#doing locus' helmet was a pain in the ass

[the-headless-horsedude]

i had to make them, i HAD to

#red vs blue #rvb #locus #rvb locus #samuel ortez #felix #rvb felix #isaac gates #listen. LISTEN. ik the greys for the locus and felix is too light #I KNOW!!!!!! #but there aren't enough shades of grey in perler beads that i can get #so its either too light OR it looks really messy #doing locus' helmet was a pain in the ass #until i actually looked at the season 15 version of his helmet and i figured it out #i also did the pattern at 1 am last night because i spent the day before agonizing over how to do it #again. its the lack of extra shades of grey or ability to go into a lot of detail #BUT #i still like how they turned out regardless #perler beads #fuse beads #hayden shut up

[niqhtlord01]

Hello fighting fans!  Yet again we dive into the bloody world of Red vs Blue for sheer, over-the-top, brutal, VIOLENCE!!!!!! Seems the teams have been rather upset lately with the plague going round. Not because any of them have been getting sick, the fact they hardly ever take off their helmets proving the first wise decision they’ve made in years, but mostly because everything else has been closed down.  Grif tried to frisbee thinking it was a mini pizza, Simmons has read everything on the internet and now won’t shut up about how the alien landing at area 51 was a government cover-up for the burial of zombie Elvis, Church actually read a book about how to start a fire before throwing it into a fire, Locus vanishes from time to time but honestly I think he’s sleeping in a corner somewhere, the Meta is playing checkers with himself, and Felix leaves the house and returns with blood covered toilet paper. (Not sure where he gets it from and at this point don’t care so long as he keeps it coming.)  So let’s get the exclusive Red vs Blue battle into full swing before Washington snaps at all of Wyoming’s knock knock jokes and throws him through a wall.  Locus: *Deactivates cloak*  Caboose: *Gasp* You can do magic?!?!? Locus: Have you never seen cloaking tech before?  Caboose: *Pulls out freckles* Well, if I could see cloaking then it wouldn’t be very good cloaking now would it?  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tex: *Crashes through wall*  Wyoming: You know, none of the freelancers ever liked you very much. Tex: They were just jealous that I was better than them. Wyoming: *Cracks knuckles* As if one could be jealous of a shadow. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Felix: *Twirls knife while walking in*  Wyoming: You’ll poke someone’s eye out if you’re not careful.  Felix: News flash, that’s kinda the idea.  Wyoming: *Imitates twirling mustache over helmet* Such a charming boy you must have been for your parents. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Church: *Slaps in clip to sniper rifle* Doc: I heard you may have a case of multiple personality disorder.  Church: You’re going to talk to me about multiple personalities?  O’Malley: *Hefts Rocket Launcher* Not really, but we’ll still charge you for the session anyway.  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tucker: *Draws energy sword*  Grif: Didn’t think your lazy ass would drag yourself out of bed.  Tucker: Me neither, but your sister was wiped out from last night so I figured I’d let her sleep in. Grif: *Chambers battle rifle* THAT SLUT! I’LL KILL YOU!!!!!!!!! -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meta: *Slams fist against head*  Sarge: Ever considered joining the red team?  Sigma: What makes you think we would want to join you?  Sarge: *Cocks shotgun* You’re made of fire; that’s the redest of the red that’s ever redded!  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Washington: *Walks in shaking head* Kaikaina: You don’t look so good. Washington: Had headaches all night and got no sleep. Kaikaina: *Draws dual smgs* After the match you can stay the night with me, I leave guys drained and sleepy all the time.

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Locus: *Deactivates cloak* Doyle: Well if it isn’t the traitor himself. Locus: I was never on your side to begin with. Doyle: *Cocks pistol* Which makes your betrayal all the more painful.  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Caboose: *Walks in holding freckles* Santa: Since you are the most powerful of your compatriots, why did you not claim the key of my world? Caboose: I’m not allowed to run with sharp objects after the plastic scissors accidentally fell from my hands and into Grif’s leg; he was very upset afterwards. Santa: *flickers* The mysteries of your people compound with each telling I see.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sheila: *Rolls in* Lopez: *In Spanish* Why must we fight my love? Sheila: You left me in a burnt out pelican for several years while you built vehicles out of my chard body; and you never called.  Lopez: *pulls out smg* *In Spanish* For most of that I was running from a murder mute. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tex: *Smashes through wall* Sigma: Subtle as always agent Texas.  Tex: Still a burning prick I see.  Meta: *Draws bruteshot* *Growls* 

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Kaikaina: *Draws dual smgs* Donut: After the fight do you want to talk beauty tips?  Kaikaina: I don’t think you’re ready for hair this fabulous. Donut: *Stomps foot on the ground* Girl, now I’m triggered! ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Felix: *Walks in twirling knife* Dr. Grey: I suggest you put that away.  Felix: Not afraid of a bit of cutting are we doc?  Dr. Grey: *Evil glint off helmet* Let me show you what real cutting looks like.  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tucker: *Walks in with energy sword* O’Malley: Well if it isn’t the blue wonder.  Tucker: Hey, I can get it up just fine without a frick’n pill!  O’Malley: *Hefts rocket launcher* Your female yellow friend told be otherwise *muahahahah*. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Grif: *Walks in, scratches balls* Church: How does it feel to be the most useless character of all? Grif: Least I have a sport named after me you defective copy machine!  Church: *Draws sniper rifle* Damnit.......

#Rooster Teeth #Red vs Blue #Championship #Tournament #Mortal Kombat #Dexter Grif #kaikaina grif #church #Leonard L. Church #O'Malley #doc #Dr. Grey #Dr. Emily Grey #Felix #Locus #Franklin Delano Donut #donut #donald doyle #TeX #sigma #meta #sheila #lopez the heavy #Michael J Caboose #caboose #santa #agent washington #sarge #Tucker #Lavernius Tucker

[guineapigzwei]

Locus x Pregnant Reader

Ok so I'm kinda mad that there's not a lot of Locus x Pregnant reader, so I decided to make a few because of the lack of fanfics about this so....yeah, I hope you enjoy.

C/N=Codename

Y/N=Your name

D/N=Daughter's name

Chorus

This can't be happening, this isn't happening. Your sitting in your room, head in hands. This was the last thing you needed, the Reds and Blues found out what was going on, Hargrove is being a major ass, Felix is....well Felix, the whole planet hates you, your partners, and of course..each other. But now you have a baby to add to your worries and telling Sam he was the father. Sighing your grab your helmet and gun, throwing the pregnacy test in the garbage, then went to find Locus.

"C/N the hell where you, you missed Hardgrove's speech." Felix nagged. "I had somethings I had to do." You groan. "Well next time wait til later to take care of your bloody pussy." He stormed out the room. "I would hate to tell him I'm not on my period." Locus chuckled, "So what was taking you so long." "Uh, can we go somewhere more private first." He nodded and followed you to a more secluded area.

"What is it you wanted to tell me?" You stayed quiet, unsure and scared to tell him about your dilemma. A few moment's passed and Locus broke the silence, "C/N are you okay? You're not acting like yourself." Locus took a step toward you making you stiffen up, which he noticed. "Y/N what's wrong?" He used your name instead of your codename, you know you had to tell him but you couldn't. Locus took of his helmet, he looked concerned, a face you don't see to often. You took your helmet off, tears forming in your eyes, "Did Felix or someone hurt you?" You shook your head, "Sam...Locus." You stop and take a deep breath, "I'm pregnant." Locus stiffened, his eyes wide and mouth agape. The silence was more than you could bare, "It's your's." Locus remained silent, your teary eyes overflowed and tears ran down your cheeks. As you were about to leave, Locus snapped back to reality. "How!? We were using protection! You were on pills!" "I dont know!" You cry, Locus wiped tears from your eyes with his thumb. "That doesn't matter, what matters now is keeping you and the baby safe till this war is over. We get our pay and we find a safe place to have our baby." He leans down and kisses you forehead, "I'm going to let anything happen to you or the baby." You rest your head on his chest piece, "Should we tell Felix?" "No, it wouldn't end well." He sighed, "We should get going, we still have a job to finish." You groan, "Five more minutes." Locus chuckled and kissed you, "Next time." He put his helmet on and went to find Felix with you following behind him.

The mission however failed, the Reds and Blues used alien tech to beat you, Felix went of the deep end both literally and mentally, and the war basically ended. Now you and an injured Locus had to flea Chorus and rethink your plans.

Locus grit his teeth as you stitched up his gaping wound, "Y/N you should be resting, I can handle my wounds." He tried to sit up but the pain was to much for him, "Sam I'm fine, you aren't fine." You inject some painkillers and sleep sedative in him. "If you want to take care of me you need to take care of your self first." You take some bandages and wrap his up stitches. Before he could protest the sedative kicked in, he tried to fight sleep but his body said otherwise. You clean the blood from your hands and head to the cockpit of the ship, "Goodbye Chorus, sorry for what we've done." You pilot the ship out of orbit and into the deep vacuum of space.

Timeskip

It has been 8 months since the two of you fled Chorus, you're now on a small inhabited planet ready to pop at anytime. Locus has recovered and does some jobs to support you and the unborn baby. Since you two have never been seen without the armor, the two of you can visit a doctor with no trouble. But the two of you decided to have the baby at home, not in a hospital. Locus had also purchased books as well as watched videos on childbirth. Though, the local women maganged to talk you to into getting a midwife. None of them know what have done or where you can from all they know is that you two left Chorus for a better life and to raise your child safely.

You hummed as you ran your fingers through Locus hair while he kissed your swollen belly. "I can't wait to met her." You smile, "I just what her out so the back pain and the nausea will stop." "Shouldn't be much longer, she's due in any day now." Locus sat up and kissed your lips. "But the sooner she comes, the sooner we start having sex again." You playfully punch his shoulder, "You haven't learned from our last time." You giggle. Your midwife Hana, pokes her head around the corner, "Technically, you have to wait six weeks or more before you have sex after a baby." "I know, though I waited longer than that already." Locus huffed. "I have to pee." You state, as you try to get up you feel liquid gush out of you and into the couch followed by pain. "Crap! I think my water just broke." Locus and Hana immediately go into birth mode. Hana went to warm up water and Locus helped you to the bathtub. "Ok, Samuel sit behind Y/N so she can have some comfort and Y/N I need you to open your legs as wide as possible." Locus sat behind and you spread your legs. You groan in pain, "It hurts." "That's perfectly normal." Hana put her hair into a bun and turn off the water, "Alright I'm going to count to three and I need you to push hard, one two three push!" You pushed but stop when the pain worsened, "It hurts!" "I know but you need to push and keep your legs open." "You can do this Y/N." Locus kissed the back of your neck. "Ok, one two three push!" You scream as push with all your might. "I can see her head. Now push!" You pushed hard enough to push the baby's head was fully out. "Ok, we got her head. Push now!" You pushed until you felt like passing out, "I can't do this, it hurts to much." Hana splashes you to keep you awake. "Got to stay awake Y/N, now push hard!" Your vision gets fuzzy as you push, "Y/N she's almost out, just need one more push." Locus said, "You can do it." With one final push, your daughter was born. Hana handed her to you, "Hello sweet heart!" Tears run down your face, Locus tried to not cry and failed (manly tears were shed). "What's her name? so I can write it one by with certificate." "D/N Ortez." Locus smiled at his new baby girl. "Ok, I just need to take D/N for a while and give her a clean bill of health and you can have her back."

After what seemed like hours, You and Locus got your daughter back. Locus held her for the first time and again manly tears were shed. The two of you now had a better purpose in life, your daughter being born was the start of a new life and new beginning for you two. Watching her grow and seeing what she'd become was your new goal, and nothing was going to stop you from watching.

#rvb locus #locus #samuel locus ortez #felix #isaac felix gates #locus x reader #samuel ortez x reader #rvb #red vs blue #samuel ortez #isaac gates

[imrvbtrashdealwithit]

Survival and Perseverance: The Great War

Elizabeth Summers is a soldier in the UNSC, she’s survived a horrible attack on her base with her husband, David Summers. That’s in the past, now she’s on a new deployment, with new people, and David’s far away. 

Word Count: 2,200+ Part One of Many

I’m experimenting with stuff, so go easy on me, kindly explain to me if I’ve done something wrong. 

I’ll be posting the story is parts, it follows the series. The Great War is sort of a prequel. The Era of Project Freelancer will be up next.  

~The Great War~

The Covenant broke their defenses, slashing through soldiers, then managed to grab Felix. The yelp that escaped his ally chilled his blood and then a single shot rang out over the chaos, a bullet passed through the alien’s arm, splattering blue across Locus’s visor.

“Come on asshole, come to Mama.” The voice was cold and calculated, daring. The Covenant dropped Felix and went after the unseen owner of the voice. She was plucked from the ground, she seemed calm, despite her current situation.

“What are you doing?!” Locus yelled and the soldier sent him a glance, then raised a grenade, flicked the trigger and promptly shoved the grenade down the Covenant’s throat, she kicked it in the jaw and rolled away as the alien choked, gagging on the hunk of metal in his throat.

“Fucking run, soldiers!” She ordered, rolling across the ground, grabbing Felix and essentially tossing him across a barricade, the grenade went off and a curt cry escaped the soldier. She stumbled across the ground, coughing and clutching her side, red blood began to ooze down the side of the tan armor.  

“Alright, retreat!” She ordered.

“Who the fuck are you?” Felix ordered, standing up looking at her. She looked at him, picking up her gun, placing it on the mag stripe on her back.

“I am Lieutenant Elizabeth Summers, I’m your new CO.” She said, “Now move or die, soldier!” She demanded, giving Felix a shove.

“Wait, no you sound like a fucking kid-”

“Move, Felix! No time to argue!” Locus said, grabbing him by the shoulder and running back towards the safe zone. The Lieutenant fell in beside him, making good time, despite her bleeding side.

“I’ve only seen an attack that direct on a Covenant made by a SPARTAN.” Locus told her as they moved. She chuckled.

“I picked up a few things from the one that was deployed with me on my first deployment. Thanks.” She said.

“No offense but that wasn’t a compliment. It was reckless.” He told her. Another small laugh from her, he could hear the snarky grin.

“Hey, saved your buddy didn’t I?” She asked challengingly. This is just what he needed, another cocky know it all.

She took off her helmet, revealing a very young face that sent chills down his spine. She was so young… how had she become a Lieutenant being so young? She had a freckled face, with dual colored skin, starting at her face, traveling down her neck and disappearing under her armor. He assumed her skin looked like that all over. She was strangely beautiful.

“Alright men, I know I’m young, I know I’m a woman, but I survived for eight months with just a SPARTAN and a fellow Private First Class. So I think I’ve earned the position, so please, no mutiny while I go get the shrapnel out of my ribcage. Thanks.” Lieutenant Summers ordered, most of the soldiers saluted, Felix did not.

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“Great, some know-it-all crack shot to order us around.” Felix commented as the soldier’s began to disperse. Locus gave a sigh, shaking his head.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so ungrateful to the person who literally just saved his life.”

“I would have gotten out of it. You know me, I’m lucky.” He said, to this, Locus rolled his eyes and

watched the lieutenant limp off towards the medical tent. She knew how to make an entrance that’s for sure.

Summers watched the soldiers run their drills, keeping an eye on the obnoxious velociraptor knock off. She saved his ass and all she got for it was attitude, but she should know better by now to expect anything else. Most of the soldiers trusted her. She thinks maybe she had Felix’s, just that he was a pain in the ass. His friend, Locus, whoever gave him that name wasn’t very creative, seemed to like her fine. What he said on the retreat was true, luring a Covenant like that was dangerous. David would have a conniption fit when he found out about it.

“Lieutenant Summers.” The familiar and pleasant sounding baritone of Sergeant Ortez interrupted her. She looked at him, hadn’t yet seen him without his helmet on. He lived in it probably, a little bit like Ethan. Took her four fucking months and a damned shot grazing his head, to get his fucking helmet off. Ethan had an obvious reason though, being  SPARTAN and all.

“Yes, Ortez?” She said looking at him.

“Our scans are indicating an increase in enemy chatter. Our translator is working on deciphering them now, what do should we do?” He asked. She thought.

“Hmm… just keep on y’all’s toes. Your guns close, and your armor closer.” She said coolly.

“All due respect, sir, but ‘y’all’s’?” He told her, clearly stumbling over her conjunction, Elizabeth sensed perhaps the lightest of laughs in his voice. Her lips quirked and she gave a chuckle.

“Yeah, when you get raised in the heart of the American South, you just don’t bother using all the words you need to. Splice ‘em together like a damned botanist.” She said playfully. Locus gave a stellar nod, but the way his shoulders were shaking told her he was laughing.

“I’m afraid I can’t relate. I’ll inform the troops.” Locus said in good nature and he turned, walking away. She watched him retreat. Elizabeth was actually pretty fond of the guy. They fought well together, he listened to orders, not that she had to give him orders, he was fairly ingenuitive, knew his way around any gun that was put in his hands. Even with Ethan, she and David could’ve used another soldier like him on her last deployment.

The chatter on the radio was about a sneak attack on their base, it was dealt with accordingly. However there were a few casualties. She stared at the three bodies as they were carried to the makeshift morgue. They’d be cremated, and then sent home to their loved ones. The cremation made sending them home multitudes easier, even if it went against the family’s wishes.

“Lieutenant Summers?” Wills approached her she turned around and looked at the medic.

“Could you sign the release papers?” The medic asked. She sighed, stepped forward and grabbing the pad and pen, then signed the three forms.

Locus stood with the other soldiers, watching their commanding officer. She was still very young, the death of her subordinates still brought her some sort of toil. He almost envied her, still being so raw.

“Fuckin’ greenhorn. What’s she going to do, lock herself in her room for the next three days.” Felix said bitterly, Locus looked over his shoulder at him. Actually wanting to punch Felix in the face, first time in a while.

“Try to have some sensitivity, Felix, I think she’s been through a lot, despite being so young. Don’t you remember what she said, her first day here?”

“Nope, what?” Felix replied, rather care free. Locus rolled his eyes.

“She lost her entire platoon except for one other person. Instead of pulling them, the military only sent her a SPARTAN. Lieutenant Summers has survived things that few men have. She deserves your respect, Felix.” Locus told him sternly. Felix looked at him, tightening his grip on his rifle, then looked back at Summers as she watched the medic retreat to the medical tent.

“Okay… alright, I get it. But… you know, I think she might need to talk to someone.” Felix said, sounding as humane as he could manage. Locus looked back at Summers, her helmet was off, dangling dangerously from the crooked tips of her fingers.

“Locus, you do it.” One of the other soldiers suggested, a gentle shove in her direction came from behind him. He cast a glance at the soldier, a skittish Private First Class with darting eyes. He wasn’t going to last long, be it from death or simply surviving long enough to get sent home and out of the military.

“Why me?” He asked. Felix scoffed, turning to him.

“Uh, because you’re her favorite, clearly. Why else do we send you to give her the bad news.” Felix told him. Locus gave an impatient sigh, then looked at her, she did look like she could use someone. Locus reached up and undid the clasps of his helmet.

“Oh-ho, taking off the helmet? What, you like her?” Felix said. Locus didn’t bother with a response, just lifted the helmet off and gave him a fed up look then went to Summers’s side. She looked up at him as he approached.

“The men are worried about you.” Locus said simply. She gave a heavy sigh, almost like she was trying to expel her very soul from her body. She looked tired. Her voice was always so chipper, her first day she had looked so bright, dual colored eyes shining.

“I appreciate the concern, Ortez.” She told him, sounding just as tired as she looked. During the attack, she had been giving orders and personally providing medical aid to one of the now dead privates. Locus was afraid he was going to have to pull her off the soldier himself. She had come to her senses and stepped away herself, trembling terribly with awful skippy breaths that resonated in the dead silence of the after battle. She really wasn’t fit to lead. Everyone knew it, but out of respect for her, no one challenged her.

“Are you going to be okay?” He asked her, staring into the blue and brown eyes, wide like that of a deer.

“I’ve survived worse.” She told him. He didn’t realize that she would be saying that to him more often in the future. He didn’t know that it was simply something she said to dismiss concern.

“I’m aware.” Locus said, giving her a small smile. It was one she didn’t return, but nodded, then turned her back and went to her bunk.

Two days later he saw her patrolling the rapports by herself. Soldiers really weren’t supposed to patrol by themselves at night. He left his post, three of them before he left would be fine. Locus climbed the ladder and stepped up in front of her. She was watched the west.

“Lieutenant Summers.” He said, announcing his presence. The visor of her helmet turned towards him and she was quiet for a moment.

“Hello Sergeant Ortez. You’ve left your post.” She said pointedly, half-hearted though.

“There were three soldiers at my post. I only see you up here. Rules are rules, Lieutenant.” He told her, she chuckled softly, looking back out over the rolling fields, towards the lights of the alien city.

“Why did you join the military, Sam?” She asked, the use of his first name coming from her lips made him stop for a moment. This wasn’t a CO speaking with her underling, this was a young soldier speaking to a more experienced one.

“Family tradition.” He told her, she gave an impressed hum, then looked at him.

“You wanna know why I joined?” Summers asked. Locus shrugged.

“I wanted the military to pay for my college tuition. I wanted to be a psychiatrist. You think I could help people with my issues?” She asked him, Locus wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer. Or if she wanted him to answer.

“Your issues aren’t that bad, Lieutenant.” He said, daring. She laughed, looking away.

“I can hardly handle the death of my subordinates, Locus.” Lieutenant said audaciously.

“It’s when you can handle them emotionlessly is when you need to worry.” Locus said, sounding a bit more stern than he would have liked.

“There’s no arguing that you’re young, and even though you lived through what happened with your last platoon-”

“First, they were my first platoon.” She cut him off. He stopped, looking at her with wide eyes and a slack jaw. It had been a few deployments of his own before he witnessed death on such a large scale, her first platoon…

“You mentioned being deployed with a SPARTAN on your first mission… and your last deployment.” He said, connecting the dots in his head. She had only been deployed once before this. This was her second deployment, and they put her in charge?

“Yeah… I called for evac for me and David. Instead they told me that extraction was… not necessary that they would send reinforcements, we would be able to live off of the rations we had, just being two of us. They told us to sit tight, wait for reinforcements, and when we came home, there were medals of honor with our names on them.” She said, sounding bitter and broken.

“I had to ship off body after body… and all they wanted to give me for it was a stinking medal.” Summers said, then gave a ragged sigh.

“I suppose I should be grateful. They sent that SPARTAN and David became infatuated. I always love the way his eyes light up when he talks about someone he loves.” She said. This confused Locus.

“The SPARTAN the military sent you took your husband and you’re thankful?” Locus asked, maybe she did have a few screws loose.

“No, Ortez, David and I are poly. Besides, even if we weren’t, it’s not like it would’ve mattered, SPARTANs go from platoon to platoon, hardly running into the same people twice. He would’ve come back to me.” She said laughingly. He looked over the hills himself.

“You were deployed with your husband?” Locus asked. She shrugged.

“I had thought I was lucky, guess I am really. All the people that died and the one that losing would have made me crazy was the one that lived. We knew each other since childhood. Got together when we were fifteen.” Lieutenant told him.

“There is no love like your first love.” Locus said, she looked at him, he could sense the grin, the little swell of her chest as she gave a breathy laugh.

“Didn’t have you pegged as a poet, Ortez. Who was your first love?” She said, he looked at the horizon.

“Her name was Rosalind. She lived a few apartments down from my mother’s. We would sneak up to the rooftop at night and talk until the colony’s six o’clock alarm went off. I’m from a Jupiter colony, the sun didn’t rise every day.” Locus told her. She hummed.

“Hey, same solar system… we’re a long way from home, aren’t we, Ortez?” She told him, sounding wistful.

“Do you miss her sometimes?” She asked after a few minutes of quiet.

“On very rare occasions do first loves work out, but yes. I miss her sometimes. Reminds me of better times.” He told her. Lieutenant gave another hum. She was thoughtful.

They patrolled together, talking, watching the sky turn pink as the planet’s sun rose. He hadn’t connected with someone like that in years. She was complex, her being ran deep, almost like she was hooked into the very universe itself.

“Alright, you two, go rest up.” The other CO ordered as he approached them. Lieutenant nodded and bid Locus ‘goodnight’ even though it was morning and then went towards the quarters.

“Hey Locus, you totally bailed on your post.” Felix’s voice broke through the sleep deprived haze Locus had fell under. He looked at him, weighing the options of not bothering to answer to Felix’s tease.

“You’re getting lazy. Better shape up soldier!” Felix continued, laughing, and putting on a farce drill sergeant esque accent.

“I was with a patrol that needed an extra man.” Locus defended himself. Felix gave a daring laugh.

“Yeah, I know. Lieutenant Summers, you’re getting pretty close to her aren’t you?” Felix said.

“I suppose.” He answered, Felix looked away, watching the base come back to life. At night, machinery use was supposed to be kept at a minimum, to avoid unnecessary detection.

“You should be careful. She’s young. Could get bored of you. She’s also married, and I know he’s not around at the moment, but every deployment ends sooner or later. She’ll go back to him.” Felix warned.

“You act as though the Lieutenant and I are involved.” Locus said, giving Felix a look.

“Laurens told me he overheard you two, talking about love and shit. What should I assume?” Felix replied.

“She was vulnerable, Lieutenant Summers needed to talk.” He told Felix.

“Oh and you’re definitely the type to just lend somebody a shoulder to cry on. Be careful, Sam, again, she’s young, she’ll get tired of you.” Felix told him. Locus chose to disregard that comment. She wouldn’t. There was nothing to get tired of.

#Locus rvb #Felix rvb #original character #rvb #Survival and Perseverance

[griffonfarm]

Previews (1/3)

Yet To Come was the winner of the preview poll. So as promised, here is a preview of Part 4, which is turning out to be very long and will be released as soon as I can finish it. 

Blue. Blue as far as the eye could see. Until the eye focused and the blue became an incomprehensible swirl of blue and white, superimposed upon which were little flashes of green and red. Those flashes shifted, red flickering and winking out one by one until all of it was gone and only the steady spot of green remained. It was bewildering and strange, right up until the moment the whole inexplicable mess was eclipsed by a bulbous blob of mottled grey and green.

"What are you doing?"

Ordinarily, blobs of color were silent. But this one, despite not appearing to have any sort of aperture that might function as a mouth, had somehow spoken. Its voice was low, sort of gravelly, and sounded pretty heavily colored by exasperation. At least, it seemed likely that it was the blob that was doing the talking. There didn't appear to be anything else around capable of doing so. Not unless it had equally unfriendly blobby friends lurking behind it and one of those had posed the question.

Apparently it didn't like waiting for an answer, because after an indeterminate amount of time, it snapped, "Felix."

Like a bucket of icy water dumped over the head of a sleeper or a stinging slap to the face, the sound of his name in Locus' sharp, impatient voice galvanized his brain into working order. And once it started processing sensory data properly, things became comprehensible again.

Sort of.

Locus, in full armor, was staring down at him. Turning his head slightly to the side caused the sky to become visible behind Locus' helmet and all the random bursts of color resolved into projections of information that were being thrown up onto his HUD by his armor’s sensors. A second spent assessing his current condition told Felix that he was lying on his back, sprawled out on what he came to realize as he turned his head a little further was rocky dirt.

He was outside. He was lying on the ground. Locus was standing over him, barking questions at him and losing his patience. But Felix was sure, one hundred fucking percent sure, that he was dead. Not just dead, but blown into tiny pieces that had probably been immediately incinerated by the heat of the grenades' explosions.

And yet, he could hear Locus sighing in frustration. He could feel an itch just above his right eye that he couldn't scratch with the helmet on and his chest rising and falling with every breath that he took. His HUD was helpfully displaying his vitals, all of which were relatively normal. His lips were there when he licked them and neither his mouth nor his tongue was dry. And thoughts that a dead man wouldn't have were clearly presenting themselves in his mind.

What the fuck is going on? Am I dead? Is this supposed to be the afterlife? Is there actually a fucking afterlife? What the fucking hell is this?

"Your heart-rate is elevating," Locus said after another span of silence, during which Felix stared up at him, mouth opening and closing on all the things he wanted to say but couldn't manage to voice. "Are you injured?"

It was the kind of question that ought to have carried at least a hint of concern, but Locus didn't sound concerned. He sounded indifferent. Maybe a tiny bit irritated, if Felix was being generous in his interpretations.

For once, however, he wasn't trying to be a stubborn pain in the ass. He genuinely had no fucking clue what the hell was going on. Was he injured? He should've been dead and whatever atoms of his body that might have been left should've been buried under tons of concrete, steel, and rock. He shouldn't have been outside lying around in the goddamn sun like he was on some kind of screwed up vacation. Admittedly, he wasn't operating at his best at the moment, but as far as he could figure it, there were only three explanations, all of varying idiocy and impossibility.

The stupidest and most impossible was that there really was some kind of afterlife and this was the start of his. Even as the thought materialized, he dismissed it as crazy bullshit. He'd never believed in religious mumbo-jumbo before and he wasn't going to start now. The marginally less idiotic and impossible was the possibility that he'd somehow survived both the explosion and the installation's collapse and Locus, the asshole, and the freed prisoners had dug him out. And maybe in a movie that would have been plausible, but he couldn't credit that one either. Too much luck would have been required to make that happen and barring one extraordinarily important instance, his luck had always been pretty shitty. Which left the third, and arguably most likely, scenario.

Right now, trapped beneath meters upon meters of oppressively heavy mountain, he was burning to ash and his brain was doing one of those slow-motion episodes that it usually engaged in during particularly heart-stopping situations. Yet instead of playing back through his life and reminding him of all of his fuck ups—too numerous to count; not even the special kind of temporal distortion that human perception was capable of producing could stall time long enough to account for all of those—he was just getting one last fucking lecture from Locus.

He almost laughed. It would just figure, wouldn't it? All of that and I still can't get out of the goddamn lecture.

Well, he wasn't going to listen to it. Ignoring Locus, Felix shoved himself up into a sitting position and looked around. He wasn't sure what he was expecting: an island of land on a sea of clouds, an unremarkable and utterly forgettable nowhere, a crater on Gilgamesh, an area of slowly dwindling safety as a burning ring of fire closed in. His sense of drama demanded something extravagant, but he wasn't banking on it.

Still, he wasn't expecting to see what he did.

#my fics #red vs blue #felix #locus #felix/locus #yet to come #rvb

[secretlystephaniebrown]

abundance

Am I capable of writing Fluff Week entries that aren’t connected to something I’ve already written? No clue.

Anyways, @a-taller-tale requested Grif looking after Wash in the deprivation verse. and I mean, I’m always up for some H/C!

Warnings for: Past captivity, brainwashing, abuse

Pairings: Grimmons, mostly background

Also on Ao3

Grif stares at Wash. Wash stares at Grif.

Now, the thing is, Grif has seen how Wash acts around the others. Especially when they’re in armor. The guy practically pissed himself when Caboose charged him in armor, he was shaking so hard. So a general edict has been issued, on pain of pissing off an incredibly protective and wanting to punch something Carolina. Don’t go near Wash when you’re in armor. Or she’ll kick your ass.

Grif, however, is in armor at this moment, because Grif did not expect to encounter a fucking Freelancer, in his room. The guy’s been stuck to Tucker like fucking glue, following him around like a sad puppy or something. Half of the time he looks like he’s expecting a kick, but even then, he’s practically begging for Tucker’s attention. It’s… uncanny. It’s nothing like the Wash Grif remembers from Bravo, let alone the guy who shot Donut and kidnapped Simmons.

Grif had known that Felix was one fucked up guy, but seeing what he managed to do to Wash is…

Horrifying.

There’s really no other word for it.

But Wash isn’t looking at Grif like he’s scared. If anything he seems relieved, looking at Grif like he’s…

Like he’s Tucker. It’s the same wide-eyed adoration Grif has seen Wash focus on Tucker since the return. The kind of adoration and loyalty that Grey says comes with being Wash’s handler.

But that’s bullshit, because Tucker is Wash’s “handler”, at least in Wash’s screwed up brain. Just like Locus had been.

Locus and…

Oh god.

Felix.

Felix wears orange armor too.

That asshole.

Grif turns around to leave, because he needs to talk to Grey about this now, because there is no way in the universe it can be this easy; there are other people on base wearing orange, Wash hasn’t imprinted on any of them, but Wash follows him, like he does with Tucker.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Grif demands before he can stop himself, and Wash cringes. He makes a noise, a small strangled one, and falls to his hands and knees, looking up at Grif with fear in his eyes, as if expecting Grif is going to tear him apart.

Grif sees the knife scars peaking out of the neck of the grey t-shirt Wash is wearing and swallows. He knows Felix likes knives. He can guess who caused those ones.

He can figure out what Wash is expecting to happen now.

“Shit,” he mutters, reaching down for Wash. Wash recoils, and Grif makes a face, remembering the armor problem. Wash doesn’t like being touched by people in armor, even though all un-armored physical contact is like catnip for him. Scowling, Grif stomps around Wash to get back to his room, trying to ignore how Wash scuttles after him, still on his hands and knees.

Once inside Grif strips off his armor as fast as he can, throwing it carelessly to one side in a way which will make Simmons screech at him later. But Grif doesn’t give a shit. Not that he would normally, but he cares even less than normal, which is pretty impressive, if you were to ask him.  

The armor comes off and Wash seems to relax slightly, but he still doesn’t get up, on all fours like a dog or something, staring up at Grif with those huge grey eyes.

Grif remembers the first time he saw those, when Doc had removed his helmet to try to help him at Sidewinder. They’d been glassy with pain and almost screwed shut, but they’d stuck with Grif. It was something about the way they’d made Wash’s face look; like he knew that no matter how many times he got up, he was about to get kicked down again. That look had faded. Slowly, sure, but it had faded. It had almost been gone, the last time Grif had seen Wash’s face. They’d won him over.

Now it’s back, and it makes Grif sick to his stomach.

“I’m—fuck. I’m not mad,” he says, trying to talk to Wash like he’d talk to Kai when she was a kid, and had screwed up or scared him. “Look, I’m not mad, okay? I’m just—you startled me, that’s all. I’m not used to this.” Wash is staring at him warily, as if he’s not sure he believes him. “I’m not going to fucking hurt you, asshole. When you’re better you’d kick my ass for that.” He ignores the nasty part of his mind that questions if Wash ever can get better.

Grif wonders if Wash even understands him, but Wash slowly pulls himself onto his knees, looking at Grif curiously now.

Grif sighs. “If you tell anyone about this, I’m dying your hair the color of Donut’s armor,” he informs Wash darkly, before he starts to pet his hair, like he’s seen Tucker do. Wash lets out a delighted little noise that would almost be cute if it wasn’t coming from a six-foot-something Freelancer who’s supposed to be one of the most dangerous people on the planet. Wash nuzzles Grif’s hand and Grif mutters to himself, letting this continue for a few minutes before stopping and climbing onto the couch he’d gotten his squad to move into the room he shares with Simmons ages ago. There’s room for it because they’d pushed the beds together after Grif had finally convinced Simmons that it’s okay for them to share a bed.

Wash moves forward, curling up on the floor by the couch, and fuck it, that’s too much.

“You can get up here,” Grif groans, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. “If you want. Fuck, what the fuck is wrong with those assholes?”

Wash’s whole face lights up like it’s Christmas and he climbs up onto the couch and immediately leans against Grif’s shoulder.

Grif mutters to himself. “You realize, you’re going to owe me like. A thousand candy bars when we un-fuck your brain, right?”

Wash doesn’t say anything, because of course he doesn’t, because Locus and Felix probably electrocuted him whenever he tried to speak or something similarly fucked up. Because they’re fucked up assholes. Instead Wash just curls up against Grif and closes his eyes, humming contently.

“How can you be so happy?” Grif asks. “Like, fuck, you think I’m going to kick you the second you do something wrong. Why are you happy I’m touching you? Jesus, they fucked you up.”

Grif hesitates, then pets Wash’s hair again. It looks like Tucker finally got him to take a shower, because it’s clean again, and it’s been cut, neatly shaped into something similar to what he’d had back at Bravo. Not a buzzcut, because one of the videos they managed to scrounge up has made them pretty sure they’d buzzed his hair as a punishment at least once. But it’s better than the dirty, tangled mop he’d had when they’d first gotten him back.

Wash lets out another noise, and pulls his feet up onto the couch, closing his eyes.

That’s how Simmons finds them, hours later, asleep against each other, Grif’s hand having fallen to Wash’s shoulders, keeping Wash pressed up against him. Wash actually looks calm for once, like he’s not about to have a panic attack.

Which might have been okay if Simmons hadn’t taken a fucking picture and given it to Carolina as blackmail material.

Sometimes, Grif’s boyfriend can be a real pain in the ass.

#Steph Writes #RvB Fluff Week #deprivation verse #Agent Washington #Dexter Grif #Red vs Blue

[bburningbridges]

diligent

summary: Wash is diligent, and he’s not going to die in an underwater fridge because of an Epsilon knock-off, thank you very much. 

+

Washington is diligent, almost to a fault--everyone can agree that his unwillingness to quit has kept alive in the most ridiculous of situations, it’s as admirable as it is somewhat scary--and that’s not going to change because of some second-rate Church doppelganger.

But.

And that’s the thing--the ‘but.’

Wash hasn’t operated with a ‘x but y’ mentality for a while. At first, it was ‘the reds and blues are idiots but that does mean he can’t kill them,’ then ‘they’re idiots but they saved his life’ and then ‘tucker is his team but he hates wash and wash hates him’ and then, finally, after so much goddamn fighting and pain it was just--’Wash has a family, and he’s going to live.’ No ifs, ands, or buts.

And now…

He hates that his entire body is frozen and on high alert all at once--he can feel the spike of adrenaline and is all too aware that there’s nothing he can do with it, except breathe in filtered, putrid air and drown in his panic.

It’s such spectacularly shitty timing, so maybe Temple isn’t that far off from being like Church. Wash almost laughs, but he might vomit if he does anything more than breathe slow.

He thinks of the beach, the water, the sun, the waves and the single, red sailboat. The picture of York and Carolina and Illinois--who is here, here and fucking dead frozen in his suit and a corpse stuck inside--and he thinks about the Reds and Blues, and Tucker and Carolina, holding her hand and the beach and the water--

“Fuck,” he says, voice wobbling, “fuck, fuck, fucking hell.”

“Wash--”

He can hear her saying his name but he can’t--he isn’t Wash from the beach right now. He’s not the guy who can say things like ‘you don’t have to destroy your past to have a future’ and he’s not the guy who can hold Carolina’s hand and live to tell the tale. Or not live at all. “Fuck!” he yells again, louder, so loud it hurts his throat.

“Wash! Wash I--”

“Carolina,” he says, somewhere between a sob and a plea, he’s not really sure what comes out of his mouth. It doesn’t sound like him at all. He hasn’t been this helpless in his life--not even when he was young, back when he forced a kid’s head into a mirror.

“We have to--do something I--we just--”

“I don’t know,” Wash says. His breathing is so fucking loud in his own helmet, the stench of death has crept into his suit through the filters and he can’t escape. “Carolina, I can’t think, there’s too much I can’t--it’s the smell it’s--”

“Okay,” she says, and she sounds winded, probably from fighting her suit, “okay, that’s--that’s...well, I won’t lie. I was kind of hoping you had something.”

“I’ve got a rep of being unreliable,” Wash says numbly. He can’t even feel self-pity--he can’t feel anything. It’s not going away.

“Wash…”

“I’m sorry. Carolina, I’m sorry.” His lips are moving; he’s not controlling what comes out. “I’m so sorry.”

She doesn’t say anything, but he hears her sigh, and for a single, terrifying second, he realizes he’s pretty sure this is what despair feels like. Helplessness, the strong smell of rotting corpses, unable to see Carolina in his peripheral but all too aware of her at the same time.

He could cry.

“I don’t want to die in here, David.”

That prompts a warm tear to roll down his cheek and Wash can’t even fucking wipe it away. He feels it slide all the way down to his chin and drip off.

But as soon as it’s gone, he realizes that Temple’s severely underestimated him, his diligence. He’s survived worse. If he could walk away whole from a fucking one-on-one with Locus, then some wannabe with a sniper rifle and a fancy remote isn’t gonna be the one to take him down.

It’s something in the way that Carolina calls him by name, the tremble in her voice, how it echoes and how alone they are that makes Wash finally, finally calm down.

As a former shitty person, Wash remembers what robotic rage feels like; it’s like what ices his veins right now, calms the adrenaline and replaces it with something so much worse.

“We’re not going to,” his voice sounds terrible. Wrecked, reborn, forged out of the worst parts of him.

“We can’t,” he adds, and despite himself, feels another tear make its way down his cheek.

+

It’s Tucker that releases the suits; Wash could kiss him, if he weren’t so delirious.

“Holy fuck, Wash! Carolina! Are you guys...alive?”

Wash has to truly think about that answer. He’s breathing, but his stomach feels like it’s starting to cave inwards and his brain is fuzzy, blurry, he can’t quite see. Nonetheless, as soon as he’s able, to scrambles to Carolina, gets her hand in his and only then can he can confirm anything to Tucker.

“We are,” he says, voice raw. “You saved us in time, Tucker.”

Carolina is squeezing hard for something on the brink of death. She also seems to have no intentions of letting go. “Where is Temple?”

Wash doesn’t smile; that’s a familiar tone. He hasn’t heard Carolina sound like that since before the crash on Chorus.

“He escaped, but he’s got the place wired to explode any minute now. I got him in the leg before he slithered off but I don’t know if it was enough to stop him.”

“So he’s still alive?”

“Un-fucking-fortunately.”

“Good,” Carolina nods. “That means I still get to kill him.”

“I--” says Tucker, then cuts himself off, “oh, shit.” He shifts his stance, then shrugs. “Well, can’t really blame you for that. Can you two walk?”

It takes Tucker’s help, but Wash and Carolina eventually get themselves moving again. Wash remembers they’re underwater, and as silly as it is, wishes he could escape to the water and drown in it, he’s so damn thirsty. “How did you guys get Temple to run off?”

“Caboose’s suit doesn’t have the lock function. The fucker thought he knew us? That’s a pretty fucking big detail to not know if your whole stupid plan relied on it.” Tucker presses a hand to the side of his helmet. “Simmons, I got Wash and Carolina. How much longer do we have?”

Wash doesn’t like the sound he makes in reply. Carolina glances at him, her grip finally loosening. “Not much, I’m guessing?”

“There’s escape pods, but I don’t think we’re near any of them. You guys are gonna have to pick up the pace so we can make it to the nearest ones.” He doesn’t say it with any venom, just states it like an unfortunate fact. “Simmons got a hold of the ship’s schematics. Left this way.”

“Are the others…?”

“Well, Caboose knocked Temple the fuck out for a while and Sarge got him and the Reds the hell out of dodge. Oh, and Temple had a whole cheesyass evil villain spiel and threw all our copycats under the bus so they ditched his dumb ass.”

“You stayed behind for us?”

“Of fucking course, dude,” Tucker says, like Wash is stupid for even being surprised. “You’re annoying and cryptic as shit, but I pretty much fought another planet’s civil war to get you back once, everything is pretty weakshit in comparison to that. And Carolina’s family. Both of you are. Temple’s not taking you away from me, no matter how big of a revenge boner he’s got.”

Wash….doesn’t say anything beyond, “Oh,” and then tries not to blush under his helmet.

“Cute,” Carolina says raggedly.

“Listen, save the teasing to when you’re alive enough that I won’t feel like a dick for bitching back at you.”

She snorts, and Tucker tugs them both into a hard right. “I’m just glad I wasn’t too late,” Tucker says. “Temple talked like you two were already dead. I didn’t believe him for a second, but it still felt really fucking good when Caboose clocked his ass.”

“How did you not believe him? We’ve been down there for days.”

“Yeah,” Tucker snorts, “And Wash is a literal fucking cockroach. I won’t believe his ass can die until I see it for myself.”

It feels like an insult, but it also feels like Tucker, and Wash basks in the familiarity. The weight of reality isn’t as crushing this way.

When they finally reach the escape pod, Wash and Carolina collapse on top of each other and Tucker takes to the controls. For a few moments, the travel peacefully through the water, and then an explosion behind them shakes the entire ship.

Tucker slides down beside them once they’re safely out of harm’s way. “Y’all are both cockroaches,” he comments plainly.

“Thanks,” Wash says dryly.

“It’s a compliment, dude. I mean, you’re both strong as shit. I don’t even want to think about what the fuck he put you through. I don’t think….I don’t think I would’ve made it as long as you guys did.”

“I knew we wouldn’t die there,” Wash says plaintively. “You get separation anxiety if we’re apart longer than five minutes, let alone five days.”

“So you were counting on me to save you?”

Wash shrugs, which takes more energy out of him than he cares to admit.

“Jesus,” Tucker says, “You lived because...you believed in me that hard?”

“He’s pretty good at that,” Carolina says. “Believing in people. I don’t know how he does it.”

“Me neither.”

Wash really is too tired to be properly embarrassed by the awe in their voice. He leans his head back and it thunks on the wall. The air is stuffy but not putrid in the pod, but the sudden thought of filtering shitty, corpse-tainted air for five days straight nearly makes him puke. “Tucker, take off my helmet.”

He half expects a fight, but Tucker does it without a single protest. As the air releases, Wash blinks, and he’s staring at Tucker’s blue-tinted visor. “Shit, you look fucking terrible, dude.”

“Dying does that to you,” Wash deadpans, as Tucker moves to release Carolina’s helmet as well. When Wash sees her, he gets Tucker’s reaction--if he looks even half that bad, he may as well be a corpse.

His eyes are drifting closed when Tucker pops off his helmet as well, and so quickly that Wash’s eyes can’t follow, leans down to drop a kiss directly on his lips. It’s quick and he pulls away a half-second later. “Good news, buzzkill. You’re not dead yet.”

Wash is vaguely aware he’s still holding Carolina’s hand--which makes for a weird setup, to be perfectly honest--but he smiles weakly and blinks tired eyes at Tucker. “Thanks to you, smartass.”

“Not to crash your moment,” Carolina interjects, actually sounding regretful, “but does this ship have any water?”

“Right,” Tucker says, and goes to check. Carolina gives his hand a small squeeze, and Wash just grins stupidly.

“Lina,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Believing in people isn’t that hard when it’s people like you. People like Tucker. You guys make it easy.”

Carolina doesn’t say anything for a moment, then, “Dammit, Wash, when did you get so good?”

“When I decided I didn’t want to be shitty anymore. The company helps.”

She laughs--a bizarre, bark of a sound, but it gets Wash laughing too, and when Tucker returns with two water packs, Wash might be crying from how hard he’s laughing, and he doesn’t even care.

#tuckington #washalina #uhh what is the ot3 called? cuz this has ot3 vibes. idk whats actually happening i just want them OUT OF THE MURDER FRIDGE #rvb #fic

[sugarfirervb]

More Than They Thought

New Chapter 2/? (6 total)  Working it Out

Dexter Grif / Agent Carolina

The day after the battle for Armonia and the comm tower, Grif is so done with it all. Too bad Carolina finished before him.  

This is my Grifalina WIP on AoO3.  

Dexter Grif didn’t need this shit.

The raid on the comm tower had gone far better than expected. Felix and Locus had been exposed. All of them were alive, even if Wash and Tucker were still out of action for the moment. And the people of Chorus were actually talking to each other, if you could call what they we doing ‘talking.’

He had never heard more insults thrown at two people’s faces, and that’s saying something with the company he kept. And while it wasn’t like anyone thought the Feds and New Republic were going to be best friends right away, Kimball and this Doyle character seemed ready to set aside the cease fire at a moment’s notice.

Carolina had tried to play mediator. It had made total sense to Grif and the others. She was the one that uncovered the Mercs, and didn’t have any strong ties to either side.

Apparently, one of the very few things Kimball and Doyle could agree to was that anyone that wasn’t somehow attached to either force wasn’t to be trusted. Or listened to, or even acknowledged. Less than an hour with them, and Carolina had stormed out of the conference room, leaving the Reds to try to calm things down.

That was eight hours ago. Grif was exhausted, frustrated, and just done with the day. And since Tucker wasn’t going to be allowed to participate in fixing this mess, he was going to get stuck doing it again tomorrow.

The only good news he had gotten was when he had checked on the Blues. Nobody was going to die. And Tucker was already awake, so that was good. All these losers were going to be fine.

But no one had seen Carolina since she had stormed out. She hadn’t even visited Tucker and Church or Wash. Grif was going to be pissed if she had decided to go lone wolf again, especially as hard as he and Sarge had been fighting to get the generals to at least listen to her. Grif flopped down on his cot, his thoughts cut short as he passed out almost immediately.

That night saw the return of the nightmares of dead company members and glass-covered landscapes. Except this time, they wore familiar brightly colored armor, and the glass was flowing down cavern walls, trapping them all in. He woke with an obnoxiously loud snort, followed instantly by hitting the floor ass first. It took a few moments of gripping the cot he had been sleeping in, his breaths coming loud and hard as his throat opened up, to realize that he wasn’t the only living being in the barracks, let alone the planet. That the aliens on this planet were long gone, leaving the world thriving. Counted backwards from five in his head, even as the grumbles about him being too loud registered. He pulled himself up, and cursed the fact that the fan in his helmet had seemed to go out again, and stumbled out into the night air.

His steps became more sure as he got farther into the cavern that housed the main New Republic base. Nights like this, he needed to burn off the adrenaline, the need to run that his dreams left lingering in his body. Needed to move until he couldn’t stand anymore. Hopefully, the training room was empty. It usually was, but he wasn’t the only person here that occasionally needed a midnight burn session. The machines here weren’t meant to be used with armor on, which is why so very few people actually used it. The people of Chorus were even more used to being in armor twenty-four seven than their group was, to the point where they felt psychotically vulnerable without it. So anyone using it had to be really shaken up.

The lights were, in fact, on when he got there, even though there was an ‘out of order’ sign on the door. The sounds of soft grunts and the clank of weights came from inside as the door slid open. “Shit,” he mumbled to himself, turning to go walk the perimeter, when he heard a familiar voice.

“Goddamnit,” she said, voice strained in a way he hadn’t heard before. There was a loud clank, the weights slamming to rest, and then a rattling a second later, a body hitting a weight rack. Grif cursed, and turned back around to check on their wayward Freelancer.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding out,” he stated nonchalantly as he walked in, sipping from a half-filled water bottle he spotted on the floor by the door. Carolina was hunched slightly, shoulder against the machine, facing the door. She was still in her undersuit, boots and gauntlets, and her body seemed to sag back from his voice. Sweat was running down her face, her hair dark and plastered to her forehead and neck. Her expression was one of pain and exhaustion.

The glare she was giving him from below her bangs was pure anger, pride, and defiance. The adrenaline kicked back up, and Grif actually stepped back, flight right back in control. Almost. That thing that made him defy Sarge time and again reacted to the ‘get the fuck out’ in her eyes, goading him far enough into the room for the doors to slide back into place. “Honestly, I thought you were back out in the jungle. It’d be easier than trying to deal with this mess.”

He leaned up against a resistance machine he knew from experience could handle his fully armored weight. Her amazing eyes tracked him, her head turned, but otherwise she didn’t move. He held out the water bottle. Her eyes darted from his helmet to the bottle and back again, several times, wariness joining the other three emotions. After several seconds, he let out an exaggerated sigh, and slightly pulled his hand back. She snatched it, the movement throwing her off-balance even with the support. Her face was all surprise now as she stumbled, a soft noise escaping as she grabbed the machine she was leaning on. Grif remained where he was as she slowly gathered herself. “You going to call someone?” she asked after she took a drink.

“Now why,“ Grif asked, as he felt the his knees beginning to give, “would I do that?“ He let himself slide down so he was sitting with his knees bent, his hands at his side, looking up at her as the slight shaking began as the adrenaline began wearing down. Carolina nodded, and slowly lowered herself down so she was sitting on the floor across from him, her knees also up, her forearms resting on them so her hands dangled in front of her face. Her chin almost rested on her chest, lifted just enough to keep him in sight. Grif let his head fall back, unable to do anything until the aftereffects of the panic attack he had hoped to work off left.

Grif didn’t know how long they stayed that way, or if he had nodded off. He looked at her a couple of times. The second time, her head had fully dropped down to chest, and her breathing had evened out. He knew damn well how sore her neck was going to be, but there was no way he was going to wake her up. He shifted slowly, first onto his knee, then starting to stand.

“How are they?” Carolina asked softly, her head never raising. Grif groaned as he sunk back onto the floor.

“Doyle and Kimball? They’re in shock, and being stubborn,” he said. “Kimball is trying to get him to open up a part of Armonia for her people for the time being, but he pointed out they were able to do fine from the bases they had and-”

“I meant,” she cut him off, raising her eyes, “Tucker and Wash.”

“Oh,” Grif said. “Tucker’s awake, and getting restless. Giving the medics hell keeping him in bed.”

“Good,” Carolina said, a small smile playing over her lips before fading. “And Wash?”

“Still out,” Grif said seriously. “The Fed doctor said the bruising around his implant wasn’t from a direct hit, and that there wasn’t anything actually broken but a few ribs, but she’s not taking chances. Someone’s sitting with him all the time.”

Carolina nodded, and there was a little relief in the breath she blew out. “Good.” They fell silent again, until a very audible gurgle came from Grif’s midsection. Carolina’s eyebrow raised, and she couldn’t hid the little smile at his shrug.

“Well, that’s my cue to get to the mess hall,” he said as he stood. He looked down at her for a second. “You coming?”

“In a moment,” she said, waving off the hand he offered. Grif managed to suppress his head shake until the door had slid shut behind him. At breakfast, nobody mentioned he took more than his normal oversized portions of the food that wouldn’t make a mess.

And if that fruit and nut bar and dried meat had managed to make it into that training room, well, nobody mentioned that, either. Especially not Carolina.

@rvbrarepairweek

#rvb fanfiction #I write rvb fanfic #agent carolina #Dexter Grif #grifalina #nightmares #rvbrarepairweek #Sugarfire Writes

[secretlystephaniebrown]

Time’s Running Out: Echo

SUPER LATE NIGHT UPDATE BUT AT LEAST I GOT THIS THING OUT BEFORE ANGST WAR STARTS. Thanks everyone who's been sticking this out! It really means a lot you're sticking with this wild thing.

Summary: The Reds and Blues; and their respective Freelancers, find themselves stranded on a strange planet named Chorus. Secrets, lies, and the unexpected seem to lie around every corner, and there might be even larger threats looming over the horizon.

They’re possibly even less ready for Chorus than Chorus is for them.

Pairings: Lots of friendships, Suckington, Yorkalina, Chex, eventual Yorkimbalina, possible others.

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Ao3

Tucker woke up, and Wash and Kai were nowhere to be seen.

Instead, there was fucking Felix, and some lady named Kimball who seemed to be in charge around here.

She told him his friends were there, and he went off to find them.

The last one he expected to see was York.

For a second, resentment crashed over Tucker like a fucking tsunami. Why was it him? Why did he make it here? Where was Wash? Fuck, where was Tex? Even Carolina would be better than him, because at least she could help him kick Locus’s ass and get the others back. Of all of the Freelancers, why was it York?

He tried to push it aside, because they had been worried about the guy.

“You’re alive,” Tucker said, and at least he sounded relieved instead of angry or resentful.

“I am,” York said, but his posture was slumped and miserable. “The others were just filling me in.”

Tucker looked around, absorbing the maroon, orange, and dark blue. And the distinct lack of highway grey or bright yellow.

“We’re really all that made it?”

“The Feds have the others,” York said. “No word from Carolina or Tex either.”

“What, they didn’t find you?” Tucker said, alarmed. He’d figured that at least the two of them had dropped York’s ass here before they’d taken off, hopefully to beat Locus to death with his own skull or something.

“No,” York said. “Ah, Felix did.”

Irritation hit Tucker hard. “And you didn’t come with him? We could have used your help!”

York’s hands clenched into fists. “I know,” he said, and there was a ragged edge to his voice that told Tucker that he felt it physically. “I was injured after the crash. I didn’t make it back to the base until Felix had already come and gone—” He paused, looking at Tucker almost expectantly.

But for once, Tucker really wasn’t in the mood. Locus had Kai and Wash. Sex was the furthest thing from his mind, let alone taking a joke that York had just handed him.

York shook his head. “Anyways. He was gone looking for you guys before I’d made it here. He moves fast. The guy’s a scout for a reason.”

Tucker wanted to punch him. He wanted to hate him, because he could have helped. If he’d been there, at the very least Tex and Carolina would’ve stayed. And with four Freelancers, maybe they could have turned the tide. Maybe they could have kept their family together, instead of half of them being off in a prison somewhere.

But he couldn’t find it in himself to do so. Maybe he’d find the energy later. Right now, he just felt numb.

Later, there would be a buzzing tenseness that filled his whole body. Later, he would push his squad as hard as Wash had ever pushed him. Later, he would scream and fight with York, over every last fucking detail, from the way they lead their squads, to the way York insisted on maintaining his stupid fucking cover as Harris, instead of telling Kimball that he was a Freelancer.

Later, he would punch York in his good eye, and not even remotely feel bad about it, because the guy fucking had it coming for making fun of Wash that way. Wash could tell the story about the grappling hook being stuck to his balls. York wasn’t allowed.  

But now, he looked at the guy, and moved right along, because at least, at least he still had this. Caboose and Grif and Simmons and York and a way forward. Captains in an army they didn’t belong to for a war they didn’t believe in, just for a chance to save their friends.

Tucker could work with that.

The New Republic sucked dicks. And not in the fun way.

The hot doctor fixed up Kai’s leg promptly enough, but Kai would rather have her leg still be broken if it meant that Tucker was there.

Wash was terrified for him, even if he didn’t like to say it. He was all tense and stuff and Kai didn’t know how to help him, because every time she even kissed him, it felt like they were both waiting for Tucker to turn the corner, pretty teeth flashing brightly as he commented on how fucking hot they looked, even though the last time they’d been kissing Kai had been all snotty and gross from crying and Wash hadn’t slept in a week.

She hated it; Sarge was all worried about Dex and Simmons and Donut was worried about everyone and even Church was being more of an asshole than usual, worried out of his goddamn mind.

She shared a room with Church and Wash and Church didn’t even snarl threats at them to keep it down, instead just spending the nights either staring blankly at the ceiling or prowling the base. He didn’t need sleep, he told her when she asked. He was a mother-fucking-AI, they didn’t sleep, shut up Kai.

Church was a lot like Dex. Kai left him alone after that.

He was trying to establish radio contact with Tex and Carolina, constantly fiddling with tiny little sets that he’d made out of broken helmets and scavenged parts, trying to boost the signal enough to get through.

He hadn’t succeeded yet. All he got was static. And it was infuriating him,  Kai could tell. He was supposed to be the Alpha, he was supposed to keep them all safe, and it got to him when he couldn’t, when he didn’t know where they were.

The teams were split and the Freelancers who weren’t Wash were nowhere to be found.

Church was fraying around the edges, snapping at everyone and everyone, even Donut. Donut never took it seriously, but even Donut had his limits. Donut hadn’t approached Church in two whole days. Kai didn’t know what it was that he’d said, but whatever it was had Donut quiet and subdued and hurt.

Kai was pretty sure it had something to do with Doc.

Church was trying with her. He kept calling her stupid, accusing her of not caring about Tucker being gone when they both knew it’s fucking not true. Kai yelled back, calling him every name she could think of, accusing him of being happy Caboose was gone, that Epsilon was gone.

Their fights unsettled Wash. But everything unsettled Wash these days. Locus didn’t help; the guy was constantly skulking around corners, way too focused on Wash for it to be comfortable. Kai didn’t mind sharing (duh) but she drew lines and creeps who gave Wash brain damage were one of them. Plus, Wash wasn’t interested, which meant that Locus would have to get his dick wet elsewhere, as far as Kai was concerned.

“I don’t think it’s like that, Kai,” Wash said tiredly to her one day after she’d finished ranting. “He’s… he’s interested in Freelancer, that’s all.”

“Don’t care,” Kai said. “He can fuck off.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Wash’s lips, and Kai beamed. Deciding that was enough Locus talk, she threw herself forward, tackling Wash to the bed. That earned her an honest to god laugh as Wash rolled with it, so that he ended up on top of her, his eyes sparkling brightly before he leaned down to kiss her.

Fuck, Kai had missed this; missed the weight of him, the way his hair felt beneath her fingers, the taste of his coffee, the scent of that shitty military-regulation soap he always used…

Afterwards, when clothes have awkwardly been sorted out again to avoid Church’s screams, when Wash has stopped blushing, and the cuddling has resumed, Kai stared at the ceiling, hoping that Tucker could still feel safe, even if Wash’s biceps aren’t there to be a pillow.

“You really think he’s okay?” Kai said.

She didn’t need to say who he was.

“He is,” Wash whispered. “He has to be.”

Kai clenched her fingers in the fabric of his shirt, and buried her face in his chest. They still had each other at least.

Tucker was missing both of them, wherever he is. He didn’t even have this; the crowded bunk they technically weren’t sharing but were sharing anyways, with Church’s projects scattered all across the room, Sarge and Donut and Lopez next door.

“We’ll find him,” Wash said, like a mantra, a prayer.

Kai closed her eyes and took deep breaths, and fell to sleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

Working with Tex was… remarkably easy in some ways. They both learned quickly. Tex could keep up with her at least, and carried her own weight… and then some, Carolina was loathe to admit. Her active camouflage gave her advantages that Carolina lacked. And having a partner was always useful.

She missed York and Wash; fighting with the two of them was as easy as breathing, like a well-memorized dance. Tex was different. Even now they still bumped against each other and scraped. Tex wouldn’t use her radio or both of them would get impatient or Carolina would see something important to their objective and go off course. They were still learning, and it was painful sometimes.

They still hadn’t talked about what went down in the Director’s bunker. Carolina didn’t know if she could talk about it. Every time she thought about it she wanted to rip her hair out, wanted to scream, wanted to throw things, wanted to hurt Tex.

But she couldn’t. Because they were partners. They needed to work together to beat this, to unravel whatever strange conspiracy it was that they had stumbled upon; one full of armor enhancements and a mysterious shipment and a mercenary named Locus.

And because… because maybe Texas hadn’t been entirely wrong, when she’d claimed her own right to make that call, even if Carolina had disagreed with it.

They’d listened in on a message between Locus and “Control”. Now, they knew the crash was not an accident. Something had been on the ship.

Something worth killing an entire ship full of people over.

None of this boded well for the others, they knew, but radio contact was still impossible, and now they were in too deep. They needed to be sure exactly what was going on before they could get them out. They knew from intercepted reports and overheard gossip that everyone was alive, and unhurt. Split up and probably not happy, sure, but they were okay.

“This planet doesn’t make sense,” Tex said, looking up from the pieces of scavenged equipment she’d been poking at for the past few hours.

Carolina looked up at her, irritated. “What about it?”

“I’m just thinking about that communication we picked up. So this Locus guy is working for the pirates, sure, okay. But why?”

“Double the paycheck?” Epsilon offered.

“I don’t think so,” Tex said. She drummed her fingers against the table. “Look. You know I did the merc circuit for a while. I remember hearing whispers a while ago. About a guy called Locus.”

Carolina looked up. “You didn’t mention this before?”

Tex shrugged. “They were whispers. Nothing concrete. But they were connected with this other guy. Felix. They were partners or something. Didn’t we hear those New Republic kids talking about a Felix this morning?”

“Yes, but he was working with them—” A lightning bolt of clarity hit her, and she pushed herself upright and stared at Tex. “The war’s not real,” Carolina said, feeling sick and dizzy. Not again.

“Don’t know about that part,” Tex said. “But that seems like a great way to keep the paychecks coming, wouldn’t you say? Play both sides, extend the war?”

“Bastards,” Carolina said. “And then the war keeps both sides too busy to keep an eye on the alien tech, so they don’t notice what the pirates are up to.”

“Makes sense,” Tex said, nodding.

“But that still doesn’t explain Freelancer,” Carolina said. “We’re missing something.”

Tex hissed as the radio broke in her hands, smoking. “Damn it.”

“Nothing?”

“He’s reaching out, I can tell, but I can’t reach him.” Tex punched the nearest wall. “I need to warn him.”

“Warn him?” Carolina said, raising an eyebrow.

Tex pivoted, radiating fury. “Freelancer Tech, Carolina. What the fuck do you think Locus would do with the Alpha?”

Carolina felt as if her armor had locked down, and she struggled to breathe. “York has Delta,” she whispered. It was like she was back on the top of the cliff, the Meta’s fingers digging into her neck to pry Eta and Iota from her implants. She could see Locus pinning York down in her mind’s eye, could hear Delta’s screaming as he was ripped from York. She’d only seen the mercenary from a distance, but she could see it far too clearly—a knee pressed against his back, hand pressing the back of his unhelmeted head forward, exposing his neck.

Tex shook her head, pulling Carolina out of her waking nightmare, but her heart was still racing in her ears. “York will hide him. He’s not playing Freelancer, you’ve heard the reports. He’s going by Harris still—paranoid jackass.” There was a fond note in Tex’s voice at that. Carolina wanted to be offended at Tex’s lack of concern, but she knew she had a point.

Carolina closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. Epsilon buzzed in her mind, terrified by her own moment of fear, trying to soothe her.

“Will Church hide who he is?”

Tex looked at her, bleak and despairing. “He’d be gone if he hadn’t,” Tex said softly. It was always somehow wrong to hear Tex be quiet and subdued like this. Yet another reminder that even Tex had layers. “There’s no way Locus would let a… a full AI walk around if he knew. And if Church was missing, you know Kai would have kicked up a fuss, then Wash would, and then…”

The image was vivid. Wash trying to protect Kai, going down first, then Kai soon behind him, Sarge trying to avenge them, Donut following him without question.

All of them dead but Church, and Church might honestly be worse off. Carolina had heard his screams once, when he’d had a nightmare.

She never needed to hear it again.

No wonder Church and Tex both avoided sleep, if that was what they went through every time they tried.  

“We need to bring them down,” Carolina said softly.

“We need proof,” Tex said, spinning around, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. She radiated danger and power. This was the Tex she had witnessed back at Freelancer, who she had measured herself up against, but even more focused, terrifying, fierce. No one else stood a chance, and there was something… comforting about it, in a bizarre way. “We need… we need to know exactly what we’re dealing with here, we need to know how to rip them apart so that they won’t touch anyone again.”

Something uncoiled in Carolina at that—a solidarity, an agreement. To protect the others. This was no longer just a search mission, no longer just an attempt to right wrongs in the grand, vaguest sense.

Their family was in trouble.

Carolina and Tex would make sure that it wasn’t that way for much longer.

“Alright,” she said. “Epsilon. Can you narrow down their headquarters?”

It was time to take the fight to them directly.

Delta was greatly concerned about the planet Chorus.

His efforts to make contact with the missing members of the team were complete and utter failures. His previous success at pushing a connection through—between the young soldiers who had discovered him and York and the other survivors and General Kimball—appeared to be a one-time success. Delta’s current theory was that either they had been located at a weak point of the radiation fields which disrupted radios, or that it had been made possible by Kimball reaching out at the same time, effectively meeting Delta’s efforts halfway.

Unfortunately, his attempts to predict when any of the others would try to contact them had so far been failures. There were too many variables, with Alpha in custody of Locus and having no data on what Texas or Carolina were up to.

“Stop sulking, Dee,” York said quietly, picking his way around the edge of camp. It was a risk, speaking out loud when York was so determined to play it safe.

Delta did not appreciate such a risk. There were too many unknown quantities. He had agreed with York’s decision to not reveal his role as a Freelancer to anyone who was not already acquainted of the fact. It was a choice to protect them both, after all.

To risk such a thing as to scold was below York, and Delta told him so, using the message function of his HUD.

York laughed slightly. “We’ll find them,” York said, leaning against the railing.

Delta kept his own data on those odds to himself.

They both were aware of the dangers Locus posed to the others. It would do no good to point that out. York was clinging to hope that everyone was alright, that things would turn out fine. And Delta found himself joining him in that.

Tex’s words from ages ago, when York had been injured and Tex had chosen to take them to Blood Gulch echoed in his mind.

“That sounds like a human thing.”

York was influencing him. He had been for a long time. Delta projected that his younger self would be horrified by Delta’s current behavior patterns; at the way his code had evolved. He had once believed that enemies could be swayed by logical argument, that York would have been interchangeable with any other host. Delta had not cared for the safety, let alone the happiness, of people who were not designated as people of interest to Project Freelancer.

Now Delta joined York in staring out over at a field full of soldiers, most of whom were far too young to be holding guns, and felt the same intersecting feelings of guilt, fury, and sorrow.

Delta wondered if he would feel that way about his younger self, technically only a newborn yet being sent out to battle. He decided to dismiss that particular hypothetical, and instead alerted York to an incoming presence.

General Kimball had chosen to approach them.

Delta did not log off, but he curled himself tightly into the corner of York’s mind, awake but silent. York’s interactions with Kimball were always interesting to watch.

“How’s your head?” She asked.

York tapped his visor, grinning at her. “Better,” he offered. “That medic of yours knows her stuff.” Delta felt displeased at the erasure of his own part in York’s progress through the healing unit, although he knew that he couldn’t reasonably receive credit.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said.

“Tucker’s off on that scouting mission with Felix?” York asked, trying to keep his voice light and casual. From Kimball’s body language, it was apparent that he was failing.

Kimball nodded. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s hoping to find information on your friends.”

There was a swirl of emotions at that—nightmares, old and new rose to the surface. Predominant among them was the sound of a sniper rifle, cracking through the air.

Delta hated that he also had gained a dislike for that sound. It reminded him that once, in a world that never had been because of Tex, a sniper had killed York. Tex would not share the information, her memories of that world. But Delta had carefully rebuilt the scenarios from the hints that she had given. He had ascertained the most likely scenario.

York ignored Delta’s turmoil. “I’m sure. Tucker’s tough. Probably the toughest of all of us.”

“You pulled over a dozen people out of a freshly crashed ship and tried to lead them to safety while you had a concussion,” Kimball said, and Delta thought he detected a note of reproach.

“And promptly got taken out by an eighteen year old,” York laughed, but Delta could feel the guilt over the others coiling and twisting in York’s stomach. A guilt about the others, the ones who hadn’t made it back to the rebel encampment. The feeling was so physical, yet there was nothing Delta could do to help him, beyond a reiteration that he could not possibly have known about the Federal Army, or about Locus’s presence on the planet.

“Harris,” Kimball said quietly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Both Delta and York were thrown off balance by that statement. “Well I mean, like you said, I did have a concussion,” York said.

Kimball did not allow York the exit he desired. “The others. You couldn’t have helped them, and you know it. All it would have done is get you killed too.”

York didn’t believe that, couldn’t believe that. He looked away. “I know that,” he said, but he was lying so transparently. He wasn’t even trying, Delta realized.

Kimball shook her head. “You’re a hero, Harris. You and the other Reds and Blues… do you understand what that means to my people? How long it’s been since they’ve had hope?” She gestured outwardly. “This war… we’ve been losing for so long. For the first time I can remember, it feels like we have a chance.”

Another wave of guilt hit York. “Well really, the others did all the work. I just came along for the ride.”

“I find that hard to believe.” There was a note of warmth to Kimball’s voice. Delta was surprised. He had realized that Kimball considered York a valuable asset, having recognized his skills, if not the full extent of them. But he had not realized that she might consider him a friend.

York shrugged, projecting an airiness and levity that Delta felt that he was distinctly lacking. “If you say so,” he said. “You’ll change your mind once you get to know me better.”

She shook her head, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “My office is always open, Harris. If you need to talk.”

York stared at her for a moment. His mouth was dry, Delta noted. He could almost feel the truth trying to force its way out of his mouth, to tell Kimball the single, damning statement.

“My name is Agent York.” He wanted to tell Kimball everything, wanted to explain what he had done, who he really was. Alarm flared in Delta—he did not trust Kimball, not to that extent. She would keep them safe as Private Harris, a war hero, but what would she do to Agent New York, a wanted war criminal, who harbored an illegal artificial intelligence in his mind?

But York didn’t say anything. He bit his tongue and instead nodded, giving Kimball a smile that she could not see, but that she seemed to know was there, given the way she inclined her helmet towards him. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

There was something fucking weird going on with York.

Look, Freelancers were weird at the best of times, Grif was aware of that. But York had reached like, whole new levels of weird.

First, Grif was like fifty-five percent sure the guy was hitting on Kimball, which was pretty damn weird, considering that he and Carolina had like, a thing. Sure maybe it was like, Basebook-status “it’s complicated” type thing, but still, it’s a thing, and Grif was fairly sure he was supposed to be offended on her behalf, since she was a Red, after all.

The second thing was that he was spending a lot of time with Felix. Which was weird, because York was also being super-insistent about them calling him “Harris” instead of “York”, and was basically not-so-much-pretending to be an idiot like them instead of a badass Freelancer.

Caboose fucked it up a lot, but he’d never managed to give away the game. Instead, York was currently “Harvard”, which was… surprisingly close for a Caboose misnomer, honestly.

But anyways. Felix had caught on that they were all idiots. He bantered with Tucker and shit, sure, but he spent weird amounts of time with York when he was on base, always chatting with him about dumb shit, like they were friends or something.

It didn’t sit right with Grif. The guy was a mercenary, after all. He was after something. And York was either playing along, or he genuinely liked the guy. Even though Felix was someone who Grif felt fairly safe as classifying as a Grade A “douchebag”.

Grif wasn’t quite sure how to handle either scenario.

All he did know was this; they really needed to fucking hurry and find the others, because shit was getting out of control. Tucker was going fucking crazy, worried about Wash (and Kai, but Grif considered that level of worry to be perfectly sensible, even if his sister was pretty much immortal). Simmons was worried sick about Sarge, and Caboose was so upset about Church (both of them, the fuckers) being missing that he’d ended up adopting half of the fucking Rebel Army.

So when Tucker suggested they take off on their own to try to get the others back, Grif doesn’t have any objections.

Grif was going to get his baby sister back.

#Steph Writes #The BFF Verse #Time's Running Out #Lavernius Tucker #Kaikaina Grif #Agent Carolina #Delta #Dexter Grif #Red vs Blue