. Underneath that cold, beautiful exterior is a soft, gentle person looking for a purpose. She’s glad he gave her a chance.

Robin takes his hand, and he leads her up, pulling her close. Robin lets out a gasp of surprise, one hand braced on where his collarbone would be and mouth an “o” as he spins her to the door. They stop in front of it, and Boothill bends into a low bow.

“After you,” he says, hat hiding most of his face from view.

Robin opens her door and walks through, Boothill following. “I’m sorry for dumping all of that on you. This is supposed to be a happy day. You didn’t even ask for it,” Robin mumbles, walking down the long hallway, toward the stairways. The expensive statues and paintings that they walk past only further remind her of her duty to be perfect and focus on Penacony and work first and foremost. It fills her with a heavy sense of guilt.

“‘s fine,” Boothill simply says. “You oughta have someone to confide in. No good keepin’ this all for yourself, you know?”

Robin looks at their intertwined hands. She nods.

“Wow. Look at those pretentious brats.” Boothill snickers at the portrait of a former head of the Oak Family. Back straight, wings unfurled and radiating pure power, expression powerful yet patronizing.

Now that she thinks about it… “you’re right,” she agrees. The subject does look quite stuffy and stuck-up. Probably never had enough friends. She laughs. “I’ve never seen it that way before.”

“Now you do.” Robin notes how Boothill’s sharp smile disappears when he looks over the railing of the stairs.

She peeks over the railing to see what caused it, and someone is standing there.

Sunday.

He has an unpleasant look on his face, one of disgust and disdain. It’s directed at Boothill, right next to Robin and holding her hand, but she can’t help but feel it’s all toward her.

“Good morning, Robin,” Sunday says, eyes pinned on Boothill as they make their way down the stairs. Boothill’s heels clack on the marble, the sound ringing loud and clear, with each step. Sunday’s voice is cold.

“Good morning, brother.” She tries her best to remain upfront and cheerful. Sunday has changed out of his professional clothes, settling into a light blue hoodie and jeans. They still must be designer clothes, because can you imagine Sunday wearing cheap street clothes? But they’re, well, actually casual. She was so sure Sunday had no idea what the term ‘casual’ meant since all she saw him wear were suits. But she’s been proven wrong.

Sunday nods, acknowledging her greeting, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off Boothill, no, not even once. Boothill levels Sunday’s stare, his smile not at all friendly. Robin feels trapped between them, her gaze warrily going from Sunday to her partner.

She watches Sunday take a deep breath, shoulders rising then falling, then his gaze softens as he finally looks at her. “Well, Robin, are you ready to go? I see you’ve got quite the disguise already.”

Robin is so, so glad for the change of tone. “Shouldn’t we be talking about you? You’re finally out of that suit, for once.” She tries not to let the wistfulness and sadness bleed into her voice. She wishes Sunday (her brother, maybe? Eventually, or is she holding onto an unlikely future?) could dress like this every day.

“Well, I’ll be going to the park with you, so it’s only fitting that I stay undercover. I have upset a lot of people to attend this with you,” Sunday says. “You look beautiful, as always.”

Robin holds onto Boothill’s hand tighter. He squeezes back. ‘Attend’ as in business matters. This is still Sunday, the head of the Oak Family, and not her brother. Never her brother, it seems. “Thank you,” she replies.

Sunday opens the door for her. He lets her walk through, and she pulls Boothill through before Sunday can intentionally close the door after him.

The air outside is warm. Perfect for a trip like this.

“Isn’t the weather wonderful today, Boothill?” Robin asks. She can feel Sunday’s glare on Boothill’s back. She can tell Boothill can feel it too.

“Yeah, darlin’, it’s wonderful,” Boothill answers, voice and posture stiff. A fancy car — always extravagant, always over the top —is sitting in the driveway, and Sunday takes out a key from his pocket. Unlocks the car.

Boothill reaches forward and pulls open the passenger seat door, tipping his hat low and winking at her. “You first.” He guides her into the car’s back seat like a princess to a carriage, their hands never separating. Sunday must be having several strokes just watching them.

She so desperately wants him to accept her relationship with Boothill and actually see Boothill as a person (cyborg?), not just as barbaric, western scum that’s beneath him. She wants Sunday to listen to her just once, without having to assert his own decisions and feelings into it.

But today is not one to spend wishing for miracles. She’s going to an amusement park! The amusement park in Penacony! Where people go to have fun and relax and forget about their problems for a short while! Robin is desperate for even a minute away from her troubles.

“Everyone has their belongings, yes?” Sunday asks when he slams the driver door, inserting the key into the ignition. Boothill pulls the car door closed behind him, his cowboy hat taken off and leaning against his legs.

“Yes. Is it okay if, uh, Boothill leaves his belt in your car?” Robin asks when they’ve pulled out from the driveway. “We can’t bring it into the amusement park.”

Sunday glances at her. “Why didn’t he leave it home?”

“He’s right here, you can ask him,” Robin suggests. The reflection of Sunday in the rearview mirror’s eyes widens and Boothill stills, next to her. She sits there smiling innocently. These two are going to talk to each other, whether they like it or not. Well, this is the perfect opportunity. She’s trapped them. Either they talk, or they risk leaving Robin upset.

Sunday caves. “Well, erm, Boothill.”

Robin beams in encouragement.

“You can leave your… supplies, uh, in the car,” Sunday hastily finishes.

“Where are your manners, Boothill?” Robin chides softly.

“Thank you, Mister, uhm, Sunday,” Boothill thanks through clenched teeth.

“That wasn’t so difficult, now, was it?” Robin asks.

Sunday looks straight forward, and Boothill looks out the window. “No,” they both say at the same time. Sunday’s look is intense; Boothill looks pained. Robin hides her smile with her free hand — the other is still in Boothill’s grasp, and dear Xipe is he clutching it for dear life.

“There, there,” Robin soothes, tucking a strand of Boothill’s hair — a mix of snow white and charcoal gray — behind his ear, careful not to touch the ammo-shaped earring. She pats his cheek, one of the only remaining parts of his organic body and flesh. His stiff posture loosens by a bit.

“Robin, how are your concert performances?” Sunday interrupts.

“They’re going well! My newest album was well received by my fans and the critics. The next concert isn’t for another two system weeks,” Robin idly comments, yawning. She got up early out of pure excitement for the day, and she’s definitely regretting it.

“Tired?” Sunday glances at her through the rearview mirror.

“A bit,” Robin confirms. “Woke up too early.”

Sunday hums, “take more care of yourself.”

“Pot meets kettle, brother.” She totally doesn’t place a huge emphasis on the last word. “You got me there,” Sunday smiles.

Robin puts her and Boothill’s intertwined hands on his thigh, head leaning on his shoulder. Her eyes are drifting shut. “I can’t wait. How much longer until we get there?”

“Two and a half hours. Enough for you to get some sleep in.” Sunday’s voice is tender, reminding her of a kinder time.

“Okay.” She yawns. “Boothill?”

“Yes?” He moves to make her more comfortable on his metal body.

“Don’t start with Sunday while I’m sleeping, okay? You too, Sunday. Don’t argue with Boothill when I’m sleeping,” she murmurs.

Her eyes drift shut before they can respond.

—

Sunday watches Robin’s shoulders gradually rise and fall, her head on Boothill’s shoulders, through the rearview mirror. Boothill is looking down, quite fondly, at his sister and smiling. Their hands are intertwined, carefully placed on the cyborg’s machine thigh.

Boothill.

He has a million questions about Boothill and Robin. Where does he even start? Just how, oh how, did his sister, sweet and kind, pick up a man as bloodthirsty and crazed as Boothill? They are not compatible, no, not even in the slightest. Galaxy Rangers are dangerous, and Boothill has an enormous bounty on his head, placed by the IPC. Boothill will only ever hurt Robin.

Sunday presses his lips into a tight white line, fuming. Now that Robin’s asleep, the atmosphere changes without her bright, calming presence. He can tell Boothill doesn’t like him, but he’s Robin’s older brother, so that son of a Memory Zone Meme can take his opinion and shove it up his cogs. Aeons, he’d gladly fight Boothill if it isn’t for Robin.

No, no, that’s wrong. He can’t fight Boothill; no, that’d be stooping to his level, and Sunday is way more dignified than a ruthless, rowdy cowboy who makes a living killing others. Having a job that requires killing is never a good sign.

But Robin is an adult. She doesn’t need that much fawning over, right? That’s why Sunday doesn’t forbid her from seeing Boothill. Someone had to keep her company. Sunday can’t anymore.

His grip on the wheel tightens, skin around his knuckles turning white. Work, work, work. That’s all there is, these days. Things in Penacony have calmed, but the rebuilding effort takes so much thinking and the public needs so much reassuring and everyone is so Aeon-damned incompetent that he has to deal with everything himself.

He curses the entire Bloodhound Family, that bartender fraud, the gambler from the IPC, the arrogant doctor, Boothill.

He takes a deep breath. May Xipe and the Harmony help them all. Save him, please.

Boothill combs through Robin’s wig, stupidly smiling. Sunday is so distracted by the action that he realizes the car in front of them has slowed.

He slams the brakes, sending them all leaning forward.

Sunday’s back hits the car seat again, and his next inhales are audible. Boothill lets loose a string of swears. Sunday is saying them in his mind, two totally different things. He does not have anything in common with Boothill except for their care for Robin.

After Boothill has repositioned Robin, who slept through the whole ordeal, on his lap, Sunday snaps: “you kiss my sister with that mouth?” Thinking and actually saying these swears are two completely different things, remember? They have nothing in common!

Boothill’s expression hardens. He doesn’t back down.

“Yeah,” he bites out. “And she seems to like me perfectly fine that way.”

Sunday can’t argue with that. Robin seems content with Boothill, and he’s trying to not think about the last time she was at peace like this with him. It’s all the work piling up, he tells himself. It’s not him.

“You don’t have bad intentions with her?” Sunday asks.

Boothill considers him for a moment, wary in his piercing, target eyes, then looks back down at Robin. “No. Why would I?”

“You’re a Galaxy Ranger. You could easily use her celebrity status to your advantage. Galaxy Rangers are dangerous, you are aware of that, aren’t you?” Sunday states, savoring the moment Boothill’s cold expression wavers. Doubt. He doesn’t even need the Harmony’s powers to sense it.

“I am well aware of what I do,” Boothill responds. But his voice doesn’t have the same confidence and surety as before. Sunday subtly smirks. “And I be darned if I bring much trouble to Robin.”

“Hm? What if you do? How can I trust that you won’t go back on your promise?”

“I may not be as refined and elegant as you, Mister Sunday, but I sure as hell don’t go back on my word.” He’s being sincere. But sincerity alone isn’t enough. There needs to be more control. Sunday knows what it’s like.

“Swear it, then,” Sunday demands, voice calm but threatening. “Surely the best cyborg Galaxy Ranger out there, who hasn’t shot a single stray bullet in his career, doesn’t need to hesitate when doing so? Since you have so much pride in your occupation, surely this is but another trivial matter?” He expertly weaves the Harmony into his words, the gentle hum of its power buzzing in the back of his mind as he taps his gloved fingertips on the wheel.

Boothill’s eyes are full of fury when he declares, “I swear it. On my life.”

“Good. Because I’ll take you apart, piece by piece and cog by damn cog if I have to, if she gets hurt while in your care,” Sunday smiles and totally doesn’t think about all the ways he can take Boothill’s body apart — painfully, preferably. “The Harmony will remember this. Thank you for swearing it on your life.”

Boothill glares at him. He looks away and mutters. Something something Robin’s words.

‘Don’t start with Boothill.’

The car falls into silence, the effect of the Harmony wearing off.

A memory resurfaces.

***

They were finally alone one night, when the sun had long dipped below the horizon and the stars were brightly twinkling in the night sky. Both unable to sleep, Sunday finally decided to confront Robin about her relationship with Boothill.

“I don’t get it. Him, of all people?” Sunday asked, brows creased in worry. “He isn’t threatening you to do anything for him, right?” Fear clawed at his heart at the possibility of his sweet, dear sister being forced into doing anything. No one should have control over her — not even Sunday. He was merely suggesting what she should do as her older brother, which wasn’t ‘control.’

Robin gave him a concerned look as if questioning his sanity because, well, who didn’t love a bloodthirsty lunatic–cyborg who travels the universe to chase other targets while simultaneously having a bounty on his head? That was sarcasm. “No, brother, I love him. Truly. It’s of my own accord.”

“Are you sure? What do you even find in him?” Sunday reached for Robin’s hands. He took them in his own. “I don’t want you to get hurt, you know?”

Robin squeezed their hands. “I won’t. I can handle myself, and Boothill can protect me if I can’t myself. As for what I find in him…” she blushes, pink coating her cheeks.

Sunday waits for her response, head tilted, the wings by his head slowly flapping.

“It’s like, uhm, whenever I see him,” Robin explained, the blush reddening, “I just feel like there are butterflies in my stomach, you know? When your bones melt and suddenly, all you want to do is stare at their face. Boothill has a very pretty face.” Sunday would not refute that. By all definitions, Boothill’s face was physically attractive — physically. It’s whether one was attracted to him that matters. He wanted Robin’s response regarding that.

“I feel like he understands me,” she had finally said. “He just knows what I want. And he’s giving it to me.”

Sunday’s eyes widened. “And, uh, what do you want?” Aeons. He might be sick. Was his sister — ?

Robin seemed to realize what he was thinking too. She quickly shakes her head, and the blush spreads. “No!” she hastily corrected. “No! No. That’s, ugh, Sunday! Mind out of the gutter! No. I want someone who can look past the superstar status of me. I want a break, if you understand what it’s like to take a break.”

“I take plenty of breaks,” Sunday defended. It was a lie. There was simply not enough time in his hectic schedule to afford the ever-elusive luxury of rest.

Robin rolled her eyes. “Sure. Anyway, Boothill’s kind and honest. I’m in very good hands, brother. I promise you that.”

“I just want you to be happy.” Sunday sighed. “I don’t like him.”

“Well, I do.” Robin’s face was set and determined, an absolute, take-nothing-else gleam in her eye. Something about her willingness to compromise had changed. Sunday wondered when it had, and how he hadn’t noticed. “And I love him, Sunday.

“Can you accept that?”

***

Can he accept that, huh?

Sunday rests his cheek on his fist, elbow propped against the windowsill with one hand on the wheel. He glances out the window at Penacony’s bustling metropolis, with its towering skyscrapers, bustling streets, and diverse culture brought together from hundreds of different cultures around the universe. The more populated cities have been spared of damage, thank Xipe, so their primary rebuilding focuses are the agricultural and suburban areas affected.

Penacony has always been one of his greatest loves from the start. He will stop at nothing to make sure it is a planet whose name is passed around the universe like a legend, a paradise so far and so unreachable that you can only read of its honor in fairy tales and books.

He’ll just have to figure out a way to deal with Penacony’s ruined reputation among the public and interstellar organizations.

Only if he was better.

His gaze drifts over to Robin and Boothill again. Boothill must be keeping Robin company when Sunday couldn’t, and that was almost always. Well, that settles it. Robin loves Boothill dearly, and Boothill loves her right back, swearing it on his life to protect her. Fine. If that’s what it is, then he’ll have to accept that. However begrudgingly. For Robin’s sake.

Where is the damn SoulGlad when you need it?

—

Boothill drags a hand down his face, cursing this machine body and the eleven bullets he swallowed earlier.

He knows he loves Robin. He knows he’s willing to lay out his life for him. But there was something about swearing his life for her in this Aeonforsaken car and in front of her brother, no less, that he couldn’t help but feel suspicious about. Now, he ain’t the brightest gun in the rack. However, that doesn’t mean he’s gullible and easily manipulated.

Reignbow Arbiter’s piercing arrow shoot through him now. Boothill mouths a swear, upper teeth digging into his lower lip, and glares out the window. Robin is still sound asleep.

Sunday reaches over to turn on the radio, and an upbeat, funky tune fills the car. He turns the volume down, head bopping to the rhythm of the bass drums.

How the hell this man looks so calm after threatening Boothill with dismemberment, he has no damn clue.

Two hours pass, and Boothill is about to dismember himself out of boredom.

Finally, finally, the amusement park comes into view. He recognizes the color and shapes of some of the coaster tracks of the attractions Robin was showing him a few days prior. There’s a ride that shoots its riders up the nearly straight-up track then plummets them right down.

The parking lot is almost empty when they pull through. Robin insisted on getting there a bit before the park opened so they wouldn’t be stuck waiting in lines, but she already brought speed passes for everyone, so does it really matter when they get there since they could just skip the lines?

Boothill gives Robin a slight shake in the shoulder. “Darlin’,” he whispers, adamant not to look up because Sunday will be glaring at him.

Robin’s eyes flutter open.

Boothill smiles. “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” Robin says as he leans back so she can sit up. “Are we there?”

“Right at the gates,” he confirms.

Robin stretches, yawning. “Nice."

Sunday stops the car. “We’re here.”

Boothill opens the door and gets out. He offers a hand to Robin. She takes it and steps out of the car, all celebrity and princess-like.

He produces a bottle of sunscreen from his pocket and squeezes some onto his fingertips. “Look up ‘n close your eyes,” he instructs. Robin does, and he carefully applies the sunscreen over her face, neck, and shoulders. He gives the rest of the bottle to Robin for her to lather the rest on her arms and legs and wipes the rest of the sunscreen on his fingers onto his pants.

After she’s done with that, he places his hat on her head.

“To protect you from the sun,” he says when she lifts the brim to peer at him. Robin returns with a smile and they follow Sunday, who has his hood pulled up and a mask on and is probably sweating like crazy. “Oh, and this.” He snaps off his belt and leaves it in the car, but not before opening up a capsule on the right side of his waist and tucking his gun in. He stores some of the bullets in his arm and pops another four in his mouth, leaving one to chew on.

Robin watches him with fascination sparkling in her ocean eyes. Boothill smirks, the sole bullet remaining held between his teeth.

They get into the express lane (Boothill tries not to look too smug at the lines of people waiting in the slow lane or pay much mind to the way they’re gawking at all three of them — what can he say? They’re all gorgeous. Especially Robin and himself) as Sunday checks them in. The attendant, thankfully, does not look too closely at any of them and tells them to place any baggage on the bins to be inspected.

Boothill and Sunday have nothing on them except their phones. Robin drops her purse in the bin as it rolls toward the staff members. It goes through a scan in a large, black box before getting returned to Robin. She thanks the staff and wishes them a nice day, catching up to Boothill a few steps ahead.

They enter the amusement park, some of the rides already opening up and functioning. Robin grabs a map of the park from a nearby directory board and unfolds it. She stops, and Boothill leans over her, chin on her head, to look at the map with her. Sunday is looking at the digital map on the board.

“I want to hit up the mild rides first, then we can progress onto the thrill rides,” Robin informs them, one perfectly manicured nail tracing their would-be path through the park.

“Ain’t nothin’ that looks ‘mild’ about this place ‘sides the kids’ rides,” Boothill grumbles.

Robin laughs, tucking the paper map in her purse. “Are you scared, Boothill?”

“What? No way,” Boothill rolls his eyes. He has nothing to fear here. He swallows the chewed bullet. There’s no way he can use that one after all the bite marks on it.

“Let’s save the grandest ride for last,” Robin looks up and points to the ride that shoots straight up, “the King of the Jungle.”

He snorts. “Corny — freakin’ — name.” He frowns. Right. Someone (he’ll find the bastard and force them to change it back) tinkered with his Synesthesia Beacon, so he can’t say words aloud. ‘Freedom of speech’ his bullets.

Robin covers her mouth with her hand, failing at hiding her smile. “I forgot that your Synesthesia Beacon does that.”

He sighs deeply. “Well, it ain’t fun either.”

“Alright,” she closes the map and tucks it in her purse. “What about Clockie’s Twisted Coaster? It’s right here.”

The coaster in question is, indeed, right in front of them. Penacony’s signature mascot, Clockie, is plastered all over the ride: its face is square and center on the ride’s tracks, the ride name in script next to it, the entire ride’s colors are all ones found on Clockie, and the stupid music blasting out of the speakers is Clockie’s theme song or whatever it’s called.

The ride itself isn’t very long — the cart, with seats for four people, two on each side, hangs below the track and progresses up, swinging the cart, and drops down a series of curves, rotating the cart 360-degrees. The ride continues like this in an ‘s’ shape but with more exaggerated bends before coming to a stop.

Pretty mild, it seems.

“Let’s go,” Robin says. “Sunday?”

The man shakes his head. “I don’t do roller coasters. Here, let me take your purse.”

Robin is visibly disappointed, but she nods in understanding. She hands her purse over to Sunday, who tosses it over his hood carefully. “Your flash passes,” Sunday continues, taking out two cards from his pocket. He walks over, handing one to Robin. Boothill takes his when Sunday offers it to him, but the man’s gloved hand grips the card tight.

Boothill is so ready for a fight.

It doesn’t come.

Sunday lets go, looks him in the eye, and tells him, “make sure she has fun, okay?”

It takes him by surprise. He blinks, arm still extended and holding the card.

Sunday nods and turns back to Robin, who’s now practically glowing with happiness. “Go. Have fun.”

“I definitely will, brother,” Robin throws her arms around Sunday. “Thank you thank you thank you!” She backs away, takes Boothill’s hand, and tugs him to the flash pass entrance of the ride. Boothill lets himself be dragged along.

—

What? What!

Robin is so excited. Have you seen Sunday? Did you see him hand over the flash pass to Boothill? Do you know how long she’s been wanting Sunday to finally talk to Boothill without being openly hostile?

She’s practically buzzing with relief and joy, her previous disappointment from Sunday’s rejection to joining them on the ride temporarily forgotten, when she and Boothill show their flash passes to the staff and enter through the gates.

“He handed you the card, Boothill!” Robin says, just shy of jumping up and down like a child. “Wow. I can’t believe it.”

Boothill leans down to kiss her on her forehead. “Me neither. Your brother was lookin’ really unwilling. Thought he’d be out for me for at least a while. He probably still will.” He tucks the flash pass into the back pocket of his pants.

When she thinks of Sunday offering an olive branch to Boothill, or the other way around, she thought it’d be in more intimate, private settings. Like the living room in their giant mansion, way too big for just the two (occasionally three, but Boothill sleeps in her bed) of them, or in the kitchen after Robin left to use the bathroom or wherever. Not in public, not when they’re surrounded by innocent bystanders. She’s not complaining. The amusement park works too.

“This ride looks, ah, weird,” Boothill mumbles into her ear.

“Hmm? This one’s a classic,” Robin tells him. “We’re next!”

“I’m gonna regret swallowing those darn bullets,” he grimaces as the attendant opens their gate, directing them to the open cart. Boothill places his hat on the rack they have for loose items, and they get on, Robin on the inside and Boothill on the outside. They can’t hold hands through the safety seats. Well, they technically can, but Robin’s body is primarily flesh and bones so it’d be really uncomfortable for her.

“You got this!” Robin encourages, swinging her legs. The attendant starts the ride, and they move forward.

***

“Holy Aeons and all of Lan’s arrows,” Boothill says, one arm slung around her shoulder and mostly relying on Robin for support (don’t underestimate her strength and endurance — she’s a singer, remember?), “I’m gonna throw up all my bullets.”

“Hey, at least you didn’t scream,” Robin teases, giving Boothill the time to recover and stand on his own.

“Now, I was just sayin’ that ride was too loop-de-loop,” Boothill manages, wincing, “not that it was scary. I ain’t even feelin’ nauseous. It’s, ah, the rattle of these parts, per se. Aeons, what the heck. Everyday I discover somethin’ new ‘bout this helluva body.”

“Mhm,” Robin reassures, waving to Sunday.

“How was the first ride?” Sunday asks her, hands crossed behind his back and posture ever so regal for an amusement park. He must be smiling underneath that mask — his eyes crinkle. He doesn’t ask both of him; no, just Robin. That’s okay. Baby steps, baby steps.

“It was wonderful,” she declares, “Boothill wanted to throw up his bullets,” and doesn’t elaborate further. She loops her arm through Boothill’s. “Which rides next?” She tilts her head at Boothill, repeatedly poking at his cheek.

Boothill catches her finger between his teeth, bite gentle. Robin pulls her finger back. “Wherever you go, I’ll follow,” he tells her, eyes twinkling with mirth, tucking an exposed strand of her baby blue hair behind her ear, patting down her wig.

“Okay. Drop of doom next!”

Boothill’s expression drops, like the ride they’re gonna go on next.

***

Robin steps out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house. It was actually a roller coaster with a whole cinema and, of course, Clockie theme. She turns around, her wig blowing around her in a gentle breeze, and extends a hand toward Boothill, her smile wide on her face.

Boothill shakes his hair, the dual-color strands whipping around his face, and puts on his hat. He takes her hand. “Where do you wanna go next?” he asks, trailing behind her on the steps leading up to ground level. Sunday starts toward them the moment he sees Robin emerge from the exit.

“Can we stop for food?” she announces. All of the walking around and getting on the rides and general cheery atmosphere has her hungry.

“Sure,” Sunday agrees, looking at the map on his phone. “There’s a food court that’s not so far away from here. Follow me.” He starts toward a sunset retro-styled house in the distance, surrounded by palm trees and synth-pop blasting out of its speakers. It reminds her of the sunsets on Punklorde, a planet filled with cyberware and hackers. Isn’t there that one Stellaron Hunter girl from Punklorde?

“The style of that food court reminds me of you,” she comments, “don’t you think?”

“Ehh,” Boothill squints at the design, scrutinizing it, “not really. Run-down saloons and bars and the kind are more my type. But I can see myself hangin’ ‘round ‘ere, poppin’ down to the bar and orderin’ myself some booze. Bet they sell real darn booze too.”

Robin giggles at his accent. “You talk so funny.”

“Oh, really? And how do I talk, princess?” Boothill challenges, one hand on his hip.

“Like this,” Robin clears her throat, voice imitating a low, country drawl, “howdy. Name’s Boothill, darlin’s. I’m the best Ranger out there you can find. One shot from my gun, BAM BAM BAM — ” she mocks a gun with her left hand, shooting it — “and the enemy drops dead in less than a second, you hear me? There ain’t a single stray bullet in my entire career.”

Boothill rolls his eyes. “I do not talk like that.”

“Yes, you do!”

“No, I do not!”

“Yuh uh!”

“Nuh uh!”

“Pfft,” Robin exaggerates her exasperated sigh. “Fine. I suppose you don’t actually talk like that.”

“That’s right,” Boothill nods, a satisfied look on his face.

“What do you want to eat?” Sunday stops. Oh. They’ve already reached the place. She didn’t even notice.

“What’s on the menu?” Robin walks up to the menu boards above the counter, making sure to stay away from the ordering line. Her eyes scan the lines of options, mentally coming up with a list. It’s all junk food, as expected. She’s been craving some junk food anyway. Let’s hope Sunday actually lets her eat those ‘artificial foods injected with junk and bacteria.’

“I want three double cheeseburgers with two sides of fries and a SoulGlad,” Boothill announces.

Robin blinks up at him. “What?”

“Three deluxe double cheeseburgers, two servings of curly fries, and a SoulGlad,” he repeats.

“No, no, I, uh, heard you the first time. Are you sure you want that much?” It’s more than enough for one person; then again, Boothill’s a cyborg.

“I can eat a whole lot more,” Boothill shrugs. “Whadda ‘bout you?”

Robin hums. “I’ll take chicken tenders, a blueberry milkshake, and a pretzel. I hope the pretzels here have salt on them the size of dice.” She pats around for her purse, then remembers Sunday has it and he’s paying. “Sunday! We’re ready to order!”

Sunday gets up from the table he’s sitting at, meeting them at the end of the line“What would you like?”

“Three deluxe double cheeseburgers, chicken tenders, two servings of curly fries, one blueberry milkshake, one SoulGlad, and one pretzel,” Robin recites and looks at Boothill. “I didn’t forget anything, did I?”

Boothill shakes his head. “Naw.”

Sunday nods, the pleasant smile on his face he uses when he’s holding back a scathing remark. Ah, well. “I’ll go pay. You two can wait at the table.”

“Thanks!” Robin hurries over to the table before someone else can take it. It’s one of those metal wire mesh tables with benches attached and an umbrella over, taking on an obnoxious shade of orange the same color as the SoulGlad drinks. Boothill takes off his hat and tosses it on the table, letting out a sigh.

“Ain’t your brother dyin’ from the heat?” Boothill runs a hand through his hair. The weather is fair, not hot, but still warm enough to make you sweat after a few minutes basking under the sun.

Robin stares at Sunday, at the counter and talking to the cashier. “Maybe?”

“Are you sure you don’t want Sunday to go on an attraction with you?”

Robin’s smile wavers. “Well, I’m not going to force him onto anything he doesn’t want to.”

“You should. What’s a man doing, out here in a park, having no fun? Take him on a ride, darlin’. Gotta shake him up a lil’,” Boothill urges.

“After we eat,” Robin says. “I’ll ask again if we can go on Hanu’s Great Escape.”

“When I said to shake him up, I ain’t talking ‘bout takin’ him to one that, but whatever calms your horse.”

Robin beams at him. Hanu’s Great Escape is known for being exhilarating and scary. She wants to go on it with someone. The lines are typically very long, up to nearly an hour of waiting in line, but they have flash passes, and she is determined to bring Sunday on one of those rides at least once today.

“This is, ah, a lot,” Sunday says when he sets down a plastic tray with everything on the tabletop. He sits down opposite to Robin and Boothill, taking his share of the food — just a cup of soda and a sandwich — off the tray and leaving the rest to them. “I think it was somewhere around 200 credits?”

Boothill grabs Robin’s food for her, setting down the box of chicken tenders and fries while ripping open the packaging of a fancy plastic straw, sticking it in the milkshake. He takes his share of the food, unwrapping the aluminum foil of one of the cheeseburgers and flipping off the cap of the SoulGlad bottle.

“I can pay you back,” Robin opens up her phone to her money transferring app.

Sunday brushes it off. “You don’t have to. We’re family, there’s no ‘owing’ here.”

Sometimes, Robin wants to excuse all of Sunday’s overprotectiveness and his strict rules because of how nice he is to her, the softness in his voice lulling her into a false sense of trust and security. But nice doesn’t mean kind, and Sunday isn’t exactly kind. Perhaps the only person Sunday is truly kind to is Robin, and even that has its occasional exceptions. Sunday is a control freak, more or less and however much she condemns it.

She bites into a chicken tender a bit too harshly, the meat soft and the food warm and her teeth clacking. It isn’t healthy to keep on bringing up sad topics. Today is a happy day, and she will make the most of it by shutting up and having fun. How many times has she said that now?

Boothill bites down on the burger, taking half of it as he chews and swallows. Watching him eat has always intrigued her. How does the food, organic and soft, dissolve in his mechanical insides? How does the food get processed without the chemicals and cells and nerves found in a typical human body?

“You’re starin’ again,” Boothill warmly points out, tapping her on the tip of her nose.

“How does the food work in your body?” Robin has asked this before, and not once has she gotten a coherent response.

“Do you think I’d be a ranger if I knew? ‘Cause boy, does this body need a lot of engineerin’,” Boothill groused, “this thing’s almost more trouble than what it is worth.” He takes a swig of the SoulGlad, orange dribbling out the corner of his mouth. Robin extracted a handkerchief from her purse, on top of Boothill’s hat, and dabbed at it.

“There.” She folded the handkerchief into a neat square, placing it on the table.

“I’m waterproof, hon. For the most part,” Boothill deadpans.

“Isn’t it cute, though?” Robin counters playfully, leaning in to peck him on his nose.

Sunday, with his mask pulled down, very loudly sips his drink. Third wheeling must be sad.

“Sorry,” Robin apologizes, not really meaning it. She leans away, pressing close to Boothill, knocking their ankles together under the table. She grabs a curly fry from his box, munching on it. This place really loves their salt, huh? They’re in luck since she does too.

“No, that’s alright,” Sunday passive-aggressively says, finishing his sandwich. Boothill moves onto his third cheeseburger.

“Is that all you wanted?” Robin asks, pulling over her box of chicken tenders. Granted, there are only three left, but they can make it work. “We can share this.”

Sunday waves his hands, dismissing her offer. “It’s fine. Save some for yourself.”

“Oh, please, I have Boothill’s shares if I’m really that hungry,” Robin then makes a show out of it, grabbing a handful of Boothill’s curly fries. She likes the fries. Or anything with a copious amount of sodium in it, which, unfortunately, may be every junk food. Boothill shows no sign of objection, he’s almost done with his cheeseburger. It’s honestly kind of impressive.

“That’s fine, but I’m not hungry anymore. You know me. I never had that much of an appetite,” Sunday offhandedly mentions, casting a side-eye at Boothill. Boothill crumples up the aluminum foil of all three cheeseburgers into one giant ball.

“Okay.” Robin takes back the chicken tender, grabbing one and dropping it in Boothill’s box of fries. “For the curly fries,” she explains and moves back to eating her chicken tenders.

Boothill pecks her on the forehead. Robin giggles.

They gradually finish the rest of the food, and Sunday goes to return the tray and throw out their trash. Robin uses this opportunity to ask Boothill whether she should ask Sunday to go on Hanu’s Great Escape with her.

Boothill crunches down on a bullet. Where did he get that from? “Go for it,” he says simply.

“Really?” Robin asks.

Boothill pats her head. “Of course.”

“Okay.” Robin shuts up as Sunday returns to their table. Here goes nothing.

#melancholic-hues #writing-hues #robinhill #robin x boothill #boothill x robin #hsr robin #hsr boothill #hsr sunday

69 notes · View notes

wingedtrash · 5 months

Note

cooper (from fallout) x reader where he rescues her from something?

Cooper Howard x !F! Reader

Kind of short, might make a smutty part 2 if y’all like it enough, otherwise use your imagination for the ending. Not proofread

Warning: mild violence, injuries, suggestive themes towards the end

The wasteland wasn’t new to you. You were born out here, so that meant you should know what you were doing when it came to surviving. But you still found yourself in bad situations.

“Oh shit-” you were cut off by the radscorpion knocking you to the sand. You hit the ground hard with a thump, the scorpion crawling quickly in your direction. You could hear more coming from other directions. You couldn’t tell how many more.

You were about to be trapped. We’re you really going to die like this. After taking on countless super mutants with their machine guns, and fire ants that could literally shoot fire. A group of scorpions were going to be your downfall.

You crawled backwards until your back hit a rock, blocking your path. You fucked up, you cornered yourself. You broke the one rule of not getting yourself stuck against a wall.

“Well fuck.” You mumbled, gasping for air. The suns rays were pounding down on you. The pain from your fall coursing through your body, you were sure to have a massive bruise down your side.

More scorpions came around the sides of the rock. You only had enough ammo to deal with one. But if you could deal with one and get it out of the way, maybe you could make a run for it. Just maybe…

But before you could put your plan into action you hear gunshots and the scorpion to your left goes limp. It’s dead, and the other 3 scorpions turn their attention to what or who killed it. You took this opportunity to make a run for it.

You hopped over the dead scorpion and ran to a nearby bus to hide behind it. As soon as you were behind the bus and had your breathing under control you realized you were bleeding. Your shirt was covered in blood, something must have cut you when you fell, you didn’t know what and you didn’t want to bother finding out. You dug through your medical supplies and found a stimpak and something to wrap your wound with.

As you were busy fixing yourself up, your savior took care of the rest of the scorpions. And came to find you hiding out behind the bus.

You hadn’t realized until you heard a man clear his throat. You stood up quick, getting your guard back up in case this man saved you for another reason besides out of the goodness of his own heart. He could be fixing to rob you for all you knew or worse.

Hand on your gun you looked up at him. “Uh-” you start, glancing over the man standing before you.

He was dressed like a cowboy, boots, hat, duster jacket. The whole works. His leather cowboy hat covered his face so you couldn’t make out any of his facial features.

“Y’know, ya shouldn’t be out here if you don’t know what you’re doing.” He drawled. His accent thick.

“I know what I-” you started before he cut you off again. “Clearly not.” He chuckled, flicking his hat up to uncover his eyes. He stared you down for a minute, waiting for your next response.

With his face now uncovered, you could tell he was a ghoul. You’d never met a ghoul that wasn’t feral before.

“I didn’t need your help.” You grumbled through gritted teeth. The ghoul was starting to offend you. You had been surviving in the wasteland since you were born.

“Well you got it.” He took a step closer to you. “And just because you didn’t need it doesn’t mean you don’t owe me now.” He was now a foot from you. “Owe you what?” You asked, getting worried.

He chuckled at your now worried tone. “Where’d all that confidence go sweetheart. Oh it’s nothing bad.” He was inches from you now. Your senses were heightening, your heart rate increasing.

Were you attracted to this ghoul? That would be the only explanation for the way you were feeling now.

“I’ll give you two options. How ‘bout that?” He asked, slipping a finger under your chin to force you to look up into his eyes.

“Hmm?” He hummed. “Fine.” You finally responded, gulping down the lump in your throat.

You could feel the tension growing. Where was he going with this?

#cooper howard smut #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard #cooper howard x fem!reader #fallout fanfic

94 notes · View notes

ktredshoes · 5 months

Text

HBO War Rewatch, The Pacific Episode 2

Something the episode did not convey -- probably because the truth would have seemed more improbable than what actually happened -- is that the Battle for Henderson Field, particularly the Lunga area where John Basilone was situated, went on longer than what was shown in the miniseries. It actually stretched over 3 days and nights, from Oct. 23 to 26 -- and Basilone's part in the battle for which he received the Medal of Honor was over a two-day stretch in which he was in charge of two heavy machine gun sections. At one point, they were so low on ammo that he was running barefoot through the lines to fetch more ammo.

As part of Dog Company, 1st Battalion, 7th Marines, Basilone and his company were attached to Company C, which after the battle took the name "Suicide Charley," with a flag made of Japanese parachute silk emblazoned with a skull and crossbones -- a name the company still bears today. You can see the flag with skull and crossbones behind John when he can't open his canteen due to the burns he sustained on his arms, and J.P. takes the canteen and opens it for him.

Here's the citation from John's MOH:

For extraordinary heroism and conspicuous gallantry in action against enemy Japanese forces, while serving with First Battalion, Seventh Marines, First Marine Division, in the Lunga Area, Guadalcanal, Solomon Islands, on October 24 and 25, 1942. While the enemy was hammering at the Marines’ defensive positions, Sergeant Basilone, in charge of two heavy machine guns, fought valiantly to check the savage and determined advance. In a fierce frontal assault with the Japanese blasting his guns with grenades and mortar fire, one of Sergeant Basilone’s sections, with its gun crews, was put out of action, leaving only two men to carry on. Moving an extra gun into position, he placed it into action, then, under continual fire, repaired another and personally managed it, gallantly holding his line, until replacements arrived. A little later, with ammunition critically low and the supply lines cut off, Sergeant Basilone, at great risk of his life and in the face of continued enemy attack, battled his way through hostile lines with urgently needed shells for his gunners, thereby contributing in a large measure to the virtual annihilation of a Japanese regiment. His great personal valor and courageous initiative were in keeping with the highest traditions of the United States Naval service.

#the pacific #hbo war #hboww2rewatch

26 notes · View notes

fandomnerd9602 · 11 months

Text

Stitched Together

Allyson Nelson-Strode x Wick! Reader

Part Two of 'Stitched' - Set during Halloween Ends

Life was moving quite well for you and Allyson Strode. You moved in together with your newly adopted dog. You were on friendly-ish terms with Ally's grandmother Laurie. You even made friends with the local mechanic, a good fellow by the name of Corey Cunningham. All seemed pretty easy going for you.

But then you got the call from the Chicago branch of the Continental. Allyson and Corey didn't know about your real job. The family business. You belong to the lineage of one Jonathan Wick. Most called him the Baba Yaga. You called him Dad.

But there was no time to dwell on that. The Continental called you to a meeting in its bar all the way in Chicago. You told Allyson that you'd have to attend a day conference and went out.

On the way out of town, you found a couple of band geeks beating up Corey, smashing a bottle of chocolate milk in his hand.

You throw the car into a spin and jump out, "hey!" you yell as you run to your friend's aid. The band geeks scatter. Corey looks to you, a little disappointed and a little angry.

"You alright Cunningham?"

"Could be better" he huffs as you quickly wrap his hand in a towel and guide him to your mustang.

It was a detour but you take Corey to the hospital. "Honey" you call out to your girlfriend, "stitch job needed"

She doesn't hesitate to begin the procedure, "well this brings back memories" she chuckles

"Huh?" Corey asks

"Allyson and I met this way" you shrug.

"I got this covered" Ally smiles at you, "you still heading to your meeting? Think you'll be back in time for the party?"

"Yeah" you wave at her as you head out, "I'll be back by tonight"

"Why don't you come with us, Corey?"

Corey actually smiles, "uh...sure."

You make your way out of Haddonfield and towards Chicago. Your destination lies in sight: the Chicago Continental. A building relatively similar to the one in New York.

You walk into the lobby and come face to face with Persephone, the concierge.

"Welcome back to the Continental, Mr. Wick" she smiles, her gothic eyes stare daggers into yours.

"Hey 'Seph" you state, "where is he?"

"The Bar" she smiles, "drinks have already been paid for."

You walk into the hotel's bar to find your grandfather, Winston, sitting there sipping a martini. "Hello (Y/N)" he smiles, "it appears that everyone in the family besides your father has been fighting some sort of slasher"

"New York?"

"Your brother is fighting Ghostface" he winces before taking another sip of his drink. "want anything to drink?"

"I have a drive home, can't drink" you smirk.

"Shame. I feel the Wick boys could use one"

"Maybe after. Why am I here?"

"Your assignment has not changed. We want the head of Michael Myers."

"Easier said than done, Winston"

He smiles, "I thought the Shape was no match for one of the Baba Yagas"

"I'm gonna need guns"

"Check with the armory here, no charge" Winston takes one last drink from his martini as you head out.

You load up on all your weapons. A shotgun with dragon's breath ammo, a bowie knife, and your family's favorite: the 9mm Pit Viper. Your dad would've approved.

Maybe it was some devilish machination or some cruel twist of fate but as you drove towards Haddonfield, something was afoot. Some evil influence had a desire for your friend.

Corey just so happened to run into those band geeks again. He was beaten and thrown over the edge of the bridge.

And something...or rather someone found him.

To Be Continued...

#halloween #halloween ends #allyson nelson #allyson nelson x reader #john wick #wick reader #assassin reader #assassin #blumhouse #andi matichak #corey cunningham #crossover #horror crossover #john wick imagine #the continental #Spotify

27 notes · View notes

moiravim · 2 years

Text

Truth

Loki x Yn

enemies to lovers

one-shot

has smut❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

takes place during Loki series.

The morning sky was cerulean-blue. The sound of intoning cars filled the air. The sun was glowing like a beacon for the lost souls of the world. A feathered sound echoed through the trees. The sugary smell of the bakery nearby drifted through the air. The clouds were drifting along in the eternal summer sky. It was like a dome of azure blue. The concrete below her feet was rough. A variety of people passed her, all going about their day with no idea what events were coming next.

You gazed around the city, finding your eyes wander up to the sky. You look back down to your phone awaiting a text from Clint about your plans for the day when you suddenly hear a crashing sound from behind you.

Your head turns up from your phone and snaps back. The sound of rubble hitting the ground and the smell of smoke fills your senses. You tear your eyes from the scene in front of you to look at the sound coming from your phone.

You open your phone to see 3 missed clas from Clint. You call Clint back almost immediately.

Before you even got the chance to ask Clint what the hell was happening you're interrupted by his distraught voice. "Y/n where the hell are you?"

"I'm in the city not far awat from the tower, I was waiting for you to text me back about where to meet. Where the hell are you?! And what's going on?" You snap

You hear rustling coming from Clints end before he starts to speak "There's an emergency get up to the tower asap." You say a quick ok and start running towards the tower, hair rustling in the strong wind. "So what's going on?" You question in a loud, fast voice.

"Loki's invad-" Clint starts but his voice gets cut off by another. "Sorry Clint you were gonna over explain, so let's keep this short, sweet, and as simple as possible. Loki's invading new York because he wants to rule new York, and Thor aka Loki's brother knows how to stop him and it requires us, so hurry up and get here." Tony's exasperating voice states before hanging up on you.

You let out a breathe of annoyance, putting your phone back into your pocket as you begin to pick up your pace back to the tower.

You hurriedly make your way through the doors expecting to hear the bustling voices of your fellow avengers but instead you're greeted with nothing but silence. Well the most silence yiu can get going with the fact that there's currently an invasion right outside your window.

You run over to the window to get a better idea of what's going on and where your friends are just to see them running towards the battle without you. "Those dicks..." you mumble before turning around to get your gear on and put a stop to this hell hole of a day.

You finish putting on your gear, making sure to grab your weapons. Grabbing a set of double hand guns and a machine gun. Snatching a knife and a handful of ammo from your selection, hooking them on your belt.

You rum towards the elevator, pressing the down button a couple of times. As soon as the doors open, you hop inside, pressing the floor one. The quiet elevator music playing in the background, a sudden dung signaling you that you're on the first floor, scurrying out of the elevator to where you last saw the Avengers.

Running outside into the diaster of New York made you let out a small gasp, you continue running almost tripping over the terrain before you finally find a worn down Clint next to Tony, Thor, Natasha, and Bruce.

Next to them is a man handcuffed and wearing a muzzle. "Is it over? Are you guys alright?" You question thrm quickly. "We're fine, and yes, the fights over. We caught the greasy haired bastard who caused it, " Tony says, looking at him and then back to you.

"Wait, so I got all geared up for nothing? I get to partake in no fighting whatsoever?" You ask, looking around yourself.

"That is correct, Lady y/n, we put a stop to my brother." You turn your head to look at the man on the floor before asking . "What's the twerp's name?" Looking at Thor awaiting and answer. "My brothers name is Loki." He states making eye contact with you.

Turning your head to look back at Loki, you find him already looking at you. Breaking eye contact to look at the rest of your friends, you ask, "So what do we do with him?"

The avengers walk into the compound when you see hulk breaking down a door, knocking out the agent holding the case containing the tesseract. You watched Loki reaches for the tesseract and you chased after him.

You grab his shoulder to pull him away from the tesseract but it is too late and a blue mist surrounds the both of you, teleporting you both somewhere unrecognizable.

"What the hell, man?! This is all your fault. I have plans with Clint tonight.." you complain as you roll your eyes at him. Clint had been friends with you for a long time. He is the one who introduced you to the avengers. He changed your life for the better and the least you could do is be on time to your lunch date with him.

"My fault? How absurd of you. If you're dumb self hadn't grabbed me you wouldn't be here." He yelled back. You and Loki had never gotten along.

The first time you two met, he snuck up on you, causing you to punch him with all your strength. His face was junked up for over a week and he never forgived you for it.

Not that you want his forgiveness. It's his fault for walking up behind you when you thought you were alone. He could have been anyone, how were you supposed to know he was Thor's brother?

"Sure, blame it on me all you want. But it was 100% your fault." You respond to his argument.

He stares at you and disgust before walking off, leaving you to fend for yourself. That's when a group of people walk up to the two of you and Loki starts talking to them.

Then suddenly a rectangle shaped portal opens, and a group of agents wearing suits with the letters TVA on them walked through it.

It quickly became clear to you that they were arresting the two of you. Loki tried to fight back but it didn't work out. You decided to stay compliant until the time was right.

After the two of you had gotten settled you were introduced to a man named Mobius. He claimed that he would try to help you the best he can.

You quickly proved to Mobius that he can trust you, which you were thankful for since you had gotten your outfit back while Loki was stuck wearing a suit which says variant on it.

You and Loki walk into an empty office, continuing your tiff. "Maybe if you weren't a stupid asshole who just had to touch the fancy blue glowy thing, we wouldn't be here!" You state pointing your finger at him then yourself.

"It's called a tesseract,you incompetent mortal! And maybe if you didn't have to come in and save the day by trying to stop me only , I would be here n,t you!" He angrily yells.

You glare at him, a you lift your hands, pressing them onto his chest and shoving him away from you. He looks shocked for a moment before his face morphs back into his angry scowl.

Loki takes fast and heavy steps back towards you, chests touching, facing not even an inch apart. "Loki if you don't get the hell away from me I, gonna punch the shi-"

You get cut off mid sentence when you feel his lips smash into yours. You quickly pull away, shocked by the action. Both of you breabreathedvily. You look up at him, lust filled your eyes as you pull him towards you, smashing his lips onto yours for yet another kiss.

Stumbling for something to lean on, you bump into a desk. Loki lifts you up and sets you on the desk. Breaking the kiss only for a second to catch your breath. His lips are back on your almost immediately, his tountonguehing open on your bottom lip, begging for entrance in your mouth. Right when your mouth opens for a second,his tongue is colliding with yours.

Your hands fumble with the zipper of his tan jumpsuit, desperate to get it off. Once you finally get it unzipped, he slips it off and works his hands on your clothes, zipping off your jumpsuit, leaving you both in nothing but your undergarments.

Lokis lips attatch to your neck, tounge swirling on your soft skin, leaving marks. He quickly takes your bra off, moving his lips down to your breast, sucking on the bud of your nipple.

You moan at the sensation of his tongue of your breast and his hand on the other. He grabs you by the waist, flipping you over on the table, stomach laying flat. He takes his fingers, pulling down my panties.

Loki chuckles lightly. "You're so wet. All for me, huh?" You look back at him with an annoyed expression. "Don't get to cocky Loki."

He smirks before taking his boxers off, tossing them to the side. He pumps his shaft a few times before lining himself up with your soaking pussy.

Loki pushes himself in your entrance, groaning with each thrust. Below him you're a moaning mess, whining his name each time he hits your g-spot.

Loki's thrusts becomes sloppy, as do his moans. He's groaning his name above you as you let of loud moans of his name.

With one final thrust you and Loki release at the same time. Collapsing onto the table, breathless.

Loki hands you your clothes, both of you getting dressed again. "Just wanted to let you know, even after whatever the hell that I was, I still hate you." You utter, looking at him to make eye contact. "I hate you more." Loki states with a smirk.

Loki had told you he wanted to show you something. The two of you walked through the halls until he knocked out a TVA worker and stole his TemPad.

You smile and nod as he opens a Timedoor, taking you to a new planet. It looked more like Earth but the technology seemed much less advanced.

You search the town until Loki concluded the planet safe. "I still think this is all your fault. I would've been home with my friends if it wasn't for you" You grumbled in an annoyed tone.

He glares at you and you roll your eyes back at him. "Come on now, we need to find somewhere to stay" you say before you continue walking.

Eventually you find an abandoned cottage house. Loki dusts off some of the surfaces while you check your weapons to make sure they're all in good condition.

You yawn and walk to the couch and prepare yourself for sleep, letting Loki rest on the small twin-sized bed.

You wake up in the middle of the night, feeling horribly sick, barely being able to feel your body as you feel yourself heating up.

You grown in pain as you see Loki shuffle and slowly get up. "Loki" You whisper out, almost too quiet to hear.

He turns to you with a concerned face and immediately makes his way over. He sits down on the floor in front of you and moves your hair out of your face.

"What's wrong...?" He asks, concerned. He can tell you're sick but he hopes you'll tell him it's something else and that you're okay. You look at him sadly and that's enough for him to understand.

He rubs your back as his eyes water. He wants to help, he really does. But he never learned how to heal with his magic. He doesn't know how to kill off this disease.

He knows it's because your body isn't adjusted to the illnesses on this planet, and his heart hurts as he remembers all the times you had told him it's his fault you're here. It's his fault you are dying.

"YN... There's something I need to tell you. I don't hate you. At all. I love you, and if things were to be different I'd like to spend my life with you. I'm sorry I put you in this mess" He lets out, as his tears start to fall.

"Hey.. it's not actually your fault. I was just playing with you. And.. I think I love you too." You respond as you start to fall back asleep.

When you awoke, you looked up at Mobius with a confused face. "What happened...? Where's Loki?" You ask, your voice shaking.

You felt someone rubbing your side and you look behind you to see Loki sitting on the other side of you. You smile as Loki states; "Mobius had found us shortly after you fell asleep... He had an antidote to the illness."

You turn your head towards Mobius and smile thankfully. He nods before turning around and walking out of the room.

"YN? I'd like to be with you. Forever. I know you love me as much as I love you, please give me a chance." He tells you once the door closes. Looking to his eyes, you think for a moment.

You doubted the truth of his words but decided it was worth the risk.

#marvel fanfiction #fanfiction #loki imagine #loki smut #loki layfeson #mcu loki #loki x reader #marvel x reader #marvel #loki x y/n #loki x yn #loki #marvel smut #smut

75 notes · View notes

lulu2992 · 7 months

Text

Exploration of the now-offline Far Cry 5 official websites

Part 7: Toys - Weapons (America)

Recovered content

On July 13th, 2017, a few weapons were introduced on the American website:

BASEBALL BAT "American Grown Pine" Good for: Getting up close and personal When Eden’s Gate throws you a curveball, be ready to knock it, and a few enemies, out of the park.

AR-C "Proven In Combat" Good for: Getting the job done It's not pretty, not a collector's item, and is hardly a family heirloom. But when the tough get going the AR-C gets to mowing.

DYNAMITE "Boom" Good for: Demolition work Clear a path through anything in your way... vehicles, buildings, or cultists.

M1911 PISTOL "Standard Issue" Good for: Taking care of business Happiness is a slick 1911, loads of ammo, and plenty to shoot. Become one with the gun and enjoy the great design that has fought the good fight for freedom for more than a century. Old but reliable, the 1911 is man’s other best friend.

SLEDGEHAMMER "American Steel" Good for: Smash Watch where you are swinging this thing, unless you’re aiming for The Father. Designed to smash through anything in its way, your sledge will be put to good use against the cult.

D2 SHOTGUN "Stopping Power" Good for: A hole in one When you must inflict as much damage as possible unto your foe in close combat, the best remedy is to put a massive hole in their abdomen. Accept no substitutes.

Later, on or before March 27h, 2018, the Toys section was moved to its own page and introduced by this:

GAME INFO You’ll have access to weapons and accessories throughout the game by meeting characters, building your resistance and progressing in the world. Additional customization options will give you the freedom to create weapons that fit your personality and playstyle.

In addition to the weapons that had already been introduced (minus the sledgehammer, which disappeared), these were added:

ROCK "Made You Look" Good for: Causing a Distraction Throwing your enemy off their game hardly involves causing a scene—just toss a rock … or a few.

MP40 "Spray Lead" Good for: Leveling the Field No novice to short-range combat, this machine pistol has been tried and tested.

MBP .50 "Ol’ Faithful" Good for: Getting Out of a Jam This small piece of historical steel is ideal for popping off a few quick rounds without waking up too many neighbors.

GRENADE "Fire in the Hole" Good for: Flushing Out the Vermin Got some cult members holed up? Just toss one of these in and watch them come running.

COMPOUND BOW "Clean Kill" Good for: Eagle-Eye Accuracy Whatever game you’re hunting—be it cult or critter—accept only the highest standard among the most formidable sportsmen.

The page looked like this at least until May 18th, 2019.

Commentary

So we could have had a sledgehammer as a melee weapon in Far Cry 5! It still exists in the files, but it’s not available in the game (unless you have mods)...

Under the cut are all the available source files, saved directly from the website, of the images you see in the screenshots:

#far cry 5

12 notes · View notes

crazylittlejester · 5 months

Note

Random question but if all the Links were put in a zombie apocalypse, what do you think they'd do?

that SERIOUSLY depends on what kind of zombie apocalypse we’re talkin about, but I’m gonna take this question and answer it as if a resident evil style zombie crisis happened because those are the kind of zombies I’m most familiar with

I think they, as a group, would try their best to take out whatever was causing the zombie outbreak, and i think they’d also try to rescue as many civilians as they could. I think Wars and Sky would be a good ground team who can take out a lot of zombies all at once, I can see them using weapons that are better for focusing on a hoard more so than accurately taking out one specific guy. In RE i’d give them both machine guns. Time I’d give a shot gun and have him focus on the big threat. He’d have help from the others, but his main focus is the big guy, the others have his back. I think Wild and Four would make good snipers, taking care of guys who sneak up on the others, and also watching each other’s backs from different high grounds (roofs/balconies/whatever). Wind and Legend I’d give hand guns and they’d probably focus on getting civilians out of the way, or going in and getting the key or puzzle piece that’s needed from the area. They do need weapons to defend themselves but they’re the runners and the goal is that most of the zombies are going after the others and leaving those two alone. They also pick up extra ammo for the others. Hyrule also gets a hand gun and he’d be running around with healing items, punching zombies who grab the others, and generally just being bad ass. Him, Wind and Legend help with zombie crowd control once the civilians are safe and the key is grabbed and the mission for that area is complete

Twilight could do literally ANYTHING to me, part of me wants to give him a shot gun and put him with Time, but also him as Wolfie could do a lot just dragging zombies away or quickly running to the others in times of need. Honestly I’d put him in the spot where he just does whatever is needed. He gets a few weapons to choose from, and he goes wherever the others need the most help

They’d be an incredibly badass team, the zombies wouldn’t stand a chance

#THIS WAS A FUN ASK THANK YOU #jes talks #jes ask #lu zombie apocalypse

7 notes · View notes

agbpaints · 1 year

Text

Today I figured I'd rant about a mech that's dangerously, frustratingly close to being good. In the winter of 3049 as the Clan Invasion crashed into the Draconis Combine, Coordinator Takashi Kurita demanded the Combine's remaining manufacturing bases make good the losses the DCMS had suffered fighting again the extra-spheroid invaders. Enter one Nimakachi Fusion Products Limited, a Free Worlds based dropship and light battlemech manufacturer with a significant presence in Combine space. Nimakachi ramped up their Spider production lines significantly to meet the DCMS's demand for new mechs, but the company also saw an opportunity to expand and produce a new design in-house that would serve as a more combat oriented version of the venerable jumping scout mech. To that end, they designed the Venom

5 tons heavier than it's original inspiration and model code namesake, the SDR-9K Venom is an attempt to answer a fairly frustrating problem posed by newly discovered lostech- namely the range issues of inner sphere pulse lasers. With half the range of their clantech equivalents, ISPLs end up frequently underperforming even their standard counterparts at anything more than absolute shoved-down-your-throat, see-the-whites-of-the-enemy-mech-pilot's-eyes ranges. Now, Namikachi clearly decided that made them perfect for attaching to their bulked up Spider chassis, using its impressively quick 8/12/8 speed to rapidly close and find chinks in the enemy's armor before jumping away to cover. Unfortunately, despite their extensive use of lostech in their new mech's design, NFPL appears to have poached a couple of engineers from Luthien Armor Works, because when they were building a cooling system for the Venom they chose to sabotage their new design with three words: single heat sinks.

Reader, the SDR-9K builds 16 heat on an alpha strike, 24 if it jumps, and every turn it sinks 12. A venom pilot must choose to either seriously expose herself for at least one turn every time they fire their weapons (something she's unlikely to do, considering the mech's paltry 3.5 tons of armor), or more likely spend 2 or 3 turns away from the fight every time they dive in for a strike simply cooling off as they jump around. Attemping to find a bright spot here- the weapons all being located in the center torso makes the design reasonably handy as a light fist fighter, meaning that even when it's blazing hot it still has some means of defending itself up close between dives at someone's rear torsos.

Despite this serious cooling flaw, a mix of the DCMS's existing homicidal tendencies towards its pilots, the efficacy of the Venom as both a rapid response and hit and run platform with low maintenance costs, and likely a healthy does of 'any port in a storm' mentality, the Combine was elated with the design and ordered them by the company in 3050 as pirate interdiction mechs on the fringes of their territory.

Now, despite the deeply troubled original design, the Venom does have some variants that might make it better, so let's run those down really quick. The SDR-9KA takes out one of the torso lasers and replaces it with two tons of armor. While no longer capable of delivering a PSR on its own, this variant does beat the original at least *somewhat* in heat management while also being able to take a PPC/Clan Large Laser to any component before needing to take a crit check.

The SDR-KB is more of the same, but it lowers the heat load even further by adding in a 13th heat sink (yay!), pulling 2 of the jump jets (boo!), and replacing a pulse laser with a machine gun, a ton of ammo, and a ton of extra armor. While this does mean we finally have a variant capable of firing all its guns and moving without burning out the pilot, the presence of the massive torso bomb in conjunction with the slower air speed and thin armor means that this variants staying power is likely wasted in most engagements where it will be more easily disabled or killed.

Finally, because it's a Combine adjacent design, we have the SDR-9KC which is a c3 design. Similar to the 9KA, it pulls a pulse laser for some extra weight to play with, as well as upgrading the chassis to endosteel to make room for the telemetry computer. Unfortunately the cuts don't end there, as Namikachi's mech also pulled out one of the mech's precious double heat heat sinks for even more additional armor. Wait, double heat sinks? Hallelujah yes! Someone finally made the really obvious choice and gave the Venom proper freezers, meaning after 16 years it's finally capable of regularly firing all its guns and jumping. The final 7 tons of armor means the 9KC is also surprisingly tough for its speed and weight, capable of shrugging off most weapons short of a gauss rifle to any off its components with armor left to spare.

Sarna tells me there's another variant, the 9KE, which is armed with an ER laser, ER flamer, mine and remote sensor dispensers, and a partial wing, but Flechs doesn't have a nice sheet for it and dark age tech scares and confuses me. If you want a kooky little scout for your missile carrier company that can annoy attackers with mined roads, this might be it but YMMV.

Despite my ragging on it, I quite like the Venom as a design and an idea. Pulse laser jumpy boys are a favorite niche design type of mine, and when given the cooling they need to succeed, they can be fairly menacing little bastards. It also just looks plain cool with the pointy Ming the Merciless-esque shoulder bads and vectoring fins. With even the 9KC coming in comfortably well under 900 bv, they're cheap additions to the cavalry/exploitation arms of your lances to run alongside things like Wolverines and their bigger brother, the Wraith. Definitely worth a try at keast once if you own a Spider and play in Civil War or later!

#battletech #venom #battlemech #mech talk

29 notes · View notes

jessybarnes · 2 years

Text

My Heart Left With You

Title: My Heart Left With You

Pairing: Infinity War!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1,273

Tags: ANGST...this is pure angst...I'm so sorry...

Written For: @comfortember

Day 10: Breakdown

Beta(s): None... just me and Grammerly

The chaos of the battle sounds roar around you and your team as you continue to fight diligently.

Thanos and his army have been battling the Avengers for the remainder of the Infinity Stones for weeks, and it's finally come to a head here in Wakanda.

You're standing between Steve and Bucky, taking down enemy after enemy alongside them. The three of you work effortlessly together like a well-oiled machine.

You toss Bucky a magazine for his rifle and swipe his knife from his weapon belt, "I'll give it back later, Buck. I'm out of ammo."

He turns to you and slides the magazine home before firing over your shoulder. "Promise me if we get separated that you'll come back to me, doll."

You kiss him hard, trying not to think about how this could be the last time you get to feel his soft lips against yours. "I promise, baby."

Steve hits the ground next to you and you stab the alien in the neck that's on top of him before pulling your best friend to his feet.

"The lab's been breached!" He shouts both to you and into his comms. "We need to get to Vision!"

The three of you take off towards the woods, knowing that's where he'd go. Natasha, Bruce, T'challa, and Wanda all follow suit and soon the six of you are surrounding a wounded Vision doing whatever you can to ensure his and Wanda's safety.

You know from the way she and him are talking that he's not making it through this. There wasn't enough time for Shuri to extract the mind stone and also spare his life force. You swallow the lump in your throat and continue to kill anything that's a threat.

This is, by far, the most brutal battle you've ever fought, and you can't help how exhausted you feel. Like Natasha, you don't have any super-soldier serum or magic running through your veins. There's only so much you can take.

It's starting to pay off though. The amount of aliens surrounding your small group of heroes is dwindling, and soon Steve stabs the last one in the chest before it falls to the ground lifeless.

You don't have time to celebrate, because in the next second, a portal opens and Thanos steps through it. You eye the gauntlet on his arm, your heart sinking to your stomach when you see that he has all of the Infinity Stones. All except the one Vision has on his head...the mind stone.

Steve and Bruce charge forward, immediately trying to disarm him, but they're tossed aside as if they weighed nothing.

Thanos uses the stones to trap Bruce into the side of a rock wall, before grabbing T'challa by the neck and throwing him to the ground. He isn't moving and your heart drops to your stomach. He then turns to your best friend and pushes back against his hands as he tries to remove the golden glove. Bucky shoots bullet after bullet at the purple giant, but it does nothing to deter him.

In the next second, you see him grab Steve by the armor and punch him in the face. His head snaps back and he falls to the ground with a sickening thud.

"STEVE!" You scream and try and go to him, but Bucky grabs your wrist, pulling you back into his chest. Tears cloud your vision as you struggle in his hold. "No! No, let me go! Steve! We have to help him, Buck...we have...please...he needs..."

"Y/N... listen to me, okay?" Bucky's voice cracks, tears shining in his eyes as he looks down at you. "He's gone. We have to focus, baby. We have to finish this, for the world...we have to finish this for Steve."

Thanos charges at the rest of you and Bucky pushes you behind him, racking the slide back on his gun and firing every last bullet he has left to defend the two of you. He knows it's not going to work, but he has to try.

The gauntlet whirs and the rest of you surrounding Vision and Wanda are scattered along the forest floor. Even though you and the remainder of your team aren't there to defend them anymore, she was still able to remove the stone, it shatters into tiny pieces at her feet. Your heart breaks for her as she falls to her knees beside Vision's body.

"This is no time to mourn," Thanos declares and raises his gloved arm. It glows green, and a few seconds later all of you are back to where you were two minutes ago. Steve, T'challa, and Bruce are all alive and well, and although you're more than relieved to have them back, your happiness is short-lived.

Thanos reaches out and grasps the now intact mind stone and rips it out of Vision's head. Once more you have to watch as he falls lifeless to the ground at Wanda's feet. He adds the stone to the gauntlet and his whole body glows as it ascends to full power.

Just as you're about to charge at him, a blast of lightning strikes Thanos, and Thor's axe lodges in the center of his chest.

"You die for that." Thor stares menacingly at him as he shoves the weapon in deeper.

Thanos winces and looks up at him, a slight smirk on his face.

"You should have gone for the head."

He snaps his fingers and a blinding light billows out around all of you. Thor grabs onto Thanos's armor and shakes him.

"What did you do?!"

He doesn't answer and instead opens another portal, disappearing through it like he was never even there to begin with. The only evidence is the small bit of blood on the end of Thor's axe.

You immediately take off running to Steve, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly.

"I...I thought we lost you..."

"I think you did for a moment, but whatever Thanos did with the stones must have reversed it."

You look up at him happily and turn to look at Bucky. He's standing a few feet from you with a scared look on his face. Your smile falls and you start toward him

"Buck? Baby, what's wrong?"

"Y/N...Steve..." He locks eyes with you and to your horror, his body begins to turn to dust.

You break into a sprint, but by the time you get to where he was, it's too late. The only thing left of him is his weapon and a pile of ash.

"BUCKY?! No, no, no...no...come back...baby come back!" Your hands shake as you gather a handful of dust, it falls through your fingers like sand.

Steve comes up behind you and tries to pull you to your feet, but you rip away from him, loud sobs shaking your body.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry...but we can't stay here. It's not safe."

"How can you say that?!" You look up at him with tear-stained cheeks. "I'm not leaving him, Steve. We have to help him! We...we have...I...I can't lose him!"

Natasha picks up Bucky's gun and slings it over her shoulder while Steve pulls you to your feet. He cradles your face in his hands and looks seriously into your devastated eyes.

"Honey, I swear on my life that we will bring him back, okay? I don't care how long it takes...I don't care what I have to do. I'll get him back for you, but you have to come with us now, alright?"

You nod, your lower lip trembling as you take one last look at where the love of your life last stood.

#j snow writes #comfortember 2022 #comfortember2022 #steve rogers #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky angst #infinity war bucky

146 notes · View notes

supermarvelgirl15 · 2 years

Text

When We Drink Cold Water

Summary: You made yourself look up, locking eyes with Joel before you were suddenly plunged into a new world of cold and darkness. You tried to swim back up to the surface, but it was as if the ice-cold water didn't want you to leave. Something was pulling you back down, further away from the much needed air, further away from Joel.

Pairing: Joel Miller × f!reader

Word Count: 3,450

Warnings: Guns, blood, canon-typical violence, near death experiences, choking, almost drowning, angst, and possible hypothermia

A/N: The Last of Us has taken a hold of my life as you can see, so of course I had to write a fic for my grumpy old man! This is my first time writing for Joel, so I apologize if I don't capture him perfectly yet. I hope you all enjoy it!!

Main Masterlist

××××××

It was cold.

The air fogged in front of you with every breath you took, the frigid air filling your lungs. Snow crunching beneath your boots as the two of you walked was the only sound that you could hear in the isolated town that you were trekking through.

You pulled your jacket closer to you as the wind picked up, huffing out a clear sound of annoyance. You didn't want to cut through the town to begin with, saying that it'd be safer to just go around and head straight into the woods.

There was a lesser chance of running into... inconveniences that way.

But Joel said it was quicker this way, and the both of you needed to loot up on supplies anyhow. He said you'd only stay long enough to gather what was needed and then find a place to crash for the night.

So, you followed him–albeit reluctantly–into what used to be a little convenience store, gathering what you could find as quick and thorough as possible. The faster the two of you got out of there the better.

“I used to love getting these,” you said aloud, using the toe of your boot to poke at what used to be an old slushie machine that laid broken on the ground. It was hard to believe that it been almost twenty years since the last time you tasted one.

Joel looked over from where he had found some ammo hidden behind the counter, a huff of air that someone that didn't know him would mistake as a chuckle leaving his nose. “I preferred coffee.”

You wrinkled your nose at the thought of the taste of a bland convenience store coffee. Before you could comment on his apparent addiction, a sound from outside made you stop in your tracks completely.

Voices. Human ones.

Your eyes immediately locked with Joel's as he signaled you to duck down. Whoever it was was just outside the window near you. If you were lucky, they were just fellow travelers just making their way through the town just like you.

You were never that lucky.

Slowly, you crept over to the window, barely peeking your head over to see what exactly you were up against.

There were five men at the least, all of them holding a weapon of some kind as they scanned the streets. It looked as of they were looking for something, or maybe even somebody.

“What do you see?” Joel whispered, staying in his crouched position behind the counter. He held his revolver in his right hand, his finger ready at the trigger.

“At least five men, all armed,” you replied, freezing when the voices of the group outside suddenly go quiet.

The only thing you could hear now was their boots in the snow until someone called out, “I got tracks!”

Your eyes flashed over to Joel once again as you slowly reached for your shotgun that hung on your backpack. Joel raised his hand up to tell you to stop, his eyes flicking up to the window just above your head.

“I think they're in here!” The same voice shouted as he jumped in through the window. Before the man could even react to almost landing on top of you, Joel's revolver shot out a bullet between his eyes.

You were quick to sling your shotgun around then, jumping to hide behind the counter with Joel. All the other men started yelling now, as if the sound of Joel's gun was the signal to start a war.

More shots rung out as the other men blindly fired into the store, their bullets tearing through what little was left on the shelves. You cocked your shotgun, quickly jumping up to fire a shot, just barely missing one of them as they ducked for cover. You swiftly squatted back down with your back to the counter.

“I told you we should've went around,” you muttered annoyingly, tensing when a bullet hits an object off the counter just above you.

“Save it.” Joel jumped up just like you did to shoot, but judging by the scream, he actually hit one. “I'm gonna go out the back and get behind ’em. Stay here and stay down.”

You shake your head. “No, you should stay here and cover me–you've always been the better shot. I can take them down while you distract them.” It was the more logical thing to do, but Joel wouldn't hear it.

“No. Stay here and stay down,” he repeated sternly. You open up your mouth to protest again, but he headed out the back before you could say anything.

Cursing Joel under your breath, you give your attention back to the men outside. They stopped firing, the crunching of the snow giving themselves away. “We know you're in here,” one of them taunts in a singsong voice as he steps inside.

Oh, screw Joel.

You pop up with your shotgun aimed at him, a smirk plastered on your face. “Hey there, handsome.” The man doesn't even get the chance to raise his gun before you've pulled the trigger, flinging him out the door he came from.

The action is enough to give away your position, the others shooting in your direction. You make a break for it and dive behind one of the rotten shelves just as a Molotov was thrown your way. If this wasn't enough distraction for Joel, then he really is getting old.

Just then, you hear a bomb go off, the sound of nails hitting everything in radius, along with the screams of the men that happened to be standing just too close. Hopefully that was all of them.

“You son of a bitch!” Never mind.

You took the chance to look out the window, seeing Joel getting swung at with a bat covered in barbed wire as another man continued to shoot at him.

Quickly, you reloaded and made a run for it out the door, sneaking up behind the man with the gun. “Hey!” You shouted just as you shot him in the chest. You looked up to see the other man using the bat to pin Joel against a wall, the wire cutting into his skin.

Before you could make a move towards him, your body was slammed into the ground, the air escaping your lungs throwing you into a slight panic.

Another man had tackled you into the snow, the momentum causing your shotgun to fly out of your hands. You didn't even get the chance to earn your breath back before his hands found their way around your neck and his knees pinned you down. The look that he held in his eyes was enough to give you nightmares on its own.

Your nails started clawing at his face, desperately trying to get him to loosen his grip on your throat. Your vision was starting to spot and you thought you could hear Joel screaming your name, or was that just the lack of oxygen? You just prayed that he wouldn't die as well.

Your thumbs were finally able to find his devilish eyes, and you shoved them in there as far as you could go. The man yelled then, letting go of your neck to grab your wrists. You took the moment to take a deep breath and used your legs to push him off you. You scrambled after your shotgun that laid just ahead of you in the snow, but paused when you heard a gun click.

Slowly, you turned around on your back, facing him. There was blood dripping down from his eyes, the gun pointed at your face just as deadly as his stare.

“You slut!”

A shot rung out...but you weren't dead.

The gun fell out of his hands, him following after it. You watched as the snow started to soak up the hunter's blood as it pooled around his head. He was dead.

You grabbed your shotgun as you slowly stood back up, your hand reaching up to rub at your throat. You finally tore your eyes away from the body to look at where the shot came from, meeting Joel's eyes that held nothing but anger.

“Than–”

“I told you to stay down.”

Your brows knitted together. “You're welcome? What was I supposed to do? Let ’em kill you?” You inquired, slinging your gun over your shoulder. He couldn't be serious. “Besides, if we had just done it my way, it would've been a whole lot smoother.”

Joel scoffed. “If we had did your way, we both would've been dead.” He bent down to check the man's jacket for anything useful. You just stood there, watching him. He really couldn't be serious.

The sounds of more gunfire interrupted the both of you. Joel picked up the bat that was just used against him moments earlier, the cuts on his hands proof of it. “Let's get a move on.”

You wanted to protest, not wanting to drop the subject so quickly, but was stopped by inhuman screeches coming from the same direction of the gunfire. Runners.

Without another word, the two of you jogged out of the town, heading down a trail through the woods. Neither of you did nothing to get rid of the thick atmosphere that surrounded you, even when the sun began to disappear into the familiar darkness.

Tonight, the darkness brought a frigid cold to join it, the worst of it seeping through your layers. There was something poetic about winter during this new world. The harsh season ripping away what was left of the already decaying world. At least the trees and flowers were given a second chance once spring came. Not everyone was that fortunate.

There was a time when you loved winter. The fluffiness of the snow that made you giddy like you were a kid and the redness that would spread across your cheeks when the wind hit them. Now the once cherished season brought nothing but dread and death. Much like the reality everyone now lived in.

“Here.” Joel started towards a cabin that set up on a hill. The wood had seen better days, but so had you. All of the windows were boarded up from the inside. Someone had holed up here at one time. Hopefully they were no longer were.

Joel opened the door up with a shiv, peeking his head in as he scanned the room. He nodded his head towards you, meaning it was clear.

Once you stepped inside, you could still feel the ghosts of the ones that used to live here. Your feet stopping when your eyes landed on a discarded teddy bear. Maybe they were still alive somewhere.

Maybe.

Sitting down in one of the near rotted chairs, Joel dug through his backpack, pulling out his canteen of water. “Take this,” he said, holding it towards you.

You sat down on the molded couch, your back to him. “I'm good,” you replied shortly. You bit the inside of your cheek as you dug through your bag for your own canteen. “I can actually take care of myself, believe it or not.”

Joel ran his hand over his face, dropping his canteen back into his pack. “You're still on that shit?”

You faced him then as you stood back up, your bag falling over. “Yes, Joel, I'm still on ‘that shit.’ I don't know where you got the idea that I'm totally helpless without you. I survived long before I met you, Miller.” You shoved a finger in his direction. “If it wasn't for me today, you would've been dead.”

Joel stood up as well, taking a few steps towards you. “You were almost killed,” he seethed. “If you had listened to me none of that shit would've happened!” He shoved the chair behind him across the room, but you didn't flinch. You were too fired up to care.

“I had it under control. We've had plenty of close calls before,” you pointed out.

An incredulous laugh left Joel's lips. “Under control? Then explain that.” Joel gestured to your bruised neck, your fingers reaching up to ghost over it. “If I was just a second too late, you would've been good as dead.”

If you weren't so blinded by your rage, you would've caught the catch in his throat as the words left him. “What are you saying, Joel?” You asked, your fists clenching at your sides.

“If it wasn't for me, you would've been killed a long time ago.” His words struck you like a knife, the voice in your head reminding you of what you feared all along, pushing the knife even deeper. You wouldn't listen to him. You couldn't.

You gathered yourself before you spoke again. “If I'm so useless to you, then why did you want me to go to Boston? The only reason I'm even out here is because of you. So tell me, Joel, why?” You asked through gritted teeth.

Joel just stood there, not saying a word. You waited for what felt like an eternity for him to say anything, but he didn't. You nodded, taking his silence as an answer, and bent down to pick up your bag. “I'm done.”

You headed back out the door, the wind burning into your face, but you didn't care. You needed to get of there. Now.

You could hear Joel's boots as he came out behind you. “What the hell are you doing?” He called after you, but you continued on.

“I don't need you to babysit me. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself!” You called back, refusing to face him. You just needed to get out of here.

“You are goin’ out in the middle of nowhere when it's freezing-cold. Smart!” Joel continued, staying just behind you.

Your hands tightened around yourself as you kept your eyes forward. “Then quit following me!”

When you heard his boots stop moving behind you, you thought for once that Joel finally listened to you. But again, you were never that lucky.

“Come back here, now.” His voice was lower than it had been, but that didn't deter you.

“No!”

“Stop!”

“I don't need to listen to a word that comes out of your fu–”

You finally stopped when you heard something crack beneath you. Your eyes slowly casted down to see fractures of ice run in different directions under your feet. Joel was saying something to you, but it fell upon deaf ears, your mind racing with everything that led you to this very single moment.

You made yourself look up, locking eyes with Joel before you were suddenly plunged into a new world of cold and darkness. You tried to swim back up to the surface, but it was as if the ice-cold water didn't want you to leave. Something was pulling you back down, further away from the much needed air, further away from Joel. Your backpack felt like you had nothing but hundreds of bricks in it, dragging you to the bottom. The coldness stiffened your body, making it harder and harder to move.

Right when you started to give in to the icy darkness, something grabbed you by under your arms and pulled you up towards the surface. As soon as you broke free, you gasped for air, the remaining water in your mouth turning your lungs into icicles. The frigid air mixed with the freezing water that soaked into your clothes made it hard to do anything aside from violently shaking, your body working as much as it could to give you at least a little warmth. It wasn't working, especially with the cold air making it difficult to breathe.

The arms that pulled you up now wrapped their selves around you, picking you up. “I gotcha. It's okay, I gotcha.” You heard a voice repeat the mantra several times, but you couldn't make out who it belonged to. You turned your face to bury yourself into their jacket, the familiar scent of gunpowder and wood flooding your senses.

“J-J-Joel?”

“Shhh, I got you, sweetheart,” Joel comforted you, using his foot to open the door to the cabin. “I'm gonna get you warmed up, okay? Here,” he gently set you down in front of the fireplace, “I'm gonna get some wood. Stay here.”

You nodded the best you could, holding yourself as tightly as you could manage. Joel brought back a blanket he had found in the bedroom, wrapping it around your shoulders before promising he'd be right back.

Your eyelids felt heavy, but you knew better than to close them. You knew if you closed them now, it was more than likely that you'd never open them again. It was easier to keep them open with the help of your teeth chattering non-stop.

Just as promised, Joel came back in with some firewood, quickly throwing them into the fireplace. It took him a few tries to get the fire going with his lighter, the cold wood not wanting to give him what he so desperately needed. He cursed to himself, grabbing a pillow from the couch and used it to feed the fire.

Joel let out a sigh of relief as he turned to look back at you, the short-lived relief immediately leaving him at the sight of your closed eyes. He grabbed your face, patting your cheeks firmly. “Hey, I need you to keep them eyes open for me, sweetheart. C'mon now,” he said to you gently, your eyes fluttering open. Apparently your chattering teeth did nothing to help.

Biting his lip, Joel slowly pulled the blanket off you. “You need to get out of your wet clothes,” he told you as he took your backpack off. You tried to help him, but he shook his head. “Let me do it.”

Layer by layer, Joel took your clothes off, throwing them to the other side of the room. You attempted to smile at him as he wrapped you back up in the blanket. “You're su-supposed to take, t-take me to dinner f-first,” you joked as your teeth grinded together.

Joel tried to return something of a tired smile back to you. “Maybe next time,” he replied, shrugging his jacket off. Your eyes widened as he started to take the rest of his clothes off as well.

“W-w-what are y-you–”

“You need body heat,” Joel stated, taking the blanket to wrap around the both of you. He gently laid you both on the ground in front of the fire, holding you against him with your back to his chest.

The two of you laid there in silence, waiting for your shaking to subside. You watched the fire dance in front of you, the flames performing a show before your very eyes. The firey performers couldn't hold your attention, however, your mind solely focusing on the arms that held you together.

“I'm s-s-sorry,” you apologized, fighting against the tears that pricked your eyes. “Y-you were r-right.”

You felt Joel shift behind you. “About what?”

A shaky breath ran through your body. “I'd never m-make it without y-you,” you admitted. Joel remained quiet for a moment, leaving you to your tormented thoughts, before slowly turning you to face him.

“You'd be a whole lot better off without me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed together. “I almost fr-froze to death in a l-lake. I don't th-think so,” you scoffed.

Joel took a deep breath. “If it wasn't for me, none of that shit today would have happened.” You opened your mouth to protest, but he stopped you. “You're one hell of a survivor. I've just been too caught up to remember that.”

You raised a brow. “C-caught up in what?”

He just raked his eyes over your face, running a calloused thumb over your cheek. “We can save it for later. Let's just get you warmed up first.” Joel pulled the blanket over you more, snapping out of whatever trance he was just in.

Slowly, you allowed yourself to lay your head on his chest, holding him closer to you. Your heart began to race as you overturned his words over and over in your head. You wondered if he knew how long you've prayed for a moment like this with him, aside from the possible hypothermia.

“Joel?”

“Hmm?”

“I've b-been caught up, too.”

You hoped your words meant the same to him, squirming slightly when he remained silent. Your head rose up with his chest as he let out a shaky breath, his grip tightening around you.

Joel leaned down, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Get some rest, sweetheart.”

The fire held no comparison to the warmth that filled you while you laid there with him.

××××××

#joel miller × reader #joel miller #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #troy baker #kay writes

79 notes · View notes

autooptic · 18 days

Text

The Aston Martin DB10, created exclusively for James Bond in Spectre, marks the first time a car was specifically designed for the film series. Bond first encounters the DB10 in Q’s lab, where he learns it has been reassigned to Agent 009. However, Bond “borrows” the car for a rogue mission in Rome, leaving a bottle of chilled Bollinger in exchange. The DB10 is then seen driving through Rome's iconic landmarks before arriving at a SPECTRE meeting. As Bond flees the meeting, SPECTRE agents fire machine guns at the car’s bulletproof body armor and glass. A high-speed chase ensues as the new SPECTRE agent, Hinx, pursues Bond in a Jaguar C-X75 through the city streets. During the chase, Bond attempts to use the DB10’s weapon systems, even though he is unfamiliar with their operation. He first tries the ‘Backfire’ button, which reveals a twin-barrelled machine gun extending from the rear Aston badge, but discovers it is out of ammo. The ‘Atmosphere’ button only activates the car stereo. As they race alongside the Tiber River, Bond engages the ‘Exhaust’ button, unleashing a twin flamethrower. Finally, he presses the ‘Air’ button, which deploys the sun-roof ejector seat, allowing him to escape just before the car crashes into the river. As Hinx watches the Aston sink, Bond safely parachutes away and disappears into the night.

The DB10 features a chassis based on a modified V8 Vantage with a longer wheelbase, powered by a 4.7-liter V8 engine. Q claims the DB10 can accelerate from 0 to 60 mph in 3.2 seconds, although Aston Martin states a top speed of 190 mph and a 0 to 60 mph time of 4.7 seconds. The car’s sleek design includes a shark-inspired nose where the grille sits in shadow beneath the main feature line, hinting at its stealthy character. The body panels are made entirely of carbon fiber, exposed on the sills and diffuser, and it has a full clamshell bonnet with a heat-mapped perforation pattern, negating the need for a vent surround. The designers drew inspiration from the classic DB5, working to ensure that when viewed in profile, the DB10 exhibits a single elegant shoulder line running from front to back. Only ten of these concept cars were built, with eight used to film key scenes in Spectre and the remaining two reserved for promotional purposes. Director Sam Mendes contributed to the design process, requesting a car with “clean, clear lines, something classic where it is almost impossible to place its year of birth,” aiming for a design that felt timeless, somewhere between the early ’70s and now.

The main filming sequence involving the DB10 was shot in Rome over three weeks in March 2015, involving 350 crew members and 250 blockers to secure the roads. The production shut down a 4 km section along the River Tiber, including five bridges, using a total of 15 locations such as the road leading up to the Vatican and Via della Conciliazione. Preparations for the shoot included location scouting a year prior, with pre-production beginning in October 2014. During testing, the stunt team went through a pair of tires every 10 minutes. Gary Powell coordinated the stunt driving while Mark Higgins was behind the wheel of the DB10.

#aston martin

6 notes · View notes

sapphic-haymaker · 10 months

Text

Media Log #2: Armored Core 2!

Taking a leap into a whole new console with Armored! Core! 2!!

And oh boy!

this was kinda painful.

Armored Core Gen 1 post

The same game, but somehow less.

So. right off the bat. This game feels pretty alright. We've got pretty similar movement and controls to Gen 1, if a bit slower and pilots a bit smoother. Everything looks pretty nice for a Ps2 launch title. But once i'm past the tutorial mission, I see the Arena is open. I am possessed by a dark spirit to head straight into the thick of it, where I run into a major problem with the game.

All the arm weapons suck.

I'll find this is significantly less of a problem in the story mode missions, but in the Arena is where you're going to most feel it: Basically every returning weapon has less ammo and less damage. Technically weapon damage potential is a bit higher than listed due to a new mechanic where taking successive damage makes your mech overheat, dealing damage over time. But I found almost every arm weapon downright lethargic aside from a few.

I eventually landed on the MGSAW, which is the AC2 version of the same machine gun i cleared MoA on with [The Rook], it did not avoid the nerf bat completely. I think it fires slightly slower and it's damage has been dropped. But it still carries a whopping 1000 rounds and this game isn't bad enough that you can shoot someone a thousand times and they'll still live. This is my main gun for most of AC2's missions.

ACs are just generally bulkier in this new generation. Leading to the early arena fights, where you haven't figured out the damage sauce and the enemies are incompetently built, being absolute wet noodle fights. Shoutouts to the poor woman going by the callsign [Tomboy], equip with only a pistol, which i genuinely don't think could kill me if i simply stood still. It's a miserable existence out here on Mars.

I had never seen an enemy AC run out of ammunition in Gen 1, it happened multiple times with the first few Arena fights in this game. I definitely failed some missions due to my habit of not bringing a sword.

I think I did a couple missions upon running into the first somewhat competently built AC in the game, Werehound. But after doing that to scrap up a bit more money I went the distance and cleared the entire arena 4 or 5 missions into the game.

Small gameplay tangent:

At the start of the game, you're offered a choice between "Normal" and "Hard", I had heard some great things about Hard Mode missions in later AC games, so I immediately picked the option. After finishing it and finding it. not at all hard I googled what the differences was.

Not even the internet could consistently answer my question. It definitely makes your lockbox smaller apparently, some people also say that boosters consume more charge, but I can't find anything concrete beyond those two. These certainly make the game harder but I don't think it's in an interesting way. I wouldn't have switched off of it either way but what a weird design choice.

I did both Gen 1 and Gen 2 fully human. playing Human PLUS just does not sound appealing to me.

Missiles Missiles Missiles.

See. While all the Arm weapons have been nerfed. The back weapons are better than ever, due to Gen 2s being slower than Gen 1s, you can actually reliably hit people with missiles now (I swear it was easier to thread a camel through the eye of a needle than hit high mobility ACs with any sort of missile in Gen 1).

I think FromSoft realized they had created a missile meta cause there's a whole new slot called "Extension", over half of extension parts interact with missiles. A new part slot weirdly called "Inside" also lets you mount even more anti-missile defenses.

You've got extensions that let you fire more missile per missile, you've got extensions that fire missiles to counter missiles, you've got decoys to mislead enemy missiles, you've got missiles that split into more missiles. You will find more missiles in AC2 than you will find stars in the goddamn sky.

Meet my next generation gal, [Rock & Soil]! I originally envisioned her as another solid rock(heh) like [The Rook] from MoA but that quickly went out the window as I learned the game. I went with red, earthy tones cause I was actually pretty excited for AC2's setting change to a newly terraformed Mars! (I really don't think they did enough with it imho)

I went with RJ legs simply cause I hadn't spent a significant amount of time on RJ legs in old gen and wanted to try em out. They're fine.

This build is a damage monster. The Arena enemies are FAR tankier than anything in a mission, but they're still balanced around AC2's lower power weapons, being able to spam missiles absolutely decimates them. On top of this, there is a new mechanic in AC2 called "Limit Release", which lets you gain infinite boost for a long period of time, followed by a long period of having zero energy whatsoever.

I abused the hell out of this mechanic. Every single fight I would pop it and completely rush down the enemy opposition with a swarm of missiles. Either I win within the duration or they maul me when it runs out. And that VERY rarely happened. Enemies in the Arena use the aforementioned counter missiles pretty often. But they rarely matter. If i see that they are using interceptor missiles, I simply just spam my weaker missiles until they're out of counter-missile ammo, then rain down pain with my larger back missiles.

Here's what your average fight in AC2 looks like. Kinda beautiful.

It's So Easy…

So. While Arena enemies are full AP ACs, the enemies you'll find in actual missions are… significantly squishier. Genuinely everything in this game melts like butter. There's a very weird decision FromSoft made where if you encounter an AC in story mode, they'll have like 30% the amount of HP. Meaning that you take one look at them and they DIE. It's kinda funny how this is the opposite of AC6 where enemies are easier and squishier in the Arena than they are in Story.

They still do full damage, don't get me wrong, but i've found the AC2 AI doesn't have the Gen 1 bloodlust and they go down without much of a fight.

Aside from that. Almost all AC fights and important boss fights in general take place in cramped, crowded, tiny arenas. It's genuinely kinda baffling how they just don't let you have a nice open arena for a showdown, so the enemies can't move and dodge your fire and they go down quick due to being at such a crazy handicap.

If you want an idea of just how pitiful the enemies are in this game. The final boss went down in 7 lock-ons of a middileweight missile launcher. It has two phases, both went down in the same mount of hits. The entire final boss of the game, down in 1 middleweight missile launcher's clip. Actually laughable.

I don't think I had an awful time with AC2, it had enough setpieces and neat missions to get me along. but it definitely left me feeling wanting. So when I heard I had another AC2 game in store, I was dreading it, but little did I know just how much Gen 2 I had left in store.

Story Tangent take 2.

I kinda didn't vibe with the story of AC2. There's the usual political intrigue and corporations waging war on eachother, but it all didn't hit as much as AC1, I think it has to do with the aesthetics, AC1 is pretty dark and moody, there's an air of mystery to everything. Meanwhile AC2 doesn't have the same vibe, and goes in a weird science fiction direction where you're dealing with implications of ancient aliens on mars that i simply don't care for in my real robot media.

THE REAL AC2 STARTS HERE.

Welcome to AC2: Another Age! (i'll call it AC2.5 a lot) Unlike the Gen 1 games, I did actually load my previous save. I think scrapping for cash is absolutely a staple of Armored Core but i'll be honest I didn't wanna spend anymore time in Gen 2 than I needed to.

It's harder! Mostly! Kinda! Enemies remain their same level of bulk with some new enemies actually taking some shots before going down, unfortunately you're still stuck with AC2's not-great feeling weapon lineup. The most notable change is due to no Arena mode, enemy ACs are at their full capacity and they are definitely more aggressive at times. A particularly early mission throws two absolute powerhouse ACs at you with the condition that you could just ignore them and go for the objective. But. I'm obviously not doing that and rammed my head into them for a while.

What i've found is missile spam is absolutely still strong, but it's less viable when the game is throwing multiple high AP ACs with actual room to maneuver at you. Some missions will even throw up to three at you at a time and the arenas are big enough for them to move around in! For most of my AC2.5 run I started using the series mainstay Karasawa for the first time, which i think it, along with the Grenade Rifle which acts as a higher power, much lower ammo sidegrade to it i feel, is absolute king of arm weapons in this game. No contest.

50 shots isn't a lot but it was enough to get the job done for many, many missions.

Speaking of. AC2.5 is uh. unique. in that it has no story essentially, and is more of a mission pack addon to AC2. Thing is.

It's O n e H u n d r e d M i s s i o n s long

One! Hundred! 100! That's almost TRIPLE the amount of AC2 and significantly more than all of Gen 1 combined! What the fuck! So many of these use the same maps, enemies, setpieces, etc, that you genuinely will run the exact same map with tiny variants 4 to 5 times! And FromSoft is expecting you to be more familiar with the game systems. Did you know that Hovertanks can fly over water without instant dying? I sure didn't until I saw an enemy do it! There's missions that are literally impossible to beat without specialized builds.

A whole suite of missions take place on water maps, making a hover AC practically mandatory. Another required a lightweight build with really good energy/thrust, to the point where my middleweight build genuinely could not make a jump. I hope to see more missions like this in future games. I think it's great and very fitting for the genre to have to modify your mech for different situations, along with getting players out of their comfort zones.

Meet [Sky & Clouds], unlike most games I really did not have a predefined build for all of this. I was constantly changing stuff to suit the mission, which is really good and cool but god I wish I was doing it in a more interesting game. This is a particularly late game edition of [Sky & Clouds], designed to be able to fire the Karasawa as much as possible since other weapons really weren't an option.

This was an absolute SLOG to get through. God. I somewhat wish I just went right to AC3 but my brain wants to say she beat all AC games, so i toughed it out. I don't think I regret playing this game. There was some genuinely cool stuff and neat missions in it. But they're buried under the mountains of monotonous boring missions cause theres no way you can make an expansion like this consistently interesting and unique.

I've put some praise in this AC2.5 section just cause the bad parts are so underwhelming they're not even worth talking about in extensive detail. It's just. Long. Really long and boring.

There's also some throwback fights, two of which were pretty underwhelming (Stinger and Phantasma still eat shit easy), and the other two were absolute blasts. I think it's absurdly cool they throw a Gen 1 AC at you, complete with Gen 1 style movement and damage, just to show the difference in power. In the end the true final post-game mission was a nice lil treat to end the game on and get me the comedic "103%" completion.

I'm so glad to be done with 2nd Gen, it's a neat look at a weird transitional period from the PS1 to PS2, and i have faith that AC3 will be much more refined, mainly cause i've heard good things about that one.

2 Gens down (3 if you count AC6), 3 to go.

Doing these has been a very fun lil experience. I love typing out my thoughts into long rambles. I took a TON more screenshots this time around actively thinking about what to include. If you've read this you're wonderful and I am blowing you a lil kiss. Til next time! <3~

#Fio's Media Log

8 notes · View notes