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#so anyway i would die for kimball and other normal things to say about a fictional character
lekrow · 1 year
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he’s been painted (with an inverted version for funsies bc it looked neat and meshed well with the DE aesthetic 🤠) The dialogue here was pulled from the game in the order I got it in my playthrough and it just tickles me to imagine Harry finding out about Kim’s sexuality and automatically assuming they’re bfs now. (I mean he’s not wrong, but)
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The Second Time Around Part 2
A/n: RPF fic. Smut warning 
Link to Part 1 
Words: 2,812
Pairings: Elon Musk x Reader
_________
Elon opened the passenger side door with a small smirk on his face. He already had a feeling that you were going to agree to try the relationship again. If you were going to say no then you would have said it by now. You would not have him drive you around just to crush his hopes mercilessly. 
Just to be safe, it was time to turn up the charm. Elon had already gone over the top with the flowers. If he could just get you alone with no interruptions, he was positive things could go in his favor. 
Things will be different this time. I’m not an idiot. I know that Y/n is the one and nothing is screwing this up. Y/n will be happy and I won’t be alone anymore. 
 The thought was presumptive but Elon didn’t care. The last thing that he wanted was another failed relationship. It wasn’t happening! 
His own bitter feelings about the break up returned. It only took a few months for his relationship with his ex to fall apart (just like you said it would). 
Another horrible morning...how surprising? Elon thought bitterly as he sat at his desk looking at another mind numbing slide on a pointless PowerPoint presentation. The sound of someone on the other side knocking pulled Elon from his brooding. He wanted to yell at the person on the other side to “enter and die” but decided not to. 
“What?”
He snapped. Elon rolled his eyes when his brother stepped in. Kimbal’s cheerfulness was too much for his older brother to deal with at the moment. 
“Good afternoon. You look….well.” 
Kimbal said looking at Elon with a fading smile. Nothing about his brother looked well anymore. From the time of his breakup with you Elon had gone down hill! He looked always exhausted and miserable.
“I look like stomped over crap.” 
Elon grumbled. Kimbal sighed before sitting down. 
“I’m sorry, starshine. I just came by because I heard that you and psycho number 3 split...again.” 
Elon nodded, leaning back.
“I texted you about it the day before yesterday.” 
Kimbal nodded. 
“Yeah, I was doing something when you did that. Oh, the reason why I am here. I saw Y/n today.” 
Elon’s eyes were immediately on his brother. 
“Where?” 
Kimbal smirked. If he needed any sign that his brother was still in love with you...there it was. 
“I was out shopping and ran into her. She’s looking extremely lovely. I can see why guys drool over her.” 
“Is THIS really what you came here for?” 
Kimbal shook his head. 
“No, I came on behalf of our dear mother, sister, and myself to beg you to go talk to Y/n. You are a miserable wreck without her and we are, for lack of a better term, worried about you.” 
“I am just fine.”
Elon said stubbornly as Kimbal shook his head. 
“No, you aren’t. I’ll go talk to her for you if you want. I can tell her that you were having a midlife crisis or something. That would be totally believable.” 
Elon put a hand over his face.
“I don’t want you to talk to her, period. Y/n is better off without me.”
Kimbal faked a gagging motion. 
“That is the most unlike you thing that I have ever heard come out of your mouth! What are you going to do when Y/n moves on and starts a family with another man? Oh wait, I’ll answer that. You are going to be the miserable ass that you are now just multiplied by 100%. I hate to be this guy, Elon, but you are getting older and that puddle of girls is going to be shrinking. I’m telling you the puddle is small and you need to give her a call.” 
Elon sat staring at his brother with an annoyed frown.
“That was a horrible rhyme. Fine, I’ll go talk to her.” 
Elon pulled himself from the memory as your hand wrapped around his. 
“Are you okay?”
You asked softly. Elon quickly nodded and walked to the passenger side of his car. He opened the door with a small smile.
“Of course. In you go, sweetheart.” 
Right as you started to get in, Jeffree stepped out onto the porch. You didn’t have to look at your best friend to know that he was worried. 
“Rocket man, wait. I have something else to say to you.”
Elon quickly shut the passenger side door. There went any hope of you hearing whatever Jeffree had to say. Maybe you could get it out of him later? 
Elon, meanwhile, rolled his eyes before turning back to your best friend. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was treading on thin ice and was trying to win you back; he would have told Jeffree to go kick rocks. 
“You do realize that is not my name right?”
Jeffree nodded. 
“I know. I just want to torment you. You’re welcome. Anyway, I have a request to make of you.” 
Elon crossed his arms over his chest. 
“Calling me rocket man then asking for a request is really poor form...just so you know.” 
Jeffree chuckled. 
“Since you are about to start screwing my best friend again...if you knock her up, which I expect to happen with your track record, please give the child a name that us simple folk can pronounce. I would prefer you to not get her pregnant in the first place…” 
Elon held a hand up. 
“That isn’t happening.” 
Jeffree raised an eyebrow. 
“If you say so. Well, later.” 
Elon watched with a frown as Jeffree turned and walked back into the house before rolling his eyes and going to join you in the car. 
“What did he want?”
You asked. Elon smirked. 
“He was just being ignorant. Nothing to worry about, love.” 
Something about the way that Elon said nothing to worry about made you nervous. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to ask questions. 
“So what is your decision?” 
Elon asked bluntly. You motioned to the parking lot of an abandoned shopping center. 
“Pull over.” 
Elon quickly did as you asked. You sat silently as you tried to contemplate one more time why saying “yes” would be wrong but was coming up with a big old blank. What was wrong with you actually being happy? Elon made you happy and he seemed genuinely sorry about his bat shit crazy break up. 
“So...we are sitting here in this abandoned parking lot not saying anything.” 
Elon said casually. You blushed, realizing that you had zoned off into your own world. 
“Right, I don’t think that we want to look at a prime example of failed capitalism.” 
Elon nodded, looking at the old building in front of him.
“Yeah, woohoo. Y/n, can you please give me an answer? I am about to go crazy over here.” 
You turned and took a breath. 
“I still love you. That hasn’t changed. I just don’t want to get hurt again.” 
Elon reached out taking one of your hands in his. He stroked his thumb over your knuckles as he took in your appearance. Elon remembered that sundress. It had been the one that you had worn the second date. Of course, he would remember that blasted dress! He wanted nothing more than to see it on his bedroom floor. 
“I will not hurt you like that ever again. I promise. Y/n, you know that I am not the easiest person to be with. Our schedules are crazy but we always made it work before. I don’t want to throw something away that I so ignorantly tossed away in the first place.” 
“I want to be with you again.”
You said softly. Elon immediately smiled. You cut him off quickly. 
“But you have a lot to make up for.” 
He considered your words before nodding. 
“Fair enough.  Would you like to go back to my place now?” 
You knew exactly where this was going and you were going along with it. For once, you were putting the tough girl in the closet and was going to let the man beside you woo you properly. 
“For some wild and crazy sex?”
Elon shrugged. 
“I wouldn’t complain about that if that were to happen…” 
You giggled. 
“Why are we still sitting here?”
Walking back into Elon’s house, you couldn’t help wondering if you hadn’t bailed out on him the week before what would have happened? It was a dumb thought really. You knew exactly where it would have led...right back to Elon’s bedroom (or the first surface the two of you could have reached). 
“If you get a weird thank you note from my brother, ignore him.” 
Elon said with an eye roll as he locked the door. You gave him a confused expression 
“Why would he send me a thank you note?” 
Elon sighed. 
“For making me less of a miserable asshole. I’ve been a bit of a difficult person to be around the past few months.” 
You shrugged. 
“I’ve been no box of candy myself. I actually went off on my mother a few times.” 
Elon was surprised by your response. In all of the time that he had known you, he had never seen you once go off on your mother. It would have been a joy to watch you complete that action. Elon had always found your mother to be too spoiled for her own good. The woman always seemed jealous of her own children. She was so jealous over the fact that you preferred your father to her and making your life hell seemed to be her hobby. 
“I would have paid money to have seen that. Did she cry?”
You chuckled. 
“No, she didn't know what to say.” 
You didn’t tell Elon how your mother called you foolish for throwing away a guy that could take care of you. She had gone off on your for hours about how you could be a kept woman and wouldn’t have to want for anything. When you screamed that she didn’t know anything and to never speak to you again; she realized that she was wrong to put her nose in on that bit of business. 
Elon seemed to notice that stormy expression in your eyes as he wrapped his arms around you. 
“Do you want to come upstairs with me? If it makes you happy, I will get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness.” 
Your mouth dropped. That was a lot coming from Elon. He never never said anything like that! With his alpha male attitude, that would have normally been beneath him. He would have never lowered himself to that level.
“Uh…”
You managed to get out. The moment that Elon dropped to his knees in front of you and fucking crawled you almost lost it! 
“I’m sorry.” 
He said softly before taking your right ankle in his hand and pressing a series of soft kisses to your skin. You were happy the wall was behind you or you would have fallen. Elon’s eyes were glued to yours. He watched your every move carefully. 
“I love you, princess. I was being a typical useless man.” 
Elon was on his feet before you could utter a word. Maybe you were so lost in the moment or maybe it was the shock? Elon had you in his arms for a long kiss. His free hand stroked up your thigh before stopping at the start of your bikini line. 
“Do you want me to go further?”
He asked, his voice deepening a few octaves. You nodded. 
“Please.”
You managed to get out. Elon didn’t wait for anymore confrontation before running his middle and index finger over your clothed mound. He manipulated your body until the thong that you were wearing was soaked. 
“So about going upstairs?” 
He asked, his accent making your inner core pound even more with need. Your brain was screaming at you to wait before going this far but your heart was saying otherwise. All of the advice that you had received from Jeffree about “taking your brain with you” went flying out the window as quickly as your virginity did the night of your first date with Elon.
“Upstairs now.”
You managed to get out. Elon smirked and pulled you into his arms bridal style. You were thankful that no one else was in the house at the moment. If someone interrupted the love making, you would have cried! 
Elon pushed the door open then kicked the door closed with his foot before putting you down. He arms wrapped around you from behind. He leaned down and snuggled his face into your neck. 
“Do you still like to be held like this?” 
You nodded, wildly. 
“I think that you know the answer to that.”
Elon chuckled before unbuttoning the back of your sundress. He let the thin piece of fabric fall to the floor. 
“That looks better on the floor anyway.” 
He said cheekily before cupping your breasts from behind. You had to fight back the moan that wanted to escape your lips as he pinched your nipples. 
“I missed you.” 
Elon said in almost a teasing tone as one hand dropped from your breast to slide down to your panties. You gasped the moment that he literally tore the dainty thong off of you. 
“I liked those.” 
You said as Elon tossed the fabric over his shoulder. 
“I can buy you another pair.” 
You swallowed any sassy comment as Elon’s hand returned to your body and stroked from your clit to your opening. 
“I still have all of the lingerie that you bought me.”
You managed to get out. Elon smiled against your shoulder. 
“I’m glad. I can’t wait to remember what it looks like on you.” 
Without another word, Elon carefully picked you up and laid you on the bed before kneeling between your spread legs.
Looking down at your now nude body under his gaze, Elon was satisfied. Your body hadn't changed in the past six months. Everything about you was still the same alluring details that made him fall in love in the first place.
You lifted your hips hoping to hurry Elon into touching you. 
“Impatient little minx.” 
Elon said, placing a small kiss to your hip bone. You moaned as his hand stroked over your flat stomach. Leaning up on his knees, Elon began to press kisses to your stomach, hips and thighs before spreading your legs wider. He internally sighed when he noticed how wet you were. 
“So wet.”
Elon muttered, teasing your clit with his index finger.
“Please, touch me.”
You hissed. Elon gave you a small smirk before slowly rising and slipping the tip of his cock in. You fought back the moan that threatened to escape your lips as Elon continued to rock into you lazily. This was his perfect form of teasing. He would just give you half of his cock then suddenly slam all the way in.
“Like that?”
Elon asked, innocently as he increased his pace. You could only nod as you had the daylights fucked out of you. Elon slowly pulled out and straightened up. 
“On your belly, baby. Put that ass in the air.”
You quickly did as you were told. Elon returned to his previous position and slammed back in. 
“What do you want, sugar?”
He asked, pressing slow kisses down your spine. You swallowed, knowing exactly what was in store for you. Elon wanted to play rough and you were 100% down for it!
“Fuck me, harder.” 
Elon chuckled and increased his pace. Your fingers clenched in the sheets as you tried to preserve any form of thinking. All that your mind could formulate was the word harder or fuck. The burning sensation that you had missed so much was begnining to form in your core. You didn't want to let go but damn it had been so long since you were touched like this!
“I need to cum.”
You whimpered. Elon pulled you onto your knees while keeping his pace. 
“I can’t keep my hands off of you. You’re all mine now.” 
You tried your best not to come apart on Elon's cock. He knew exactly how to push you to your limits. Between his erotic words being whispered in your ear and the way that he was slamming into your cervix... you were a literal mess!
“Come for me, beautiful.” 
You cried out the moment that Elon's cock slammed into your cervix one last time. The moment that your body tightened around him, Elon spilled into you. Neither of you moved for a few moments.
Elon slowly pulled out and laid down for you to snuggle down in his arms. The two of you lay in silence catching your breaths.
“So, are we friends again?”
You asked. Elon looked down at you before laughing and tightening his hold on your body.
“Oh yeah. We are friends again.”
_________
@elonscult @xjjlex (surprise! I actually did get it done today)  
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One-Shot a Day, Day 1: “Hold Me.” RvB
Link to read it on ao3. 
Summary: (RvB Season 12 spoilers.)  After Tucker is released from the hospital post season 12 (after being stabbed by Felix) he's feeling a little vulnerable and wants his boyfriend to hold him.
Tucker makes his way through the halls slowly, trying to avoid the more traveled routes in favor of the back ways and using storage rooms as shortcuts. It’s not that he didn’t want people knowing he was out of the hospital or that he didn’t secretly -or not so secretly- enjoy the attention, he just had a very specific place that he wanted to be. And he needed to be there fast, he only had a limited time.
When Dr. Grey told him he could leave, assuring her that he would come back every morning for bandage changes and wound check, he was ecstatic. As ecstatic as a person could be while semi-high on not-quite-narcotic painkillers, but ecstatic none the less. As soon as she had walked out to get his discharge papers -merely a formality that she insisted remain despite the fact that this hospital had stopped functioning like a normal hospital years previously and become a war recovery zone- Tucker had immediately grabbed his datapad on the side table and typed out a quick message, asking Wash if he could slip away from whatever he was doing and meet him in his -their- room.
He had just been walking out of the hospital when his boyfriend’s reply came through, telling him that he had managed to snag a two-hour reprieve from Kimball before having to go back to work, likely having a late-night before getting back to their bunk anyway, and asking if he wanted him to come walk with him back. The teal soldier had to remind himself not to jump for joy when he read the message, tapping out quick response telling him to just meet him there, armor off and in his civvies.
He finally makes his way into the barracks building, thankful he doesn’t have to be as cautious of other people now. Almost everybody in the building at this time are the men and women on night shifts and they’re asleep, he makes his way slowly to his and Wash’s room, a strong ache in his abdomen by the time he reaches the door. He pauses, taking a deep breath before opening it, stepping through to see Wash just pulling on one of his favorite t-shirts -an old one from his early days in freelancer that’s grown slightly thin and soft with wear- and that simple sight makes his eyes water slightly before he realizes what’s caused it.
“Hey, T, sorry I didn’t come up at breakfast this morning, Kimball had plans that she needed me to go over ASAP for a mission that left earlier.” The blond turns, taking in the sight of his boyfriend from his feet up. Clad in an old pair of shoes, some sweats, and a t-shirt that somehow perfectly matches his armor color that Wash had taken to him for whenever he was released, his armor having already been brought back to Tucker’s officially assigned room.
“Tha-” Tucker coughs, clearing his throat and wincing at the pain in his gut. “That’s fine, don’t worry.” His voice is still rough, and he silently curses himself as a single tear slips down his right cheek.
“Tucker, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?”
“No. I mean, yes, I have pain, but it’s minimal. I just… will you hold me, David?” Wash has to strain to hear the end of his sentence, it coming out muted and directed towards the floor, Tucker not looking him in the eye.
“I don’t want to-”
“You’re not going to hurt me. I promise, if something hurts or I’m uncomfortable, I’ll tell you. I just need to be held right now.”
“Come ‘ere.” Wash jerks his head, motioning to the two beds they had pushed together to form a bed big enough for the both of them before crawling in, moving to the far side so Tucker has room to settle in without too much movement, hopefully lessening his chances of hurting himself. The younger man sits gently, turning to curl into the taller man’s open and waiting arms, face buried in the blond’s shoulder, sniffling slightly.
“Thank you.”
There’s a silence that stretches between the two of them, interrupted occasionally by a sniffle from Tucker, becoming more frequent as the time goes on. “Hey.” A kiss to the top of his head. “You’re not in pain, are you? Incision’s okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. I… Wash, I thought I was never going to get to do this again.” Another sniffle. “I thought I was going to bleed out before the guys could get to me. And I thought, ‘I am never going to hold him or be held by him again. I’m never going to kiss him again. I’m never going to get to tell him I love him again.’ And,” a sharp exhale, “fuck, it scared me. It scared me that I might never be able to do those things again, and it scared me that I thought I was going to die alone, with nobody there.”
“Shhh. It’s okay, I’m here.” The older man feels droplets of moisture on his arm that’s snaked under his neck and drops another kiss to his head. “I love you too, T. You’re not alone in working through this. It was a traumatic experience and it’ll take a while to get through it, but I’m with you the whole way, yeah?” A small nod from the smaller man, and a squeeze from the larger’s arms, careful not to tighten too much. “Good. I love you so much. I was so scared I was going to lose you. Not sure what I would’ve done if they hadn’t gotten to you. Thank fuck for Lina having the healing unit.”
It goes quiet, but Wash knows Tucker isn’t breathing deep and smooth enough to be sleeping, so he makes himself content with holding his boyfriend and allowing him time with his thoughts and emotions, confident he’ll talk if he wants to.
After some amount of time, Wash really isn’t sure how long, Tucker’s breathing does even out, and the blond hopes it’s a nice sleep he’s fallen into, not worrying about looking at the clock, knowing his alarm he set will go off when he needs to get up, armor up again, and head back to the war room for more assault tactic lookovers to finalize and confirm before upcoming missions, and he finds himself dozing on and off during the time.
“Mmm, Tucker?”
“Hm?”
“Gotta get up; my two hours is almost up; I have to be in armor and back in the war room in twenty minutes.”
“I don’t want you to go.”
“I don’t want to either; this is one time I’d be perfectly content to lay here with you until tomorrow morning, but I gotta go.”
“No, Wash, that’s not what I meant. I don’t know if I can handle being alone right now.”
“Go hang out with some of the other guys, there’s bound to be one of them that isn’t busy, or is just running drills and you can sit there with them.”
“I’m sure Carolina’s going to be in the war room with you, which means Church will be there, too, I can’t Caboose wrangle right now or I’ll open my incision and hurt myself worse. Simmons will bore me to death, Sarge will try to kill me, and Grif is disgusting. And I can’t take being around anybody else right now, it’s just…”
“Too much?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell you what, if you let me up right now, I’ll let you come to the war room with me and we’ll see about convincing Kimball and Doyle to let you sit in there, yeah?”
“That sounds fine.” Tucker starts to shift, wincing slightly as he does. “Ah, shit, I gotta take my pain meds too before we go up there. You start working on your armor, I’ll do that, and hopefully we can get there before they make me crazy tired like they did last night.”
“Hopefully.”
Tucker grabs his datapad that he had laid on the side table as the two head out the door, knowing he’s going to be bored at some point, slipping his other hand into Wash’s as they walk through the halls of the barracks, releasing it as they near the door. The two had officially been in a relationship since right after they were reunited but had yet to tell anybody except Carolina. Wash suspected a few other people had ideas about their relationship, but nobody had had the guts to come out and ask, and they were perfectly content with leaving it under the radar for as long as possible.
Wash reaches up, knocking on the door to the war room and waiting for the following ‘enter’ to open the door, Tucker closing it behind him. “Captain Tucker,” ‘that’s Kimball’s voice’ his subconscious reminds him through the slight haze of his medication starting to kick in, “good to see you out of the hospital, but what are you doing here?”
“Didn’t want to be alone.” He supplies before Wash can interject and say it in a more tactful way.
“I see. Please pull up a chair and feel free to spend as much time here as you want.”
“Thanks, ‘Nessa. I mean, uh, Kimball.”
“Sorry, Kimball, he took his pain meds right before we came, I think they’re taking effect.”
“I see,” an amused tone. “Now, back to the business at hand. Doyle, Carolina, and I were just discussing some plans for our assault on the small northern outpost.” A paper is slid across the table to the gray-and-yellow-clad soldier. “Here’s what information we have so far.”
Ten minutes later Tucker is snoring lightly, head lolled back and propped on the wall, and Wash rolls his eyes at his boyfriend before turning his attention back to the papers in front of him.
Nearly seven hours later the group is finished, helmets and gloves discarded around the room as they grew tired and started rubbing at their eyes. Tucker having gone back and forth between napping, playing around on his datapad, and picking at the small food supply that Kimball had brought to them around dinner time. Doyle grabs his armor pieces and leaves the room almost immediately, Kimball, Carolina, and Wash staying behind to talk a few minutes longer, both asking the freckle-faced man about Tucker’s wellbeing.
“He’s okay. I’m glad Carolina had the healing unit when she got to him, Dr. Grey doesn’t think he would’ve survived without it.” He glances over his shoulder, insuring that the dark-haired male is still asleep. “He’s at the point now that I’m sure he’ll be okay physically given time, but it messed him up a bit psychologically. That’s why I needed to leave for a while when he was released and why he came with me. He’ll be okay, I think, it’ll just take a while.”
“This… might be a sensitive question, but… Will he be okay at night? We don’t need him landing himself back in the hospital because he’s ripped his incision open during a nightmare.”
“It’s taken care of.”
“Okay…” Wash can see the question in her eyes, but is glad she doesn’t ask anything. And then Tucker ruins it.
“Babe? Why aren’t we in bed?” The slightly slurred question leaves Tucker’s mouth as he blinks back the light from the still harshly lit war room, trying to regain his bearings as to where he is.
“We’re in the war room, remember? Don’t worry, we’re about to go.”
“Okay.” Tucker struggles to stay awake through Wash’s explanation, snuggling back into the wall. Wash looks back over his shoulder, Carolina smirking at him, Kimball with a dark eyebrow raised.
“Agent Washington, I’m assuming that’s what you meant when you said ‘it’s taken care of’?”
“Yes, it is. Is there a problem with that, general Kimball?” The blond man is immediately on edge, posture straightening and stiffening, fight or flight response readying.
“Stand down, Wash, there’s no problem, I actually thought there might’ve been something,” there’s a softness to her dark eyes as an ever so slight smile graces her lips. “I’m happy for you both, I really am. I take it you already knew, Carolina?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Officially? Since right after we reunited. Though you could argue that we were basically in a relationship before the ship crashed.” Wash relaxes as the most genuine smile he’s seen from her graces Kimball’s dark tan skin, and he thinks briefly that he wishes for her sake she lived in a time or place where that smile could be used more often and her features not be hidden under a helmet, though he guesses one could say the same about all of them.
“I am happy for you both. Now, please, everybody get some rest tonight.” The three lean down, all picking up their discarded armor pieces. “And Wash? Tucker is welcome in here with us any time while he’s recovering.”
“Thank you, Kimball.”
By the time the pair get back to their room, Tucker is a little more cohesive than he had been, and Wash bumps his shoulder lightly. “Kimball knows.”
“Knows what?”
“About us.”
“What? How?”
“You half woke up in the war room and called me babe. She already suspected, though, and it’s not a problem.”
“Ooops, I’m sorry, I know we were trying to keep this under the radar.”
“It’s okay, Tucker. I’m actually kind of glad she knows. Doyle doesn’t yet, though, he had left already.” The two step through their door, Wash already pulling off more of his armor pieces, Tucker slowly pulling his clothes off, stripping down to his boxers like always.
“Wash? Will you hold me again tonight while we fall asleep?” Wash sees the unspoken ‘I need that reassurance’ in his eyes and smiles a gentle smile -one reserved strictly for Tucker and extremely rare times that Carolina sees it- and nods.
“Of course. It was very comfortable earlier.”
“Thank you.”
The couple crawls into the bed after Tucker takes another dose of his painkillers per Dr. Grey’s orders, finding a position that’s both comfortable for Tucker, but also close enough for him to feel the safety he needs and they drift off to sleep, each man having a peaceful night’s sleep being held by the other.
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mlynar-nearl · 5 years
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Speaking of my writing commissions, here’s a short I’ve been working on (against all odds) for @facethroughthemirror of a Locus and Emily interaction set during season 15. Thanks for the coffee pumpkin, ily! 
Locus had hoped to escape the General Doyle General Hospital (and isn’t that name a mouthful?) without thinking too hard about where he was, and without getting spotted by anyone at all. They should all recognize him, anyway, or most of them should. All he did was sneak Washington into an empty room and press the nurse call button while cloaked until somebody came in. 
He’s stopped in his tracks in an empty stairwell leading to the roof by the sound of a very cheery and medical throat clearing. 
Fuck. 
“For someone of your skillset, you’re very obstinate in your denials of certain facts, you know. Like knowing that I used to be able to hunt you down while you were cloaked.” Locus stays frozen, and he hears a tired sigh from behind him. “That’s not going to work, you know! You tried that the first time I caught you out like this and you know it. Honestly, I think acting like this says a lot more about your mental state than you could ever say aloud!” 
She doesn’t even sound mad, just...the same amount of normally cheerful as he last heard her. Same Dr. Grey. 
He waits for a moment longer, where he can hear her standing behind him tapping her foot on the stairwell impatiently, and he swallows and decloaks, turning around.
“Oh, I knew you were here!” she seems pleased. She shouldn’t be pleased to see him. He’s probably in a big trap right now. “I’d think I would be the one losing my mind if I talked to thin air and you weren’t the one who just left Agent Washington in the ICU, now, wouldn’t I? But it had to be you. Anyone else wouldn’t have left, because they don’t have something to hide.” 
“I don’t have-” 
“Of course you do. Someone who should be in our prisons but has been a missing person for the last year definitely does. Don’t play games with me, Locus, I know how this works!” This almost certainly ends with her killing him and burying his body in a shallow grave, and at this rate he’s just deciding if it’s moral of him to let her. “Does it feel good, Locus?” 
“What?” 
“Does it feel good, to be standing on the planet you tried to kill as a wanted man?” she tilts her head. “Where you killed my husband?” 
Technically, he didn’t, but he doesn’t think of it that way either. 
“I- how am I supposed to answer that? I didn’t want to bother you with my presence again. Agent Washington is in critical condition, just take care of him rather than concerning yourself with me.” 
“I’d rather not. Agent Washington is in very good hands even without me. You, on the other hand…” 
“Have you called President Kimball already?” 
“Hmm, no. I would have, if I thought you hadn’t changed, but the Locus I knew wouldn’t have even brought Agent Washington here at all. So maybe you have changed! I just wanted to see if it was really you. And it is!” 
“I would understand if you did,” Locus says slowly. “And I will understand if you lied to me.” 
“Only one of us here has lied to the other, Locus!” Emily shoots back with copious amounts of faux-cheer. “But you know that, don’t you?” 
“This has been- wonderful,” he’s lying and they both know it, he sounds strained and panicked, “But I need to leave.” 
“You can think that,” Dr. Grey says. “But I hope you know that you don’t get to die of old age now. You get to die in the dirt or come back here and answer for everything before you even get the option to die. I didn’t call the president because if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you torture yourself so much better than we ever could. Feel free to go back to your ship, Locus. But you and I both know you’re not leaving Armonia. Not really!” She smiles in a way that’s going to haunt him for the next few weeks. “Now, I have my lunch break to finish. I’ll be seeing you!”
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Back to Prison: 4/5
Summary: The Tartarus makes good things hard to hang onto. So when a couple of mercenaries offer Wash his freedom, he can’t help but think it’s worth whatever price they might ask. Even if it brings him into direct conflict with the Reds and Blues once again.
Mercenary Wash AU.
I LIVE! Sorry for the long-ass delay between chapters, I got swept up in NaNoWriMo, which ended up being my longest fic project to date. Whoops. Anyways, we're back, with another Tucker chapter, LET'S GET GOING!
Thanks as always to @jomeimei421, who inspired the fic, and @sroloc--elbisivni for betaing.
Warnings for: Discussions of injury and torture, injury, and alcohol use.
Also on Ao3
Tucker makes it out of the base with some new scars and a broken wrist to show for it. But he has his sword and his armor, and after he collapses into Caboose’s arms and after Doc tapes his wrist and then Grey re-tapes it because Doc did it wrong and after he’s told Carolina and Kimball and Doyle about the cave-in and Felix using Donut’s voice and the torture, he goes and lies down in his bunk.
Because he also has a secret.
He knows who let him escape.
And he has no idea what to do with that information.
Carolina comes to check on him pretty soon after his initial debrief with the generals, a bottle of wine tucked under her arm.
“Are you okay?” She asks. There’s something in her face that he can’t place. Guilt, maybe? She looks tired, as tired as Tucker feels. The dark circles under her eyes have blossomed and darkened, but they’re still not as large or as dark as the one’s under Washington’s—Tucker cuts off that train of thought. Her hair is damp, as if she’s come straight for the shower, and she’s not wearing any of her armor at all, instead looking oddly shrunken in just a black tank top and a pair of Grifball sweats. She’s still taller than him, but that’s beside the point.
He stares at her, trying to figure out what this is, why she’s here.
She shifts, clearly uncomfortable as he is. “Look, I—”
“Epsilon hacked Dr. Grey’s records of my injuries, didn’t he?” Tucker asks, finally putting it all together. He’d asked Grey not to tell the others, mostly because he didn’t want Caboose to be upset, but he should have realized that Church was a sneaky bastard, and Carolina apparently comes by it honestly.
“Yes.”
“Where’d you get that wine?”
“Donut.”
“Come on in, I guess.”
The two of them pile into Tucker’s bunk, and Carolina produces two plastic cups.
Back with the New Republic, Tucker had bunked with Caboose, not wanting to let the other blue out of his sight. Carolina had been gone, and from the ominous comments that Felix was making, she was being hunted by the fucking Feds, and he hadn’t wanted to even risk it.
Now, of course, there’s more room. Caboose bunks with Smith now, and Tucker bunks alone, because his other option is Palomo, and that’s not happening. It’s lonely, sometimes, but at least Tucker doesn’t have to listen to Caboose sleep talk.
(Not that he ever misses that. Not at all.)
“You ever been tortured before?” Carolina asks, tentative as removes the screw top of the bottle.
“Yeah, we’re totally not doing this,” Tucker says, grabbing the cup she holds out to him, staring at the contents.  
“Tucker—” There’s a warning in her voice, but it’s one that’s gentle. The kind she does when she’s trying to stop him from hurting himself during training, rather than her shouts of rage when he hits on her or when he steals her hair dye to prank Simmons.
“Washington let me go,” Tucker says before downing his entire glass in one go.
Carolina stands frozen, staring right at him, mouth agape, Church hovering over her shoulder. If he wasn’t wearing armor, Tucker would put money down that Church is making the exact same expression.
“What?” The two of them scream together.
It’s times like this that really prove that they’re siblings.
“I mean,” Tucker grabs the bottle and pours himself more. “I told him I should’ve killed him and then he came back and like, I thought he was gonna kill me, so I pretended to be asleep cuz he seems like the kind of guy who wants to watch the life go out of you if he’s killing you to make a point, y’know?” He takes another, desperate gulp, remembering the soft sound of Washington’s armored feet padding across the floor of the operating theater. “And then instead, he uncuffs me and slams the door as if he’s trying to wake me up. I thought it was like, a trap or something, but he didn’t ambush me when I was running.”
And then Tucker had grabbed his sword and ran and ran and ran, until he’d managed to get out of the base, stealing a mongoose and driving, until he’d managed to practically crash into a search party, lead by Jensen.
It was supposed to be a search party, not a rescue party, because they’d all thought he was already dead.
Carolina and Caboose hadn’t believed it, according to Kimball. The Reds hadn’t either.
It’s nice to be believed in, Tucker supposes. Even though he knows they’d eventually have tried to mount a rescue mission, which would have brought his friends right into the enemy’s reach.
“He let you go,” Carolina says softly. The expression on her face is half wonder, half hope.  
“Yeah.”
The moment fades, and her gaze refocuses on him, intense and intelligent. “You didn’t mention this to Kimball and Doyle.”
“Because I don’t know what it means!” Tucker yells, throwing his hands into the air. His injuries protest the movement, but he refuses to let it show, caught up as he is in his own confusion. “I don’t get why he did it! I literally told the guy I should have murdered him and instead he lets me go?”
He had been an inch from death; handcuffed and injured and unable to defend himself, and instead of taking the easiest shot in the world, Washington had let him go.
What is Tucker supposed to think about this? What is he supposed to do?
Carolina runs her fingers through her ponytail absently, staring off into space. A wrinkle appears between her eyebrows, as she tilts her head to one side. “You’ve talked to him a few times, right?” She sounds far away as she says it.
Tucker shifts, not sure what she means by that. Yeah, he’s talked to the guy, but usually to tell him how much he fucking sucks and how much Tucker wants him to die. It’s not like it’s the kind of speech that changes anything. Certainly not something that should make a guy decide that he’s going to let an enemy go. “Yeah.”
Her mouth parts for a moment, thoughtful, then quirks up into a smile. “Huh.” Tucker has no idea what she’s thinking, and he’s not sure he wants to know.
Tucker slumps down against the wall. He stares at the bottle for a moment, then decides that he was just tortured, so he’s earned it, and takes a swig directly from the bottle. It’s not the best wine that Donut’s ever managed to procure, but it’s also a hell of a lot better than the bathtub gin that Volleyball brews in an abandoned warehouse that serves as most of the United Armies of Chorus’s liquor supply. He swallows, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and then looks back at Carolina, who’s watching him with those bright green eyes of hers. “I mean, he also was the reason I got captured by Felix so it’s not like I owe him or anything.”
He stares down at his arms, where the bandages cover the thin, but deep cuts left behind by Felix. Grey had told him in her scarily chipper way, that they had been done just so, to stop Tucker from bleeding out entirely, but still to cause blood loss and pain.
Carolina is serious again. “You’re right. You don’t.” She nudges him, more gently than she usually does. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she adds.
It’s hard to believe that this is the same woman who had once held a gun to the back of his head and tried to order him to follow her into battle. The woman who Caboose had been forced to disarm to stop her from doing something that all of them might regret.
But Caboose had disarmed her, and then they had gone after her, because, despite everything, she was one of them, whether she knew it or not. She and Church were theirs. And Tucker and Caboose had reached down and pulled Carolina onto her feet, and then, maybe Carolina figured that out herself.
Somewhere, somehow, along the way, the two of them had become friends.
Neither of them have a lot of those.
Tucker tries to laugh, but it gets caught in his throat and comes out as more of a sob, than anything else. “Yeah,” he finally says, the words choked. “Me too.”
Carolina sits next to him, and, hesitating, puts an arm around his shoulders. She’s warm and her arms are corded with muscle and she smells of detergent and wine and the fancy shampoo Donut buys her to help her preserve the dye in her hair, and it’s great.
Too tired to even make a joke, let alone flirt, Tucker sets the bottle down between his knees, leans against her, closes his eyes, and falls asleep.
“I’m sorry Epsilon. The Meta captured her in the memory unit.”
The first time Tucker ever sees Washington, it’s in in the snow.
He seems almost… normal, in that moment. The fighting between him and Tex and the Meta was done, Tex was already gone (Tucker would never get to say goodbye).
“She’ll be trapped in there.”
He and Epsilon were… something. Some sort of truce. Didn’t Epsilon hate that guy? Tucker thought someone had mentioned something about Epsilon shooting a laser at him, just like he’d done at fucking CT.  
“If I let her out… you have to come with me.”
A truce that involved Wash trying to fucking blackmail Church into coming with him to get Tex out of the fucking thing that he’d built, apparently. Tucker decided, right there on the spot, that he hated that guy.  
“Caboose, Tucker. Get in the base. See if you can find some tools.”
How had he even known his name? Then, there had been no time to dwell on it, because at the end of the day, even after she’d fucking kicked their asses and even after she’d ditched them and even after everything…
Tex was still his friend.
Fighting the Meta is brutal and terrifying… bullets flying and all sorts of bullshit. Tucker stabs him in the chest. Sarge charges him with a shotgun.
And by the time the dust settles…
Church is gone.
And Tucker’s standing over the unconscious form of the guy responsible for it, sprawled out and bleeding on the snow.
Tucker stares down at him, nothing but disgust rolling in his stomach.
This guy shot Donut, and now Tex and Church are gone. Both Churches, even.
Because of what? Tucker doesn’t even know. Something about prison.
He nearly grabs Doc by the wrist, nearly tells Doc to fucking let the guy die, but he doesn’t, because he just realized Church fucking didn’t even say goodbye… again, and Caboose is calling Church’s name, softer and softer each time, and it’s nearly too much for Tucker to bear.
Caboose finally wanders over, sniffing. He brightens up though, when he sees Wash.
“Wash! You’re alive!”
And something about Caboose sounding so fucking happy to see this guy, when he can’t even stand Tucker half the time, even though it’s this guy’s fucking fault that Caboose’s best friend is dead…
Caboose kneels over the guy, sprawled out like a broken fucking rag doll as he is on the ice. “Tucker! He’s alive! Can we keep him?”
Tucker fucking can’t believe Caboose, sometimes.
“Leave him! Caboose, get away from that guy! He killed Church, remember?”
It stops Caboose in his tracks.
Blood spreads through the snow all around Washington, smearing it pink in places. Pink, like Donut, who’s dead because of him. The rest of it is just… red.
“No, Church is… he’s just not here right now,” Caboose says, slowly, looking over his shoulder at that fucking memory unit. “And Washington can be our new friend while we wait for him!”
“Fine, he killed Alpha! And Donut!” Tucker yells, and he can feel dampness stinging at his eyes and his throat closing up, because his best friend is gone, and never coming back, and Tucker never got to say goodbye, and it’s all too much. “And Epsilon and Tex are gone now, and it’s his fault, Caboose! He’s fucking dangerous and he doesn’t care about us and… just…” His shoulders slump. “Caboose…” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Let’s just go home.”
Caboose stares at Washington for a while.
The noise of a pelican fills the air, and Tucker looks up. All that noise, and explosions, have apparently given them an audience, and Tucker has even less desire to help Washington now. He has no idea how they’re going to get out of this, and he doesn’t have time to deal with anything else right now, let alone a fucking murderer.
(Donut hadn’t even done anything to this guy. Donut had been with him, in the desert, away from all of this fucking Freelancer bullshit.)
“Okay Tucker,” Caboose says, and Tucker sighs with relief because, for once, Caboose is actually listening to him.
And so they walk away, and they leave Washington behind in the snow.
Caboose comes to visit after Carolina leaves the next morning. If Tucker had more energy, he might have made a walk-of-fame joke (walks-of-shame aren’t Carolina’s style, and Tucker’s not about to shame anybody for having even hypothetical sex, especially not hypothetical sex with him), but because he was drinking, he hadn’t taken the painkillers that Dr. Grey had given him, so he hurts way too much to come up with a good punchline, let alone handle the retribution that she’d deal out for it.
They might be friends, but Carolina has a very low tolerance for pick-up lines. At least it’s all in good fun these days, rather than the time when she’d tried to shoot him. Although that might have been for eavesdropping and startling her as much as for the line.
So instead of seeing if he could finally phase Carolina, or even get up in search of breakfast, Tucker just lies down on his bed, staring at the stitches on his arm, and tries really hard not to feel sick.
Because Felix would have killed him, there’s no doubt in Tucker’s mind about that. He’d whispered it in Tucker’s ear as he’d pressed the flat of the knife against his face, already covered in blood. Promises of how long it’d take, of what it’d feel like, of how he was going to send his body back to Caboose and Kimball and even Junior in pieces.
“I think I’ll shoot you in the spine. Can’t even run as I start to cut you up. Wouldn’t that be fun? Of course, if I don’t do it right, you could die, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
His friends hadn’t known where he was. He’d been given up for dead by all official channels, even if Caboose and Carolina and Sarge and Grif and Simmons and Donut and Doc and—well, okay, Lopez might have given him up as dead, but honestly Tucker wouldn’t know one way or another, cuz he’d slept through high school Spanish—hadn’t believed it. There was no way they would have gotten there in time, and he would have died there, in that operating theater…
But Washington had decided to save him, for a reason that Tucker can’t even begin to understand.
“Tucker?” Caboose says, very quietly.
“Hey Caboose,” Tucker says, trying to keep his voice cheerful. Caboose knows that Tucker’s hurt, obviously, but that doesn’t mean Tucker has to remind him of it.
Caboose looks at him, very solemn and weirdly quiet.
“Tucker, you have been very stupid,” Caboose announces.
“Hey!” Tucker says. “It’s not my fault I was tortured!”
“Noooo,” Caboose says, drawing out the word, like Tucker’s missing something very obvious. “But you have been telling Principal Kimball not to let me go on missions with you!”
Maybe it’s because of Caboose’s insistence on referring to Kimball as “principal,” but the only word that springs into Tucker’s mind in this moment is tattle-tale.
“Caboose,” Tucker starts to protest, but it’s too late, Caboose takes off his helmet, and fuck, there are tears in his giant brown eyes and Tucker hates that, hates when Caboose cries, it’s not fair, they’re supposed to hate each other, that’s how it goes.
“Caboose! I just thought Washington might be there, and—” Tucker sighs. “You liked him.”
“Well, yes,” Caboose says, sitting down next to him. “But now he’s not being very nice, and he is hurting people and he’s friends with Felix and Locus and you know I think they’re very bad influences because I really thought we were going to be friends, but you know what sometimes people aren’t your friends and… and sometimes that’s okay.” He pats Tucker’s shoulder. “Tucker, sometimes you are very stupid.”
Tucker, still trying to follow Caboose’s sentence before that, blinks. “What did I do now?”
Caboose makes a scoffing sound. “Tucker. Tucker. Tucker. I’m supposed to make sure you don’t do stupid things. That is why we are a team! Blue team! Us and Church and Carolina and Tex but she’s gone now, and Grif’s sister, even though it is very rude of her not to be here right now. We are supposed to stick together. Because otherwise someone who is not me will get lost and I know Mom said we’re supposed to stay in one place when we get lost, but I think you did the right thing this time coming to find us.”
Tucker laughs, wincing as the motion of it pulls at the stitches in his side. “Okay, Caboose, I get it. No more leaving you behind.”
“Oh! Good. Because that was not fun.” Caboose pauses. “Felix is not very nice.”
“No. He’s not.”
Caboose stares at his hands. “Tucker… is it really my fault?”
“What?”
“Washington only shot Private Pastry because he went to prison and he says he only went to prison because I kept Church. And you only didn’t keep him because of that and then he went to jail again and then Felix and Locus let him out and now he’s hurting people again and—”
“Caboose!” Tucker is alarmed, because Caboose doesn’t even acknowledge things that are his fault, like Church’s death back in Blood Gulch or blowing things up, or… fucking anything. “Caboose, no. Washington did those things because he chose to, and it’s not our fucking fault.” Tucker banishes the sight of blood on the snow from behind his eyelids.
“It’s not.”
He’s not sure if he’s talking more to himself or to Caboose, but in the end, it doesn’t matter.
Tucker and Caboose had made their choices and made them a long time ago.
Washington had made his own.
And all of the choices have led them here, to Tucker covered in injuries, Caboose’s arms wrapped around his stomach, with the specter of Washington hanging over their heads.
In his nightmares, Washington doesn’t let him go.
The handcuffs come off, sure enough, but when Tucker stirs, when he moves too soon, Washington grabs him by the hair, bringing a knife to Tucker’s throat and cutting.
Or he does let him go, but he gives chase, through the strange and winding corridors of the base—far darker, and more twisting than the corridors had been in real life—and, just as Tucker throws open the impossibly heavy door to the base, as soon as he can see freedom and green grass and Caboose and Carolina in the distance, calling his name…
The bullet, in his dreams, goes through his spine, cutting his feet out from under him. In the nightmare, Tucker falls to the ground like a puppet released from its strings, pain shooting through his top half, while nothing but numbness fills his bottom half.
Washington shoots Tucker in the back, and he doesn’t even laugh, not like Felix would.
He just stares at Tucker, pale grey eyes surrounded by bruise like dark circles, scars stretched across his face. He doesn’t say a thing, sitting down on his haunches, tilting his head to one side as Tucker bleeds out.
Beneath Tucker, his blood stains the snow.
Tucker wakes up with his chest too tight to breathe, and he paces around the base, at least in part to prove to himself that he still can, until Palomo sees him and starts asking him questions. As Tucker hurries back towards his room and his bed to escape, he wonders if Palomo was doing that on purpose.
It’s only a week later, when Grey has finally taken out the last of his stitches and given him the all-clear, that Tucker goes out on another mission—this one with Sarge to take back a pirate base.
It goes smoothly, and there’s no sign of Washington or Felix or Locus, and it’s almost enough to help Tucker shake off the strange, foreboding feeling that’s started to settle into him every time he leaves Armonia.
Washington kept him alive for a reason, and Tucker is increasingly terrified of what that reason is.
It’s weird, that Tucker’s so scared of him, when he’s not the creepy, silent enigma of Locus, or the manic, vindictive cruelty of Felix. Wash somehow seems to straddle the line between the two mercenaries. More personal than Locus, more contained than Felix, and all the while with his eyes focused on Tucker, not because he’s interesting or pretty or irritating or whatever other form of bullshit that Felix is spouting off this week, but because of something that Tucker did.
Tucker pulled Caboose away from him, explicitly refused the Freelancer shelter and freedom when the guy felt that he was owed it, and for that, Washington wants him dead.
Except he doesn’t.
Except, he’d let Tucker go.
Tucker can’t stop rolling that fact around his head, hoping, somehow, that if he does it enough, the edges will wear away, and reveal some sort of fucking answer. It had worked with trying to figure out what was up with Church, had worked with the puzzle that was Red versus Blue…
But Washington… Tucker can’t seem to puzzle out Washington, no matter how hard he tries.
Tucker goes with Grey to the alien tower to investigate things, and decides to dick around with his sword for a bit to try to take his mind of Washington.
And then, because Tucker’s life is a fucking gigantic joke with him as the punchline, he accidentally summons the voice of alien Jesus (well okay, another alien Jesus, because to him, alien Jesus will always be Junior, and no, he wasn’t a fucking virgin, shut up Grif, that’s not the point), and they go off on another adventure to find some sort of fucking “true warrior” portal.
Tucker jumps in, because, fuck it. He’s got the sword, he’s a fucking war hero, why the hell not?
Caboose finally wanders over, sniffing. He brightens up though, when he sees Wash.
“Wash! You’re alive!”
… fuck, it’s kind of nice to see Caboose happy, for once.
Caboose kneels over the guy, sprawled out like a broken fucking rag doll as he is on the ice. “Tucker! He’s alive! Can we keep him?”
“Caboose…” Tucker groans.
“Can we keep him? Can we keep him?” Caboose is practically fucking bouncing as he kneels over Washington, getting in the way of Doc checking his pulse. And the guy had helped them fight the Meta…
“… fuck it. Anyone have any spray paint?”
No one’s ever accused Tucker of being smart, okay? And whatever, the guy’s half-dead. He might just keel over on his own, and at least Caboose will be happy.
They’re only just finished swapping the armors and getting Wash upright and instructing him on what to say, when the pelican arrives.
“I gotta hand it to you. Killing one of these agents would be tough. But three? And this guy...” The guy stops and examines Epsilon’s robot body, wearing Washington’s armor. For a second, Tucker thinks the ruse is about to fall apart, but the guy just shrugs. “The Chairman will not be happy he's dead. I think he wanted to debrief him personally. Oh well.”
“Yeah...” Tucker says, doing his best to play it cool.
“Yeah, that's too bad,” Caboose adds, with that weirdly earnest way of his that makes Tucker wonder if he has, in fact, already forgotten that Wash isn’t actually dead.
“Well, be sure to let him know we're sorry.”
… okay, nobody had told Tucker that the Freelancer was a fucking little shit.
“Whatever. You're free to go. If we need you, we know where to find you.”
Dick.
“Why are you guys helping me?” Washington demands, just like he had earlier, when they’d been getting him onto his feet.
“You helped us, Wash. It only makes sense.” Okay Caboose. Sure.
“Yeah, plus we needed to even the teams. And I couldn't put up with Caboose constantly asking “Can we keep him? Can we keep him?”” Tucker says, more lightly than he feels. Oh, this is totally a terrible idea.
“… For whatever it's worth... Thanks.”
Tucker falls out of the portal after that, a strange feeling in his stomach.  
When Carolina asks him what he saw, he doesn’t tell her.
Caboose manages to figure things out, because of course he does, and he introduces them to a fucking alien A.I. named Santa, and they learn about a second key/sword and…
That’s when the pirates attack.
“Another key, huh?” The head pirate asks. She’s a woman, but Tucker doesn’t think he’s ever seen her before. “Ooh, Felix will like this. He’s not happy he let you get away, pretty.” She waves at Tucker, and he honestly doesn’t know how to deal with being flirted by a pirate who’s actively trying to kill him. “Well, okay, I’ll go let the boys know about this.”
She turns to one of the other pirates. “Shoot them as soon as that shield goes down! Felix wants the pretty one alive, but honestly… don’t bother. Locus will back me up on this.”
“Yes, Chrissie, ma’am.”
Chrissie, which is the worst fucking name ever for an evil pirate, and Tucker will go to his grave, possibly literally, because they might be about to die, thinking this.
“You really think four people are enough to stop us?” Carolina demands, her arms outstretched, holding up the shield.
“Eh, maybe not, but that little firebug of yours only can run that thing for so long,” Chrissie says with a shrug. “Have fun, kiddos!” She waves jauntily at them—or maybe the other pirates?—and then walks off. As she walks away, Tucker can hear her start to talk into her radio.
“Hey Wash, got some good news for you! Get Felix and Locus on the line, will you?”
There’s about another thirty seconds when Tucker thinks they’re about to die, but Grey and Freckles pull through…
And now, all they have to do, is fucking race Washington, Felix, and Locus, to a fucking mountain, and get the second key before they do.
Ah, fuckberries.
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cksmart-world · 4 years
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The completely unnecessary news analysis
by Christopher Smart
June 16, 2002
OMG BYU NAMED FOR RACIST LEADER
What if someone said it's time to change the name of Brigham Young University. Eee-gads, duck and cover — and hide your Temple Recommend. Tasi Young, a one-time Mormon missionary, is calling on the big wigs in the Tower of Power to dump the name of their flagship university. In The Salt Lake Tribune, Tasi Young writes: “Brigham Young single handedly created and ingrained teachings of racial violence, segregation and white moral authority that enabled a social norm that not only oppressed black lives, but taught his followers that white supremacy was a mandate from God.” Holy smokes! Tasi Young went on an LDS mission and attended BYU. In high school LDS seminary he was taught that his parents’ interracial marriage was a disappointment to God and his black friends’ skin was a curse for their pre-mortal actions. “I felt [Brigham] Young’s teachings when I stood shirtless, hands in the air, under a police spotlight, on the side of a Utah highway, being unlawfully searched as my children looked on from our minivan.” Historically, blacks were banned from church ceremonies and could not hold the priesthood until June 8, 1978 when LDS prophet Spencer W. Kimball through “divine revelation” (and a little nudging from the Civil Rights movement) lifted the prohibitions. But don't hold your breath waiting for another revelation — Brigham Young casts a long shadow across Deseret. And what would they do with all those BYU T-shirts  and, bumper stickers and other swag?
COVID, SHMOVID
So now that the pandemic is over, what are people going to do with all that toilet paper? They could put it on Craig's List or KSL classifieds — after all, a garage full of toilet paper is a fire hazard. One thing that continues to stump our social scientists here at Smart Bomb is why people always horde toilet paper, no matter the emergency. Oh my god, there's a potential for flash-flooding — quick take the pickup to the supermarket and load up with TP. Here at Smart Bomb, we have avoided the toilet paper shortage altogether by installing bidets in our toilets. After you have used a bidet, you will understand that toilet paper is quite primitive. It's only about a half-step in technology above what Neanderthals came up with 75,000 years ago using leaves. But we digress. Americans are sick and tired of Covid 19 and so they aren't using masks anymore  — and just forget social distancing. All this while in many states, including Utah, cases continue to rise. But screw it, life has to go back to normal sometime and if that means old people have to die, well that's just the way it is. They don't do much for the economy anyway and they probably weren't going to vote for Trump this time around either. So, sorry, but we're not sorry.
POLL — ROMNEY SUCKS, DONALD'S DiVINE
Shocker! Polling of Utah Republicans reveals Mitt Romney is Beelzebub and Saint Donald is a gift from the Celestial Kingdom. According to a recent Salt Lake Tribune poll, 45 percent of Utah GOPers polled “strongly approve” (read-salivate) of Trump and another 23 percent “somewhat approve” (read-dig the dude). Our analysis here at Smart Bomb reveals that they believe Trump stands for Utah values: womanizing, lying and cheating and did we say, lying? The analysis by our political team shows they highly regard Trump's leadership as seen in the coronavirus pandemic and the aftermath of the George Floyd killing by police. In both cases the president has excelled in misrepresenting facts, blaming others, and boasting about anything and everything. By stark contrast, the polling results were not so good for Utah's junior senator. Only 19 percent “strongly approved” of Romney and an additional 24 percent “somewhat approved.” But more telling is that, according to the poll, 33 percent of Utah Republicans polled “strongly disapprove” (read-despise) Romney, while another 16 percent “somewhat disapprove” (read-he sucks). Smart Bomb's analysis reveals that Utah Republicans have disdain for Romney because the SOB keeps telling the truth. And in Republican politics, that just isn't cool.
Post script — Well buckaroos and buckarooettes that does it for another edition of Smart Bomb, where we keep track of Covid 19 deaths so you don't have to — 120,000. We are now well into the summer of our discontent — strange times where black men are killed regularly by police and white people actually care. It seems that empathy, the best of human traits, is on the rise. But like most things that matter, it is boiling up from the bottom, rather than trickling down from the top. In the 1960s and '70s, people used to say that real politics take place in the street. Maybe they were right. The protests that began with the cruel execution of George Floyd have awakened the slumbering American people. While they were sleeping, the U.S. became number 1 in the world for imprisoning people with 2.3 million. About 40 percent of them are black, although African Americans make up only 14 percent of the population. Our default mode is more cops and more jails. This is, in the end, a puritanical and punitive society. While we were sleeping, black people made little advancement. And though they live in a different universe, white workers, likewise, gained no ground. Even college grads are sucking it. They leave school with tremendous debt, continue to live with parents and see a bleak future. We're just guessing here, but it seems like keeping a democracy requires more than voting for politicians every two years. After all, those lawmakers know that money are people, too.
OK, Wilson, on that happy note can you and the band offer up a little something to bolster whatever it is we're looking for:
Don't you know They're talkin' bout a revolution It sounds like a whisper Don't you know They're talkin' bout a revolution It sounds like a whisper
While they're standing in the welfare lines Crying at the doorsteps of those armies of salvation Wasting time in the unemployment lines Sitting around waiting for a promotion
Don't you know They're talkin' bout a revolution It sounds like a whisper
Poor people gonna rise up And get their share Poor people gonna rise up And take what's theirs...
(Talkin Bout A Revolution — Tracy Chapman)
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illumynare · 7 years
Text
Red vs Blue Fic: I’ll Tell You My Sins and You Can Sharpen Your Knife (3 / 4)
Summary: Locus understands why Kimball would want to keep him alive long enough to testify at Hargrove’s trial.
He doesn’t understand why the Reds and Blues would volunteer to protect him.
Parings: None. Warnings: Canon-typical language, violence, tons of drippy angst.
Notes: Also available on AO3!
The first draft of this chapter was a horrifying trainwreck, and it's only decent now thanks to @a-taller-tale​. <3 <3 <3
It's also thanks to Taller that this is now going to be a four-chapter story, OOPS.
(also, please note that warnings for this chapter include violence)
Locus been awake for twenty hours, and he's spent the last five of them sitting in on his bed, staring at the wall. It's 4 A.M. The rest of the Reds and Blues are finally asleep, which means that it's finally safe for Locus to leave his room and tiptoe out to the rec room.
He doesn't want the Reds and Blues to know he isn't sleeping, but he doesn't like staying in his room, lately. He keeps starting to think that he's back in his cell on Chorus, alone, alone—
His eyes ache and there's a strange, shivery sensation crawling over his skin, even though this is nowhere close to the longest time that Locus has spent awake. As a soldier, bounty-hunter, and mercenary, double or triple shifts were necessary from time to time. Felix hated them—he would yawn and grow snappish and doze off if he wasn't constantly chugging caffeine—but Locus enjoyed the strange clarity of long-term exhaustion. And how Felix seemed to feel personally injured by his calm.
It's been getting harder and harder for Locus to sleep without nightmares anyway. He had thought that maybe, if he stayed awake long enough, he might find that clarity again. Maybe the endless, repeating worry of What will they make me do, what will they make me do, would finally stop.
Locus takes his sword and his sniper rifle with him. His sword because, ever since the nightmare about Felix, he always wants it in his hand. His sniper rifle, because he wants to take it apart and clean it again. He's done so twice in the last twelve hours—he knows he doesn't need to again—but the routine is another thing that used to calm him.
It doesn't calm him now.
He tries. He disassembles the sniper rifle down, cleans each of the pieces, and arranges them in rows. The motions are so familiar, he could do them in his sleep, but they're not hypnotic the way they once were. He can't find the mindless peace that was his refuge for years. His hands won't stop shaking.
He is too monstrous to become a human again, but it seems he isn't strong enough to go back to being a weapon.
And that's when Locus hears it. Just a soft thud, like somebody stubbing a toe. During the chaos of a normal day, he wouldn't even have noticed it. But now—when everyone else is finally asleep—
It's probably Grif or Caboose, he thinks. They both like to raid the kitchen at night, and they both like to seek him out if they guess that he's awake.
But Caboose doesn't stub his toe, he crashes into things and destroys them. Grif stubs his toe sometimes, but there's always a torrent of cursing.
As Locus thinks this, he is already regretting that he's out of his armor, that his rifle is in pieces. But he was a bounty hunter for years without armor, without active camo. He knows how to move silently in the shadows if he must. And he's already grasping his sword.
Locus sees them before they see him: three Charon mercenaries, dressed in standard-issue armor—and he realizes, dizzily, that they could be men he had once commanded. They could be part of the reason he had first doubted Felix and Hargrove, could be the people he had once wanted to keep faith with and protect.
Now they are here to kill him.
For one moment, Locus hesitates.
Because he could step out of the shadows and let them kill him. It would be a just death, certainly. And then he'd never have to find out what the Reds and Blues are making him into. He'd never have to kill again. He'd be—
too afraid to take responsibility for what you've done
—and he doesn't have the right, Locus realizes despairingly. He can't seek to die, not when the Reds and Blues have use for him, have so much claim on him.
And he can't let the Charon mercenaries live, when they would probably be happy to kill everyone in this base.
He thinks, I don't do that anymore. But he's lost the right to make those choices. And he can't see any of the Reds and Blues hurt, not again. The last time he refused to kill, Agent Washington got shot through the neck.
So Locus draws his sword and shakes the blade into being.
One of the soldiers yelps, "Aw, fuck, there he is!"
He's out of time. Locus lunges forward, his form perfect, but then he has to dodge the first spray of bullets and the stroke goes wild. Instead of plunging the blade into the nearest soldier's chest, he slices his head off.
Blood sprays through the air, splatters across his face, and it smothers him into the mindless calm he had wanted earlier. Locus doesn't flinch; the blood is still warm on his face as he pivots, ducks the spray of bullets, and then cuts down the next soldier. And the next.
Locus stands over them, panting for breath. He's waking up from the mindless calm, and his stomach pitches in horror. There's so much blood, and the bodies—
He's no stranger to slaughter. He's seen worse things, done worse things. But except for his time as a bounty hunter, he'd always been safely encased in his armor. He didn't have to feel his clothes heavy and sticky with blood. Didn't have to choke on the smell.
Didn't have to remember the sensation of driving a sword through somebody's neck.
He realizes, distantly, that he's trembling. He knows that he should be searching for more intruders, but he can't bring himself to move.
"Hey, dude, what are you— HOLY SHIT."
The voice startles him into action. Locus turns, and sees Grif in the doorway. He's in boxers and a ratty old "I ❤️ HAWAI'I" t-shirt, his hair is a rumpled mess, and he's staring at Locus with a kind of sick horror—
turning over a new fucking leaf, dude, I am ALL about it!
—and Locus knows this is what they wanted from him, surely it's what even Grif wanted from, him but he's still ashamed to be seen like this. Especially by Grif.
"It's Charon," he says, "wake the others," and then he flees to go hunting.
This is acceptable, he tells himself. This is what they prepared him for. This is what they allowed him to live for. So he could be the blade in the dark that destroys their enemies.
But he can't find any. Did Charon send only three soldiers? He supposes it's not impossible; they sent only one after him in his cell.
From around the corner, he hears somebody moving. He lunges forward, blade out—
Straight at Tucker, barefoot and defenseless in his pajamas.
Locus tries to pull the strike, and at the same time Tucker jerks back. But neither of them moves fast enough. There's a horrible sizzling noise, and then there's a gash sliced into Tucker's upper arm. Locus can smell it.
Tucker staggers back. "Fuck," he moans, clutching at his arm.
Locus can't move. He can't speak. He's staring at the burnt, bloody wound. It's the only thing he can see, the only thing that matters.
He was supposed to protect them.
Then he hears Agent Washington's voice: "What the fuck did you do?"
And Locus knows he is going to die.
He looks up. Agent Washigton is bearing down on him. Locus sees the cold fury in his eyes, knows that he is a monster and he deserves this.
He drops the sword.
The next moment, Agent Washington's fist crashes into his face.
#
Locus wakes up slowly. There are voices nearby, but they're too fuzzy to make out. He can tell that he's sitting against the wall, that his arms and his legs are cuffed together, but every time he tries to think about where he is, his thoughts spin out of control.
Slowly, the world begins to makes sense again. He remembers what happened, how he failed.
He opens his eyes.
He's back in the rec room, with all the Reds and Blues. They're not watching him, though: they're gathered around Tucker, who's sitting in a chair with the top half of his armor off. Agent Washington is fussing over him with a can of biofoam.
"Calm the fuck down," says Tucker. "It's just a graze."
"A deep graze," says Agent Washington.
"Yeah," says Tucker, "so stop that creepy staring."
"Stop getting hurt," Agent Washington mutters.
"Do you need a blanket?" asks Caboose.
"FUCK NO." Tucker shoves him away and straightens up. Then he looks straight at Locus. "So. I'm guessing this was an accident?"
Everyone turns to look at him. Several people—including Agent Washington—level guns at him.
"He's clearly not rational," says Simmons. "Let's just drug him up and get out of here before more Charon sends more people."
"He fucking saved our asses," says Grif.
"And he hurt Tucker," says Agent Washington. The cold fury is gone from his voice, but his rifle stays pointed at Locus.
"Well, that is only a little thing between friends," says Caboose. "I mean I killed Church, and he didn't mind."
"He fucking hated you," says Tucker, but he's not really paying attention to Caboose, he's staring at Locus.
And Locus wishes he had a way to hide.
"Dr. Grey told us he could easily have a nervous breakdown," says Simmons. "Am I the only one who remembers that?"
"She's kind of insane herself," Grif mutters.
Agent Carolina steps closer to Locus and looks directly into his eyes. "Do you remember what happened?"
Her voice is calm, clear. Like a soldier's.
"Yes," Locus says hoarsely.
"Tell us," she orders him.
They already know what happened: he hurt Tucker.
But Locus looks at all the eyes staring at him and realizes that he still needs to confess it, the same way he confessed all his crimes to Kimball during his interrogation. That had been . . . unpleasant. But this feels worse—even though he knows, logically, that what he did to Tucker is not as bad as what he did to Chorus.
Even though he knows that he was already condemned, that their kindness was never real.
"I couldn't sleep," he says, looking down at his cuffed hands because he doesn't want to see their faces as he tells this story. "I came in here to clean my sniper rifle. I heard a noise. I went to investigate and found three Charon mercenaries." He remembers the blood splattering hot across his face—he thinks he can still feel the sticky, dried-out remnants—and he has to fight a sudden wave of nausea. "I killed them. Grif arrived and I told him to wake you. Then I went to look for more." His heart is pounding; he forces himself to keep his words slow and steady. "I heard footsteps. I thought it was more of them, so I prepared to attack. But it was Tucker."
There's a short pause.
"Why did you kill them?" Agent Washington asks.
It's the last question Locus had expected. He looks up, startled, and sees—
He's not sure what he's seeing in Agent Washington's face. In any of their faces. They're not happy, he can tell that, but there's not quite the sort of rage or disgust he'd expected.
"They . . . attacked us," he says uncertainly. "Should I have waited for orders?"
The question is wrong somehow. He knows that as soon as he says it: Agent Washington twitches slightly, and Grif looks suddenly angry. Tucker mutters something under his breath.
"No," says Agent Carolina. "It was a good call. But why did you kill them? I thought you didn't do that anymore."
Locus flinches at the reminder of how foolish he was, thinking he could be redeemed.
"Yeah," says Tucker, "I thought you were into kneecapping people or some shit."
Sarge laughs. "Entirely understandable! What's the point of going on a diet if you aren't allowed to cheat on it with a little murder now and then?"
Locus doesn't know why they're asking him this. Unless, perhaps, they want confirmation that he understands his place.
So he gives it to them.
"Because it's my job," he says. "That's why you're keeping me. So I can kill for you."
There's another short, brittle silence.
"You are so fucked up," says Grif.
Locus flinches. But it's true. He's fucked up, his brain is broken, he's a monster. He spent years trying to deny that fact, and an entire planet nearly died for it.
A good person, a normal person, wouldn't need to be a weapon.
"Yes," he says.
"Not this shit again," Tucker groans.
"What?" says Agent Carolina.
"It's just like Wash! We adopted him and he was all like, ooh, I'm a Freelancer, I gotta be a perfect soldier or you'll throw me out."
"I wasn't like that," Agent Washington mutters.
Tucker rolls his eyes. "No, you were worse than that."
"And you barely deserved to be called a soldier," Agent Washington shoots back.
"FUCK YOU, I SAVED A PLANET—"
"Locus." Agent Washington's voice is quiet but it carries. "We don't want you to kill. Not if you don't want to."
Locus stares at him. The words don't make any sense. If they don't want him to kill, then—then—
"You're in protective custody," says Agent Carolina. "Do you think we're going to break our promise to Kimball?"
"Plus, some of us are kinda starting to like you," says Grif. "Seriously, we shared our beer with you. Why would you think that means we want you to be a killer?"
Locus feels dizzy. Without thinking, he lets the words slip out: "Felix did."
"Yeah, well, we're assholes, but we're better than him," says Grif. "Hey, since Locus is clearly not going to snap and kill us, can we take the cuffs off?"
"Or else he needs to tell us his safe word," Donut chimes in.
Agent Carolina is the one who undoes the cuffs. Locus stares at her, at his wrists, and then Agent Washington says, "C'mon, big guy," and hauls him to his feet.
It still doesn't make sense.
"I don't understand," he says. "What do you want me to do?"
"We kinda want you to hang out with us," says Grif.
"Not waking up screaming would be a good start," says Tucker.
"We want you to be okay," says Agent Washington.
It's that last word, okay, when he will never be anything close to it—it's Agent Washington's voice, and the clear sympathy in his face—it's everything too much all at once.
"I don't—" Locus blurts out, and then isn't sure how to finish.
I don't deserve it.
I don't know how.
I don't believe you.
Then Caboose says, "Yeah, I think you need a hug," and the next moment Locus's ribs are aching under his armored grip.
This time he doesn't say, I hate this. He doesn't try to break free. It's too much effort and he's not worth it, he doesn't deserve it—
He makes himself relax, realign into Caboose's grip. I deserve this, he thinks, and realizes too late that it's not a punishment, he loves it.
They're all still watching him, and none of them seem angry, and Locus doesn't understand but he's willing to obey them. He'll always be willing. And he thinks—maybe this is his duty, his orders. To trust them.
He thinks, cautiously, Maybe this is real.
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