#mute r6s | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

parragone · 1 year

Text

super late WIP Weekend Monday Tuesday! WEDNESDAY

Tagged by @r6shippingdelivery earlier yesterday and just couldn't get to a long post until tonight.

This is semi-immediately after the comic where Fuze takes part in a NH training sim, and it's just me going 'huh, i wonder why fuze and alibi didn't join' so now i wrote another scenario, yeehaw

hints of poly spetsnaz toward the end of the wip but the full story is probably going to include a Lot More

Chalk had gotten into places he didn't think it could get.

Fuze finished rinsing off and tugged his towel off the rack as he stepped out from the stall, the noise from the other operators an incoherent audible slog. Tonight had been a specialized exercise with Nighthaven, though only a select few operators had been invited to join the event. It had been chaotic and almost fun for Fuze, if only for the fact that Smoke had gotten bold with his nonsense.

It would have been fine if not for the fact the team had been made up of three impulsive defenders and an enabler. Pulse, Alibi, and Smoke had decided to go on the full offensive and had successfully made annoyances of themselves; Mute had remained on the objective, since someone had to, as Wamai helped the other three play dirty. The end result had been a victory for the defenders, but as Mute sat in the corner of the locker room and held a cold compress to his jaw, the chalk-covered black balaclava still over his head and tinted glasses hiding his eyes, Fuze reviewed what had happened as best he could.

Fuze hadn’t seen what had happened, not really. He’d been too busy dealing with an overconfident Pulse, who had apparently forgotten that he was heavily outclassed by the Spetsnaz and SAS operators when it came to hand-to-hand, and a frustratingly bold Smoke. By the time the three of them had heard Alibi’s near-scream, he’d given Estrada a number of new bruises under the vest; he could remember clearly that he and Porter were about to do serious damage to each other when she had hit the emergency stop for the simulation. The fact that Porter already had a bluish-grey patch of skin under his left eye told Shuhrat that he’d swung just as hard as he’d intended to.

What he did remember was the crumpled form of the young engineer while Alibi called for Doc. Shuhrat had almost tripped over the man before Aria pulled him out of the walkway, and from a glance, he’d assessed that Jaimini had managed to hit him in the head. The impact had been enough to temporarily knock the sense out of him, though Shuhrat couldn’t blame Aira for thinking the rifle had done much worse. When Kateb had arrived, he’d shown a fury that Shuhrat could only recall being shown regarding Flament.

It had been Shuhrat who had helped the doctor get Mark to his feet and responsive. It seemed like he’d gone into some form of shock at the moment, and so once he was mostly responsive Kateb had cleared him to at least take a shower and get some rest. He tugged his clothes on as he tried to figure out what would have possessed Jaimini to aim for the head, training rounds or not. The temptation to ask was strong, though he was more than certain she would-

“Hey, you quiet bastard,” and just like that, Shuhrat’s train of thought was gone with a clap on his back and a startlingly loud greeting from Haugland. The Uzbek squared his jaw and closed his eyes as he took a deep breath in, the immediate instinct to deck the man in the face only alleviated by the fact he had just gotten cleaned up. He turned to face the specialist as he smoothed out his telnyashka and assumed his expression was as sour as his mood when the man winced.

“So, he’s not exactly chatty,” Håvard started.

“Wonder why,” Shuhrat said quietly as he folded his arms. He’d set most of his weight on one leg, and his gaze flicked to where the engineer had been only to find the seat empty before he met the Norwegian’s eyes again.

“I - well, yeah, okay, so he’s got a bit of a right to be shitty,” the man laughed, albeit awkwardly as he reached behind his head to ruffle his own hair. “Look, I know it’s hard to believe, but she really didn’t mean to hit him where she did. Could you let him know? I get the feeling Chandar’s the sort of guy to just fuck off before you get the chance to apologise.”

Well, the man wasn’t exactly wrong, but that left one thing unanswered. “Then where did she intend to hit him?”

“She said she was aiming for the chest, as per the agreement. It was a misfire,” the blond explained with a sigh. “A really, really expensive misfire.”

“Hm.” Shuhrat closed his locker almost absently as he considered the request. After a moment, he shrugged and picked up his coat from the bench before he turned to leave.

“Is that a yes? A no? Give me something, Kessikbayev!” The tone of the man’s voice was almost pitiful, and it might have worked if not for the fact he’d learned an immunity to such things years ago with Maxim. Instead of a reply, he gave a half-hearted wave behind himself as he strode out of the locker room and listened to the disappointed groan Håvard gave in return.

He looked each way to try and figure out which way his teammate had gone before a different familiar face emerged from around the corner. Aria seemed to perk up as she saw him, and then gestured insistently for him to come her way; Shuhrat followed with little complaint, and soon enough he was walking beside the rather expressive woman. If her expression was anything to go by, she was in a mood foul enough to sour milk.

“Doctor Kateb took him for a minute,” she said once they were a fair distance from the locker rooms. “Said he wanted to get a picture for his bones, make sure there’s no skull fracture that he missed. I figured you would want to check in on him, at least, since Porter seems preoccupied. Can you believe she aimed for the head- oh, who am I kidding, of course you can-”

“Did you see?” Aria almost stumbled when he spoke, and so he made an effort to actually look at her when he tapped the hinge of his jaw. She paused before she shook her head with a sigh and an expression that was easily a cousin to shame.

“No, I did not. Well, not the bruise. I saw him go down, it was… I thought she had actually killed him for a moment.”

That stopped him.

She turned after a few more steps and blinked. It was a moment of odd silence before she spoke again, her eyes crestfallen as she tried to give him a reassuring smile. “I sometimes forget that you have been his teammate for nearly a decade and so have a different bond. I did not mean to scare you, if I did.”

“Explain.” He realized his tone was more curt than he’d intended, but he also realized that he was a much better person to tell than Baker. Who would, inevitably, find out that Mark had been injured due to technical friendly fire and proceed to have a word with Nighthaven over it. They began to walk again, following the path to the infirmary more out of habit than anything else.

“I think she was aiming for me initially, and Chandar got in the way,” Aria explained almost sheepishly. “I knew she took risks, but I guess I didn’t realize how much of one she was willing to take. He’s not that much taller than me, if she had hit…”

Risk was one thing, but blatant endangerment was a different and much more dangerous beast. Shuhrat rubbed at his jaw briefly as they rounded the corner for the infirmary and -

Timur grabbed them both before either of them toppled, and it was one of the few times he was grateful that he was not quite too heavy for the man; Shuhrat observed that he was barely dressed, as if he’d thrown on the first thing available, which happened to include Maxim’s nightshirt. Once they had regained their feet, he let the sniper hold his face, turn his head one way and the other, and gave him the freedom to check his body as best anyone could through the two layers of clothing he wore. Worry had etched into his eyes in a way that made at least some part of Shuhrat regretful that he’d taken part at all.

“I was told one of you got hurt,” the sniper said as he patted the Uzbek’s cheeks with a small sigh. “If not you, who?”

“Chandar took a bullet for de Luca.” Shuhrat looked up as Maxim caught up with their partner, equally disheveled though half as awake. He gave a look to Aria and motioned for her to head along to the infirmary, which she obliged with a happy - and perhaps slightly knowing - smile.

“He did what?” There was horror in Timur’s voice as he rested his hands on Shuhrat’s shoulders. Maxim seemed to share the sentiment, though from his expression he was far too tired to vocalize it; he gave Shuhrat a befuddled look as he came close and lifted a hand. After a moment of hesitation and a nod of permission, the hunter gently cradled Shuhrat’s jaw in his hand and brushed a thumb across his cheekbone.

“Kali aimed for Alibi. Mute moved ahead of her, took the shot for her. I was not present - I was upstairs.” He shook his head slightly and, in a vain attempt to comfort his partners, reached up to touch their hands. “Impacted his jaw rather than his chest.”

“That hurt like a bitch,” Maxim mumbled, tone tired and concerned. “Are you both alright?”

“Besides the bruising on my knuckles, I am fine. Chandar was… disoriented, but he is in the infirmary now. You should go check on him,” he stated quietly, eyes on Timur as he squeezed the sniper’s hand. “I know he is your close friend. He will likely be all too happy to see you.”

“I will, yes, just - promise me you are truly not hurt and lying to me.”

“Tima, when would I ever lie to you about my health?”

“Do you wish for that list in chronological or alphabetical order, Shuhrat?”

"I love you both," Maxim's voice sounded as bleary as he looked as he gently placed a hand on Timur's shoulder to urge him toward the infirmary, "But I am far too tired to deal with that conversation, so please go check on him. I will check Shuh."

The sniper looked between them both with a hint of skepticism as he stepped away. "Fine, but a single injury on you that isn't on your hands means I'll have you on the couch, you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'shuq, I hear you."

#fuze #glaz #kapkan #kali mentioned #alibi #r6s #wip wednesday #ace r6s #mute r6s

6 notes · View notes

etienne01 · 6 months

Text

Some cod ghosts and r6

410 notes · View notes

amustikas · 11 months

Text

mute!

#rainbow six siege #r6s fanart #r6s #r6siege #r6s mute #mute #r6 #he is so pretty

377 notes · View notes

zombiedeer69 · 8 months

Text

Requests from Twitter

#fanart #dead by daylight #r6 jager #r6 mute #r6 doc #nanami kento #johnny silverhand #micheal myers #frank morrison #xenomorph

132 notes · View notes

ruskizzo · 5 months

Text

How I imagine the SAS team would react to finding a white mask child.

Smoke, Mute, Thatcher, Sledge

They weren’t exactly pleased to find a white mask— specifically a poor child, cowering into a corner with blood smeared over the white suit.

Thatcher instantly called over coms to know what to do about a child white mask, his eyes not once leaving you or the others.

Sledge was the first to talk to you, kneeling and allowing you to trust him at your own pace. He only asked a few questions, “you hurt?”, “there any more of you?”

He mainly made sure you were okay. It tore his heart seeing such a young child standing in a fighting zone with blood all over them, not to mention on a terrorist team.

Thatcher was the second to talk to you, coaxing you to calm down and talking about how they would transport you somewhere safe and cozy.

Mute and Smoke were the ones to stay quiet, not really sure what to do or what was going on. They really only kept guard, looking for any more white masks or any possible threats.

It broke Mutes heart seeing the child so frightened. He mentioned to take the gas masks off. Seeing how you screamed when they first appeared; four humans with guns and a massive hunk carrying a sledge hammer, scary. But overall he kept quiet, not sure what to do or say.

Sledge and Thatcher were the ones talking, Smoke kept close to you. He made sure you completely comfortable with them, smiling at you and attempting to cheer you up with cheesy jokes he made up randomly.

Mute just watched, his grip on his gun not once loosening. He eventually crouched near you and Smoke and ruffled your hair in attempt to make you smile.

Once Ash had commanded them to lead the child towards the medic and truck, Smoke was the first to lead you— a gentle but firm grip on your hand as he slowly led you out. Mute on the side, covering your eyes or attempting to block your view the best he could when you passed a dead white mask.

So sorry it’s not the best, school night and I was just really bored. :(

#r6siege #r6s #rainbow six siege #rainbow 6 siege #r6s x reader #r6s sledge #r6s thatcher #r6s smoke #r6s mute #r6s SAS #rainbowsix

117 notes · View notes

brokenpuns · 8 months

Text

strange and offputting…

#rainbow six siege #r6community #r6 bandit #r6 lion #r6 doc #r6 jager #r6 kapkan #r6 mute #my art !

65 notes · View notes

retrodisaster · 1 year

Text

Here is some art based off SI 😼

260 notes · View notes

isopodsinmymailbox · 5 months

Text

rainbow six sieging or whatever🙂🙂

#rainbow six siege #r6s #r6community #smoke r6s #mute r6s #jäger r6s #jager r6s #james porter #mark r chandar #marius streicher #isoart #ill be honest siege fanart is not the first thing i expected to post after disappearing for 4 months #but then again this game lowk has me in a chokehold soo ermmmm🐌🐌🐌

56 notes · View notes

skrillborn · 22 days

Text

Pov: the last thing you see before mute jams your drone

#rainbow six siege #r6s #Mute #markchandar

14 notes · View notes

krya-unv · 9 months

Text

Mute

#rainbow six siege #r6s #mute #my art #First attempt at color mapping. still dont know if i like it or not #havent finished a drawing in almost two months and finally managing to draw something i am at least satisfied with #congrats me

34 notes · View notes

sugarbeandude · 2 years

Note

How do you think Mute and Smoke met?

Good question annon, I've actually never written or really explained this so let's see

So I feel like, when Mute got accepted into the Rainbow program, he first was introduced to the was team, he never has initially been a part of it, he was sas but not on Thatcher's team, so Harry made a small introduction for Mute because he was like 👹 like my fam just said, my name is Mark Chandar, looking forward to working with you as a team, and then Harry intervened saying that he was an engineer top of his class bla bla bla and that tomorrow he'll need the whole team to train together so they learn how to blend Mute into their mix.

AND THAT'S WHEN SMOKE EXTENDS HIS HAND TO GIVE MUTE A HANDSHAKE SINCE NOBODY WAS DOING ANY MOTION TO DO SOMETHING AND MUTE DID NOT HESITATE TO CORRESPOND THE HANDSHAKE.

Smoke always has this Never-doing-nothing kinda relaxed bitch face, so Mute instead of feeling that Smoke was some kind of a brat, he felt an air of confidence that, at least, Smoke would be more inclined to guide him around on his first days, to take the time to explain the team dynamics and in general, how things go around here. Keep in mind that Harry had already warned him that Thatcher was a well-known technology hater and that could be an impediment factor for Mute to participate with plans and ideas involving his Moni jammers.

And in fact, Smoke advocated for Mute's ideas, mainly because he wanted to take Thatcher's authority to order and give it to someone as young and inexperienced as Mute to see how fun it would be if things when wrong with Mute.

Jokes on Smoke, Mute impressed everyone, even Thatcher.

Mute learned that he could lean more on smoke than anyone else in the sas, so you'd often see Mute being a little more friendly to Smoke,.

everybody knows everything changed in the Hold Tight fic hehehe

#rainbow six siege #r6s mute #mute r6s #smoke r6s #r6s smoke #r6s #mute #mute/smoke #smoke

16 notes · View notes

goldenlaquer · 1 year

Note

AHHHHHHH OPEN REQUESTs FOR R6 AND COD ?? BABE U ARE THE HERO WE NEED BUT DON'T DESERVE !! Smooching ur sad face... bratty teasing pining reader with Mute, maybe? I heard his exhale in his trailer and AJWOOWKSJJAK WOOF WOOF i will tug his clothes steal his ammo tie his shoelaces GRRFFFF he gives me grief by existing and i wamt to give him some back. Ummm hcs obvsly those are great. Sfw would be aweeeesome ♡ thank u for your seggsy writimg always

MAH FIRST R6S REQUEST!!!! Thank you so much for coming to the call and fueling this madness!!! I shall make him suffer 🫡

Mark "Mute" Chandar Headcanons:

He fascinates you.

His every measured exhale under that impersonal gas mask. The restrained grace of his gloved hands by his sides. The controlled turn of his head. The absolute stillness of his presence. People say he's too quiet, and you suppose he is, but you think quiet is not quite the right word to describe Mute. No, "quiet" sounds more fitting for a shy, diminutive man. Mute is not shy or diminutive, quite the opposite. He's... imposing. Yes, imposing. He fills the space with his silence, and when he speaks, with his curt words (and you've heard him talk, that commanding drawl that is his Yorkshire tongue), with his austere build, and with the efficient prowl of his body over the playing field. It captures your eyes and ensnares your attention, makes you wonder where he gets that stoic composure from. And makes you wonder then, how you can break it.

He hates you.

Or at the very least, he dislikes you, because hate is a strong word that requires time and energy—you don't think someone like Mute would bother giving time and energy into someone he deems a waste of it. He hasn't expended himself into saying as much, but it doesn’t take even a genius to guess, how he must see you.

That babbling ninny. That scurrying busybody. That gravel in his boot.

All unflattering sobriquets of yourself— but hey, you take full responsibility for it. After all, you've got no one but yourself to blame for wrapping up in a terrible mischief with him, especially with how quick you come to realize that he isn't as stone as he appears.

What is a barrier to others is a mere suggestion to you. His guarded silence is a perfect opportunity you've taken yourself to fill with chatter that you're sure grates his nerves. Cheery greetings that are unreciprocated, questions that are ignored and questions that receive one word answers that you treasure and mull over and over in your head like a smitten idiot.

(Whatcha doin? No. What's your favorite color? No. You like jazz? No. Can I see you without your mask? No.)

You breathe in temerity and breathe out obstinacy. Audacity kindles every fiber of your being, and Mute with his frosty ire is the fuel that keeps it burning. You reach out with fluttery fingers and, like a seeking child, tug at his straps and pockets for attention that he refuses to give. You poke his sides and scritch the underside his mask like you would a cat, and you are reminded of the delicate bones in your finger when he grabs it and gives a warning squeeze.

It doesn't work, but make it worse. Your offenses grow bolder still. You camp out under chairs and tables so you can tie together his shoelaces and yell boo! to his unaffected countenance. And he fishes you out and puts you back on your ass so you can go ahead and lace his boots back properly again. You steal a gun from a holster and empty out its bullets into your shirt, offering a generous exchange: one kiss per bullet.

and you pout as he fists the front of your clothes, and shakes you, metal falling off you like candy from a piñata.

You fill in some of his blanks with what you hear from others, snippets of the snippets. That he's a genius, a child prodigy of some sort. University at 14. Operator at 25. Impressive.

"You a nerd, Mute?" You have to ask, toeing the line between bravery and plain stupidity, wanting to push him into something beyond pale of his stoic irritation. And you think you come so close to that, your breath held as his head slowly turns to you. And you can sense it, the simmering red that lies under his skin— but only after a stretch of strained silence, Mute dismisses your existence all together by turning his head back away.

This is a risky and nonsensical game that you’ve initiated, one that he wants no damn part of, and one that you’re determined to see to an end.

Like a stray, you follow him around so much, one quick step behind his long, impatient strides, that Smoke jokes that Mute has picked himself up a little miss poppet of a shadow.

You enjoy this. You think that you can do this forever. Bug him until he snaps and, and kills you or whatever. Or until, one day, the front of your shirt is grabbed and you're suddenly hauled up to the height of six foot one, until you can see nothing beyond your moon eyes blinking in reflection of his dark lenses.

Piss. Off.

His low, harsh voice forms each growled word with punctured vehemence.

Oh, you've done it now. This is too much. This. The wide expanse of his armored chest flattening against your much smaller and softer form, pushing deeper into you with each heavy, angered breath, filling your ears with no room for quarter. Like this, he is not quiet. Like this, he is not stiff. No, he's alive, full of furnace heat and motion, and very much pissed off.

He means to scare you off like this, to use his height and menacing anonymity to cow you into submission, into leaving him alone.

But this is what you want. All that you have craved for and more. Everything you've worked towards built on the hope of seeing just one sliver of this scene.

So instead of cowering away, you all but arch forward into his grip, into his chest, your excited pants picking up to sync with his. And in the mirror of his mask, you see how your lips slightly part, the roundness of your shiny eyes. In that moment, you see yourself exactly as how he must see you. Just how— adoring, you look.

He stiffens— in rage? in disgust? you don't know, you don't care youdon'tcare– and his grip tightens in your shirt, your collar definitely ruined beyond repair. You hear your quivering breath pick up and feel the pulse in your throat throb as you are dragged further into him until there is only a gap the width of a piece of paper separating your trembling mouth from kissing 'X'.

(and if you let out a whimper here; what would happen?)

Apparently, a fuckin’ hell in the form of a tempestuous snarl ground out through gritted teeth is what you get.

and you are unceremoniously thrust back to Earth, your shirt’s neckline gaping horribly around your throat. Left behind to dazedly watch with a pleased smile at the retreat of his broad back and the string of colorful choice words he leaves in his wake.

You: 1. Mute: 0.

100 notes · View notes