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dialoguestetatet · 2 months

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Hwangyeon Choi x fem!reader

Fluff, OOC, I got carried away a little in the end, oops. I realized that I was starting to like him a little bit too much

The idiot in love pt.2 (pt.1 is here)

masterlist

For anyone who forgot, Hwangyeon Choi was a very confident person. Therefore, he sat absolutely calmly at a cafe table and waited for your arrival, his leg didn't even twitch from tension, and he didn't tap his fingers on the countertop to the rhythm of the Baby Shark melody. Where did he even hear that tune?

Hwangyeon was cool. Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool. He wasn't nervous at all. He was serene as the Buddha. There were definitely no butterflies tap dancing in his stomach. What could have gone wrong? Well, anything, because as it turned out, the universe had some personal scores with him and tried to make him look like an absolute fool. Hwan sat and mentally went over the worst-case scenarios for a date: from the fact that he would turn a cup of coffee over on you, to the fact that an escaped lion from a passing traveling circus would attack the cafe on that day and at that time, and you would have to run to the roof of the tallest building. Oh, wait, no, it wasn't like a lion, but a gorilla. Or an orangutan? There's no difference, but didn't the lion escape and make friends with a wild boar and a jerboa? Or was it a meerkat and a warthog? And what did a lion and monkeys have to do with it? Why was he sitting here at all and shaking his leg so that the table wobbled like in an earthquake? Where was he? Who was he? Baby Shark?

"Hey, Hwangyeon! Have you been waiting long? Sorry I'm late", you walked up to the table and waved at him.

He jumped up so abruptly that his knee hit the table. It was painful, but definitely worth it to see you in all your glory. Your face seemed to glow under the rays of the sun, your eyes sparkled with joy, and your lips broke into the most tender smile that has ever been addressed to him. But suddenly your face was filled with concern. "Are you okay? Does it hurt much?"

"What?" What are you talking about? Did you really feel how much his heart fluttered? Was it pounding that loud?

"Your knee", you put your hand on his shoulder and squeezed a little.

Which knee? He didn't have knees, if you keep touching him, he'll have a heart attack, you'll have to call an ambulance, then the date will definitely be ruined. He needed to pull himself together urgently. Oh God, your hand was still on his shoulder, did you want to take him to his grave before he's thirty?

"No, no, it's alright!" He jerked to the side and you took your hand away. Oh no, bring it back, why did he need shoulders at all if your hand wasn't going to be on them? "By the way, you look really pretty".

"Oh, thank you, Hwan, you look great yourself". No, he didn't blush, he was as tough as a tin soldier. Didn't he burn down in the end of the story? What did it matter? You called him Hwan, he'll need to come up with beautiful names for your future daughter.

"Th- thank you", DID HE STUTTER? This shame can only be washed away with his blood. While you were sitting down at the table, Hwangyeon was thinking about how painful it is to commit seppuku and why masochism has always been in fashion.

"I hope you don't mind that I've already ordered?" It wasn't for nothing that he's been scouring your entire Instagram in search of what you liked.

You smiled at him, "Not at all, you guessed my favorite. And I really like this cafe, it's amazing that you suggested going here". God, stop smiling, or he'll have to lean across the table and kiss you. It's a well-known fact that if a person you're madly in love with was sitting in front of you and smiling at you, then you have to kiss them, even if you're on a first date. He didn't make up the rules.

So far, the dialogue has progressed quite productively, Hwan has already learned more about what you do, a little about your hobby (he'll have to google more to be able to support you in this), and about your favorite book (he'll also need to read it, so it'll take some time before he can insert any phrase from it into your conversation).

"You do cycling, don't you?", your question caught him off guard, because he was thinking about whether it was possible to gently take your hand. Wasn't your hand just lying next to the cup? Most likely, your hand was very lonely and cold, so he'll be happy to warm you. Now, what was the question again?

"Oh, yeah, I've been doing this since I was a kid. I love this feeling when you ride a bike, and there's only wind around, the world seems to freeze. I'm pretty good at it and quite popular among cyclists", surely he couldn't miss the chance to brag in front of you.

"I really want to see it sometime", you ran your fingers over the cup.

"Of course, come to the competition, and witness my victory," Hwangyeon gently ran the pads of his fingers over your knuckles. You laughed and moved your hand a little closer to him. "Huh, you're a confident man, I like that." He carefully wrapped his much larger hand around yours, and your palm fitted his perfectly. He stroked your knuckles with his thumb. Suddenly, you intertwined your fingers with his and looked shyly from under your eyelashes. Hwan smiled and continued to massage the point between your thumb and forefinger.

You walked out of the cafe holding hands. While you were ranting about your favorite show, Hwangyeon was considering the possibility of getting slapped in the face and being known as the guy who can't keep his hands to himself if he kissed you. There were two options, the first one was to kiss you, get slapped in the face and watch you run away with the words "you're acting too fast, did you think I was a girl of easy virtue?", and the second one was not to kiss you and regret it until the next date. What if you don't want another date? It was going pretty well, wasn't it? You were smiling, laughing, chatting, holding hands. Your hand is so small, so thin, your skin is so delicate compared to his. He was wondering what ring size you have. This was a first date, calm down, people usually waited a few years after they officially became a couple. What if you don't want to date him? Maybe he should dig a grave right in that vacant lot that he often drove past as a child? He'll simply wait in a hole to die like a giraffe. Why did he have only animals on his mind all day?

"Hwan," you said his name softly. You've already stopped by your house, facing each other. He looked into your eyes and realized that he shouldn't have overthought it. You were standing there beaming with joy, and your lips were so kissable, so it was impossible not to do it. Gently running his hand over your cheek, he touched your lip with his thumb. "May I?" Hwan whispered, leaning closer to your face. "Yes," you breathed into his lips. Fireworks exploded in front of his eyelids from the first touch of your lips. As soft as he thought. As gentle as he imagined. As sweet as he dreamed. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he pulled you even closer, hugging you around the waist. At first, a timid and tender kiss quickly turned into a passionate one. You ran your fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck while he greedily stole your breath. A shiver ran down his spine as you moaned softly against his lips. Hwangyeon bit your lower lip and pulled it with his teeth. You whimpered and trembled in his arms as he parted your lips and slipped his tongue into your mouth. He was crazy about the way you clung to him, scratched his neck with your nails, sucked on his tongue. He stroked your waist, put his hands on your hips, but quickly returned his hands back, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to deny himself the pleasure of thrusting his thigh between your legs and, clasping your hips, pressing you against him. With great difficulty, he pulled away from your lips. You mewled in protest and reached back. Seeing the blush on your face, half-closed eyes and bitten lips, Hwan began to erratically leave kisses on your nose, cheeks, chin, moving to your neck, unable to resist running his tongue over the beating vein and biting the thin skin with his teeth. "Hwan, please", his legs almost buckled from your pleading moan, he couldn't stop himself and led a trail of kisses to the place between your neck and ear, sucking the skin there in the mark of possession. Breathing heavily, you looked into each other's eyes.

"You're alright, princess?" Hwangyeon chuckled, seeing how disheveled you are.

"More than that, actually," you lovingly stroked his goatee.

"So you don't mind repeating it again?" Please say yes, otherwise he'll cry right here. He won't even be embarrassed by it.

"A kiss?" You're holding your breath.

"A date," Hwan rubbed his nose against your cheek, "and a kiss, a lot of kissing, actually."

"So, just dates and kisses then?" You pouted a little.

"To tell you the truth, I would die happy if you let me be your boyfriend." God, give him the strength to hold on a little longer and not to start making out with you right then and there.

"Oh no, I need my boyfriend alive, so try to survive." Was that a yes? It wasn't a hallucination, right? Hwan's not going to wake up from a coma right now, there's a zombie apocalypse around, and his best friend took his wife away?

"Then I need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation at regular intervals". You giggled and pulled him by the neck, kissing his lips again.

#hwangyeon choi x reader #windbreaker x reader #windbreaker #windbreaker hwangyeon #hwangyeon choi #hwangyeon x reader #choi hwangyeon #windbreaker webtoon #choi hwangyeon x reader #windbreaker hwangyeon x reader

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the-bad-batch-baroness · 24 days

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Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Part 9

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC), Comet, Sinker, Boost, Warthog

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, reader is not the spouse, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff

Word Count: 1.5k 1.9k

Author's Note: I'm going to be honest y'all. I'm struggling with my health right now, so I don't think I did this part justice. It's a transitional chapter of mostly Cara just being a little kid and Wolffe having to deal with it. Nothing angsty, but we are headed towards more angst. As always, please enjoy 💚(EDITED 4/16)

Beta: Please meet my new beta reader/editor @beating-a-dead-plot!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

Wolffe packs up the rest of his wife's things, or at least, the pieces of her that he finds the most important. The box is almost full, and he knows Cara is going to have a difficult time leaving some of her things behind, so he decides to leave a little room if she needs it. Putting the box aside, he reaches for his duffle to pack his own belongings. At the very least, he can keep his duffle in the barracks. It's great for storing things that he doesn't care about losing or damaging.

With everything packed in either the box or the duffle, Wolffe scans the room one last time to ensure he didn't miss anything. He knows he'll never be back after today, and there is a lot he can't take with him. If he could fold up their entire bed and throw it into his duffle bag he would, but he can't. He snorts at the stupid thought while staring at the bed, then his eyes catch on his wife's pillow. If he squishes it, he can make it fit into his duffle, which is exactly what he does.

Now, Wolffe is sure he has everything that he can take with him. It's still not enough, though. How does one condense years of their life into a single box and a duffle bag? It used to make sense to him, during his time on Kamino. Clones are property, and property can't own other property, so he never had things outside of the standard clone-issued items he carried in his pack. His wife was the one who helped him understand that useless things could be precious.

With a heavy sigh, Wolffe slings the duffle over his shoulder and picks the box up off the bed. He walks to the bedroom door to leave, but stops in the frame, his feet stuck like they're sinking into quicksand. He turns and looks at the room. This is where she slept. This is where they slept. This is where they made Cara. When did he get so attached? It's just a room. When did goodbyes become this hard? He forces his feet to move and flips the light off for the last time.

On his way to the kitchen, his leg gets attacked by a ferocious child.

"Daddy!" Cara yells as she crashes into him and wraps her arms around his leg.

Wolffe steps back with his other foot to steady himself and Sinker quickly grabs the box he's holding before it falls on top of Cara. With the crisis averted, Wolffe releases a slow breath to calm himself as he feels the adrenaline course through his already stressed body. There's nothing that scares him faster than his daughter being in danger, even if he's the one causing the danger. He takes a moment to breathe, then slips his duffle off onto the ground next to him.

He bends down to peel his daughter off his leg and hoists her up onto his hip. "What's the matter baby?" he asks.

She cups her hands around his left ear and whispers loudly. "I need to tell you something."

Wolffe grimaces and tilts his head away. "Yeah? What's that?"

"I love you with my whole carrot," she says and she flings her arm around his neck to hug him.

Wolffe knits his eyebrows together and repeats the word under his breath. "Carrot?" Maybe he just lost his hearing in that ear.

Comet walks by with Cara's box and laughs at Wolffe's obvious confusion. He leans over and whispers in Wolffe's other ear. "Ka'rta."

Wolffe snorts and shakes his head. "I love you with my whole carrot, too, baby."

"Daddy, I'm hungry," she says.

"I knew that was coming," Wolffe sighs. He places her down onto the ground and walks off to find the pancakes he saved for her.

While making his way to the kitchen, Wolffe eyes Cara's box that's filled to the brim and then some. "Was there anything she couldn't fit?" he asks Comet, who is also looking for a snack in the kitchen. "I saved some room in my box just in case."

Comet doesn't turn around from his foraging in the cabinets. "I think she's all set." He pushes a box aside and grabs a cereal bar. "Had to make some adjustments to the baby blanket, but it went over well."

Wolffe nods to himself and sighs, but only because he's half listening and his mind is running in eight different directions. "Then I guess we're all set."

"Not quite," Comet says with his mouth full. Turning on his heels, he walks over to the hook on the wall where the flower print apron hangs and gently pulls it off. "I think Cara will want it someday."

The corner of Wolffe's lip raises in a small, but pained smile as Comet hands the apron to him. Wolffe scrunches the fabric in his hands and touches it to his face. It smells like memories, but not the same memories as her pillow. Different memories. Memories of warm food, cheerful laughter, drinks being snorted out of noses, brothers gathering together to share a meal, and love. So much love that it made the war feel like a fleeting dream that he could forget about.

Before Wolffe can be brought to tears by his thoughts, he pulls the apron away from his face and folds it gently, with reverence. Her memories deserve respect even if it's just a scrap of cloth. Once folded, he squats down next to his box and carefully places the apron in the empty space he left for Cara. She may not care about her mother's pillow or her chapstick like he does, but one day, she'll be able to wear that apron and remember how much her mother loved her.

Wolffe grits his teeth and pushes his emotions back before standing up. He places a hand on Comet's shoulder and squeezes. "Thank you."

Comet places his hand on top of Wolffe's and squeezes back. "You're welcome."

"Daddy!" Cara calls from the other room. "I'm hungry!"

Comet chuckles. "Better get a move on daddy."

Wolffe rolls his eyes and sighs. "Don't make me regret thanking you."

Comet shrugs with a self-satisfied grin as Wolffe walks past him and towards the conservator.

While Wolffe looks for the pancakes in the conservator, the doorbell rings and his heart sinks. It can't be that time already, can it? He knows they have to leave, but that doesn't mean he's ready for it. He wishes he had someone to tell him that everything will be alright, like he can with Cara. He can hold her, soothe her, and make her feel safe, but there's no one to do that for him, not anymore. His wife made him feel invincible during times of uncertainty, and now she's gone.

Boost answers the door and huffs. "It's about time you showed up."

"Well, someone had to take care of the battalion," Warthog retorts. "Not everyone gets to play uncle."

"Auggie!" Cara exclaims and runs to hug his leg.

"Ad'ika!" Warthog smiles and picks her up, rubbing his nose against hers. "How's the youngest member of the Wolfpack?"

"I'm okay," she says.

From the kitchen, Comet watches the exchange with a raised eyebrow. "Auggie?" he asks. "Why Auggie?"

"She doesn't like to say Warthog," Wolffe explains as he pulls out the bag of pancakes. "So, she shortened it... I think."

Comet crosses his arms. "How come we don't get cool nicknames?"

Wolffe rolls his eyes and places the bag of pancakes on the counter. "You really want to be called Come, Sink, and Boo?"

"Nevermind," Comet says. "I'm good."

Wolffe laughs and clasps a hand on Comet's shoulder. "That's what I thought."

Wolffe walks past Comet and over to the door to greet Warthog. He's not happy to see him, but that's not Warthog's problem, it's his. The general commed Wolffe not long after they left the hospital to let him know that he would be sending Warthog to pick them and their things up late morning and bring them to the Jedi Temple so they can get settled before the funeral that evening. The funeral. That's something else Wolffe has been trying not to think about too much.

Warthog bounces Cara in his arms and looks at Wolffe with concern. "You alright, Commander?"

Wolffe sighs. "That obvious?"

Warthog makes a knowing face. "Kinda."

"I've been better," Wolffe breathes.

"Daddy!" she calls while squirming in Warthog's arms.

"I'm right here, baby," Wolffe says. "What's the matter?"

Cara bends backwards in Warthog's arms to see Wolffe. "I'm thirsty," she whines. "And I'm hungry."

A lightbulb goes off in Wolffe's mind. "Cup," he says as he walks back to the kitchen. "I forgot her cup."

Warthog laughs and pulls Cara back upright. "You are a handful, aren't you?"

Cara scrunches her nose and wiggles to get out of Warthog's arms. "Daddy!" she screams.

Wolffe sighs. "Can you–"

"On it," Comet says and he walks over to the struggling pair. "Ad'ika, what happened?"

"Auggie is mean," she whines while pushing away from him.

"Auggie," Comet says with an accusatory tone. "How could you? She's just a kid."

"I didn't do anything!" Warthog exclaims, mildly hurt by the accusation. He grunts. "Here. You take her. I'm going to go pack their things in the speeder."

Comet shrugs. "Suit yourself." He takes Cara from Warthog and she settles down in his arms.

"I'm hungry," she whines again.

Comet sighs and walks them both into the kitchen, quickly finding the bag of pancakes sitting on the kitchen counter where Wolffe left them. He opens the bag with one hand and pulls out a colorful, yet oddly shaped pancake and gives it to Cara. She grabs it from him and starts nibbling on it. Warthog's arrival doesn't bode well just for Wolffe. It puts them all on edge. They all know the transition is going to be tough for Cara, but there are worse things on the horizon.

Cara easily downs the first pancake and Comet gives her another one. She takes a few bites, then gives it back to Comet with the explanation that she's full. He thinks about putting it back in the bag with the others for later, but then he feels his stomach growl and realizes that the little cereal bar was not enough. So, he pops the nibbled pancake into his mouth and eats it himself.

"Hey," Cara says. "That was mine."

Comet raises an eyebrow. "You said you were full."

"But it was mine!" she exclaims. "Daddy!"

Wolffe, with Cara's cup in hand, hears his daughter yell for him once again and decides it's time to take his child back from his overworked men. "Alright," he begins. "Auggie I can understand, but Comet? Now you're just being fussy."

Cara makes a whining noise and Wolffe trades Comet the cup for Cara, then takes the cup and gives it to Cara who drinks it down eagerly.

"See?" Wolffe says while running his hand through her hair. "You were just thirsty. And you probably need a nap, huh?"

Cara yawns and leans her head against Wolffe's shoulder.

"Is everyone ready to go?" Warthog asks as he steps back into the apartment.

The answer gets stuck in Wolffe's throat and he rubs Cara's back nervously.

"It's okay, daddy," she says and nuzzles her face into his neck.

Wolffe takes a deep breath. "Yeah, we're ready."

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

Masterlist

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ageless-aislynn · 2 months

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Title: “15 Minutes” (9/?) Author: @ageless-aislynn Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: You're in peril but don't be afraid, help is near. Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating: T (PG13) Length: 2,568 (this chapter, 22,261 total so far) Spoilers: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Trigger warning: claustrophobia Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N: Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Halo season 2 has finally arrived! However, this fic continues to zip along in the AU Party Warthog, so, while we began with season 1 way back when (and you’ll see a few more things from s1 along the way 😉), we’ll not be venturing into s2 territory at all. Unless s2 is going to take some verrrrry interesting twists, lol! Chapter 10 is in progress by hand but I hope to have it ready soon. 🤞😣🤞 The tags have been updated for hurt/comfort starting with this chapter. If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger @mysardencut @laurenstacy610 @sporadicbelievernightmare @ultrablackwidower @bxmxtx @jellotherelol

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Trigger warning again: claustrophobia If you need to avoid the actual scene, skip the entire first section but there will be a lot of mentions of it again through the rest of the chapter, just so you're aware. I don't want to cause any distress to anyone so if you'd like a recap of what happens in this chapter, feel free to contact me here and I'm happy to oblige so you can stay in-the-know without reading something that could trigger a bad reaction. Stay safe, my friends! 🤗

You tried to gasp in a breath but there was a weight pinning you down. Smoke burned your lungs and your eyes. Your left arm couldn't move but you were able to bring your right hand up to wipe your face, trying to clear your vision. The only light in the rubble came from a shower of sparks a few feet away, emitting from a panel half-ripped from the wall. There was very little to orientate yourself by.

"Hello?" you tried to call but you couldn't take a deep enough breath to yell. The muffled ring in your ears told you that at least one of your eardrums had ruptured.

Evaluate, you thought in the tone you used when triaging patients, shoving down a wave of panic. You tried to squeeze out from under whatever was pressed across your back. No good, too much weight.

There wasn't a tremendous amount of pain but you worried at the numbness from your waist down, behind whatever was restraining you.

Evaluate.

You tested moving your legs, your feet, your toes. It felt strange but yes, you had movement.

Spinal cord potentially compromised but not severed, you diagnosed as clinically as possible.

Something overhead gave an alarming groan.

Alert help. Report your position.

"Hello? I'm by the crane operator booth. Can anyone hear me?"

You couldn't get the volume you wanted and you automatically tried to inhale deeper. You couldn't and had to fight another wave of panic. The animal part of your brain wanted to claw the twisted metal of the deck, trying to squirm free, but when you twitched, something above you groaned again.

You had no way to know how perilous the collapsed structure was. A wrong move could bring it all down.

A fresh wave of smoke irritated your nose and you coughed weakly. From far away, you heard the muffled sound of a woman saying your rank and last name.

"Here," you choked out. "I'm here."

A blue light shimmered a few feet away, the lower half of a blue-tinted woman, her upper body phased through the rubble. Then she shrank until she fit the space, adjusting like a camera lens. A hologram.

She repeated your rank and last name. "We have your location," she said, your damaged hearing distorting her voice. "Sit tight, a rescue crew is on their way."

You tried to respond but the smoke triggered more coughing, so you nodded.

"I'll stay with you for as long as the holo-emiter holds," she said, gesturing towards the ruined wall panel that continued to spark.

"Thank you," you managed to say. "Casualties?"

She glanced up and away as if receiving new information. "Reports coming in of injuries but no fatalities. Your alert gave enough time for almost everyone to get clear."

"Good." You made yourself slow your breathing down, taking shallow breaths since you couldn't take deeper ones. For a moment, your head swam and it felt like the floor tipped. Your fingers scratched for a hold on the crumpled metal.

The sound of your rank and name cut through the terror. "You're all right," the woman assured you. "You're not falling. Try to stay still. Silver Team will be back on site in a few more minutes. John will be here soon."

It gave you something to focus on other than bring trapped. The way she knew that the mention of John would comfort you, that she didn't call him Master Chief like most people did, even the mannerism of how she'd looked away, like someone was speaking in her ear...

"Your name wouldn't be Ms. Classified, would it?" you asked haltingly and tried to smile.

"That's... not inaccurate," she said and maybe it was your blurry vision but you could've sworn she gave you a fond smile, like she knew you. "I'm not supposed to tell my name."

You tried to say it was all right but couldn't draw enough breath.

"Ah, screw it," she said. "What are they going to do, fire me? My name is Cortana."

You must've blacked out because the next thing you knew, she was kneeling next to you, her small holographic hand resting atop your outstretched arm as she repeated your rank and name.

If you could get a breath, you needed a good, solid breath. Your chest instinctively fought to expand but couldn't beneath the pressure bearing down on your back. Something above you slid and the pressure abruptly worsened. You clawed, you fought, you struggled to breathe. To live.

"John, get here now! The support beam is failing!"

"Not his fault," you tried to say. "Tell him. Not his--"

Metal screamed and everything went dark.

You woke, grasping at nothing. You still couldn't get a deep breath but this time you were on your back and it felt like someone had laced a corset brutally tight around you.

"Easy there. You're all right," said a deep voice.

Your vision swam and then Spartan Vannak-134 appeared out from the dim lighting. You were still clawing at the air, trying to sit up, and he caught your hand a little awkwardly in his much larger ones.

"Where?" you gasped.

"You're back on Reach, in medical."

Once he said it, details emerged like a black and white picture filling in with color: the beeps of the monitors, the distinctive antiseptic smell. Your hearing was still deadened but not as much as before, meaning they had already begun healing therapies on your eardrums.

Anything you might've wanted to say dissolved like sugar on your tongue before the words could be spoken. Your head seemed too full. I'm drugged, you thought and that was the last thing you knew for a while.

Voices drew you from the murky depths and you tried to open your eyes but couldn't.

"Hold her hand," Vannak said in a quiet rumble. "She likes that."

A new hand gently folded around yours and your fingers instinctively gripped hold.

You woke, feeling the phantom press of metal bearing down on you, forcing the air from your lungs. You tried to sit up, your limbs flailed, uncoordinated and leaden. A second hand closed around yours and a feminine voice began to softly sing, a lullaby in a language you didn't recognize.

The room was blurry but you caught a glimpse of red hair -- Spartan Riz-028. You went under once more, dreaming of music that soothed your fears.

Later, there was a new voice to lure you up from the sticky darkness.

"Poor little thing. She looks so small."

"She'll heal. Hold her hand, it helps."

At some point, you jolted awake to find your hand cradled carefully within Kai's.

"Hey," she said, sitting up straighter in the chair next to the bed. "You need anything?"

Your head felt less stuffed with cotton than before but now that cotton seemed to have been transferred to your mouth. "Water?" you croaked.

She jumped up and returned shortly, carrying a cup with a straw in it. You intended to sit up but a searing pain in your ribs immediately convinced you that was a bad idea and you let her help you by holding the straw to your lips.

"Slowly," she advised.

Once you'd taken a couple of sips, you mumbled your thanks then promptly passed out.

You thought you'd closed your eyes for a brief moment but when they fluttered open, it wasn't Kai sitting in the chair, holding your hand.

As soon as John knew you were awake, he was on his feet, carefully brushing the fingertips of his free hand along the curve of your cheek.

You mouthed his name.

"Rest," he said. "I'm here. You're safe."

For the first time in what seemed like forever, you truly felt as if you were. Your mind let go.

"And how's our favorite mech, the Hero of the Pit?"

"That's not a very heroic name," you confessed, smiling as Maria and then Jamie entered medical.

You were sitting on the side of the bed in generic gray scrubs, waiting for Dr. Savannah to give you final instructions before your release. It had been two days since the explosion. Your hearing had, thankfully, returned to normal. The rest of you... not so much but you were on the mend.

They both gave you careful hugs.

"You look a lot less like you were squashed by a building," Jamie said sincerely and Maria punched his arm. "Hey, that was a compliment!"

"Don't make me laugh," you begged, holding your left side. They'd fused your broken ribs back together but the tissue damage would take longer to resolve. Still, aches, pains, limited motion and all, you knew you were very lucky.

"I hope they're giving you a nice vacation, at least," Maria went on.

"I should be ready for light duty in a week."

"Technically, I said we'd evaluate you for light duty in a week," Dr. Savannah corrected as she entered. "Afraid your friends will have to catch up with you later."

They said their goodbyes and, as they left, you started to stand. The doctor quickly said, "No, you don't. I don't want you walking on that leg."

"It's not broken," you argued.

"Not anymore," she countered. "Stay put. I got you a ride."

"I don't need to be wheeled back to the barracks." You tried to keep your tone confident but the truth was even that little bit of exertion had left you feeling twinges all along your left leg. Your left shoulder throbbed with each heartbeat.

"Well, good thing you're wrong on both counts," she said, winking. "And here he is now."

John came through the door, dressed in his undersuit as if either about to head to the Brokkr stations to have his Mjolnir mounted up or returning from having it removed. You didn't even realize you'd moved to rise again until Dr. Savannah put a practiced hand on your good shoulder to keep you down.

"I'll be sending PT to you twice a day, starting tomorrow," she said. "They'll help you to get your strength and mobility back. Around that, rest. Catch up on your reading, watch some thoroughly trashy movies, and keep your feet up. Not too far up, though. Nothing too strenuous. Make him do all of the work."

That got you to look at her and she waggled her eyebrows.

John cleared his throat slightly, a faint but definite flush creeping up from his collar. "Yes, ma'am."

"All right, see you back in a few days, sooner if anything else develops. You know what to watch for."

It wasn't until she stepped back and John approached that it clicked.

"You're going to carry me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he repeated in a murmur that shivered straight down your spine.

Since your left side had taken the brunt of the damage, he put your right to his chest and cautiously picked you up in a bridal carry. Despite the care, being moved set a thousand things to hurting and your breath hitched as he straightened.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," you said, your tone tighter than you would've liked. You thought, I hope nobody sees me being toted around like this, but, as soon as you left medical, you realized that no one was actually looking at you.

I think if Master Chief offered to drop me and pick up any marine, ODST or officer in this hall, they'd be hopping into his arms before I even hit the floor!

At the first turn he made, you realized the rest of it. "This isn't the way to the barracks."

"Nope," he said and you knew him well enough now to see the hint of a smile in his eyes.

You didn't have to wait for further clues, there was only one place, then, that he could be taking you. "How many strings did you have to pull for this?"

"Not as many as you might think," he demurred. "Your actions saved lives."

And they could've blamed you for failing to make sure a bomb hadn't been sent to the Pit in the first place. The curly tailed Warthog had been your responsibility, after all. You'd been curtly informed of all that when they'd debriefed you the first day you'd had your eyes open for more than 15 minutes.

You doubted they'd told that to John, though.

When you reached his room, he maneuvered so to get his thumb on the panel without jostling you too much. The lights came on as he took you through the doorway and then he paused.

"Kai," he rumbled, shaking his head. "She said studies show people heal better with color. I should've known she'd overdo it. Say the word and I'll have her in here clearing this out."

"It's your room," you said, "but personally, I love it."

The duvet on the bed and the pillows on the couch were now a rainbow of jewel tones. A tapestry with a field of sunflowers dominated the wall at the foot of the bed and you could've sworn there was a dusting of diamond glitter shimmering on every wall, sending tiny holographic rainbows through the air in all directions. But the main thing that caught your attention was overhead.

"She put up stars," you said, brightening.

"Ah, that one was actually me," he confessed. "You seemed to really like those in her room so I thought..."

You stretched up in his arms, inhaling a little sharply at the stab of pain in your left side, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I love them, John. Thank you."

A short time later, you found yourself lying on the bed in the darkened room, looking up at those stars. John had profusely apologized for not being able to stay after getting you settled in. He'd turned down the bed so you wouldn't have to, had put your padd close at hand on the nightstand to the right along with a bottle of water and a couple of emergency ration packs in case you got hungry before someone bought you a meal. He'd even procured you a set of unthinkably soft civvies to change into, exactly your size and in your favorite color.

You couldn't imagine that a Spartan had ever taken care of a sick or wounded person before, other than in a battlefield triage situation, so he'd probably found a checklist from somewhere to guide him. His earnestness to make sure he'd done everything right sent warmth flooding through you.

Before he left, he'd paused to kiss the top of your head.

"You know," you said, lifting your chin, "my lips aren't broken."

He hesitated. "The last time I did that, an entire base fell on you."

"Only the warehouse part," you said dismissively, "and there was absolutely no correlation, I promise."

He tried to smile at that but his eyes still showed concern.

"I promise," you repeated more seriously and he exhaled as if about to make a tremendous leap. His kiss was so soft and gentle, it was barely more than a whisper against your mouth.

Once he had left, you'd considered taking Dr. Savannah's advice and watching a holo, reading something on your padd, or doing any number of things to pass the time but ultimately, you'd wanted to appreciate his handiwork.

After all, it wasn't just anybody who could say a Spartan had literally hung the stars for them.

#halo #halo the series #halo paramount+#master chief x reader #x reader #john-117 x reader #fic: 15 minutes #series: how to date a spartan without even trying #ageless aislynn #aislynn's fics #aislynn's fic

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mongpht · 5 months

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[translate] Idia Shroud - Platinum Jacket SSR Personal Story

PART 1: Land of Dawning: National Museum of Art

Idia: Dynamic brushstrokes that can only be felt in a real painting…. Hehe! That's the true pleasure of appreciating hand-painted paintings!

Idia: Ha! Here and there…! An image of the King of the Land of the Dead and a chariot!!! Impressive! In order to free his captive friends, the King himself goes to the front lines…. Wow, it's too exciting, isn't it?

???: Right… but is it normal for a responsible commander to leave headquarters and go to the front lines?

Idia: Hua! S-silver-shi!? Stop interrupting my soliloquy*. That's why the community is so strong…

Silver: I'm sorry if I surprised you. It was an interesting opinion and I thought I'd talk to you.

Idia: While this episode is interesting, the interpretation of the King's personality is shallow…?

Silver: What do you mean by that?

Idia: If he were a politician, he could have chosen a strategy, such as telling his subordinates to take care of him and leaving them to run errands. Even so, the reason he went to a dangerous place to increase his military power was because it was an important mission that was key to the operation. Honestly… he has an extraordinary sense of responsibility!! No, he's not like some wussy and incompetent politician who just has a title.

Silver: You're saying he went it alone because it was a situation where he couldn't fail? He definitely has a unique sense of responsibility. Listening to Idia-senpai's opinion deepened my knowledge of this film and episode. You have a broad mind.

Idia: Well, well, well! Silver-shi should follow my example and take it one step further!

Silver: Right… However, there was a lot of real feeling in my statement about "what a politician should be". I heard that Idia-senpai was appointed dorm headman on the recommendation of former dorm headman Ignihide…. Maybe you were the head of a big group in the past? Were you appointed dorm headman because of your experience?

Idia: А!? No, no, what are you talking about? For some reason I don't have any experience in this kind of thing…. I'm a solo player, even in online games. Well, sometimes I'm a leader when I need to get a party together for a raid or something like that…

Silver: After all, you must have had experience leading someone.

Idia: That's not an exaggeration… Besides, I usually have a trusted mate who acts as a tank and leader. Most of the time I work as a healer or DPS. That is, most of the time I feel like I'm putting all my heart into buffs to instantly upgrade my firepower. However, my plans don't always coincide with those of my mates, and when they aren't around, I have to act as a leader…. I have no choice but to do so! The role of leader is usually played by an experienced, advanced player. I've mastered all the missions, so I understand how to move around properly. He can also be called a tank, or he can be called a leader. "Thanks to you, I was able to complete a quest of increased difficulty! I'm glad I was able to join your company!" …and I've been MVP, countless times! I had no choice but to become a leader. My talent is intimidating…

Silver: Receiving appreciation from those you've partnered with. It's proof that we can all rely on Idia-sempai's leadership.

Idia: Well, there's something to that…. maybe it's true? Fuhehehe, hehehehe! Well, I'm sorry I wasted my time leaving the leader to an incompetent person and failed the quest. Looks like from now on I'll have to form a party and be the leader when my mates aren't home! Well, the powers that be are having a tough time!

PART 2: Land of Dawning: National Museum of Art

Silver: A picture of a lion, a warthog and a meerkat? They sing as a threesome and seem to get along just fine.

Idia: Isn't it too much fun to walk while singing? This painting shows a lion, the heir to the throne, being chased out of his country….. He turns away in pain and walks with the friends he has met. It's an episode about him singing carefree, isn't it? It's lucky that we get to see a picture that glorifies his escape from his mission. Heh!

Silver: I heard once that singing makes you feel lighter. Maybe they were also trying to savor the sadness?

Idia: If you mean distracting yourself with songs, when I was little and my little brother was afraid to go to the toilet in the middle of the night….. we'd go there together, humming a song from our favourite anime….. Well, whatever the circumstances of the song's creation, the composition with the moon in the background is emo* MV style.

Silver: Ehm vi…?

Idia: Don't you know what a music video is? It's a video that accompanies a song or lyrics.

Silver: Ah, is that what you call MV? Roger.

Idia: Well, if you want to watch a music video, I recommend the Gakemo Idols music video called "People Need to Be on the Edge of a Cliff Too." The band's music videos are so good that you can watch them 100 times each…!

Silver: 100 times… is an amazing amount of times. Do you usually watch music videos that many times?

Idia: If you're a real otaku, you'll definitely watch it! After all, it's presumptuous to think you understand everything about a music video after one viewing! The first time, you just enjoy the whole video along with the song. The next three times you watch the dancing and facial expressions of the three participants. And if you go deeper into the structure of the video and the messages that come out of it… at least…. And if you dig deeper into the structure of the clip and the message it conveys… you have to watch it at least 10 times. Moreover, even one random frame in the "Gakemo" clip contains a message worthy of a film director! To deeply understand their work, it's not enough to watch the clip a few times. That's why I watch it over and over again, hundreds of times.

Silver? Is this work really that deep? It seems like it could be useful for emotional education as well. However, I think it would be a good idea to include it in school music lessons.

Idia: No, no, that's all… But it seems like Silver-shi was able to see how amazing these girls are. There are a lot of casual fans of hers who don't understand their artistry, even if they are Gakemo fans. Every time a new MV comes out, there are people who ask, "Who was featured for how many seconds?" or "Who did the management think was there?". Does that have anything to do with the quality of the work? None, right? You just don't want to understand the thought and substance behind it.

Silver: I can see… I feel like my knowledge has expanded because of Idia-senpai. Once I get back to school, let's watch some gake…mo clip, shall we?

Idia: No kidding! Is this for real? All the latest MVs are on the public account on Magicam! Be sure to watch them! You won't regret it!

PART 3: Land of Dawning: National Museum of Art

Idia: Oh, the Sea Witch, appearing in the dark… She has a nice smile and a suspicious aura.

Silver: Is this the painting that depicts the episode about the Sea Witch making a contract? It is said that the contract she made at that time was so strong that not even a powerful spear could break it.

Idia: Come to think of it, I think it was enough that it didn't tear and the letters didn't smudge, even if they got wet…

Silver: Maybe there was something spelled out in the contract that they really didn't want to break.

Idia: I'm more concerned about the material of the treaty than the content. How strong is the defence that it can't even be terminated in advance? But there are times when you want to do something that will never work, I understand.

Silver: I don't quite understand… For example, what would an Idia-sempai do?

Idia: "A game console power cord that you can never hide" or…I actually tried to make one of those once. I played games from morning to night every day, and my mum started hiding cords. If she only hid the code, I could just make a new one, but she politely hid the cord materials as well. Then I thought, "I'm going to make it impossible to hide the cords!"

Silver: I think she was worried about your health… Didn't you have the opportunity to get out of the game?

Idia: How could I have? No, I was hard at work developing the game at the time, in my own way. I installed motion sensors so that the cord would automatically disappear from people's hands… I made it transparent so the cord couldn't be found, and added a homing function so it would return on its own… And after many failures… I finally completed it…! A transparent power cord that only the authorised owner can recognise!

Silver: I can't even imagine… It's amazing that you were able to create what you wanted with your own hands.

Idia: No, it's not amazing at all. Since there was a formidable genius in the family, the technology he developed was quickly defeated by other countermeasures… This cat and mouse game went on for months until I realised that all I had to do was modify my game console to wirelessly charge. Phew… However, the brief peace that came after developing wireless charging didn't last long…. Later, a strange device that disables all wireless charging within a 10 metre radius appears as the final boss. Yeah. Well, the experience I gained from developing things like motion sensors and autonomous controls came in handy when I was making Ortho, so all my trial and error didn't go to waste.

Silver: Even if you can imagine an ideal, it's hard to realise it. However, Idia-senpai has achieved a lot. I respect that.

Idia: Wait, what is this suddenly happening? I'm afraid of unexpected, direct compliments…. Are you trying to get me to buy a vase or something?

Silver? Why are we suddenly talking about a vase? Um, has it been that long? I got held up for a while. Oh, I'm sorry. Thanks for letting me hear your valuable story. Well, I must be going.

Silver's gone.

Idia: Phew… I haven't talked to a lot of people in a while and I'm tired. Need to calm down and look at the picture… Ah, that…

Idia: He's a hero from mythology. That sparkling gaze… He looks like he's sure of his bright future. There's no way his life could have turned out so well… I hope he doesn't get carried away and float down the river of the underworld.

*Soliloquy — speech addressed to oneself.

*Emo is emotional

#twisted wonderland #twistedwonderland #twst idia #twst #twisted #idia shroud

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staycalmandhugaclone · 5 months

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Identity Pt 2

Part (2) of Identity, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Thought about holding onto this another night, but I could use some dopamine after some work bs that happened today (which is also why I only barely started catching up on all the comments and tags today before going quiet again... sorry - I'll try to respond to everyone tomorrow ❤️). It's only lightly proofread, and I'm apparently favoring shorter chapters currently. Also, I finished this from my phone, so sorry if formatting got weird

Warnings: Brotherly fighting, talk of hunting, nightmares with reference to gore/torture, heavy tension, profanity

WC: 2,379

“I knew you’d done something!” Sinker shouted, hand lashing out to roughly push Boost’s shoulder hard enough to nearly knock him from the couch. Boost was laughing too hard to defend himself, with Comet and I not far behind at the retelling of the Sergent’s unfortunate encounter with a slew of too curious gorgs. The thought of the stern man being relentlessly assaulted by the small, brightly colored amphibians, utterly oblivious to the pungent pheromone his brother had slathered on his armor as he trudged through the swamps of Naboo was a gift in itself.

“It… it was just a drop!” Boost barely managed to respond.

“Where’d you even get it?” Comet asked, voice strained as he tried to compose himself.

“It was… it was all over the markets – easiest way to hunt them.”

The lights were still too bright and the seats too soft, but the familiarity of this, of carefree laughter and unapologetic teasing was the perfect balm to an ache I’d nearly grown accustomed to. I sat lounging against Comet on a love seat caddy corner to where Boost and Sinker were seconds away from a one-sided brawl despite how near they were to the table holding their long forgotten, disassembled blasters. Wolffe had vanished elsewhere in the ship after relinquished the pilot’s chair to Warthog, decidedly ignoring the man’s grumbles about the apparently lacking capabilities of the civi transport, and Sinker had volunteered the explanation that the General was too well known to join us lest his presence attract the wrong attention.

“Hey, hey!” I cried out when Sinker’s foot bumped the table, darting forward to grab the corner before it could fall. “If you knock this down, I’m not helping you find all the pieces!” The attempt at a feigned reprimand was lost beneath the richness of my lingering glee. Boost sent his brother a toothy grin that only worsened the man’s scowl as he reluctantly returned his attention to his weapon.

“He doesn’t listen to me when I try to get him to get him to calm down.” Comet’s grumbled murmur drew a final chuckle from me as I pressed fondly against him. “It’s late. We should probably turn in.” He sighed after a few seconds of stillness, and I tried not to note the way my heart dropped.

“Yeah.” I relented, fighting the way my jaw threatened to tense at the thought of forcing myself to close my eyes, of the noises awaiting me in the coming silence. With a deep breath, I leaned away from the gentle man at my back, ignoring the brief moment of hesitation, the way I could feel his gaze linger on me as I got to my feet.

The ship was designed to allow each passenger their own room, but that privacy had thoughtlessly been forgone in favor of using those rooms for additional storage. The minimal space allotted for each hastily installed, wall mounted cot was a thing I’d long since become accustomed to with these men and spared no hesitation before taking the bunk below Sinker’s, but rest refused to grant me escape.

It was strange not having Crosshair’s arms around me, not hearing Wrecker’s snores or seeing the faint glow of Tech’s datapad. This squad would always have my love and trust, but the familiar sense of home no longer resonated in their presence, and after everything that had happened in the past months, I found myself desperate for that comfort long after noting the unmistakable cadence of sleep lengthening their breaths, and forced my eyes closed if only to feign joining them.

It's not real.

Crimson coated my hands.

It’s not real.

Blackened skin marked exactly where my pistol fire tore between the joints.

“This is your fault.”

Wet coughs sent waves of blood spilling down his chin.

Please tell me this isn’t real.

It didn’t matter how hard I pressed against the gaping wound in his chest.

“You did this.”

How tightly I bound the tourniquet.

“Traitor.”

How certain I was that this isn’t how it happened as the echo of dislocating fingers reverberated sickeningly around me.

Stop, stop, stop, stop.

False memories of my fist slamming into my brother’s face orchestrated by endless apologies.

“I’m not your brother.”

The look of hatred in his eyes as my finger tightened around the trigger.

“Ple-”

My body jerked violently away from the hand settling lightly atop my arm, diaphragm seizing to drag air into lungs burning with suffocation as my head snapped around in search of the source of that touch. And I froze. There was such stillness in those mismatched eyes as he looked at me, a silent understanding that threatened to break what miserable grip I had on keeping the sobs at bay.

Without a word, he stood back, shoulders weighted beneath the same sorrow and regret I knew I’d never be free of, face carefully neutral as he started silently toward the cockpit. I glanced hesitantly over the familiar forms lying atop the cots across from me, relieved to find no signs that I’d woken them in my fit before forcing myself to take several deep breaths and pushing myself to my feet.

Wolffe didn’t look at me as I slipped into the copilot’s seat, knees automatically tucking to my chest. The controls were different, the colors of the panels and the shape of the viewport nothing like the GAR ship we once frequented, but that feeling, the unrushed quiet between us as our thoughts settled and we felt drawn to speak for the comfort of connection in the stead of some need to fill the silence with empty, frantic words… there was such gentleness in that feeling that I couldn’t help but let the tension begin to slip from my stiff form.

“What happened?” He didn’t turn from the dancing hues of blue illuminating the darkness of space as his voice hung softly in the filtered air.

“A lot.” I whispered, granting myself a moment longer to remember how to speak, how to condense the need to purge everything, every violent emotion and overwhelming memory into words and sentences. “My brother’s dead.” From the corner of my eyes, I saw the initial surge of grief hesitantly shift into confusion, brows pulling subtly together though he didn’t push me to explain.

“He enlisted… or was drafted, I don’t know how exactly, but…” I watched that grief return in an instant, jaw tensing as his eyes closed.

“Devaron.” I should have been surprised, should have found myself wondering over the simple fact that he was familiar enough with my past missions to reach that conclusion, but it was almost a relief to not have to explain further, replying only with a small nod.

“I’m sorry.” His voice quieted, lips just threatening to pull into a scowl as his mind worked over what he’d just learned.

“I tried to save him… but I didn’t realize who he was until it was too late. He…” My throat tightened, and I had to let out a slow breath before I could continue. “He blamed me… When he saw me in that armor…” I found myself shaking my head as I shifted to rest my chin atop my knees. “He hated me, Wolffe…” That barely murmured sentence lingered far too long after tumbling from my lips, and I felt it grow heavier with each second of silence that followed.

“You want me to tell you it wasn’t your fault?” There could have been a harsh bluntness to those words. They could have been filled with boredom or impatience or pity, but they weren’t. He asked only because he thought I needed to hear the question, to hear how doubtless he was in his own conviction that I might remember how to breathe before my guilt destroyed me.

“No.” I answered quietly. Still, logic offered little comfort in the face of raw emotion. “But that doesn’t exactly make me feel better.”

“Your brother died.” He stated simply, and my chest bucked at hearing that horrible truth spoken by another. “You’re not going to feel better. Not for a long time.” I knew how clearly the sorrow shone through my eyes as I finally turned to look at him, and I hated him for the honesty in his words just as much as I loved him for offering no false hope or empty platitudes.

“And your last mission? Can’t say I believe Hunter’s excuse of your ship needing repairs.”

“Clearly.” I retorted, glancing pointedly at the ship around us, but the intensity of his gaze didn’t waver, unphased by my feigned jab, and I had to turn away, teeth catching at my lip.

“One of my men got caught.” My voice sank into a quiet whisper, as though it might keep me from hearing my own words as I forced myself to answer him. “He was trapped. I don’t even think the guy who was did it was even a Separatists… pretty sure he was just a merc.” My tongue dragged haltingly over suddenly dry lips, heart racing at the memory of that fight; and the screams still echoing over the low hum of the engines.

“He wouldn’t free him… wouldn’t tell me how to get him out… not until I made him tell me.” Jaw taut beneath the effort to keep my breath steady, I turned back to him. “You want to tell me that wasn’t my fault, either? That I had no choice other than to torture him? That I couldn’t have found a way to cut the power or bribe him or hold off until help arrived?” It infuriated me how perfectly still Wolffe remained, expression locked in that passive stare.

“Do you think I give a damn that you tortured some money-hungry civi to save a brother? You think I’d do any less to save you? That any of us would do any less?”

“Do you think granting me permission makes me feel less like a monster?” I shot back, unable to chase the hint of a snarl from my face.

“This is war, kid.” He replied, a gentle apology woven through the softly spoken words. I felt the urge to snap at him threatening to wrench my lips into a scowl, felt my heart balk at the simplicity of his statement and how crudely that simplicity contrasted with the horrors it represented, but I allowed no reprieve in vying for some way to deny myself the forgiveness implied in that putrid truth, no release of my fury and guilt and hatred by arguing purely for the sake of flinging shouted insults absent thought beyond the base need to lash out.

I could feel him watching me as I forced myself back under some façade of control, but something seemed to shift, a heaviness that held the same tension I’d noted in him the day prior, and I found myself quieting my breath as I waited for him to speak.

“And the thing with the toothpick… how long’s that been going on?” It took barely a second to realize what he meant, what he knew, and my entire body froze, eyes widening as the air caught in my chest, mind racing too quickly for me to grasp onto a single thought long enough to make sense of the waves of dread and guilt and confusion.

“Closet doors don’t hide thermo-signatures.” He explained, voice carefully void of emotion, and my heart dropped. The damn closet. Cody must have already planned to speak to Wolffe immediately after his meeting with me to confirm the mission status… Of course, he would have been nearby…

“I… I don’t think that’s any of your business, Wolffe.” I said quietly, trying to force some measure of indifference into my voice.

“Is that so?” There was a darkness in those short words as he shifted just enough to catch my gaze from the corner of that pale cybernetic.

“No.” I stated more firmly, back straightening as I turned fully toward him. “It hasn’t been for a while… not since you let them take off this squad.” His brows drew together above eyes failing to hide the beginnings of anger.

“Is that what you think happened?” He asked, shoulders pulling back slightly.

“Isn’t it?” This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have with him. These thoughts and fears and insecurities were never meant to be given breath, yet I couldn’t seem to stop them lest the conversation return to something far more dangerous.

“Did you ever tell them ‘no’?” The instant I saw the flash of remorse dart through him, I felt something break in me as I realized I was right. “Did you even try to fight for me?” I barely whispered as a fresh surge of devastation flooded my veins with ice. He didn’t need to speak for his answer to scream between us, and I couldn’t begin to hide the betrayal and raw hurt left in its wake.

“You didn’t… You just let them…” Some vain hope for denial forbade me from finishing the thoughts, silently pleading for him to prove me wrong, but he offered no whisper of reassurance.

“You were all I had, Wolffe…” I could hear how the words clawed up my throat amidst tears I refused to let fall. “I was… I was so… so scared, and you just let them take me away?” He refused to turn from me as the reality I thought I knew shattered. I wanted to ask “why,” wanted to shout and rage and sob, but that time had long since passed. Drawing a sharp, unsteady breath into my lungs, I finally turned from him, gaze trailing blindly across the control panel.

“No… What I do now… who I spend my time with… it’s none of your business.” It felt as though I were talking more to myself than to him, and the new silence that fell between us held none of that gentle familiarity that had seen me through some the worst moments of my life. For the first time, I couldn’t bring myself to stay, every cell demanding I flee from his presence. With another deep breath, I pushed myself to my feet, unable to even glance at him as I began walking away.

Next Chapter

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bloodgulchblog · 2 months

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Thanks for answering my ask! You just made me realize how interesting Halsey. I mean I always knew she was a complex character but I haven’t really read the founding halo books since middle school(?). Anyway you have now have me utterly fascinated with her and know I must consume all content relating to her (that’s written by nyland). Sooo thanks for that! Also the scene spartan ops where she learns John’s alive is the scene that has stuck with me the longest from that mode, that followed by the prison break or the warthog run mission.

You're welcome! God, she breaks my heart now. (This ask answer just turned into a fresh outpouring of Halsey thoughts/feelings and I hope they are interesting.)

Halsey is one of the characters that I sat down and was like I need to understand what their deal is when I started really getting back into Halo. It's really easy to just hate her because, you know, she's the architect of horrible things happening to children. But especially once I started understanding the food chain of exploitation that goes on within ONI it was like oh my god. Then going back through the diary and being like wait, how old was she when the Carver findings were being discussed? How old was she when ONI started to court her?

You realize that Halsey was also so young, and they groomed her and manipulated her and preyed on her and built her in the image they found most useful. And by the time she wanted out, she was too far in and they basically held those kids hostage by threatening to hand the reins over to someone who wouldn't have cared about whether they suffered more than "necessary."

Halsey was their useful monster and had to figure out how to keep living with herself, justifying the monstrosity, and just throwing herself headlong into her work. I'm still struck by how the diary shows her feelings about Keyes, it's not in-your-face but augh. Catherine Halsey, terrifying science witch of ONI, cold and ambitious and condescending, and Jacob Keyes was a gentleman to her and trustworthy with secrets.

On a related note: Something I've thought about a lot with Halsey is that, on its face, her having Miranda does not make sense. ...But then if you turn it in your mind, suddenly it does. Halsey is a doctor in the deep space future, if she did not want to have a child she would not have a child. What did she want by that? It was obviously not to tie Keyes to her, they never married and only occasionally saw one another (even though it's obvious how much they mattered to one another.)

Rampant speculation: I don't have a canon answer to that question, but the timing (during Spartan-II) maybe speaks to Halsey wanting to prove something to herself about her own humanity vs monstrousness. Maybe, if she could raise a child well, it would prove that what she did to those other children was not the whole of her.

And in the end, her work for ONI devoured her and she did fail Miranda. She tried for six years, and in the end she sent Miranda to live with her father because she knew she was not a good mother to that child. Halsey missed Miranda and even though her daughter took after Keyes so much more than her, even though Miranda wanted nothing to do with her, we know that Halsey used what influence she had in the UNSC to try to protect Miranda from a dangerous frontline posting that could kill her.

Even though the whole My-Spartans-are-the-next-step-of-humanity thing is bullshit to me, there are some things about her late-canon characterization that do make sense to me.

Imagine how bitter it must feel, how alone she is. Halsey believed, truly believed, she was sacrificing herself to protect other people. Halsey believed that great ability came with the responsibility to spend herself for what she thought was a good cause. So she did, and now here she is: alone and hated, with nothing to show for it but regret and isolation and death while she has outlived almost everyone she ever cared for.

#asks #catherine halsey

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writeforfandoms · 1 year

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Warrior Song 5

Find the series masterlist

We get a wee bit of plot here, some more fluff, and Blue Team! Because I adore Blue Team. Still just my fun not to be taken seriously story.

Warnings: Swearing, mild violence.

Word count: 2.3k

“So, boss,” Lindsay started as she let herself into the exam room with you. “You done an inventory lately?”

Your heart immediately dropped. “Not for two days,” you answered slowly. “Why?”

“One of the other techs bungled some stuff.” She grimaced, clearly displeased, and pushed some dark hair back behind her ear. “So we’re running low on… just about everything.”

You blew out a slow breath. Okay. That pushed up your timeline some, but it wasn’t impossible. You’d always known you’d have to restock on plants sooner or later. “Alright,” you agreed. “I’ll talk to the higher ups today, see if we can get a party arranged. You want to come?”

“And Carter,” Lindsay agreed. “You’re not leaving us behind, boss.” She flashed you a grin, white teeth brilliant against her dark skin.

You chuckled but nodded your assent. “Alright, fair enough. Let me go talk to some people. I’d imagine we won’t be going until tomorrow, but get everything ready, just in case.”

“Aye aye, boss.” Lindsay flounced away to go drag Carter into helping her.

Shaking your head, yet again amazed at the resilience of that woman, you headed to what passed as HQ around here.

Fortunately, it didn’t take much to convince the ranking officer that you needed to go, and that the three of you had done this dozens of times. Lieutenant Beck actually spoke up in favor, which you were quite sure helped.

So it was agreed that you’d meet your assigned team tomorrow morning to go picking.

Pleased with both your success and the promise of getting to leave base for a little while, you hummed a bit as you left… and very nearly ran into Fernando.

“Whoa!” He held his hands up at your shoulders, ready to catch you. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” You smiled a little bashfully. “Too eager to get back to medbay, I guess.”

“Good news?” he asked, motioning for you to go first.

“Carter, Lindsay, and I are going out plant gathering tomorrow,” you told him with a grin. “For medicinal purposes. It’s fun.”

“Huh. You need any help?” Fernando raised one eyebrow at you.

“Sure,” you agreed with a shrug. “You’ll have to talk to the CO to volunteer, but you’re welcome to come.”

Fernando nodded. “Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He winked and then headed off in a different direction.

Shaking your head, amused, you continued on your way back to medbay. You had some preparations to make for tomorrow.

You figured you’d be the first to the meeting point, since you’d gotten up early.

But no. Instead you found four Spartans in full gear, talking quietly amongst themselves next to two Warthogs. You paused, confused.

“Has Chief told you yet?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Fernando spoke from behind you, and you whirled to glare at him. “Told me what?”

Looking sheepish, Fernando motioned to the Spartans. “That’s his team. Blue team.”

“Oh.” You turned back to look, spotting Kelly immediately. “I’m glad they found each other, then.”

“And they volunteered to come be your escorts.”

Your jaw dropped a bit and you looked at Fernando again. “What?”

Fernando was trying not to grin, the little shit. “Chief volunteered soon as I told him you were leading this little party.”

You shook your head, turning to look. Chief wasn’t even looking your way, but Kelly was, and she dipped her head to you in a clear nod. You returned it, still feeling rather gobsmacked.

“Where are you two helpers?”

That snapped you out of your funk. Sort of. “Lindsay and Carter are probably on their way. They don’t like early mornings.” You shrugged, glancing behind you to see if you could spot either of them. They still had a couple minutes yet to show up.

“Come on.” Fernando ushered you forward, over to Blue Team. You shot him a dirty look over your shoulder, feeling oddly shy.

“Good to see you again,” Kelly offered first.

“You too.” You glanced between her and Chief. “Told you he’d come around sooner rather than later.”

“So you did.” The humor in her voice was subtle but there. “The other two are still coming?”

“Yeah, they’ll be here.” You shrugged, putting the empty baskets down on the back of one of the two Warthogs. “You guys might get bored out there, sorry. It’s usually quiet.”

“We’ll manage fine.” The other male Spartan spoke up this time. “Call me Fred.”

“Linda,” the last soldier added.

You nodded to each of them, debating if you should let the silence sit, when an awed exclamation behind you made you turn. Lindsay and Carter stood there, ready to go, Carter with his mouth still open.

You snorted. “C’mon, Carter, manners. We have them,” you teased, walking over to take the baskets from him and nudge him with your elbow.

Carter snapped his mouth closed and shot you a look of mixed panic and fury. “What?”

“They volunteered,” was all you offered, shrugging easily. You glanced back at Chief, meeting the gold visor for a moment. “We splitting up four and four?”

“Affirmative.”

“Got it. Carter, sit with Lindsay.”

The groups split up without a word. Fernando hopped into the back of one Warthog with you, while Chief and Kelly rode in the front.

“So what are we looking for, exactly?” Fernando asked over the noise of the engine.

“It’ll be easier to show you,” you said with an easy shrug. “But, they’re all plants. Just don’t eat anything you don’t know and all will be well.”

“Has someone done that?” Fernando raised both eyebrows at you.

“Yes.” You heaved a sigh. “Dumbass marine at a mushroom without asking anyone. He’s lucky it was safe, I half-expected him to be dead by the end of the day.”

“Well. Guess I won’t be picking any mushrooms.” Fernando still seemed a little startled, but clearly the point had been made.

It wasn’t much longer until the two Warthogs stopped, and everyone got out.

“You two know what we need,” you said to Lindsay and Carter. “Let me know if anything happens, or you need my opinion.”

“Sounds good, boss.” Lindsay gave you a thumbs up and started dragging Carter away. Carter, for his part, looked resigned but unsurprised. Linda and Fred followed the two of them, alert but relaxed, ish.

“Alright, let’s see how fast you pick this up.” You shot Fernando a grin and started in the opposite direction, handing him a basket. “Here’s what we need…”

Fernando was a fast learner, and he picked things up quickly. It wasn’t long before you went from instructing to hanging back to supervise. And then you left him on his own (with Kelly) to go gather your own plants.

Chief stayed with you, sending your heart racing. But you swallowed past it and crouched down to investigate some flowers.

“I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.” You spoke quietly, but you were certain he could hear you. “The other evening.”

“You didn’t.” His voice was low, still rumbly, still comforting. And that gave you a moment of pause, because when did his voice become comforting? But you shook it off and smiled down at the dirt.

“You don’t have to spare my feelings, Chief.”

“I’m not.” He took a step closer to you.

Finally, you chanced looking back at him, trying to gauge his sincerity. His shoulders were relaxed, and his helmet was aimed at you. So you nodded.

“Alright then, Chief.”

“John.”

“What?” You blinked up at him.

“My name.” He hesitated for a moment, shifting his weight.

“John.” You were already watching him, so you caught the additional shift of his weight. “Thank you.”

He nodded. You worked quietly for a while before finally setting your nearly-full basket aside to drink some water instead.

You didn’t even hear anything coming. One moment you were picking another flower, the next John was in front of you, shield coming to life as something hit him. He didn’t even hesitate, returning fire while keeping himself between you and any threats.

You didn’t scream, but you did freeze, eyes wide. You hadn’t honestly expected to be attacked out here. Even if it didn’t seem to be a very large attack - John was already sweeping the area for further threats.

And then you got lucky. You bent over to get your basket, and a knife hit the tree behind you, where your chest had been moments before. You hit the ground with a whimper.

There was a moment of movement. A very loud gunshot. And then silence.

“We need to move.”

You looked up to find John still holding his gun with one hand, the other held out for you. You took it and stood, quickly scooping up your basket.

“Okay,” you agreed, voice small, shoulders hunched.

He hesitated for a bare moment before his hand closed over yours, surprisingly gentle given the strength you knew he had. “I’ve got you. Stay close.”

So you did, keeping up with him as the two of you headed back to the Warthogs. You arrived moments before Carter and Fred did, the others already there.

“Problems?” Chief asked, glancing at his team.

“Negative,” Kelly answered, already ushering Fernando into a Warthog.

“You must have run into a scouting team,” Linda added. “I found no signs on the way back or in the immediate area.”

Chief nodded. “Head back to base.”

The ride back was silent. Fernando sat next to you, close enough that you could lean into him for some comfort, which you did.

Carter and Lindsay took the baskets, since you’d have to go with Blue Team to debrief.

Admittedly, you zoned out a bit, until it was your turn. Then you recounted events as best you could remember. Not that you had anything useful to add. Chief had taken care of that.

“Sir,” Chief added before you could all be dismissed. “Permission to investigate further.”

“Granted.” The Lieutenant looked tired and waved you all out.

“Good hunting,” you murmured to John as the rest of his team turned away.

John hesitated for a moment before he nodded. One hand brushed yours, deliberate and slow, before he followed his team.

Leaving you wondering what had just happened.

Nope, too much to process. You needed to work. Burying yourself in work was a tried and true method for not-dealing with shit like this.

And when you inevitably got kicked out, you took a basket back to your quarters with you. Nobody had a lot of space here, but you at least did have your own dedicated space. You weren’t sure if it was perks of being a civilian, a medic, or both, but you sure weren’t looking a gift horse in the mouth.

You didn’t emerge from your work until someone knocked at your door. Blinking, you sat up straight for the first time in far too long, judging by how much your back ached. Groaning softly, you stood and opened the door.

And blinked up into a very familiar golden visor.

“Have you eaten?”

You blinked again, caught off guard by the question. “Uh. Not recently. What time is it?”

There was a soft huff from under the helmet. “Late,” was the succinct answer.

“Oops.” You shrugged. “I’ll eat in the morning.”

“Or we can share.” He held up a tray, loaded with a Spartan portion of food. It was probably enough for two of you, depending on how hungry he was.

You debated for a moment, and then gave in. “Do you want to come in?”

He stepped in and waited while you cleared off the table. For a moment you worried about seating, but he just folded himself down to sit on the floor, still tall enough to be fine.

And then he removed his helmet, leaving it next to him, giving you a moment to observe him. The scars. The brown hair going gray at his temples. The hint of stubble across his chin.

An entirely new kind of warmth flooded you at the realization that he was quite possibly one of the most handsome men you’d ever met.

He met your gaze, one eyebrow raised, and you smiled bashfully before dropping your gaze to dinner.

“Thanks,” you murmured. “For thinking of me.”

He just nodded, motioning for you to eat. It was a quiet meal but companionable, rather surprisingly so. You didn’t feel the need to fill the silence, and of course John wasn’t going to.

You leaned back a bit to let him finish, tipping your head back to look up at the ceiling. You definitely felt better now, hadn’t even realized you were hungry until you weren’t.

“John?”

He didn’t speak but he did blink at you, eyes bright.

You shuffled around the table, moving slowly, giving him plenty of time to stop you if he wanted. But he didn’t, just watching, even as you sat up on your knees in front of him and leaned in slowly, carefully, until your lips landed delicately on his jaw. You felt a little shudder go through him.

“I’ll see you in the morning?”

He nodded slowly, though he didn’t move yet. He seemed to be debating something, gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips. You gave him time to decide.

But you were not prepared for him to descend on you, kissing you with a fervor you hadn’t expected. Your gasp was muffled, his answering groan barely even audible.

And then the armor clanged into your table and very nearly sent it skittering. You pulled back first with a huffed laugh, smiling.

“I hope you’ll want to do that again,” you murmured. “Preferably without armor, next time.”

His lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “Affirmative,” he rumbled. He stood, gathering up the empty tray and accepting the helmet when you handed it up to him. “Good night.”

“Good night, John.” You leaned in the doorway watching him go before abruptly realizing how twitterpated you must look. Then you closed the door and went to bed.

#warrior song #john-117 x reader #john-117 x you

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 7 months

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Poets and Painters (Midday) - Wolffe x Reader [Mature Fic]

Warnings and Information: In desperate need of just one day to take his and his men's mind off the war, Plo Koon orders that everyone make a stop on a relatively uninhabited planet in a peaceful sector of the galaxy to… have a picnic? Just what does he have in mind? A certain flint-gray Commander is finding it hard to believe that they're just on the planet for a day of R&R in the middle of a war, so he isn't letting his guard down. Perhaps someone will help Commander Wolffe find some way to help him relax before the day is over… 2nd person POV. Reader is undescribed save for minor details like personal touches to a uniform, and has a gender-neutral alias. Allusions to canon-typical violence, mention of injury and loss, and Plo just being a dad to the 104th Battalion in the background. Swearing. Discussion of more adult themes and some lewd jokes the more the fic progresses (this is not an Explicit fic but it is Mature; Minors please DNI). Takes place on a fictional planet.

Word count: 4,665

The trick to keeping Commander Wolffe from prowling the edge of the clearing like a caged animal had been surprising. To everyone.

Allowing him to watch you work keeps him seated on the hill beside you, where he does not worry his brothers or Master Plo Koon by continuing to make lap after lap. He had left your side once, to take a look at something the Clone pilot Warthog had to show him, and then did a little shiny-wrangling (namely Soapsuds) because they were too close to the forest for his comfort, but he was quick to return.

He's not much of a conversational partner, whether that's out of respect for you to let you concentrate, or simply a product of his personality. When he has something to say, Wolffe keeps it brief.

"I'm not that pale."

"But your scar is." you reply with a gentle smile and a soft laugh, carefully adding traces of a lighter flesh-tone to the vertical stripe of scar tissue in your sketching of the Commander. You keep your pressure light on the page, and make your best efforts to keep the strokes in roughly the same orientation. The smile gives way to a frown the longer you fill in the length of his scar on the page. Your heart hurts for what happened to him at the hands of a dark Force-wielder. What her blade did to him. "I imagine it was quite painful, to lose your eye…"

"Yes." Wolffe replies in a clipped voice, suggesting to you that while he does not want to dismiss your sympathies, he clearly must not want to talk about this with someone he does not know, either. You feel a tug on the lapel of your uniform, and the gloved pad of his thumb brushes over something. Oh. You'd forgotten about that. "You added a wolf's head into your uniform, Arcadia?" He's changing the subject. And that's okay.

That's more than okay.

Glancing down best you can, you see the sloppy replication the flint-gray Commander refers to. The thread used for the head is a steely gray, the stitches are almost invisible and camouflaged in the color of the uniform, save for the eyes in your favorite color. It was meant to be practice for repairing holes in your clothing, you explain. "For emergency situations. I wanted to see if my stitches would hold up after being washed. I completely forgot it was there." You don't explain why you went with the image of a wolf. You won't need to, in his presence.

It's easy enough to guess why this would be the animal, of all possible choices available to you in this galaxy, you would stitch into your lapel. The name surrounds you. Wolfpack. General Plo's callsign is Wolf Leader when they engage in battle by starfighter.

It is the name of the man next to you - granted it bears an additional forn and an esk.

Wesk-osk-leth-forn-forn-esk.

Wolffe.

"It held up well." he compliments you, releasing the fold of the lapel and assuming his silence once more. Degree by degree, you are seeing he is not eternally gruff or cold with you, or anyone: merely a man made stoic and far more vigilant than before by war. In his vigilance, he continues to visually sweep the field for signs of trouble or mischief.

Maybe, while he's distracted…

You stealthily swap out the current coloring pencil in your hand - a deeper skin tone - and pluck out the Lamp Black pencil in the mix, drifting your hand lower down the page until the end of the pencil was now lined up with the loosely defined crotch and codpiece of his armor.

Maker alive let's just get this over with.

The body glove is going to be innocent enough to fill in, but defining the shadows around the pubic bulge in his kit will be faster. Just keep it quick and be discreet. Work fast. Hope no one sees. Hope no one asks.

Your pulse screams in your veins when he clears his throat - loudly - next to you, and you are so certain he is now trained on you, and acutely aware of where your pencil is. "Hm-mm…" Oh kriff me sideways. "Excuse me," he apologizes, clearing his throat again softer this time, "didn't mean to startle you, but I was trying to catch Suds' attention." Thank the Maker he didn't look when he apologized. Just a few more marks to finish shading in the codpiece, and then you can start on the body suit. "O-oh. Is he wandering off again?"

"Looked like he was about to."

Still breathing down their necks even from here? "Y'know-"

"As their Commander I am going to look out for my brothers, Arcadia." He sounds neither happy or unhappy with what he assumed you would say. And it's fair of him to assume that, in a sense. You only wish he didn't have to feel so defensive.

"I understand that," you promise him, and for the moment, you set down the pencil in your hand so you are not dividing your attention between the artwork and Wolffe. "and I wasn't telling you to stop, either. I only wanted to warn you that, I think, General Plo Koon seems worried about you, that something is keeping you from enjoying yourself."

To his credit, he gives your words a moment of quiet contemplation. Whether that's to consider the truth behind the words you said, or to come up with an explanation of sorts, Wolffe remains silent and still like the forest that surrounds you on all sides. What secrets does that forest hold? What lives within?

What will you find other than sap and blood on your palms when you pull back the thorny branches?

"I don't believe we're here just to relax for a day." Commander Wolffe admits with a heavy look of guilt and uncertainty. "I think the General has other reasons for bringing us to Little Archossi, and he won't tell us."

"Reasons? Like what?" You pick the pencil back up, and return to the slow, gradual task of adding color to the page. You're going to give him time to think. Time to answer, if he even wants to. He may not. Warning him that he's possibly made his General concerned about him seems to shake him down, somewhat. "I'm sorry."

It's reflexive, apologizing for upsetting him. That seems to pull him out of his silence, for the moment. "Don't be, Arcadia. I'm not going to fault you for having good intentions. Or a good eye."

The kri-?

In dawning horror, you see and fully realize where your pencil lead is. And looking over at him, you see that he does too. "I-I'm so sorry, sir…" You admit that you hoped he wouldn't notice, and that adding the necessary shading and color around areas that carry their shares of suggestive and sexual imagery and connotations would have been completed with as little attention drawn to it as possible. While you're not exactly ashamed to have drawn those parts of him, you feel a bit awkward to have him take notice of your work when you add the color.

Half of his mouth quirks in a smile, an expression of his respect, understanding that took guts to admit. "That's nothing to apologize for. It's just part of the art, Arcadia. A little "awkward" would only be understandable. Would you feel better if I purposely didn't watch?"

Well, seeing as how you're almost done with the inner thigh, you don't see much of a point to the gesture in this part of the progress. But, he did offer. And this seems to be what's keeping him seated in the grass. And what's keeping Plo Koon freer to spend less time being concerned about his diligent commander, and more time in showing his troops more aspects of Kel Dor culture and history, it seems. (Orchid keeps asking questions that Tack could easily answer about Dorin, and it serves as a neat little lesson for some of their newer shinnies. Plo is certainly grateful for the curiosity that allows him to be a teacher, rather than a fighter, today.)

You shrug lazily, laughing softly under your breath. "I'll leave that up to you, sir. At this point…"

Wolffe chooses to keep an eye on his brothers, so you make the process of shading the inner thighs quick, while being careful not to get sloppy. You're not trying to recreate a master painter's work here in the first page of your sketchbook, but you don't want to look at this one day and become filled with the urge to tear it out because all you can see are glaring imperfections, either. That's nothing but a fanciful daydream of making so much progress in your artistic prowess that you would ever be struck with such a thought, of course.

You are preoccupied with a war against the Separatists: when would you ever have the chance to make regular progress and impressive strides without backsliding and the natural degradation of your skills when you do not use them? You're a small part of the busy crew that keeps the Triumphant running smoothly.

People constantly need you. And that's all well and good, but sometimes you find yourself running into the same problem over and over again that crews of this size inevitably face: when you, who provides the help, needs someone, who is there for you? Do you turn to another crewmate who is already up to their neck in all the problems they juggle? Turning to one of the Clone troopers is ill-advised, no matter how much they swear they don't mind lending a hand or an arm (or two) to assist.

You've been doing fine aboard the Triumphant; better than fine, in fact. But that worry claws at you, sometimes. I'm here to help everyone. But if I needed help, who would I go to?

Who does the Commander go to when he needs help, come to think of it… General Plo? Or maybe Sergeants Sinker and Boost, if the matter was a little closer to the heart, something he believed was best kept between brothers?

Who does Wolffe turn to in his hours of need, you wonder.

You need to rest your wrist, and soon. You have just a little more of this tree's canopy to color in though, and then you're calling it good. You've been working on this "sketch" for more than three hours with the Commander at your side. You want to have this done soon. You want to go check out some of these things other crewmates have been laughing themselves silly over for the last hour that leave them gasping and wheezing for breath, clutching their sides and drying their faces. You're burning to know what's so funny, why they keep calling your name to come see.

Curiously guessing over and over what General Plo's reaction will be when you show him this amateurish endeavor in outdoor art drives you to continue, however. Just a few more tiny, feather-shaped leaves… Wolffe notices the sharp twinge in your face, and the uncomfortable spasm in your fingers as you adjust your grip around the Sunflower coloring pencil.

"Getting painful?"

"Just a little." you admit, knowing if you pause now, you will delay when you pick the pencil back. "I'll manage."

"Making art shouldn't bring you pain, Arcadia."

You scoff, just slightly. "Physical pain? Agreed. But emotional pain, that's another matter. Don't worry, I'll be done soon, Wolffe."

He asked you to call him Wolffe a short time ago. It wasn't exactly necessary to call him Commander or Sir all the time if you had him sketched out on your page quite like… that. His legs parted and bent at the knee - flat in the grass out in front of him. Wrist of the left hand resting just on the surface of his thigh, with his hand hanging limp just inches from his groin. You were generous enough to draw his fingers in a more neutral position than how they had looked in reality… Otherwise, if his soldiers and brothers got a hold of the sketchbook, there's no telling how many jokes you'd have to hear about making it look like their Commander was jerkin' it in front of you.

Calling him "Wolffe" would do just fine when it was just the two of you alone on this hill. Perhaps he felt it was only fair if he was calling you by your name. You had no title or rank, like him. You are just a humble part of the crew, but he assured you no less important than one of the soldiers.

It takes all of us, he said. That's how we win this war.

You've come to the home stretch, feeling the ache in your fingers deepen with every tiny skritch and shwoop! as you methodically color in your work leaf by leaf. "Just one last, little leaf," you promise, "and then I'm done."

"Not going to sign your magnum opus, Arcadia?" Wolffe prods a little teasingly. He's smiling at you now, even. Hours ago, he was somber and battle-ready, no smiles, no nonsense. Now, he's beginning to make small jokes. "Should add a signature so future museums know who to accredit this to."

"A leaf and then a signature." you chuckle warmly. "Future museum… Honestly." He only offers a shrug in response to that, and you take it to mean well, you never know. "What, you're trying to tell me you think this would honestly end up in a museum gallery one day?"

He shrugs again, gazing off into the distance, into the forest. "Overheard one of the boys in the mess say something about the notion once. Something they read. Some kind of commemorative effort made by one planet to make sure they never forgot their bloody history by way of art and song and poetry inspired by that time. Evidence of a time best not repeated, but not forgotten either."

Such an insightful and wise thing to be said so casually, poetically, and yet, there's a weighty truth to every syllable and enunciation.

We doom ourselves to repeat the past when we do not remember it and do not teach it anymore. When we allow ourselves to forget, the shades of rouge we sop the bristles of our brushes in will not be in the rich scarlets of Dathomir, or the forever-burning rubies of Mustafar, it will instead be with blood.

When we have enough evidence, it silences the naysayers and the fools. It validates the choking and trembling voices that say I have tasted the bitter blade of war. I have stood before the yawning maw of nothingness it leaves in its wake. I will never be the same. You do not have the right to tell me that I am some kind of paid actor.

If they were conspiracies, do you not think I would be among the loudest of your prophets who tout these twisted claims in the hopes of converting another?

"Fascinating. Thinking something like that will come of the Clone Wars, Wolffe?" You've finished the drawing, now. Taking an ink pen, you jot down your signature in the tidiest handwriting you can manage in the lower right corner, making note of the date for good measure. You'll think up a creative title for this later.

There's a third rising and falling of the shoulders from the man sitting beside you. "It's too soon to tell."

"That's fair." you reply, gathering up your supplies to put them back into the bag for safekeeping. "But you just know, if it does happen, the Separatists aren't gonna like the art." You have faith that the Republic will prevail. How could it not when the soldiers who fight for the Republic are some of the most courageous, persevering people you know? (What will come of them after?)

You're likely right about that, he agrees with a throaty chuckle. The Separatists will not like losing this war, and they'll like the art even less. "I can only hope… that it will not just be the Jedi who are…" Wolffe grows silent next to you. He's not certain what word he wants to use to best explain his thoughts, he admits plainly. There are too many. Too many answers that are right, but he struggles to find the one thing that is most correct out of all of them.

Given what Tack has told you, the answer is obvious. "You're hoping that the galaxy will remember the Clones were a part of this conflict too. That the galaxy won't forget the sacrifices made by your brothers, and they won't forget how many lost their lives. You probably hope that when the free peoples of the galaxy remember the Jedi, they remember you, too. Both must be appreciated together."

"You're probably right," Wolffe concedes firstly, "And you're too wise beyond your years, Arcadia." Strangely philosophical, he tells you, for how old he guesses you to be. Maybe he's the right one this time, thinking to yourself on his words.

Maybe he's not the only one hoping that when this war ends, no matter the outcome, those who served as a part of the Grand Army of the Republic will not be a forgotten topic ten, twenty… even forty or fifty years down the line.

Tack has made a breakthrough in his mysterious flower just before Master Plo is free to come take a look at the sketch and color work you've completed, and concern for his men takes precedence. You would not blame him in the slightest if he forgot he expressed interest in seeing what you accomplished with art materials given to you as gifts. Because of your station with the crew of the Triumphant with a secondary speciality for risk assessment, you're involved in this discussion with the researcher and his commander and general.

Right now determining the risks posed to the men of the 104th matters more. Art and philosophical pondering will have to come later.

Tack explains to both Commander Wolffe and Master Plo that he thinks the smatterings of blue flowers that dot this clearing here on Little Archossi are known as Dinocaeruleus anthos. By their common-name, you know that these flowers are a warning. A silent, unassuming danger for all their beauty and silky blue petals.

Terrible blue flower.

"You can make toxic honey with these flowers?" Wolffe asks more to himself than Tack, as he reads ahead in the compiled information. Plo is taking his time to read the information on the screen of the datapad in his hands. To make sense of this, the Jedi is being thorough.

"Poisonous, Sir, more accurately." Tack makes the correction habitually, and Wolffe does not take it personally. He knows that Tack knows what he meant, and given his aptitude for analytics and other such sciences, his researcher is not correcting him to be a smartass. "But, yes, you can make bad honey with these flowers depending on what pollinators you harvest from. They are not wholly dangerous on their own. Eat it, it might make you feel nauseated due to natural bitterants. Touch it to more sensitive dermal surfaces and it will prove a powerful irritant."

From a short distance away, you hear the voices of Orchid and Soapsuds, Tack's batchmates (you assume), commenting on what the four of you are discussing in the shade of the tree you spent the morning sketching. "So what Tack's saying is don't stick your d-" The speaker finds himself with the other's hand anxiously plastered against his mouth to shut him up in a hurry. "Maker alive, shut up!" Soapsuds warns him, "Orchid, why are you so vulgar?!"

There is a pointed sigh from Commander Wolffe that is aimed at the two of them. Don't make me come over there. Behave yourselves in front of the General.

Plo makes no indication that he's noticed the situation occurring just out of reach. You have to imagine he hears Suds and Orchid wrestling with each other in the grass, now, though, and is ignoring it. "Arcadia and Tack, in your opinion, will these be enough cause for concern to consider returning back to the ship?" Plo wonders aloud. The Kel Dor returns the device to the researcher, and folds his hands together in an act of deliberate contemplation, resting them against his stomach.

Tack looks at you, and you at him, then the Commander. There is a look in his eyes, both the stark silver and the warm vandyke brown, that reads to you as a surrender of control.

I will carry out your judgment.

Tack scoffs and shrugs, his arms thrown wide. "Honestly, General? I don't know enough. I'd need more time to determine through more analysis and comparison. This is only one search result for one flower it could possibly be. But it was enough of a match to make me get the Commander while he was talking with Arcadia." Enough of a match to send him into a tizzy over it. Tack had tripped coming up the hill in his haste, trying to ask if - from where he was sitting - the Commander noticed anyone messing with the blue flowers.

We have a potential problem! had Wolffe on his feet faster than engaging a hyperdrive. And then there was a flurry of questions. Was it contact from the planet's inhabitants? Has someone gotten hurt? Are they needed to assist another battalion? Where's the General?

He has the look again, now. Worry. The inner anxiety is eating him alive. Tack doesn't know. So what about you?

"I see…" Master Plo hums. "And what are your feelings, Arcadia? What do you think about the situation?"

You think. What do you think about this situation? Is it worth double checking the matches for the flower, to make sure that it really is Dinocaeruleus anthos? Are the men really going to be so flippant as to disregard any kind of warning put out about these flowers if they are the Dinocaeruleus, or worse yet, a far more harmful flower? (Not necessarily, but you have to consider that warning the troops that this flower can have detrimental potential invites the opportunity to inflict it.)

There is one thing that is already clear to you, at least. "Tack should first make sure these flowers are what he thinks they are before we make any kind of advisory, General. That is my opinion."

Another thoughtful hum. "Interesting. And why is this your opinion, little one?"

"We should avoid unnecessary panic. Until we know for sure what these flowers are, I say we don't say anything. We invite unnecessary risks by making the men paranoid." you suggest, glancing first at the Jedi, and then the flint-gray Commander to his left. They had every right to accept or disregard your counseling as the commanding forces of this battalion at the day's end; you hope they will consider it at the very least.

"I'm in agreement."

"Then we will do as Arcadia advised, and we will let young Tack take more time to confirm his findings. Until then…" Plo trails off, nodding decidedly. Thank the Maker. Tack dismisses himself in a hushed, hurried tone. If he's going to spend more time pouring over information on the Dinocaeruleus anthos, he shouldn't dawdle. The Jedi kindly wills the benefits of the Force to guide the researcher before he turns to address you once again. "Have you made use of the gifts given to you since we last spoke?"

Blinking with a mild start, you realize that Plo has changed the topic. "Oh, yes, I have. Let me go get my sketchbook from my bag, sir." You scoop the entire bag from the grass, re-tucking your datapad among your things as you extract the book and turn it to the necessary page for his convenience. "Here."

Taking it carefully in his hands, the book is cradled like a priceless relic as his eyes must trace over the page. Once more your property is treated with such care and respect by the Force-wielder. "My… Arcadia, you have quite a gift."

The action is perhaps more childish than professional, but you cannot help but duck your head at such praise, fearing to meet his gaze should he see how flushed your face is. It is not the heat of the sun above you, denoting that it is now high noon, that makes your face burn. You're never quite sure how to accept a compliment.

You opt for humility. "Oh, it's hardly that great, General Plo… I wouldn't say I have a gift… just… a-an attention for detail." And that much is true; dedication to detail is why you spent hours on a simple "sketch" to begin with; why you took so much care and effort to get everything done the best you could. The form of Commander Wolffe's armor. The curve of his jaw and the roundness of the ala of his nose. The correct texture of his hair within the typical haircut many of the Clones have.

But though gentle insistence, the General repeats his sentiment. "Attention for detail is no less of a gift, Arcadia. In war it is a mark of wisdom, in art, it is a skill." A skill that has made for a very fine portrait of the Commander. "Have you seen Arcadia's work yet, Commander Wolffe?" He offers the sketchpad with an invitation to have a closer look, though it isn't necessary.

"I watched Arcadia add the colors, yes." Wolffe confirms. "Quite the process."

Not to mention a strain on your wrist, but one well worth it for the praise given to you from the Jedi, and now many of the men who have congregated to come and suss out what's going on. "I can only imagine… Even gone through the trouble of adding proper shadows to such… rich color."

Sinker and Boost smile softly, not quite sadly (but certainly somber), when they take note of the color of paint their commanding officer wears when you allow the book to be passed around so everyone is welcome to have a closer look. They hold it longest out of everyone, looking at this artistic replication a little more closely than most.

"The ol' maroon, eh? Think it's meant to depict another time, before Abregado?"

"But he's drawn with the scar, Boost."

"Ah, yeah, good eye. Missed that bit."

You timidly clear your throat to draw their attention, and explain that of all the colors, you didn't have gray. "I didn't want to leave his armor naked, either." Not when you went through the trouble of adding the face of the wolf and the other design to each of his shoulder pads, or the unique shape of his visor when you drew the helmet next to his hip.

You would not deal him further, small cruelties by stealing the colors out of his coat completely. These markings he has chosen for himself mean something to Wolffe. The color he wears now is a mark of mourning. The color in the pages of your book will serve as an homage.

You have not forgotten your brothers. You will always carry them with you.

Hmmf. Are you a poet now too, Arcadia?

No sir. Not really.

You're uncertain where the words came from. Borrowed from something you read once? Did you perhaps hear the General say these words once upon a time? You can't recall what inspired you to say such a thing.

But you'll remember the change in his gruff exterior, the way in which he was quieter than quiet for just a moment, and he pivoted in the grass to better face you and make you his equal.

It's only the two of us here on the hill, Arcadia. Call me Wolffe, please.

Don't have a fic taglist for the time being, but I'll likely start one soon if I can figure out how to make those forms some people have since I write a variety of stuff. For now, though, if you'd like to join a taglist for specific types of fics (example: just TBB-centric or just TCW-centric (or both)) don't hesitate to ask. 🩷

[Masterlist]

[Early Morning] [Here] [Late Afternoon] [Evening] [Deep Night] [Golden Dawn part 1]

[Golden Dawn Part 2]

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kittynumyum · 20 hours

Text

So I don't really make a lot of posts for my tmnt iteration where it's just only text, since I mostly prefer to show my iteration through my drawings. But, I figured I might as well do this so you guys get to know a bit about the main characters that are going to be part of my story, so here we go!

Character Summary List:

The Boiz:

Leonardo: Leader in Blue. Centered arc is the first arc.

Raphael: Big and red and always ready for a fight. Centered arc is Yokai Uprising Arc

Michaelangelo: Orange and one of a kind. Centered arc is City at War Arc

Donatello: Purple and rocks machines. Centered arc is Galactic Frontier Arc

Other Main Characters:

Splinter: The turtles' rat sensei/father. Is Hamato Yoshi and has a tragic family backstory.

April O'Neil: The turtles' first best friend since they were kids. Currently a college student. Is besties with Donnie.

Casey Jones: The turtles' second best friend (Raph meets them first when they were younger, then the others during the present). Hockey player and vigilante. Has a dorky crush on April. Is besties with Raph.

Keno: The turtles' third best friend. High school student who works part time at his family owned pizza place and is badass at martial arts. Is besties with Mikey.

Metalhead: A turtle robot created by Donnie to assist the turtles through medical needs. Eventually, with Donnie's programming, they gain some sentient and becomes more willing to help out the team in any way they can.

The Mighty Mutanimals:

Old Hob: A mutant cat from TCRI, who originally started the gang. Once had a thing against humans due to being experimented on by them, but now wants to help protect the city and his friends.

Slash: A giant mutant spiked sea turtle from TCRI, who was overmutated from an ooze explosion. He started as a frenzied monster, but is soon healed by Dr. Rockwell. He leads the Mighty Mutanimals.

Leatherhead: A mutant alligator from TCRI

Mondo Gecko: A mutant gecko from TCRI

Dr. Rockwell: A mutant monkey. Was originally a human scientist who worked alongside Stockman at TCRI, but experiments went wrong in where he got turned into a monkey, (but he seems unphased with that situation ig lmao)

(And in short, they are all very close friends with Mikey)

Foot Clan:

Shredder: Leader of the Foot. Is responsible for the death of Yoshi's family. Main antagonist of the first arc.

Karai: Shredder's adoptive daughter. One of the members of the Foot Elite (Is viewed as the weakest Foot Elite, even Shredder views this). Is frenemies with Leo.

Tatsu (AKA: Tiger Claw): A mutant tiger who was originally human. Leader of the Foot Elite and is second-in-command of the Foot

Chris Bradford (AKA: Rahzar): A mutant wolf who was originally human. Member of the Foot Elite and is in charge of taking care of the new and upcoming recruits. He also becomes a better father figure for Karai.

Bebop: A mutant warthog who was originally human. Besties with Rocksteady.

Rocksteady: A mutant rhino who was originally human. Besties with Bebop.

Jennika: A mutant turtle who was originally human. She was the youngest member of the Foot Elite (is actually better than Karai).

Outer Space:

Fugitoid: A robot who was once a scientist but got his mind transfered to a robot. Is the one who originally formed the rebellion against the Triceraton Empire.

Mona Lisa: An alien salamander who is a gladiator fighter in the Triceraton Arena. She helps Donnie with his survival and skills in fighting in the arena.

Tokka: An alien turtle who decides to tag along the turtles' adventure.

Traximus: A triceraton guard who is secretly working with Fugitoid in the fight against the Triceraton Empire. He helps Donnie in finding a way to escape, as well as a way to take down the Triceratons' planet buster weapon that they have abused its power with.

Emperor Zanramon: Leader of the Triceraton Empire. Main antagonist of Galactic Frontier Arc.

Captain Mozar: Second-in-command of the Triceraton Empire.

Hidden City:

Baron Draxum: A goat yokai who is the leader of the Hidden City. Main antagonist of the Yokai Uprising Arc.

Huginn and Muninn: Baron Draxum's loyal pets.

Koya: A falcon yokai who is the general of the yokai army.

Miyamoto Usagi: A rabbit yokai who was formerly a warrior for Baron Draxum. He then helps the turtles in taking down Baron Draxum.

Alopex: A fox yokai who is the leader of the yokai rebellion.

Venus: A mutant turtle. Was created by Baron Draxum as a weapon against the turtles.

The Pantheon:

Kitsune: A fox yokai who is the eldest of the Pantheon. She is known for her variety of mystic powers and tricks. She is first seen in the Shredder Arc, where she is Shredder's right hand other than Tatsu. She is then seen again in the Yokai Uprising Arc, where she is Draxum's right hand.

Tengu: An eagle yokai who is the second eldest of the Pantheon. He is known for his mystic powers in weather-like abilities (thunder, earthquakes, etc.). He takes his duties more seriously.

Bakeneko: A cat yokai who is the youngest of the Pantheon. They are known for shapeshifting and playing with fire. They are very mischievous.

Nure-onna: A snake yokai who is the second youngest of the Pantheon. She is known for her deadly poison and cataclysmic powers yes this is based off of Cat Noir, shut up. She is very scary.

Sarugami: A monkey yokai who is the middle sibling of the Pantheon. He is known for his immense strength. He does not speak at all.

Ryujin: An all powerful and evil dragon who was banished to the Twilight Realm. He wishes to destroy the entire world and recreate it in his own image. Main antagonist of Dawn of the Pantheon Arc

Other Villains:

Krang: A powerful alien race who was banished to Dimension X. They wish to conquer the entire universe and remake it in their image. Main antagonist of Zero Hour Arc.

Baxter Stockman: A mad scientist who works at the TCRI.

Bishop: A special agent of the US government and head of the EPF. Main antagonist of City at War Arc.

Hun: A crime boss who is the leader of the Purple Dragons.

Rat King: A mad man who can not only control the rats, BUT ALSO MUTANTS! Main antagonist of Mutant Madness Arc.

#kitty says #kitty's tmnt-verse #tmnt #tmnt au #tmnt iteration

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helix-studios117 · 21 days

Text

Halo Reloaded: Seeing Triple III

The Warthog's engine growled under Silver's deft control, its tires kicking up clouds of dust as it navigated the desolate landscape. The inside of the vehicle was thick with the tension of its three very similar, yet distinctly different occupants. Silver, with a driving style that could only be described as 'enthusiastically reckless', seemed to find a sort of grim amusement in the occasional jolt that threatened to unseat them. Chief, for his part, sat with the stoicism of a boulder, his gaze fixed on some distant point, lost in thoughts that likely weighed as heavily as his armor.

Ranger, unable to stand the silence any longer, swiveled his turret around, a mischievous glint in his one good eye. "Hey, fellas," he started, voice dripping with a blend of curiosity and the kind of cheerfulness that only comes from blissful ignorance of true despair. "How long have you been playing the galaxy's most reluctant heroes? Feels like we've got enough grimdark backstories to start our own band."

Chief let out a sigh, the sound somehow carrying all the weight of his years. "Feels like since the dawn of time. It's been a never-ending parade of enemies. Insurrectionists, Covenant, Flood, Prometheans... And now these Banished chumps. Honestly, it's like the universe has a personal vendetta against my downtime."

"Banished? No such thing where I came from. Back in my timeline, it was more about Spartans going rogue and interservice, political in-fighting." Silver waved a hand dismissively, as if brushing away the memories along with the dust that had settled on the dashboard.

"You boys make my timeline sound like a walk in the park. No Banished, just a bunch of Forerunner tech that doesn't play nice," Ranger chimed in, trying to lighten the mood. He paused, his expression turning thoughtful under his helmet. "Makes me wonder what I'm missing out on. Or not."

The topic of age came up as naturally as anything else could in a conversation held at gunpoint by existential dread. "So, how old are we talking here? I'm a sprightly 2530 baby, myself," Ranger offered, injecting a note of pride into his voice.

"2511," Chief responded, his voice as flat and unexciting as a history lecture.

"Same." Silver chuffed, glancing over at Chief with a look that could almost be considered camaraderie if one squinted.

Ranger nodded, a smirk playing on his lips, "Makes me the kid, huh? Guess that explains the youthful charm." He laughed, a sound that bounced around the Warthog's interior.

"Y'know, I got a girl back home. Spartan Linda. Tied the knot and everything. You guys would love her; she's a real charmer, once you get past the sniper rifle."

Chief's reaction was almost comical, had anyone been in the mood for comedy. A slight twitch, like he'd been zapped by a low-voltage current, betrayed his surprise. "Linda..." he echoed, the name carrying a weight that seemed to anchor him to the spot. The moment stretched, filled with unspoken thoughts and feelings, a saga of 'what-ifs' and 'if-onlys'.

"Got a thing for your Linda, huh?" Ranger nudged, his tone playful yet edged with understanding. "Can't say I blame you. If she's anything like my Linda, she's one in a trillion."

The conversation meandered from there, shifting to less emotionally charged topics... that's a lie, it got more emotional. Ranger glanced back at his companions, a new thread of curiosity weaving through his thoughts.

"You know, I've been thinking... It's weird how everyone in your world can just... interact with Forerunner tech. In my dimension, it's a no-go unless you've got this rare Forerunner genome thing going on. Which, luckily, I do." He tapped the side of his helmet, as if to punctuate his point.

Silver, who had been navigating a particularly treacherous patch of terrain, perked up at this. "Yeah? That's a thing for me too." He noted with a half-smirk, then, as if a thought struck him, he directed a queston to the other Johns. "You ever hear of someone named Makee in your world?"

Both Chief and Ranger shook their heads, their interest piqued. Chief’s voice was the first to break the ensuing silence. "Makee? That's not a name that's come up. Who is she?"

In the rearview mirror, Silver's reflection showed a man wrestling with how to frame his next words. "She was... unique. A human, but the only one who joined the Covenant, believed in their cause. She could interpret the words of the Forerunners, activate and use their tech... She's like me, but she used her abilities for them."

The weight of the story hung in the air, heavier than the gravity on Onyx. Ranger, always one to push forward, nudged the topic. "So, what happened to her?"

Silver's grip on the steering wheel tightened, the muscles in his jaw working as he chose his words carefully. "One of my Spartans killed her," he said, a simple statement that carried layers of unsaid emotion.

The silence that followed was telling, filled with a mix of curiosity and respect for the delicate subject. It was Ranger who broke it, his tone treading the line between sensitive and inquisitive. "You sound... kinda fond of her?"

There was a pause, long enough to be uncomfortable, before Silver finally let out a breathy chuckle, laden with a cocktail of emotions. "Yeah, well, she was under my custody, and... we ended up falling for each other. And, uh, she—We..." He stumbled over the words, a rarity for someone usually so sure of himself.

Chief, the ever-stoic warrior, found himself at a loss, his brain trying to reboot like an old, overworked computer. "You were... involved with a POW?"

Ranger’s reaction was a mixture of shock and an almost irrepressible urge to laugh, not out of mockery, but sheer disbelief at the complexity of Silver's situation. "And let me guess, there were... consequences to this?"

Silver sighed, a sound that was half resignation, half defiance. "If by 'consequences,' you mean a baby, then yeah. I'm raising our child. Her name's Angel."

The revelation hit like a gravity hammer. Chief looked as if he’d been physically struck, the concept so foreign and shocking to his disciplined mind that it nearly sent him into a state of system failure. Ranger, on the other hand, clamped a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking with the effort to contain his laughter, not at the situation itself, but at the sheer absurdity of life and how it seemed to throw curveballs at the most unexpected of times.

Silver glanced at both of his counterparts through the mirror, a sheepish yet defiant look in his eyes. "Yeah, I know. It's a mess. But she's the best thing that's come out of all this chaos. Angel, I mean."

The Warthog trundled on, the silence now filled with a new understanding, a recognition of the complexities and the unanticipated paths their lives had taken.

Chief, still processing, finally nodded, a gesture of acknowledgment if not full comprehension. Ranger, finding his composure, offered a supportive clap on Silver's shoulder, his laughter subsiding into a knowing smirk.

"Life, huh?" Ranger mused, the landscape around them unforgiving and barren, yet somehow less desolate with the sharing of their intertwined tales. "Doesn't get much crazier than this."

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