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gremlingottoosilly · 9 months

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[If you need to be mean] chapter 2

Chapter 1

Konig decided to meet his new favorite civilian at the cafe you work at. Unfortunately for both of you, you're both socially awkward. TW: Konig being a huge pervert, Canon-Typical violence, Dub-Con, Innocence kink, Age difference(Konig in his yearly 40, Reader in young 20)

Pairing: Konig x fem!Reader Tags: Fluff, Power Imbalance, Hurt/Comfort, Size Kink, Possessive Konig, Yandere Konig, Creepy scary stalker Konig, written mostly from Konig's perspective

— Did something good happen, colonel? You are practically shining.

Horangi always had this special ability of telling nonsense with the most serious face and deep voice. He also was the only one in his unit to ever be brave enough to joke with his superior – even though all the other KorTac members usually don’t risk their asses to be put on fire list because of some silly joke. He is the closest König has to a friend – and it’s kinda sad, actually, that a broken gambling addict is the only person who can read his emotions so well, even with his hood and permanently sour expression.

But something good did happen – you happen, of course.

He spend a few days of self-reflecting, drinking and punching training manekens in the gym, trying so fucking hard to put your adorable civillian face out of his mind. You were out of sight alright, but the way your features would get distorted into something even more adorable every time he closed his eyes, was concerning. He dealt with those little obsessions before – nothing that a few good rounds of jerking off until he would feel nothing but emptiness and hatred to himself couldn’t handle. He surely can’t fall that deep down, he only saw you for like an hour and it was literally three days ago!

— I read your reports about the last terrorist encounter. Good job, Horangi.

— And I heard about that civilian girl you pulled, sir. Thought we are bringing those to the police, not their houses.

— I had to make sure she wasn't a spy.

— And she wasn’t?

König thinks – would be far easier if he would have an official, legal reason to keep you locked up on the base without the right to come out. Would be far easier for him to just think about you as an enemy, so he would have normal reasons for thinking about you constantly, and not feeling guilty. It’s normal to think so much about your enemies – this is what keeps you alive on the field, if you can determine their shortcomings early and make sure that you can fight them. He would love having you as an enemy – it would at least give him some info before starting obsession over little ol’ you.

— No.

— That would give us at least some lead to the terrorist cell. Feels like all locals are protecting them from it.

— I understand your frustration. But at least they are not cutting our pay.

— We might as well rebel if they’d try to.

— We are not stepping on terrorist’s route.

— I was joking, sir. Only thing that’s left here except for card games.

Horangi hates stationing in this country as much as König is – and, given that he is a sergeant and doesn’t have as much rank expectations, can talk about this openly. This operation is perfect except for the lack of intel, lack of action and lack of basically anything to do – the local forces are handling minor threats, while mercs here are mostly to show off how the government has money to hire them. KorTac would pay for actually having to fight some bad guys around here – but the bigger ones are hiding and lower ones are already getting tracked down by the local military.

The only interesting thing to do, seemingly, is to obsess over local girls – and König thought he is better than this.

But he isn’t losing sleep over thinking about how scared and fragile you looked that night. Especially not even going to think about how adorable your little pout was, and the way your hands were trembling. He definitely doesn't want to know every tiny detail about your life, what you like and what you hate, what is your favorite position in bed and the color of underwear you are currently wearing – or even if you are wearing one. And he isn’t some sort of creep that would spend an obnoxiously long amount of time registering on social media – god, he is too old for this shit, it literally feels even more humiliating than his whole school experience – just so he can find your accounts and get instant masturbation material.

You really shouldn’t post so much half-naked photos – yes, this is a reel from your last summer vacation and yes, this swimsuit looks beautiful on you, but have you ever considered that some creep(not someone like him, he is palming himself very respectfully) would use those photos as a way to get themself off? Terrible, scary, he can’t wait for you to post some new photos – maybe in something that he would buy you, way skimpier and more expensive, so he could protect you from those people.

He looks at your posts about work – and he hates this stupid blue bird app because it never works for him, always filled with some assholes who are trying to argue with literally everyone, and the way he can’t even see your posts properly because of the weird ads. No, he doesn’t need a “Thing that would make your dick longer” he literally has a problem with making it smaller. No, he doesn’t need some dumb T-shirt even though he kinda reflects with the funny pun about pokemons and would love to wear something containing his major interest even though it would look ridiculous on a 6 '10 killing machine.

But König reads all of your short posts about the way you hate working in customer service, and his hand is almost slipping to the ad about wedding rings. You hate your job, he hates his – practically soulmates, even though he doesn’t really hate the killing part of his employment, he just doesn’t want to be in charge of people and making them steal the fun of destroying. He would, however, agree to get as many ranks as possible if that would mean providing for you. If that would allow him to be by your side and listen to your sweet voice, he would agree for the next promotion even if higher ups would want him to make some PR wawes and become a fucking fashion model.

But he is completely sane about you. Totally normal. Absolutely nothing is wrong with him when he can’t even think about visiting you in real life, but he leaves a like on every of your posts in every social media he has – you have terrible online safety habits by the way, he can already see what the inside of your apartment looks like, your place of work from three different angles, and how the front door of your apartment is held together by a very easy to destroy lock. He could snatch it in one deliberate kick, not even speaking about just shooting it. Not like he would need to, he wants you to be with him willingly. Or, at least, don’t fight him too much in case he would actually lose his patience and do something drastic.

It has already been three days and he feels like he is going crazy. He had those things before, overthinking about tiniest details in someone he never truly knew, but even then he’d understand that he can’t be with them – it could be his school crushes that were, ironically, crushed because of his anxiety. It might be some casual flings with his fellow soldiers that would either get killed in the field or never happen because it would be fraternization. Some random people he saw at the airport and already imagined life with multiple kids and a dog. He always knew he had a problem – but it was never like this before. Never dangerous.

The problem is – he knows that he can have you.

Maybe not in a traditional way, he doubts that you would just marry him on the spot, but he can court you at least. He can shower you with gifts or ridiculous tips at your job, he can just snatch you away and leave you as his perfect little bedmate. He can make his men kidnap you, and while it is inhumane and you don’t deserve this, he would calm you down – and then have his happily ever after.

He knows that he can have you – and it drives him crazy. He could stop himself previously, when he didn’t have anything for himself to be considered desirable – but now, with his rank and all the new opportunities and money it brings, he can’t stop but fantasize.

You under him, panting and blushing, lips puffy from kisses, skin glazed from sweat and marked with his teeth.

You under him, so wonderfully tight, not letting him go even for an inch – and you are perfectly taking him, no matter how gigantic he is.

You under him, smiling, cuddling after a long night – every night after a mission, where he could spend his free time deep in your body, listening to your melodic moans and little whines.

You under…

— Can I…can I take your order, sir?

He is a disgusting human being because lives of thousand people are on a stake, he would just doom them all if he wouldn’t find those terrorists soon – and he wastes time on sitting in this tiny ass cafe, trying to place himself on the small seat while being all too nervous to just talk to you. Like a person. Of course he had to go to your shift – he already determined which days you were working because it increased the number of angry “I hate my job and want to kill my manager” posts on that dumb social media, and he knows which hours you work at – of course it’s almost night time, the closing shift, because he simply can’t have himself not worry about you.

He is a creep, weirdo and all that words in a song that he’s been blasting in his tiny headphones all of these days because he can smell the sweetness of your perfume and the way you are munching on the pen you are using to write his order. Oh, yes, order. He is supposed to order something, he can’t just give you money for how adorable you look in that white apron – even though you are absolutely stunning and should get money.

God, he would murder everyone in this building just for them to never look at your legs again.

God, he would bury himself between them if only you’d allow him to.

— Sir, is everything okay?

He served in the military for far longer that you lived, probably. Most of his life, he got used to being referred to as something honorable, or referring to other people like that – and he never thought that just being referred to as “sir” would make his dick twitch in his pants. He crosses his legs, hoping not to get too imposing – he already towers over the tiny table like a giant he is, barely even fitting in it. He thinks he has a healthy amount of self-control – then he looks at you again, and thanks all the gods he knows for the mask he is wearing – at least under the black surgeon piece and dark glasses you won’t really see his blush. Or that little twitching in his eyes that is indicating danger.

— Sorry, I…can I, um, have a coffee? Bitte…please, I mean.

He hates how nervous he is – like high school again, asking his crush out just to be ridiculed. But you look perfect like this – controlled environment, you can’t just laugh at him and say that he is a weird nerd from another class, you have a manager who is controlling of such behavior. He would never tell on you, of course, he wants you to be happy, even if this job makes you the most miserable – even though he kinda thinks of you as a weak for this, his job literally involves killing people and he doesn't argue that much!

But you giggle – sweet, innocent sound, it drives him crazy even more than he previously was. It doesn’t feel like those girls at school – yes, he still can’t let that go, even though his therapist says he has to – and he loses all control at how beautiful you sound. He wants to take you away right now, pay you for your workplace however you get them, and just use you as he wants – no matter how socially unacceptable. He protects this country, he has the right for a little prize, right? No, this would be terrible, he shouldn’t just harass sweet little civilians like you, he should…

— What type of coffee, sir? Do you want some dessert?

This is a typical question, he was at cafes and coffee shops a thousand times but, for some reason, it feels almost like you are teasing him. You bite the end of your pen with those adorable teeth of yours – he wants to feel it on his fingers, he wants you to leave bite marks all over his body as a sign of marking him as yours. He smiles under his mask, hoping that you would somehow feel it – how happy you make him feel, how hard it’s for him not to lose control.

— No. Just coffee.

— Sugar?

He would like some sugar, of course – but the one he wants is probably not for sale, even though that adorable white apron of yours makes you look like a candy. He would love to unwrap you from those silly clothes and devour what belongs to him for the right of protector, but he knows how scared you might be. He is not a good person, he killed more people that he could count – countless fathers, sons, mothers, he shouldn’t even think about having a right for a family of his own after all of this. He is not a good person and his moral code changes with every kill he gets – but for hell sake, he wants to be nice with you. You deserve it, he knows. More than he is, for sure.

König doesn’t really like sugary stuff, it was always too childish, made him too energetic, disrupted his very peculiar way of eating things. Sweets makes him only more hungry, makes him crave more, and he wants to be as serious as possible – so he usually drinks and eats stuff that is no tastier than a pile of dry sand. But he responds before he can think, too focused on that shiny lipgloss you have on your lips. He would lick and bite it all – soon, he hopes.

— Ja. Thank you.

— Good choice, sir.

Your lips are curling into a small, shy smile and he likes sugar now. He isn’t sure if you are telling everyone that their order is a good choice, maybe you just want to get more tips, but he hopes that maybe, he is special. Maybe there is something nice happening to him after all. A small reward for not being a total monster on the last mission he had, even though he could. He can’t do anything but to stare at you, his only saving grace is the dark lenses of his glasses – he can’t wear his hood in civil situations, unfortunately, people would stare, stare, stare and that would make him want to pull their eyes out.

But you smile and he smiles also, even if you can’t see it. He is looking at your legs and, fuck, he is a disgusting old creature that preys upon younger women because he never had a positive experience before. He is a total creep and a monster that should be put down already – but he stares at your legs under that waitress dress, and he would pay your manager a few thousand Euros to cut the length of your skirt in half.

Then he sees all the others looking at you the same way – old people, young people, there aren’t a lot of guests at this time in the evening, most people are afraid of going into public places while the war on terrorism is going on. There aren’t a lot of people while it’s almost closing time, but he doesn't even want to think about all the other men looking at you like this. Devouring you with their eyes, probably leaving sleazy comments as you go through the small cafe, just as overworked as your other coworkers. He wants to take you from here.

You don’t deserve people looking at you like you aren’t even a person – only he can look at you respectfully, stripping you with his eyes. He can be soft for you, can be perfect – if you would just let him.

König doesn’t want to be a creep around you, but he was looking at your legs for five minutes already, picturing the way your body would look under all of these clothes, and his cock gets painfully hard. He thanks himself for wearing normal, baggy pants, not something tighter – at least his embarrassment is completely covered by his clothes.

— Here is your coffee. Anything else?

You look nervous, of course – but he seems way softer than he was a couple days ago, at night. The absence of his creepy mask is obviously helping, and because he is sitting, you don’t have to tilt your head too high, causing your neck to stretch uncomfortably. He looks awkwards, like a big dog that still tries to fit into his old bed, and it causes you to smile a little bit more. You made sure to place a couple of sugar cubes on the plate, so he could decide for himself, if he wants to use them all – but the mere thought of that giant of a man, a colonel, hardened soldier liking something silly and sweet is making you giggle.

He looks way softer than he was that night, and you can almost forget about how scared you were – how you were thinking that this would be the end for you, that one, overthinking part of your mind already making up the scenarios of getting martial lawed because of the broken curfew. You can even see his hair – and fight the urge to touch it a little. He is still who-knows-how-old and still a military presence in your peaceful country.

You still want to ruffle his hair.

He still wants to take your clothes off and make you his.

— Nein, thank you.

He stares at the cup for a good few seconds – if he wants to drink, he needs to actually take it off. He has many scars on his face, and his mouth sometimes feels like it has more dead skin than alive one – he doesn’t want to attract attention. Some people are already staring at his badge and how awkward a giant man like him looking in that cozy, tiny place – but he also wants you to see how much pain he can withstand without getting killed. How he can protect you from anything because there literally isn’t anything he won’t do for you. You would appreciate a man with scars, it’s a sign of bravery, right?

Then he thinks about all the times he would take off his mask and how people around him would look at him – with pity, with fear, with disgust sometimes even though he is certain that his face isn’t as deformed as some other parts of his body. He even almost managed to grow a beard once! Then he had to scrub it all off because hair was growing in very uneven patches and he looked like something crawled on his chin and died.

König fought in countless battles, spent his youth training to be the best killer possible, took part in many major conflicts and killed hundreds of people while feeling nothing but recoil. He isn’t afraid of anything – except for talking to people sometimes, maybe, and even now he is trying to work on it with his therapist, instead of just killing anyone who looks at him funny. He isn’t afraid of the dark, of death, of uncertainty in his life. But he is afraid of you looking at him unmasked and thinking that you, in fact, find him disgusting.

You almost want to take your time to look at what he will do – is he going to take off his mask? Is he going to drink right through the fabric? You have too much work to just stay at his table and stare, even if you want to – but you are trying to give him occasional glances as he just…sits at his table. Not even moving, just staring at the cup and sometimes moving his head to look at you – or just ornaments at the wall behind you. Yes, probably the ornament.

König sits at the table and, well, he doesn’t even want to drink his coffee because just looking at the way your ass sways under that terribly short skirt is enough to set him on fire. He wants to take you home with him – even though his home is all the way up in Austria. He would take you, you probably wouldn’t even be mad at you – you could be a perfect little family. He already waited too long to start one, never finding anyone who would win his heart for a long run but he was sure that this three-days-obsession would last long. He isn’t sure, however, if he likes it or not.

He ended up not drinking at all – he knows that he can’t just waste multiple hours, he already got his lieutenants covering the spot with paper work while their commander is away at searching for the love of his life. He wants to be with you longer, probably walk you home again and make sure to protect you from any creeps that would want to attack. He can’t have that, it’s obvious – he is a colonel, unfortunately, he is still on the hunt for those terrorists, he can barely give himself an hour of free time these days.

He already indulged in his fantasies too much when he folds a 100 Euros banknote and puts it into the bill – not sure about how much money it is here, not wanting to give you any trouble with exchanging currency, he just hopes that would be enough for you to at least not worry about food for a few days. Or buy yourself something nice – what girls like these days? Guns, books, some fancy lip gloss, a hat for their adorable little turtles? He would buy you a pet turtle, he always wanted one as a kid – right before his father said that all lizards are products of sinful corporations and a lazy pet like a turtle, unlike a giant dog breed, is completely useless and unmanly.

He doesn’t want to be here when you’ll get the bill – he is too afraid that he didn’t gave you enough, that you'd be disappointed. He would love to give you more, of course, but he doesn’t want to just shove you the money like you are some sort of cheap whore – he wants to give you gifts, something meaningful, to steal you from poverty altogether. König is an expert in infiltration and escaping arts, he can exit the location without anyone noticing a thing, even with his size – and then you look at him, directly into his eyes, covered by sunglasses – and your face is twisted in shock as you realize what exactly he left you.

— Wait, sir! Please, I…god, I will get you the change right now, I’m so sorry, it’s closing shift, I…I’m sorry, I completely forgot…

You are almost begging him to stop and let you give him his money, a honorable deed really – but all he can think of is how nice you would look on your knees, begging him to fuck you already. How perfect you would look all whiny and spoiled, asking him for something expensive, whatever your cute head would want. You would look so complete on his lap, tugging on his shirt and asking your daddy for a new toy. You would…

— It was a tip. Take it.

He wants to be able to tell you how perfect you look, how he wants to just throw you over his shoulder in a totally non-creepy way and make you his little wifey. How he would take multiple months of leave to just be with you, marry you, breed you. He wants to have a way with words, but they are useless to him – he can’t even say he likes you, it’s embarrassing, he is almost forty, he got his rank as youngest colonel in history of KorTac, he can literally have almost everything he wants – except for basic social skills.

He feels like a creep, an old man trying to steal that perfect girl from the shiny world, and he hates himself for it – but then you blush and he can almost convince himself that yeah, you like that creep too.

— I…shit, I mean, sorry…thank you, sir.

— Don’t wander at night again.

He feels like a scolding father and you giggle again, too innocent and naive to understand his thoughts.

— I won’t. Promise.

He then slowly leans closer, puts a hand on your shoulder again – goosebumps are running on your skin. His head is near yours now, he is whispering in your ear – and you are almost sure that you shouldn’t have come closer to him like this, that it’s unprofessional from your side, that everyone is staring at you. They are – and you try to ignore it, but…

— Wear shorts under your skirt next time. Never know who might look at your legs like that.

You would slap him here and there. You would scream and run away right now, but for some stupid, dumb, completely terrifying reason, you…almost like how protective he sounds. And the money he gave you is also helping – even if just a little bit.

König looks at the way you blush even more, and he knows already that he won’t ever let you go.

Tag list: @iwritesjud3

Please write if you want to be tagged in the next chapter!

#call of duty #cod x reader #cod x you #cod #konig mw2 #konig x reader #reader insert #yandere #yandere konig #yandere x reader #yandere cod #fem reader

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prettyboypistol · 7 months

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How the TF2 Mercs De-stress/Manage Anger

Scout

Actually a stereotypical movie bad boy about it. Cigarette, batting cage, and punching bags his emotions out. Shouts at people and shoves them out of his way, throat closed up in welled up emotions, his lungs refusing to give him air as the tightness of slamming against the metaphorical wall of frustration feels like it kills him inside. You know what? Being so tired you can barely register the world around? It's better than feeling like an elephant trapped in a jam jar.

Soldier

Works out and represses the expressions unless he's in battle. That's actually where he gets most of his energy. He thinks of all the shit that pissed him off or made him feel small and uses that flicker of rage as the start of the firecracker of a soldier on the field. Doesn't talk about his emotions much and doesn't see any need to. Yeah, a few drinks in and he gets sappy, but that's normal. Anger usually gets metal pipes bent or people's faces bashed in. Usually both.

Pyro

Expresses anger and stress as overexcitabiliy and hyperactivity. A constant overstimulation mode. Referencing the comics, Pyro won't hesitate to kill a bitch knowingly if they are pissed off. They're the reason it's called a "crime of passion". High spikes of anger followed by a low simmer of calmness. Actually pretty good about deep breaths when it comes to mild annoyances or daily stress, but the over the top bullshit absolutely gets an over the top reaction.

Heavy

Intimidation and powerplay is the name of Heavy's game. Sharp glares and a clear body message of "I will snap your spine if you breathe near me." This comes from his time in the gulag, when he had to keep himself and his family safe. Looking murderous when upset had a lot of advantages. When it actually comes to relieving the anger, he's an isolationist. Def thinks over the situation over and over again as he distracts himself with one of his hobbies. Usually not reading because his mind wanders off too much to focus on the pages.

Engineer

Hyperactive workaholic. He locks himself in his workshop and doesn't leave until he makes something either revolutionary or a man made horror you could only fathom in your nightmares. Whatever, he can sell it to the Administrator as a torture device. Who cares. Engie isn't much of a talker so much as he is a ranter. He grumbles and shouts to himself in a one way conversation as he tightens that one bolt that gave him trouble. Only once has he dented one of his sentries with his wrench when the energy was too much to comprehend.

Demoman

As is his usual solution, he drinks. He drinks and he talks. It doesn't matter to who or even if people are with him. Talking and bitching helps him to understand the situation, get his feelings validated, and develop more points of view. If that doesn't work, there's always testing his explosives. That release of emotions as he watches the burn pile explode is cathartic in a way. Pyro usually joins in and watches the fire, giving Demo someone to talk to.

Sniper

Also an isolationist, but you couldn't tell either way unless you pissed him off while talking to him. If it's just him, then you wouldn't even know that motherfucker was milliseconds away from starting a fight. Mutters to himself softly, barely able to hear the words himself as he shoots at sodacans and empty food containers all lined up by his van. Long drives while music plays in the background is one of his guilty pleasures when he can get away with it. If you ask what's bothering him he'll have a 50/50 between shrugging and saying a dismissive "it's nothing, just woke up wrong" or will barely explain it, but get the just of it accurately.

Spy

Tries to work through it physically, not emotionally. Man's has never talked about his emotions in his life and you won't make him start now. Usually very bitchy when something pisses him off, and his weapon of choice is personal insults. It's a funny thing really. He needs to feel superior by putting others down because the anger and stress makes him feel weak. There is only one good way to snap him out of a bad mood: casually praise him. "Nice work, Spy." "I knew I could count on you." "Thanks Spy, you're a lifesaver." Are instant soothers. It's nice to be acknowledged.

Medic

Workaholic worse than Engie. This man is really out here about to create an elderitch horror because he stubbed his toe and spilled his coffee. Strained smiles and snide comments are his language when he's had a bad day. If someone directly irritates him, that man is a solid 6'1 minimum and is built. He will and continue to physically intimidate people. Has violent fantasies as a cope.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 sniper #tf2 x reader #fanfiction #tf2 medic #tf2 spy #tf2 demoman #tf2 engineer #scout tf2 #tf2 scout #tf2 pyro #tf2 soldier #sniper x reader #tf2 headcannons #prettyboy pistol

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mallowmaenad · 8 months

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The new mechanic walked down the repair bay with their superior, eyes scanning the elite units they’d be servicing during their stay.

“That’s an interesting design.” They gestured to a squat mech with a pair of rotor blades.

Their boss chuckled, an over-familiar gloved hand clasping the mechanic’s shoulder.

“Yeah, it’s an experimental build focused on air support.”

Experimental, the word brought just a small sting of unease after finding out what made this batch of mercs so special. They hoped the gulp wasn’t too audible.

“Tell me about the pilot.”

The head mechanic leaned against the railing, a mutual fog of moroseness plaguing the conversation.

“Well, I don’t know much, I’m definitely not it’s handler, but y’know how it goes in these parts. Some fidgety little murder junkie, so far along that it identifies more with its mech than itself as its physical body.” She cracked a toothy smirk as she took a deep breath, gesturing to the olive drab assault mech.

“As far as it’s concerned, that is how it wants to present itself.”

“So it identifies as an attack helicopter?”

The elder mechanic lit a cigarette, eyes drifting off to nowhere as she pondered her apprentice’s question.

“…yeah…”

#microfiction #mechposting #mech #microfic #mecha

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zapsoda · 4 months

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best girl compilation

#it is embarrassing how much i like her #shes canadian........#also am i fucking crazy. is her name not commander hardrock. why does everyone just call her merc superior #like that was the name on her health bar unless i hallucinated it #postal 4 #merc superior #commander hardrock #postal

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meowmeowriley · 2 months

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Convention Commotion

With help from the lovely @tactax-art, who encouraged me and drew the art for me, this is a lil continuation of the previous cosplayer AU for my beloved Costume Anon ❤ Hope everyone enjoys 😉 proper art near the end of the fic.

***

What had started as his uncle taking pity on him for not being able to go to a convention by himself, had become a tradition of sorts. Any time uncle John was on leave, he'd ask Andy if there were any conventions. And any time there were, they'd meet up with Simon.

"Ye cannae call him Simon, Andy. It's Lieutenant Ghost, or Lt., or Mr. Riley. Or anythin' else, really. Just show him some respect." Uncle John had chastised him after he'd asked once if Simon was gonna be at convention they'd just arrived at.

"Until he joins the army, Johnny, I'll have none of that nonsense." Uncle John had jumped out of his skin (Andy had too, but that was less surprising. He wasn't a highly trained soldier, after all.) when the big fucker had snuck up on them and began speaking. "Just Simon is fine, Andy."

"Chew ma banger, uncle John." He'd said with a shit eating grin, before ducking out of the way of his uncles swipes.

So they'd taken to meeting up with Simon at conventions. Andy had realized two things rather quickly. One: there was undeniable chemistry between the two of them, and two: neither one of them was going to make a move on the other.

They danced around each other. Flirting, but in a "ha ha, I'm only gay for the joke" kinda way. They stared at one another, getting lost in each others eye's in a sickening display of obviously clear affection. God forbid one didn't catch the other's eye, either, because when that happened the one staring would take on this dreamy dopey smile. They were constantly touching. Brushing up against one another, putting their hands on the other's shoulder, or back, or thigh.

They were disgusting. It was adorable. And he had to share it. Because if Andy could see how perfect they were together, so would the internet. 28,000 followers on tiktok later, and every convention they went to, Andy filmed the whole thing. He'd divvy up the videos and get months worth of content, to tide them over till his uncles next leave. Simon and uncle John had no idea how large their fan base was. Or how feral. Those who weren't hard-core shipping the two together, were vying for the attention of one or the other, or both, in the comments.

For most, though, they'd lose their minds with every little interaction. Every gentle touch, prolonged moment of eye contact, soft smile, or act of service from one man to the other, and their fans were swooning, and it seemed all their waiting was finally paying off. Or, at least, Simon was now aware of John's feelings, though how he'd found out was less than ideal.

***

Soap was ecstatic. After the Spiderman and Deadpool totally-not-couples-costumes went over so well with other patrons at their last convention, Andrew had assured them that their tiktok fans were over the moon for them as well, Simon had agreed to do more comic book stuff with him. While Soap had wanted to be Deadpool, he couldn't deny how well it suited Ghost to be the merc with a mouth. Soap hadn't known beforehand how much the man loved katanas, nor that he even knew how to use them. More important than his skill with the (in this case fake) blades, however, was Simon's ass in that outfit. Which had led him down a rabbit hole of sorts. Yes, it was the source of plenty of wet dreams both before and after seeing him in spandex, but that wasn't what this was about. No, after seeing Ghost dressed as Deadpool with his nearly godly physique, John couldn't help but think of the superior comic book company: DC. Ghost would make an incredible Red Hood, and Soap had wanted to be Nightwing since he was a lad. After voicing that desire, Ghost had agreed, and got to work on the costumes.

At some point during the process, Gaz had found him deep in his work and asked Ghost about it. He then promptly kicked down Soap's door to yell at him for not telling him about their 'convention dates' he wouldn't hear of it that they weren't dates.

"So Gaz is comin' now." He'd said in lieu of greeting when he'd entered Ghost's room that night.

"Mhmm." Ghost had nodded and continued to work away at his sewing machine. "Said he had a matching cosplay. 'Red Robin', he'd called it. Assured me it was different from mine. Tried to tell him I wouldn't know or care, I just enjoy makin the costumes." Soap had made himself comfy on Ghost's bed, and pulled out his journal to doodle. Ghost continued. "Roach is tagging along too, said he has a costume for Blue Beetle. Said it's not Batman related, but it's the same comic franchise."

"Blue Beetle's costume is pretty sick, that'll be cool." Soap had been a little down in that moment that the others would be tagging along, and he'd no longer have Ghost to himself, but he got over it quickly. They were still his friends. "We should drag Price along. Bring the whole team."

"You convince him to go, and just tell me what to make."

And now here they were. The 141, arguably the worlds most elite counterterrorism task force, dressed up as various DC characters. At a cosplay convention. Soap had never felt hotter.

Andy had hit it off with Roach pretty much immediately, the two of them talking at length about tiktok of all things. Soap wasn't aware that Roach had one. They couldn't convince Price to wear a costume, but that was okay. Several people approached him and said his Dum Dum Dugan colspay was cool, resulting in all three of his sergeants cackling at his confusion.

"You can't smoke that in here, boss." Ghost had whispered when Price placed a cigar in his mouth.

"I'm not. It's for emotional support." It fueled other peoples assumptions that he was cosplaying a marvel character, is what it was doing.

As was usual for a convention with Simon and his incredible cosplays, they were stopped by tons of people for pictures, and Andy recorded everything.

"Excuse me." Their group turned around to see a man in red, maroon, and gold robes of some sort.

"Oh, cool! Prince Zuko!" Well at least Roach knew who he was.

"Oh, uh, my friends call me Costume An-... You know what? Yeah. Just Zuko works. Can I get a picture of you guys?" Everyone nodded or gave the guy some sort of affirmative, and he turned specifically to Gaz and Ghost. "Do you know the panel where Tim kicks Jason in the balls? Can you do that? It's my favorite."

Soap knew the panel. Gaz knew the panel. Ghost certainly did not. All eyes were on him. He shrugged. "I'm wearing a cup." Gaz had the most feral grin Soap had ever seen him with. In hindsight, that should've been their warning.

"Right, Lt., you're gonna stand here," Gaz placed Ghost with his back to the cameras held by both Zuko and Andy. He used his foot to guide Ghost's stance wider. "Like that. Perfect. Everyone ready?" Gaz had the cheek to wink at Andy's camera.

He reared back.

And gave it everything he had.

That cup could only do Simon so much good.

Everyone winced as Ghost crumpled. "Gaz what the bloody fuck?!"

Price was barely keeping a straight face. He used his hand to grab his cigar and hide his failure. "Haven't heard your voice that high since you enlisted, Simon."

"He's dead." Soap whispered.

"You're dead." Roach informed Gaz as he made his way away from Ghost, who was still crouched on the floor.

"I'm dead." Gaz agreed, albeit with a shit eating grin. "Worth it, though. Bastard used me as a training dummy for forty-five goddamn minutes yesterday!" Soap had seen the aftermath, Ghost was pissed at some rookies and dragged poor Gaz into the ring to blow off some steam. The bruising all over Gaz's body were no joke.

"You said you weren't going to hold it against me!" Ghost wheezed.

"I lied!" Gaz shot back.

"Dude..." Andy definitely felt bad for poor Ghost, as did Soap.

"Man I needed those working." He bemoaned. Talk about foot in mouth, he hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Oh, d'you two get your shit together? I'm sorry, I guess." Gaz laid a hand on Soap's shoulder.

"You'll apologize to him and not to me?!" Ghost's voice was marginally less strained and more angry.

"I was apologizing for accidentally cockblocking you two. I didn't know." Well neither did Ghost! John thought angrily.

"WHAT?!"

"GAZ!"

Gaz clearly realized his mistake, because Ghost was on his feet, and Soap himself was fuming at being outed like that. He bolted. Soap gave chase, and could hear Ghost charging after as well.

***

Andy turned to their new buddy, Zuko. "You'll send those to me, right?" He asked. He didn't really feel like Simon deserved that, but damn was it funny.

"He's gonna be okay, right?" Zuko asked.

"Ghost has taken worse hits. Gaz might need medical leave when they catch him though." Roach said while laughing. Soldiers were weird. But damn tiktok was gonna love this. Maybe they would finally get their shit together after they finish breaking their friend's legs.

#ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #cod mw2 #call of duty #modern warfare #fanfic #fanfiction #text post #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #gary roach sanderson #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #cosplay #cosplay au #cod fanart #cod fanfic

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ruthytwoshakes · 10 months

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Howdy everyone!! I got super inspired by @a-scary-lack-of-common-sense class swap au and wanted to try my hand at it!

I really love these designs!! If people like them too I’ll make some full refs and make some more content with them. I probably will anyway because I have so many ideas.

Under the keep reading I added wayyy too much description if you’re interested. You are interested you will read I’m using my evil mind magic to make you want to read

(I’ll address them by their names to make it less confusing btw. Pyro and Spy are called Demonan and Soldier though. I’ll name them one day probably)

For Medic and Heavy I kinda swapped their backstories and personalities. Misha is an only child who comes from a family of, fucked up to say the least, doctors. He lost his medical license for stealing the entirety of a patient’s skin. Misha is much more of a hardass with a superiority complex. Cold and callous. He takes himself and his work very seriously,, thinks he is very scary. The other mercs don’t really give a shit, which infuriates him to no end. He cares about his teammates! somewhere deep down inside ,, like really far down. Probably. Really attached to his tools, names them like how the original Heavy names his guns. He’s pretty fluent with English.

Ludwig is much more silly and caring. He’s the youngest sibling out of his 3 sisters, and took this job because he feels obligated to pay back his family for protecting him and helping him go through college. He’s not sadistic per se, more just, really loves the blood, guts, and carnage of war, and has a very morbid curiosity. He often accompanies the Medic when he's doing operations, if he's not already the patient himself. Misha adores how fascinated he is by all of it, and gladly answers and questions he may have. Very loud and extroverted,, his laughs can be heard from miles away. He kinda scares the other mercs, but he’s trying his best to tone it down. He has a horde of pigeons that just ,, follow him around. He doesn’t really know where they came from. His favorite is named Euripides. He’s intermediate at English.

For Sniper and Scout I kinda kept their backstories the same, they just had different personalities and life circumstances that led to them taking their respective jobs. Jeremy is the older brother of 7 little sisters. His mother had him when she was 16 and going through college, leading Jeremy to have to grow up fast. He and his mom have always had to pick up odd jobs to help pay the bills. One of Jeremy’s bosses took him out onto a shooting range one day and noticed he was a natural. He encouraged him to take up predator/invasive species control to help pay the bills and helped him get started, Jeremy eventually saved up enough to move to the northwest. As he got more skilled, some shady people took note and offered him some more,,, lucrative opportunities. He’s a hick with a slight Boston accent, making him all the more awkward. Pretty introverted, the only friends he's ever had is his little siblings. He’s quick-witted when he wants to be, but usually stays quiet. He seems pretty cold tough, but will change really quickly around little kids. Drinks way too many energy drinks to compensate for his insomnia.

Mick is an only child and basically the Australian version of Scout. Which is a terrifying concept!! he scares me. He’s a pretty extroverted guy, but was still bullied for his scrawny appearance and a lack of mustache hairs when he was little, so he devoted himself to becoming the best track runner in Australia. Also he couldn’t win a fight against anyone and he tended to piss off a lot of people, so running was a necessity. He doesn’t have any siblings, but he has a lot of older friends who treat him like a little brother. He likes to paint in his free time. Took the job to help support his parents and to explore the world, or just New Mexico. Annoying jock bastard. He wears those tank tops with the holes at the sides that just go all the way down,, not even a shirt at that point. Still throws piss at people because I think its really fucking funny.

Nobody quite knows where Soldier came from, not even herself. All she knows is that she’s a General, and a damn good one at that. Although his team would like to suggest otherwise. She’s loud and erratic, missing quite a few cogs in her brain. Not lead poisoned like the original soldier, I’m leaning towards a lobotomy that really melted his brain, soupe de cerveau or somethinf. Even though she lost her mind, she kept her great commanding skills and leads the team in attacks. He can be found planning and strategizing for the next round, or hanging out with the other team’s Demo. A bit silly, a bit goofy. Comically patriotic like the original Soldier. Parleys-tu Français, DO YOU SPEAK FRRRENCH ??? Non tu ne le fais pas, you don’t? FUCK YOU

Tavish and pyros personalities are a kinda combined? I just took little bits from both of them and squashed them together. Tavish is a pyromaniac hailing from Scotland. There’s rumors that he was the cause of the fire storm that rained down on Scotland for about a week, but he’s never confirmed or denied this. His voice isn’t all that muffled, his Scottish dialect is just so thick that nobody can understand him, except for Ms Pauling and Engineer like usual. Tavish can be pretty unstable and hyperactive, but an overall happy-go-lucky guy. Drinks responsibly most of the time! Still depressed! Lots of Molotov cocktails. His favorite animal is the Pegasus, and his life's goal is to find and tame one some day.

Dell is the same personality wise, just more like spy. So a bit more stuck up lol. He also shares the same care that the original spy shows for his team, as long as it benefits him along the way. Dell comes from a long family line of Spy’s that all worked for the Mann brothers, they stole Australium for them and kept them safe from other entity's that wanted to have control over the Australium too. His goggles have all that super cool spy stuff in them, night vision, cameras, a radio. Jane helped him add some new features as of late, . I'm not sure how to incorporate Dell's fascination with trans-humanism into this Dell quite yet. Maybe something to do with his senses? Name’s Spy. Spy Gaming.

Jane is pretty much the same silly little guy,, but now with 11 phds! And he’s not lead poisoned anymore! Nobody’s quite sure where Jane comes from, every time he’s asked he always changes up his backstory. He tends to slack off more than the original soldier, "A good hard-working American always knows when to take breaks!" He's also built a variety of raccoon-themed machines that get into mischief around the base. He and the Pyro are good buddies! He likes reading their stories, and gently encouraging them to write more. He's pretty strict when it comes to safety, and will come down hard on his teammates for messing around. THAT IS NOT OSHA APPROVED HEAD-WEAR MAGGOT!

Demoman is more like Tavish backstory-wise in this. They’re a midwesterner with way too much free time who blew up their family’s corn field by accident when they were little, oh and their parents. Their bio family crawled out from the remains of the farm and took them in after they proved themselves, even with their lack of tentacles and wings. (yeah their parents are the Great Old Ones, cthulhu guys, for sillies :3 ) They still like to do creative stuff (but adult-ified because adults are insecure about having fun for some reason.) like adult coloring books, or oil painting, or having adult tea parties. Demoland is a book that they're writing, and will TOTALLY 100% work on this weekend. They hate eye contact and have never been seen without their bombsuit on, except for Scout, but he can comprehend these otherworldy horrors perfectly fine so idk maybe you have a skill issue or something.

Heavy is Medic

Medic is Heavy

Sniper is Scout

Scout is Sniper

Spy is Soldier

Demoman is Pyro

Engineer is Spy

Soldier is Engineer

Pyro is Demoman

notes: I was thinking of making Dell Jeremy's father, but I didn't want to change up Jeremy's facial features too much, so Spy remains. Mick has that neck-mic thingy that soap from COD has because I was scrolling through soapghost on pintrest help. Soldier wasn't actually a general, I was thinking he was just somebody who knew too much. But after she got the lobotomy, I'm thinking she did something similar to soldier and tried to get into the military, and failed. Ludwig is the biggest on the team, with Misha having a more agile body type. Still a bear!! Just a bit smaller. This art is a bit old because I've been working on this since MAY?!?!??? ough. Maybe I'll swap some side characters as well! Pauling with Bidwell, Saxton with Helen, if ya want you could give me some suggestions 👁 👁 This is all Merasmus's fault some how, babygirl messes up the timeline for the sillies, the funny haha even. I love her <3333 Also sorry if the info for Jeremy is incorrect, I just thought it would be neat idk a whole lot about hunting.

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swaps55 · 2 months

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Dark Star

Ao3

Unlike most of the soirees Garrus has been to lately, the food is actually good. The Citadel’s superior supply lines aside, maybe it’s a good sign that all the times he’s stuffed himself into dress robes to put on a show for diplomats and, as Shepard likes to describe it, ‘bludgeon his way through bureaucracy,’ is actually accomplishing something.

Some days, putting a galaxy back together feels a lot harder than saving it in the first place.

Tonight’s party, thrown by the volus as a welcome mat for what is sure to be three days of grueling negotiations over how to prioritize who gets the new – and extremely limited – soil reclamation technology developed by the salarians, is actually more tolerable than most, if only for the company. The humans tapped Shepard to be the figurehead of their delegation. When Garrus asked him about humanity’s position on who deserved the higher share of devices fine-tuned to isolate and neutralize contaminants left behind by reaper corpses, he’d just laughed.

“Did you even know what this whole conference was about?” Garrus asks, handing him a fresh whiskey and Alenko a beer. The key to these events is to hit the bar hard and fast while the stocks hold out, and right now there is a lot of turian brandy. He’s not getting enough credit for juggling three drinks through a crowd without an incident.

“I think Ambassador Cartwright was trying to explain it to me, but I wasn’t paying attention,” Shepard replies, taking a sip of his drink. The band is loud – most everything at these receptions are a little over the top, as if they can force the galaxy back together if they’re cheerful enough – but the elcor singing backup vocals is surprisingly good.

Alenko snorts, but before he can elaborate on his disdain, another uniformed human puts a hand on Shepard’s arm and asks to speak with him about the keynote address he’s supposed to give in the morning and probably plans to make up as he goes.

Shepard gives Alenko a save me look before allowing himself to be towed to a quieter corner of the Silver Coast Casino, which doesn’t really exist.

“He wasn’t listening because he was thinking about all the ways he could incapacitate the guy,” Alenko says, never one to let a good dig go, even if the recipient is no longer within ear shot.

“Of course he was,” Garrus replies, tugging on his sleeve. He’s not sold the yellow stripes were a good choice, here. “That’s why I’ve learned not to stand near windows around him.”

A puzzled look passes briefly across Alenko’s face before he laughs it off. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Garrus flicks a mandible. Jack had brought up Shepard’s one-size-fits-all tactic of booting uncooperative mercs out skyscraper windows every chance she got on the Normandy. It hadn’t exactly been funny at the time, but then again, nothing was, and when there’s nothing good to laugh at you stretch the boundaries of what’s funny until something qualifies. Dark, maybe, but it had been a running joke for so long it had just become part of Shepard’s zeitgeist. Sure Alenko hadn’t been there, but it’s hard to believe that no one had told him that particular story. Especially Shepard. They talked about everything. As Shepard liked to confess, repeatedly and insistently, when he was drunk.

Hm.

Read the rest on Ao3

#mass effect #mshenko #kaidan alenko #garrus vakarian #this conversation hit me in the face while i was driving home from work #i blinked and suddenly there was a 2k story #¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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contentloadingandstuff · 4 months

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Bounty Of The Heart - Bounty Hunter!Male!Reader x Candace

A/N: This is a long one. Hope you enjoy! CW: Mild violence, moral ambiguity. Themes: Enemies to lovers.

They say Sumeru is a nation of wisdom. A peaceful people who, with their gentle Archon above them, pursue to examine the world and contain its secrets within tomes, fathomed by both human and divine mind.

They are wrong.��

Mora and fame are the true pursuits of the men and women of Sumeru. Science is only a means of achieving wealth and status, different from sell-swording only by the lack of physical violence. Those who can navigate the maze of dusty tomes and old, bearded, complaining professors can achieve a high position and see eight figures on their monthly pay. But to reach this level, one must have determination and a patience of cold steel. And you? Had neither of those things when you were young.

You craved money, but also adventure. You just couldn't force yourself to sit down and study boring and mostly irrelevant information, only to pass a test unreflective of your actual knowledge. You needed something more - adrenaline. Just like many other young and inexperienced men, you decided to join the Eremites. The promise of gold and fame lured you in quite effectively. Clad in red, you served a few years in that organization. You were immediately picked up by some scruffy-looking old man, assigned to a sizable band, and sent into the desert. Even if you were fully aware of how dangerous and harsh the conditions were, you could hardly adjust to them at first. Especially that the pay was surprisingly meager. But you served nonetheless, gaining valuable experience and learning the craft. The first kill was quite shocking, but the more blood there was on your hands, the less you cared. You put in three hundred percent, but you never rose that much in the ranks. Your efforts were never appreciated, and you didn't enjoy that. So, you faked your death on one mission and moved on to make a name for yourself.

Surprisingly, contracts weren’t that difficult to find, even right from the start. The jobs were dangerous, there was scarce information, but the pay was mostly better than you received in the Eremites, especially that you didn’t have to hand the lion’s share to your superiors. If not for your skill, determination - and mostly just pure luck - you would have already shared the fate of many like you.

Time flew by. You completed job after job, killing monsters and humans alike. The majority of your earnings went towards upgrades of your weaponry and armor, and it’s not like you could afford a lavish lifestyle. You had the money, yes, but flaunting your wealth would attract unwanted attention. You may have kept your true identity a secret from both your victims and contractors, but it’s better safe than sorry after all. In spite of what the amount of mercs in Sumeru may suggest, it was hard to find equipment that would meet the demands of both dense, humid jungles and barren, scorching deserts. You picked a mixed armor set of mostly hardened leather, cloth and a chestplate, coupled with an armored but fairly cool helmet. You made sure to use dark green cloth and paint to outfit the set specifically for jungle bounties, also buying a separate second set with various modifications - like fingerless gloves and a Hydro-infused chest piece - for the deserts.

Many prideful Vision Holders reject the crossbow, labeling it as a weapon much more primitive and crude than the bow. You gladly showed some who happened to be your targets that it all depends on who uses it - a perfect shot in between the ribs from a hundred meters is nothing to scoff at, after all. The only minus was that reloading it is fairly difficult and requires plenty of strength. It’s all worth the armor piercing capabilities though, no doubt about that. You purchased two flintlocks and one high-caliber buckshot and kept them sealed tightly in your pouches so as to not let any humidity or sand break them. They were high quality and expensive, even by your standards - Fontainian quality costs.

The selection of a melee weapon was a fairly problematic matter. You weren’t a Vision Bearer - at least not back then - so there was no way to just make the weapon disappear and appear on demand. You needed something universal, hard hitting and able to be wielded with just one hand. You picked a hand ax as your main weapon, and it served you well ever since you first used it. It was wonderful both against humans and monsters, and could help by chopping firewood or hacking hunted animals apart on longer commissions. Even when you finally managed to snatch a dying Vision of one of your targets and claim it for yourself, your preference stuck. Quite soon just the image of your signature steel weapon prompted a quieter tone and wary looks from the people discussing you.

With such a kit, hardly anything was a challenge. No matter if human or monster, you hunted it down for the right price. After some practice, you managed to form a routine on equipment management and optimize your spendings to secure even more funds for yourself. This in turn allowed you to afford your own house. The location you chose was the desert. People there weren’t very nosy and often dabbled in the gray area of the law, which went by a few rules, one of them being a saying regarding why ignorance is bliss. Aaru Village was welcoming, especially that few were interested in buying property there due to the harsh conditions, borderline unbearable to the jungle dwellers. For a sizable amount of ill gotten Mora you purchased a decrepit storage building and, with some creativity and patience, transformed it into a cozy base of operations.

You rested and maintained your equipment by day, and went to do your job by night. Quite the comfortable routine, maybe minus the cleaning of blood from your clothes. The jobs were plenty, but under many names since you never officially introduced yourself under a specific alias. It's not like the people could come up with anything suited to your tastes anyway. With time and a lack of reinforcement, these tags faded away, replaced by just your occupation - bounty hunter. If one were to ask for a chance to contact you in the right places, they would ask for not ‘a’ hunter, but ‘the’ hunter, and you responded. When the money was worth your time, of course.

Your nighttime activities didn't go unnoticed, however. How could they fly under the watchful eyes of Candace, defender of Aaru Village, descendant of Al-Ahmar?

It took only a bit of observation from a considerable distance - which wasn't hard for Candace, a desert dweller since birth - and a conversation with Dehya to learn who you are. She wouldn't mind (that much) if you were just another smooth-brained run-of-the-mill mercenary, looking for luck in the endless sands. But someone like you? If the tales she heard about your deeds, you were a dangerous, very dangerous man. Candace made many enemies amongst the Eremites, who would have no qualms about raising funds to pay for her head. Candace’s concern only grew the more she stalked you. The sheer brutal efficiency you showed was nothing to scoff at, especially that you seemed to slaughter both monsters and men with the same emotionless professionalism. There were rarely any survivors, especially amongst humans. And if they were, you let them go on purpose.

For her, you were a danger. For you, she was a hindrance. Ever since you first caught her spying on you during one of your clean-up jobs, Candace became a stable thorn in your side. You knew she aimed to protect her home first and foremost, but there was no certainty what she would do in your case. Those that threatened the village were dealt with swiftly, while those that weren't malicious were left to their business. Since you never attacked civilians or officials - to keep these sweet and stable contracts from both the Corps of Thirty and Aaru Village Chief going - you weren't a threat. Why then was she spying on you? An uncertainty, maybe? Her personal anxiety? Maybe fear or jealousy? It was hard to tell, but you certainly enjoyed the attention and silent respect, even if it was mixed with hostility. Well, you would more if she wasn't such a headache. Not only was she following you with unclear intentions, but she, as a respected figure in the eyes of the chief, could potentially break your contracts and cut your earnings.

Even if the distant glances at each other over the dunes were tense, there never was a direct encounter. It was a bloodless and quiet conflict - a cold war of mutual mistrust and wariness.

Your activities were a benefit, certainly, but they were far from enough to convince her to overlook your presence. Despite knowing his intellect, Candace didn't fully trust Uncle Anpu’s judgment. Your loyalty was a commodity that could be purchased by anyone with enough funds, and it wasn't as her Vision gave her a massive advantage either. She wasn't as cold hearted and ruthless as you were. For the moment, although with a heavy heart, she resorted to simply keeping tabs on your actions. Meanwhile, she used her spare time to get more sleep, finally go shopping with Dehya and relax at the village’s meeting house.

Though most times she was drinking with either her friends or by herself, she has been hanging out with a stranger she met there, usually at dusk. He was about her age. Candace found him kind, well mannered and intelligent - quite interesting in general.

You looked at her with a knowing smile while she was going on about what deeds she handled that day or what kinds of trespassers ended up on the wrong end of her spear. After all, you saw her in action more than once, always from a safe distance. But up close, you met a kindred soul with a similar sense of diligence as yourself, even if she didn't know about your true identity. Candace was a wonderful person to be around, and, soon enough, you found yourself enamored by her maturity, sense of responsibility and caring attitude. Although you introduced yourself under your factual name, you still had to maintain some sort of cover for your true identity. You fed her a story about how you were a statistician working for the Sumeru Academia. Although your muscular stature wasn't quite like that of an overworked mathematician you painted yourself as, she accepted it - partly because she lacked even the fundamental knowledge of the subject. Variance and standard error were things of Academia, not the desert. You could explain the basics to her and write out a few random formulas you remembered from your cut-short time in the university. Even if you developed a mild crush on her, work came first. After all, she was a potential enemy.

And Candace returned the feeling. It wasn't anything beyond a crush, but she did really enjoy your company. In your long, flirtatious conversations you discussed many things, from culture through history to recent events. The topic of The Bounty Hunter was a prevalent one, and soon enough you brought it up to Candace as if she wasn't sitting right in front of the perpetrator. With care not to blow your cover, you probed her opinion of your actions, and teased her a little by complimenting your own actions’ contributions towards the safety of the village.

This sparked a certain, unusual envy in Candace. Her crush was complimenting the work of some (un)common outlaw? And what's more, in an area she takes pride in? While not one to act reckless, Candace did allow her emotions to set the directions that time. The woman disregarded the additional self care time she had on her hands for monster hunting. Her plan was to snatch your prey from your hands before you went out hunting, cut your earnings and hopefully discourage you from working around the village.

And she did succeed. Your professional wariness turned into a competition, as with less kills came less money, and less money meant less satisfaction. But what annoyed you more than the smaller paycheck from the Aaru Village Chief was the fact that Candace was attempting to root you out. And, on top of all that, the casual Candace was mostly busy or tired, delaying your official date each time you mentioned it. For the moment, Candace stopped appearing as your sympathy, but rather as a competitor. A competitor that had to be put in her place. You needed something more impressive, a proof of your capabilities and talent.

You knew exactly what to aim for.

Consecrated Scorpions, rare as they are, pose a significant threat to everyone that happens to stroll by their territory. Having feasted on the remains of defeated gods and absorbed a part of their power, these often ancient monsters weren't picky eaters, meaning it made no difference whether their food was Hilichurl, animal or human. With their terrifying size, elemental affinity and thick carapace, these creatures were nigh unkillable, even for most Vision holders. But you weren't most, were you? Such a proof of capability would fetch a mouthwatering amount of Mora and respect.

And you? You'd do anything for fame and fortune, as that was your way of life.

After giving Candace a cover story about a work trip to Port Ormos, you packed your supplies and moved south into the Land of Upper Setekh. Finding a massive, dangerous demigod beast proved more troublesome than you assumed. You knew scorpions tend to reside in dark caverns, but poking your head into each lightless crevice you found was far from a good idea. The creature could easily kill you, especially if it had the element of surprise on its side. You stalked the gorges and ravines by night, as it is the time when they are hunting. After a few unsuccessful escapades you finally managed to spot one, feasting on a Sumpter Beast. You followed it though the sunless hours, carefully memorizing the path it took when that oversized arachnid felt drowsy just as morning rolled in. The scorpion made its lair inside a sizable crevice underneath the cliffside.

Upon relocating your base camp and concealing it behind sand-colored cloths, you started your research. Scorpions, especially the giant man eating variety, weren't your forte. There were little details to go off of when it came to common knowledge, and even scientific studies. Thus, you had to experiment.

Your guinea pigs were the common, yet still quite sizable scorpions of the desert. You tested their sensitivity to light, sound, scent and visual stimuli.

Just as you thought, their eyesight was exceptionally poor. They could hardly see where they were going, often falling into pits and cracks in the rocks, usually getting out thanks to their spiky legs. A bright, white flare could make them panic if thrown at them during the night, causing them to shriek and escape. When you tried this on your prey, with whom you've gotten quite closely acquainted with due to your constant nightly tracking of the beast, turned aggressive instead of frightened. Assuming the characteristic defensive position, with claws tight to its body and the abdomen raised, it prepared an attack, and struck the flare with its massive stinger. Interestingly, instead of the venom of its smaller kin, this one delivered a powerful Electro discharge through the stinger, scorching the sand and burying your tool underneath it. Soon after it lost interest and went back to its routine. But there was an even more important discovery. When it was in its offensive pose, a fact of its anatomy revealed itself. Due to the massive and unnatural size of the Consecrated Scorpion, the exoskeleton plates weren't tight to its body, creating large openings when it was ready to strike. A well aimed shot could severely debilitate, or even kill the creature.

Scorpions, as you found out, were mostly interested in three things. Things that move, things that smell and things that are bright. This gave you enough information to formulate a plan. At dusk, you would lure a single Sumpter Beast into the small gorge near the scorpion’s lair, keeping it there with a pile of hay until the scorpion would wake and attack it. To make things more enticing for it, you would leave a burning campfire beside the animal. Then, as the stinger would be lodged deep in the prey, you would take the shot laced with a very potent horse sedative. The scorpion would pass out, and you’d have plenty of time to end its life undisturbed.

It was such a brilliant plan, the fruit of a week’s worth of meticulous observation. So much so that you felt a bit sorry for it. But ultimately, work was work, and the creature would most likely appreciate your respect by ripping you to shreds and shoving your remains down its mouth.

You set the ambush, and waited.

You breathe steadily. This is not your first time. Your gloves hands grip your empty crossbow securely - an accidental misfire would waste the precious poisoned bolt. You peer out from behind the plain cloth covering your dark campsite, spotting the oblivious creature unfortunate enough to trust you and end up as your bait. The animal is sleeping in the hay. You glance up, seeing the red remnants of sunlight painting the horizon. Any second now.

As you check your equipment, a sound reaches your ears. Footsteps. Continuous, measured - human footsteps of a single person, off to your left. Even if your helmet is painted to prevent the metal from reflecting light, you still look out with care. Your brow furrows as you spot the figure walking down the rocky cliffside towards the fire. Though she is covered in clothes, you recognise Candace by her deep blue locks of hair poking out from underneath a fabric.

You mutter to yourself. “Come on. Not you. Not now.”

You watch on as she approaches the bait and examines the campfire, before walking over to the snoring beast. She stretches out her hand and scratches the back of the furry creature while examining the hay. Candace turns sharply in your direction, causing your heart to sink. She looks around the ravine, standing in place without a word. You let out the breath you held when you realize she is oblivious to your presence.

Candace summons her shield and spear and moves down the ravine, sticking to the left side of the cliff.

The side on which the scorpion's hiding place is.

Though trying to suppress it, you feel anxious. She might just blow your whole operation wide open with her little trip. Why now, of all times? Does she have too much free time on her hands? Maybe taking contracts in her area wasn't such a good-

In a flash, a huge dust cloud raises up where Candace stood mere seconds ago. The bait wakes up and runs, kicking up even more sand. You spring into action, aiming the crossbow at it and ripping the cover tarp down. Screams and screeching resonate through the canyon as you squint your eyes on focus, using your elemental vision to see what's going on. You see the vibrant blue figure of Candace fighting with the hulking, deep purple shape of the scorpion.

Grabbing the tranquilizer bolt, you take off along the ravine’s edge towards the ongoing fight. When you find yourself directly across them, you assess the situation. Even if the scorpion assumes the stance, you won't be able to take a clear shot at your bounty. Thinking quickly and dropping your main weapon to the ground, you pull out your high caliber with a trained movement. You aim it at the rough center of the purple abdomen, and pull the trigger.

“Roar, mighty duel!”

You scream, with a loud pained hiss of the scorpion following suit. Moving to the side and out of the smoke cloud the shot created, you pick up the crossbow, lower it to the ground, hold it down with your foot and pull the string back into place. You place the bolt carefully on the wooden body of the weapon, and take aim. By this time, the smoke cleared enough for you to see what's going on without using your vision. The scorpion was wounded - a sizable chunk of its carapace has been shattered by the bullet, enough for a good chance of hitting your mark from your position.

Candace meanwhile was fighting for her life. She was jumping back, dashing between the claws of the monster in a tight dance of death. Her spear was a toothpick, and had just as much use against the Consecrated Scorpion. Now, wounded and agitated, the scorpion moved its trunk-thick stinger into action. The woman dodged the first stab, just barely avoiding being impaled on the massive stinger. The second sting, however, finds its mark. Candace manages to bring up her shield just in time to stop the tip from embedding itself in her flesh. The beast instantly tries to pull it back for another attempt, but it's stuck in the wood. Candace bashes her shield downwards, trying to break the stinger. While she struggles, and the scorpion stays still, you fire.

The bolt lands in the damaged area, embedding itself in the exposed insect flesh. Your game shrieks and struggles harder, to get its weapon free. Candace fights with all her might as you grab a handful of flares from your belt bag and tie them with a piece of rope. She manages to break the stinger, causing the monster to hiss and back away. You jump down, flare bomb in hand. You recover from the fall and set off the flares one by one. Then, you throw it straight at the scorpion.

It shrieks, using its claws to cover the six sensitive eyes it has. Candace, shield still raised, backs away towards you. You stand beside her, pistols drawn and pointed at the monster. Suddenly it turns and scurries away in the opposite direction, further down the ravine.

Candace is panting heavily, but you hit her on the back.

“Come on! It will be out in a moment. We need to catch up.”

She nods, and both of you run after the fleeing scorpion’s tracks. It doesn't take long for the poison to kick in, making it weak and slow, letting you catch up. By the time you two see it again, the monstrosity is low to the ground, claws lowered and stinger relaxed. You slow your pace, quietly watching as it slumps down, relaxing completely.

After a solid minute of staring at it, you make your careful approach, making sure to keep your distance just in case. You examine the thing's mouth, making sure the smaller pincers located there aren't moving. When you confirm that is the case, you finally lower your pistols. Candace takes a deep breath.

“It's dead?” She asks, voice raspy from the pursuit.

“No. Just out. Will be for a few hours.” You reply, holstering the weapons. You turn to her. “You alright?”

The woman closes her eyes, breathing rapidly, and dismisses both her weapons. “Yes. I’m fine.”

She walks over to a nearby rock and plops down, trying to calm her body. She looks back at you with her blue and golden eyes.

“Was this your bounty?”

You nod.

“And that animal? Was it the bait?”

“Correct.”

“I see.” She sighs, rubbing her temple. “Thank you for helping. I disrupted your hunt and damaged your prey, didn't I… I would offer to compensate you, but I don't think I have the Mora. If there is anything I could do to make up for this, tell me and I will do it.”

You smile underneath the faceplate of your mask. You move your hands to undo the straps, and pull the metal helmet away from your head. The cold night breeze is refreshing on your hot and exhausted face. You turn around.

“You could finally let me take you out on that date we planned, Candace.”

She sits there, wide eyed. Blinking a few times, the struggle to comprehend the new reveal becomes visible. She silently nods a few times.

“Alright. I can… do that, Y/N.”

You turn back to the scorpion, approaching it with your axe in hand. From the side close in on the left claw, and give it a gentle poke. The scorpion doesn't react.

“Or you can help me get the poison gland and some other valuable stuff out of this thing. I could use a pair of hands, you know.”

Candace frowns. “Ugh. Being elbow deep in insect guts wasn't my plan for the evening, but…” She gets up, and smiles warmly at you.

“A promise is a promise.”

Thanks for reading!

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x male reader #genshin impact x male reader #fluff #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #genshin impact candace #candace #candace fluff #candace x reader #genshin candace #candace x male reader #candace x you #candace x y/n #enemies to lovers

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gardenwolfc · 6 months

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I seriously can't stop myself from thinking about names in AC6.

Handler Walter calls them 621. A number. A distancing tool. He still gets attached to his dogs regardless, though.

Ayre calls them Raven. A symbol of freedom, a name with meaning. It is a name they stole, but it's also a name they earn.

Carla and Chatty call them tourist. It's what they are - just another person stepping on the locals to have their little fun and take their home's resources. ...resources they want to eradicate but still

Rusty calls them Buddy. A friendly nickname, used both to raise your spirits and lower your defences. A dog and a wolf.

Iguazu calls them Freelancer, Merc, Freak. He just fuckin hates them. He hates their superior skills and their freedom most of all.

G13. Hound. Dog. Intruder. Wallclimber. Worm Killer. Imposter. Registration # Rb23 - call sign Raven.

But who are they? They don't choose their own name. The only name they get to really choose is the names of their ACs. Everyone else calls them whatever they want. Something Something what's in a name.

#ar epeople their chosen names or the ones assigned to them? this game is hella trans i swear to god #im cis+ but i fuckin FEEL it with this game.#ac6 #armored core 6 #handler walter #ayre armored core #cinder carla #v. iv rusty #G5 Iguazu #i would have more sophisticated and thoughtful thoughts but i had. 4 hours of sleep

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bestworstcase · 20 days

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Fingers crossed on the 'Yang's dad reconsiders about her' thing, mainly 'cuz it seems like an effortless failure mode for their particular dynamic (and one she's super likely to keep internalizing) would be 'huh, guess you're finally using the ol' noggin for more than headbutts, proud of ya sport'. And that's IF both parties aren't too swept up (or unalived in Taiyang's case) by Events for such fine-tuned cognitive script-flipping. Plus, 'we all pedestalized Ruby into a breakdown' does strike me as a higher-priority family crisis if there is any breathing room.

i’m not sure how much i buy the reading that yang internalizes what tai tells her about herself, in all honesty, ’cause like

everything tai says is a generalization from her vytal tournament fights, which:

team rwby won on the strength of their superior tactics and teamwork

yang fired burn because those two were being assholes after her teammate got (possibly, as far as yang knew) seriously injured, then used the power her semblance gave her to take control of the battlefield and turn her opponents’ advantages against them; she wins by applying her strength very tactically.

yang and mercury are very evenly matched, the whole fight is a nail-biter, and yang uses burn to tank mercury’s big finisher, then wins because he assumes he’s won before the match is called. (<- which is merc’s plan, but tai didn’t know that when he formed these impressions.)

tai’s takeaway is:

burn is “basically a temper tantrum”

yang relies on it because she’s “predictable, and stubborn, and maybe a little bone-headed”

yang uses her semblance to make herself strong so she can brute force her way through problems.

except that doesn’t line up with what yang does in either of the fights where she uses her semblance! in the 2v2, she’s angry and she uses that anger to juice her semblance, but she’s not lashing out or blowing things up at random, she’s disrupting the terrain so her roller-blading opponent can’t maneuver; in the 1v1, her use of burn is defensive—she activates it to strengthen herself enough to outlast a volley she couldn’t dodge or otherwise avoid, and she stays focused.

yang, of course, knows this. she’s the one who was in her head when she made the decision to fire her semblance in those fights. she pushes back on the idea that burn is any different from any other semblance, but she’s also able to filter out tai’s specific bias against her semblance to extract some actually good advice, specifically “make sure you’re not getting yourself stuck in a rut, think outside the box.”

which is what we see her doing with burn after v4; she uses her semblance more, in more varied ways. she completely ignores the advice tai gave her to stop “relying” on her semblance because she knows she hasn’t ever been someone who thinks raw strength is the only thing that matters in a fight.

and then when adam taunts her, he doesn’t make jabs about her strength—he says “do you think you’re faster than you were at beacon?”—because he knows, and yang knows, that the reason yang lost her arm is she underestimated how fast he could strike. strength had fuck all to do with it; he hit her before she could reach him.

the thing about that is… sword. fists. adam will always be able to hit yang before yang gets close enough to hit him back, not because he’s a better fighter or faster or stronger but simply because his weapon gives him way more reach. yang is faster than she was at beacon, but is she fast enough to eliminate his mechanical advantage?

adam doesn’t think so. yang doesn’t either. so she doesn’t try—she stands her ground and lets adam come at HER, because she’s been feeling out his semblance the whole fight and she’s confident she can catch his blade. this is why she tells him she’s “smarter;” adam expects a repeat of their last confrontation whereas yang uses what she knows about him to trick him into overextending.

his advantage is superior range, which yang isn’t fast enough to overcome. (sword. fists.) her advantage is strength. being smart, in this case, means using her strength instead of letting adam sting her into a contest of speed she knows she can’t win.

yang is a very agile, precise fighter who’s smart enough to know when to plant her feet and use her strength. she took a risk that she could catch that sword, but 1. that was really her best option, and 2. she spent the whole fight prior testing his limits and her own to prepare herself as much as possible. and in reverse, there have been times—like at haven—where yang decided speed was the most important thing and took the risk of literally disarming herself to get down to the vault as fast as possible.

did she really internalize that she’s a dum-dum who tries to hulk smash her way through every problem, or did she go “well i’m not going to stop using my semblance because that’s bullshit, but maybe i can get more out of it than i have been,” cue experimenting with things like different intensities.

i do think—if there’s a moment of reevaluation from tai—it’ll probably incited by blake or yang or ruby? because, returning to the salem comparison: salem understands who cinder is but doesn’t know what cinder really wants, so when cinder defies her she is able to immediately grasp why. whereas tai generally knows what yang wants (protect her sister, find her mother) but doesn’t understand who she is, so when he tries to explain why she does something he’s likely to be wrong every time. “you’ve fought your whole life unwaveringly for what you want, and here i am holding you back” vs “your semblance is a temper tantrum and you’re a little boneheaded”—salem gets cinder whereas tai probably needs to be told he doesn’t get yang.

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