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died-but-not-dead-propaganda · 10 months

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Leonard Church Propaganda

he died 10 episodes into the story and comes back as a “ghost” and spoiler-y stuff but he dies again and comes back again multiple times

HIS WHOLE THING IS BEING DEAD BUT NOT DEAD OK he is the most dead guy ever. he spends the first five seasons being a ghost and still managing to die repeatedly. he’s technically a robot but he’s an ai copy of an ai copy of a guy and BOTH OF THOSE GUYS ARE DEAD. HE IS SO DEAD ALL THE TIME BUT NOT BECAUSE HES ALIVE. he is in a constant cycle of dying but not being dead. half of blue teams kill count is just caboose repeatedly killing church on accident. he can’t die so hard that he won’t let his dead wife die either until the THIRD ITERATION OF HIM finally lets her go because he realizes he doesn’t even know her at that point he’s so many degrees of separation away from the original allison. and then he TRIES TO DIE WITH HER BUT STAYS ALIVE BECAUSE HE’S ETERNALLY CURSED TO LIVE. his death count is literally in the double digits he DESERVES a place on this tournament. most alive dead guy ever. ok thank u for ur consideration if he doesn’t win I will burn this webbed site to the ground /j

Iterations of church have died and come back multiple times. In season one he gets shot by a tank and comes back as a ghost. in like season six (it's been a while) it's revealed that he was not a ghost but an AI the whole time and then sacrifices himself. and then a copy of his ai self comes back. it's a meme in the fanbase at this point that church dies and comes back and after the ai copy (epsilon) died they had to devote a whole sub-plot to "WE SWEAR HE IS NOT COMING BACK AGAIN. HES GONE." anyway part of me is still suspicious that they lied about it and there's another part of the alpha ai out there somewhere but like, it's been like five years and i'm starting to think they got us for realsies this time

This dude has died like seven times. It's unreasonable the number of times he's died. Like it's kind of insane. He had a bunch of time travel clones at one point that all died. He sacrificed himself because he was convinced he WOULDNT die because he thought he was a ghost (he wasn't) and couldn't disappear again (he could and did). His SECOND VERSION OF HIMSELF (ai cloning sort of) ALSO DIED. ALSO by sacrificing himself (this time he actually knew what was coming though). The way he died the first time was by getting shot by his own best friend who killed him with a fucking tank. Then the sacrifice. Then the sacrifice again. Not to mention all the other times where he went missing/fucked off somewhere. And also the time that the Epsilon version of him tried to self destruct in another guy's brain. Jesus fucking christ this dude has problems. Please include him. Please.

the original leonard church (the director) made an exact copy of his mind as an ai (the alpha) that he tortured, which in turn made a copy of itself (epsilon) to cope with the trauma, so in total there are 3 Churches.

death count: the director killed himself. the alpha died when he was shot with a tank, then he possessed someone else's body and got shot in the head, then he possessed a robot that exploded so hard it melted all of the ice on an entire planet, then he got erased from existence by an EMP. then he came back as Epsilon who went on to also get erased.

Well it’s. It’s complicated okay. So hold on alright.

So Dr. Leonard L. Church was initially this guy who was the Director of Project Freelancer (PFL) and he liked to fuck around with AI because the Halo lore is like the background setting for RvB. Anyway the Director made an AI copy of himself, and called it “Alpha”. Well, the Director wanted to have more than one AI for his experiments so he could give them to his Freelancer Agents (all named after the 50 states), so what he did was he tortured Alpha until Alpha split itself into fragments; essentially he gave an AI so much trauma that Alpha developed DID. (Forgive me, even though I have friends who are systems I still know very little and am still learning about proper/respectful terminology). Well anyway one of the fragments of Alpha, Epsilon, was given “memory”. So Epsilon remembered all of the torture Alpha underwent, and when Epsilon was implanted in Agent Washington, Epsilon tried to kill himself, inadvertently almost taking Washington with him. Epsilon was removed and put into storage, and PFL fell apart. The Alpha, under the protocol “AI must not fall into enemy hands”, was sent to a secure location, and was reprogrammed to have his memory of the Project and everything with it removed. He was then implanted in a human, and was told he was Private Leonard Church of the Blue Army. (Side note; the Red and Blue armies are made up simulation armies designed to test Freelancer Agents in the field. The Reds and Blues do not know they are simulation troopers; they think the war is real.)

This whole shit slowly gets revealed throughout the course of the series, but yeah. Anyway. Church (Alpha, important distinction you’ll see why) dies a few times as a running gag in seasons 1-6. Then, at the end of season 6, he dies permanently to an EMP. But, the plot of season six involves our main characters rescuing the Epsilon storage unit, who eventually regains the identity of “Church” as well, as Epsilon was a fragment of Alpha initially, but there are a few tweaks. Alpha and Epsilon are different in a few ways, but they’re both “Church”. So it’s technically a revival. But if that’s too vague and too complex, in season one Caboose (Blue Team Rookie) blows up Church with a tank and then Church comes back as a ghost. It’s funny.

#leonard church #church rvb #red vs blue

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lostlegendaerie · 5 months

Note

for ao3 wrapped! 29, 3, (and the wip questions) 12, 15!

[love how often you and I swap ask meme stuff. solidarity.]

3- What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

Grow As We Go and Eulogy are up there (and I almost chose the latter) but. Restraint was so much fun. It's smutty and silly and a brand new fandom for me, written for and with the help of a VERY old friend and it's making me new ones too and like. That's all I really want. I just wanna get to make friends and talk to them and share in the joy of living and creating.

I'm getting teary just laying here in bed thinking about it. I love the people I get to meet with my writing so much. This one especially I got some comments about how I made people remember to be kind and love themselves, too, and even if I never make it on the best seller lists or live to be 50; just being kind to one person is worth it.

Thank you @misskhep @samioli @sapphire-wine @declawedwildcat @isa-ah @la-la-la-laurel @torchickentacos and everyone else who commented on ANY of my posts or fics or anything this year. Thank you for making another trip around the sun worth taking.

12- How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

One novel (the same one since 2019 or so), one Mini Bang, and... a Genshin Impact fic. I'm gonna finish all of them, but I can't really talk about any of them bc two of them are NDAs by design and the GI one will have an undecided amount of a semi-contentious ship. (Yes. It's LuKae.) Granted, it's a bloody whump of a spy thriller so it's not LIKELY the Puriteen book-banning-brigade would enjoy it anyway... but it's still a can of discourse I don't wanna deal with.

15- What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

I'm gonna count these as the PUBLISHED fics, so: I swear to GOD I will finish with your bare hands, with love before RvB s20 drops and also rum on the fire. The former needs the last chapter tweaked a little to smooth the transition into the next scenes, and the former has some plot threads that got a little tangled + needs a more purple-prose style that takes some extra effort to use.

29- Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Nnnnnn, that's a tricky one, bc ROTF and Restraint both have some extremely poetic lines... but I gotta give it to Grow as We Go bc it just cracks me up so much and I'm so PROUD of the subtle twist on the common saying.

"... but Solidad hasn’t had a romantic bone in her body since her baby teeth fell out."

#ask meme #saro's writing #this post has the whole spectrum of human emotion im

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rubykgrant · 2 years

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(another little chunk of the RVB story-line, this one with Donut and Grif!)

(this discusses a little bit of Grif feeling awkward about his family, why it is hard for him to listen to his sister talk about her sex life, and some of his own issues with relationships. nothing too terrible or detailed, but general problems with being teased, and reacting badly to negative situations. it ends on a good note, with acceptance and personal growth, I promise~)

Grif was trying and failing not to seem anxious about what was happening... he reminded himself that this wasn’t like before (all that bad, messed-up shit), and anyway, this was DONUT. Besides himself, Donut was the hardest Red to kill (Lopez was a little debatable. He had technically been deactivated a few times, which may or may not count as robot-death, and in that sense, Lopez was kind of their Church; an irritated artificial intelligence who had had a bunch of extra “lives”, like a video game guy).

Grif was also trying and failing not to feel conflicted about Donut being the first to leave. He internally told himself that he wasn’t even that close to Donut anyway... in fact, Donut got on his NERVES. The problem was, Donut had just gone through a whole character-development-thing involving how he sometimes felt ignored, and after dealing with his own character-development-thing, Grif could kinda relate.

So, what to do?

On the one hand, tell Donut to have fun out there, doing whatever the hell he was gonna do, and leave it at that... or, on the other hand, go and TALK to Donut, and just let stupid emotional junk happen.

Grif tries and fails to make a decision for a while, but the day Donut plans to leave gets closer and closer, and damn it all, the emotional junk won.

“Hey, dude. I don’t have any wine, but... got some cheese, and some crackers, and different kinds of salami, so-”

“Oh wow, Grif! I never expected you to share some charcuterie with me!”

“I’d call it grown-up Lunchables, but sure. Come have some,”

Donut happily followed Grif to the little nook, between the kitchen and the living room, that had sort of a booth-table built into it. Donut could see the large platter of snacks waiting there for them, some of the food already cut into bite-sized pieces. The two men sat down at both ends of the booth, and Grif wasted no time stacking himself something that looked like it belonged in a Scooby-Doo cartoon (cracker-cheese-meat-cheese-cracker-meat-meat-cracker-cheese-cheese-cracker-cheese-meat-cracker).

Donut laughed quietly, and then helped himself as well. For a moment, they both munched away, in a moment that was neither silent nor uncomfortable.

“So, I gotta ask...” Grif said, after his mouth was no longer full of meat-cheese-cracker. “Did you really not notice?”

“Notice what- OH. Yeah, um, no. No, I really didn’t...” Donut leaned his faced down, placing one hand on his forehead.

“HOW? I swear I’m not trying to get on your case dude, but how did you not notice?”

“I don’t know!” Donut laughed, sounded a little bashful and embarrassed, but not upset.

“No WAY all of that was an accident,” Grif smirked a little, getting another meat-cheese-cracker mountain ready.

“It was, though! I mean, I knew what I was saying, like, the words and all, but I didn’t realize it all sounded like thousands of sex jokes!” Donut shook his head. “No WONDER none of you ever wanted to talk to me...”

“OK, yes, it was definitely hard to listen to sometimes, but it wasn’t all your fault,” Grif explained. “I mean, I was a jerk. Still kinda am, but who isn’t a work-in-progress? My point is, I was going to be a jack-ass to literally everybody I met back then. I was even a jack-ass to Simmons, and I was used to him. It wasn’t even the fact that you kept on pouring an endless stream of perverted puns out of your mouth, like I’VE never told a dirty-joke, it was just...”

Grif paused a moment, thinking about how to phrase this. Donut looked at him; he didn’t hear Grif speak so carefully often.

“A couple years before I left home, that was when Kai had her- UGH, sexual awakening. And like, yeah, I’m a hypocrite, because that’s my SISTER, I’m never gonna NOT want to complain about the stuff she does, but I know she has every right to do it, good for her and all that... but it was also kinda weird and awkward for me... and that wasn’t her fault, she didn’t even know...”

“Know what?” Donut leaned closer, and Grif didn’t shove him away.

“When I was still going to school, kids used to tease me about my mom and dad, how they both got around. Then they started in about how I was gonna be the same... as if THEY weren’t all a bunch of stupid teenagers, who did stupid teenager things. That’s even MORE hypocritical, huh? So I guess I was all resentful ‘n shit. I tried to be more chill with dating at college, where nobody knew me, but it just sucked, because if I wasn’t being the jerk, somebody else was being a jerk to me. It sucked even more when I thought somebody ACTUALLY cared, but- never mind. Then I come home, feeling like a failure, and my sister is a total party girl, having fun with whoever she wants, like nothing ever made her feel insecure in her life-”

“Oh my god. You thought I was making fun of you,” it suddenly clicks for Donut. Actually, a LOT now fits together; it wasn’t just WHAT he used to say, it was the fact that it reminded Grif of the insults other kids used to throw around.

“Dude, no... like I said, I was a jack-ass, and I’ve told plenty of dirty jokes. I could handle being made fun, but I knew that wasn’t what you were doing. You just- hell, you talked like my stupid sister! It bugged the absolute shit out of me, I was whatever-billions of miles away from her, and I STILL had to listen to somebody who was always excited about NOTHING, like they had a constant freaking sugar-high, AND every other sentence involved an innuendo!”

Grif had an expression that was an odd combination of pissed-off and mortified. He had really only mean to say that the sexual language and Donut’s general attitude had made him think of Kai, which was all kinds of awkward, so back then, Grif just wanted Donut to fuck-off. Instead, Grif had revealed several INSECURITIES. Gross.

It was still part of the rambling problem; once he got going, it was hard to stop.

As the truth dawned on Donut, he slowly began to smile. That was... kind of nice? Well, not nice for Grif, who at the time, had been miserable... but now? After so much time has passed? Donut began to positively beam at Grif, and since they were so close that Donut’s chest was pressed against Grif’s shoulder, it was hard not to notice.

“I reminded you of Kai... and you didn’t want to think about her, or how much you missed her,” Donut said. Grif made a dismissive grunt in response. “And all those times you scolded her, it wasn’t about embarrassing the family... you were just worried she might get her feelings hurt, because people used to make YOU feel bad about yourself,” another grunt. Donut continued to smile, knowing perfectly well how rare it was for Grif to share any insight about himself, and thus how special this conversation was.

Grif rolled his eyes, and gave-in. He slung an arm around Donut’s back, and Donut immediately laughed gleefully, hugging him in return.

“Everybody who acted like they were better than you... they weren’t just hypocrites, they were assholes. I know, we’ve all been assholes too, but like you said, works-in-progress. You’re not such a jerk anymore, and besides, even when you were, you still mattered as a person. You aren’t less important than somebody else, even if they’re trying to make you feel that way...” Donut spoke, his tone serious but still slightly kind. It made Grif feel a twist of guilt, for all the insults he used before; Donut, the Blues, Carolina and Wash, Doc Lopez, Simmons... he felt less bad about insulting Sarge (most of the time, he was just returning the favor. Then again, maybe lashing out because you have some unresolved issues was pretty common).

“Thanks. And, y’know... even though you aren’t making so many double-entendres anymore, it’s still kinda cool that you’re all comfortable being yourself. When you talk about things you enjoy, and you really just let yourself be happy. That’s good. My sister, too. It’s hard for me to admit, but I’m proud of her. She doesn’t give a damn about other people’s opinions, she knows who she is and what she’s about. You’re both really... out-going, and that’s kinda cool,” Grif said reluctantly.

“Have you told HER any of this?”

“Nope,” Grif shoved more food into his mouth.

“Well, you should... at least the parts about how you’re proud of her, and how you recognize her right to live her life how she pleases. She knows you love her, but I bet she’d like to hear you also respect her!” Donut gave Grif an extra little squeeze before letting go.

“Mmmmmmmaybe...” Grif grumbled.

“And thanks for telling ME, Grif... it’s ironic, too. Because when I first met you and Simmons, I kinda felt like you guys were sort of my big bros... you even picked on me! You sent me to get HEADLIGHT FLUID!” Donut shoved him.

“Haha, and you WENT!” Grif grinned back.

“I knew you guys were making it up, I’m not THAT stupid!”

“Then why did you try to buy a flag from the Blue Store?”

“Fuck you!”

Donut was laughing as he reached out, this time not going for a hug, but attempting to get Grif in a head-lock. Grif lightly smacked him away, before abruptly bringing the rough-housing to a halt.

“Hey man, don’t knock over the food!” he kept one hand on Donut’s chest, pressing the guy flat against the wall, and straightened the plate with the other. Then he picked up one of the slices of meat, holding it up to Donut’s face. “Here, why don’t you put another sausage in your mouth...”

“You did NOT just-” Donut wasn’t able to finish pointing out Grif’s very intentional pun, because Grif had totally lost control; he burst out laughing, dropping the sausage back onto the plate, and falling out of the booth, literally rolling on the floor. Donut tried and failed to not smile, but it spread across his face, even as he tried to give Grif a disdainful look. He finally started giggling as well, pretending to gently kick Grif away (while really just tapping Grif with his foot), and continued to eat the snacks.

#red vs blue #rvb #dexter grif #franklin delano donut

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kordbot · 3 years

Note

tucker for the character ask meme

everybody here knows about tucker, they say im a bad mothershutyourmouth-

ask game

thank you for the ask, @shortforesmerelda <3

IM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE BUT IVE BEEN BUSY I SWEAR I HAVENT FORGOTTEN ABOUT THIS ASK-

again, i haven't watched rvb in a while so i apologize if anything is inaccurate!

like before, everything under the cut. this one is gonna be shorter than the last one, i promise

Why I like them: he's a badass and the king of character development. also best dad 10/10 would watch canon alien mpreg in a show again. i liked a lot of jokes involving him, too, he's one of the funniest characters in the series i think (even though he's a dirty blue)

Why I don’t: he was kind of a disrespecting-women asshole in bgc i guess?? but that's just bgc humor right there and i can't really hate him for it

Favorite episode (scene if movie): him comforting caboose in temple's 'prison' in s15, becoming king of england in s16, his labyrinth in s17, when they got all those boxes of mayo in bgc, s1ep1, the fight with tex in s8, the desert eps in s7 and reuniting with epsilon in the chorus trilogy

Favorite season/movie: the chorus trilogy!! obviously hehe. i like him in s7 a lot too

Favorite line: i quote this one constantly. it's my favorite fucking line in the entire show: "I have glamorous calves and a miserable fucking life" other honorable mentions: "Oh my god! I must have gone back in time!" "Does 'swoosh' count as a sound? Then it goes like 'swoosh'!" "For the record, I want you to know rocks aren't people"

Favorite outfit: i like his armor from halo ce because it looks like the diamond armor from minecraft. i even made a meme about it once!! also i love his armor from halo 5 because it's such a nice light color (confuses me with church all the time tho)

OTP: im rarepair hell. i like chucker!! tuckington is pretty cool too i guess

Brotp: tucker and grif, definitely. him and kai also have a cool dynamic! him and sarge have an interesting kind of friendship, too (like in the sarge 2 movie) other than that, all blue team + carolina

Head Canon: hmm... trans.. gener..... also he has a really good memory, but only when it comes to very obscure pieces of lore from movies/series/comics/video games

Unpopular opinion: i actually liked him in s16-17. feel free to hate me but it's true

A wish: i want to see junior again and these two go on all kinds of father/son bonding adventures together

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: i can't think of anything that could be worse than zero

5 words to best describe them: never gets the sniper rifle

My nickname for them: i call him 'tuckboy' sometimes because it's funny and it rhymes with 'fuckboy'

#rvb #thank you for the ask again this was a lot of fun and again sorry that it took me so long <3

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autisticblueteam · 4 years

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Where Is She? (Carolina, South)

[AO3]

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1056

Summary: Agent Carolina did not return from Longshore with her target in hand. South wants to know why.

Notes: Written for @fanvsfic for RvB Fill in the Blanks, belated entry for the Missing Conversation theme.

“Where the fuck is she?!”

South slammed Carolina up against the lockers hard enough to send a shockwave down the line that knocked a door open. The metal behind her warped with the impact, the name tag on some innocent agent’s locker hanging by a single corner.

“Whoa!”

“Hey!”

Carolina grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms down. “Agent South, back off.”

“Answer the fucking question!” South snapped, slamming her fist into the metal beside her head. Carolina didn’t even flinch. “The fucking objective was retrieval and the Director didn’t send a fucking ship after that escape pod so where the fuck is she?!”

“South, c’mon,” North said, stepping up and grabbing her arm. South shook it off and glared at him. “It’s not Carolina’s fault.”

“Like fuck it isn’t! She was down in that fucking bunker, she can answer the simple fucking question of where the fuck her target is!”

“You have five seconds.”

South squinted at Carolina. “What?”

“You have five seconds to back off, or I will make you back off,” Carolina said, voice even.

South snorted.

“Fuck you, Carolina, you’re not even number fucking one anymore, the fuck makes you think you can give me order—”

Carolina wrapped her arm around South’s elbow joint and twisted it up behind her back, flipped their positions and shoved South face-first against the locker. The open locker door rocked shut and the nameplate fell, clattering to the ground.

“Reign it in, agent.”

“Get the fuck off me—” South snarled, hand planted against the locker as she jerked her leg back to try and take one of Carolina’s out. Carolina knocked the kick aside.

“Reign. It. In.”

“Fuck you!”

Carolina exhaled slowly. “If you stop pushing me around, I might even answer your question. Reign. It. In.”

South’s breathing was heavy and laboured, it hissed between her teeth as her shoulders rose and fell, slow and strained. Slowly, Carolina loosened her grip on South’s arm until she could tug herself free and shake it out, rolling the twisted joint and rubbing her wrist.

“Was that really fucking necessary?” South asked, flexing her fingers.

North stepped towards her but stopped when she glared at him. He backed up, staying well back with York and the other unfortunate, lower ranked agents to have been caught in the crossfire.

“Don’t pick fights you can’t finish,” Carolina said, pulling off her helmet. Her hair spilled loose around her head, flyaway strands escaping from the usual neat braid she wore it in. Heavy bags tugged at the skin beneath her eyes and her eyes themselves were dark.

South huffed. “You going to answer my fucking question now or am I going to have to show you what me finishing a fight is really like? Where is Connie?”

Her voice caught on the name like an object lodged in her throat.

No one had said that name in months. She was like a poorly kept secret, always on everyone’s minds and yet to speak of her was taboo, a curse. CT. The traitor. The defector. The Insurrectionist.

“CT refused to come quietly,” Carolina said, every word a little harder than the last. “I gave her every opportunity to turn herself in and come out of that bunker without a fight.”

“What are you saying?” South asked, through her teeth, her jawline taut.

Carolina became all too aware of the many prying eyes laid on the two of them. “South…”

“Fucking spit it out already!” South said, throwing her helmet against the ground. Her eyes were wild and filled with a knowing sort of rage that bore into Carolina, pushing the pressure from all those other eyes aside to settle in her spine. South deserved to know, and she knew that just as well as Carolina did.

“Texas killed her.”

Silence. Overwhelming, unnatural silence.

South was shaking. Barely, almost imperceptibly shaking. South wouldn’t cry because women like them didn’t cry, couldn’t cry, but they could ball their hands into fists and they could fight.

“Texas was quicker,” Carolina said, swallowing her guilt. “She got to CT first. If I had beaten Texas to her then—”

“Is that all this fucking is to you? A competition?!” South snapped, spitting her rage. “You self-absorbed little—”

She lunged, and the only thing that stopped her from attacking Carolina were her brother’s arms suddenly wrapped around her torso, restraining her. Carolina didn’t move a muscle, staring back at South wide-eyed and numb.

“You were supposed to bring her fucking back not kill her!” South said, fighting against her brother’s hold. “She was one of us, she was my—”

“—she was a traitor,” Carolina said, though the word felt almost wrong on her tongue. That was what she was, wasn’t it? “She wouldn’t come. I tried. I gave her every opportunity. You weren’t there, South. You didn’t hear the things she said. We had no other choice if we wanted to complete the objective.”

Her own voice echoed in her head. By killing a teammate?

“Fuck you,” South spat, wrenching herself free from North’s grip and shoving him aside. “Fuck you.”

“Calm down, South. Everyone was just following their orders,” North said. South shoved him again for good measure, storming away and jerking open her locker. “South, stop taking your grief out on—”

South spun around and kicked over the bench. It bounced twice and settled.

“Who the fuck said I was fucking grieving?!” she spat. “Keep your fucking emotional bullshit to yourself, North, I never fucking said—”

The door opened. Everyone’s eyes fell on Washington, stood there in the doorway, taking in the spectacle before him. A knocked over bench. South’s helmet on the floor. Damaged lockers.

“…wow, I uh. What happened?” he asked.

“Mind your own fucking business,” South said, grumbling. Back turned to all of them, she started to remove her armour as quickly as she could. “I swear to god, if any one of you assfucks comes and tries to talk to me? I’ll break something. No promises what.”

She was in her civvies and shouldering past Washington before anyone had the chance to say another word.

Carolina watched her back as she disappeared down the hall.

You better figure out the difference between your enemies, and your friends.

Did she even know the difference, anymore?

#rvb #red vs blue #agent carolina #agent south dakota #rvbfilltheblanks #rvb fic #my fanfiction #rvb fanfic

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what-happened-to-agent-georgia · 7 years

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Missed Opportunity

For the RvB Bingo Wars, Red Team entry! This is for the Bed Sharing square.

Word Count: 2100

Notes: Also on Ao3.

Pairings: Grif/Simmons; implied Doc/Donut; implied Sarge/Grey

Warnings: Canon-typical swearing/language/etc., alcohol

Description: After taking advantage of his first night off in ages, Simmons awakens in a strange apartment next to someone who is far from a stranger.

Simmons doesn’t remember much from last night. To be fair, it all went down rather quickly. Free time isn’t a luxury they have often, and they all went pretty hard in a rather short amount of time. It was almost as if they had one night left to live, and therefore needed to squeeze a lifetime of fun into two hours.

A stupid fucking idea, in retrospect. And this headache is killer. Simmons can’t even fathom opening his eyes right now, let alone attempt to recall the events from the night before, try to remember how he ended up…

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Simmons’s eyes fly open—only to slam shut once more against the sharp light blaring through the window. After a few beats he tries again, slowly this time, easing them open with the one care takes when opening a freshly shaken can of soda.

He blinks. Blinks again.

To be honest, he can’t take in most of his surroundings, not without his glasses. What he can see, however, is the warm, snoring figure to his left.

Turning his head at the pace of a drugged snail, Richard Simmons confirms he is indeed next to Dexter Grif. More specifically, he is next to Grif—in bed.

Grif is sprawled out as if he’s been tossed there, left arm and leg hanging off the bed, right leg tucked beneath him. Right hand almost—almost—touching Simmons’s.

“Oh. My God,” Simmons moans, looking up at the ceiling. He can’t focus for shit, but he tries to count the tiles on the ceiling anyway.

The operative word being ‘try’—there are no ceiling tiles to count, just that fast-dry paint stuff you find in most apartments. It’s a nice change, seeing something besides cold metal walls. This bedroom feels open, softer, even if it appears to be spinning.

It dawns on him them that he has no idea where he is. Well, aside from in a bed next to Grif. It’s not the barracks. Judging from the tastefully arranged throw pillows on the loveseat across the room, the beige walls, and the silk sheets, it’s not Grif’s apartment. And it sure as hell isn’t Simmons’s apartment—he hasn’t had an apartment in years. Even when Doyle offered him his own place, he chose to remain at the base. Simmons isn’t one for change.

Are they even on Chorus?

He remembers the dive they decided to drink in, remembers the shots… remembers saying something stupid to Sarge… Doc paying the tab… Grif explaining to him why the bed was a much better option than the bathtub…

Too much—Simmons closes his eyes again, dizzy from his haphazard inspection of the room. His stomach churns. Tequila never sits well with him, body or mind.

What’s worse, he can only remember taking two shots. Back to back. And maybe an entire lime. Did he eat an entire lime? He hates limes.

Simmons may not remember much about last night, but it doesn’t take a genius to know he probably made a complete ass of himself.

In front of Sarge, no less.

In front of Grif.

Who is now in the same fucking bed with him.

“Fuck,” hisses Simmons.

“Will you quit whining?” Grif mumbles. “’M trying to sleep here.”

“Sorry.” He kicks himself internally. Even Simmons, who will never be known for his quick, scathing comebacks, can usually come up with something better than ‘Sorry’. Then, even though he knows Grif is already dozing off again, he pipes up, “Grif?”

“Jesus—what, Simmons?” Grif sighs. He pulls his left leg onto the bed and under the sheet.

“Never mind,” Simmons says, chickening out. He kneads the sheets clutched in his hands. His mechanical arm whirs in protest and he lets up a bit.

“Whatever, Simmons.”

Grif’s breaths slow once more; he’s clearly unbothered by the situation. Simmons considers going back to sleep as well, burrowing into the sheets and enjoying their warmth. And Grif’s.

“Grif?”

“Simmons,” Grif groans, “if you don’t spit it out, I’m going to be awake for hours while you decide to say whatever the fuck it is you want to say. Please, for the love of sanity, what do you want?”

“How did we get here?” Simmons asks.

“Sarge called Grey, and she picked us up,” he says. “We all ended up here, and you were so gone, I wanted to make sure you didn’t die in your sleep or something. What was it you had? Two shots? And an entire fucking lime. Such a lightweight.”

There’s humor in his voice, despite his grumpy demeanor.

“Oh, shut up, Grif,” he retorts, turning so his back is facing Grif.

“Hey, I’m not the one who can’t hold their liquor,” Grif protests. “Hell, even Doc could drink your nerdy ass under the table.”

The door swings open and Donut is standing there, wearing what appears to be an apron with a pink heart on it. There are words there too, but without his glasses, Simmons can’t make them out.

Well, that explains the bedroom’s impeccable décor. They must be at Donut’s place.

“Hey guys!” he chirps. “I was on my way to see if you wanted breakfast, and I couldn’t help hearing something about butts and—oomph!”

Donut is cut off by a pillow to the face.

“Donut, it’s too early for this crap,” Grif complains.

“Rude!” Donut huffs. “Well, I see how it is!”

He strides up to the bed and thrusts the pillow back at Grif, who snatches it and turns onto his side. Because Donut is inches from his face, Simmons can now make out the words on his apron: ‘I have a heart on.’

God dammit.

“Breakfast is ready, if you want,” Donut declares. With that, he turns and marches out of the room. Simmons tries not to notice that the only thing the pink soldier’s wearing under his apron is a pair of fuchsia boxers.

“That’s my cue,” Grif says, rolling out of bed, taking his warmth with him.

Of course, Simmons thinks. Only food could get Dexter Grif out of bed that fast.

He resists the urge to grab Grif and yank him back into bed, to fill in the gaping hole he’s left behind. Simmons should thank him—for being there, for getting rid of Donut. For getting him to Donut’s place safely.

But Grif shambles out of the room, and all that’s left is yet another missed opportunity.

Simmons sighs, grabs his glasses from the bedside table, and puts them on. Rather than get out of bed, he stares at the ceiling. Waits for the room to stop spinning. For his heart to stop racing.

“Fuck me,” he sighs.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Grif isn’t here,” comes a new voice from the doorway. “It’s just me.”

Simmons’s face goes hot. When will he learn to keep his big mouth shut?

He turns his head to see Doc standing next to him, omelet and coffee mug in hand. Despite his claim that he barely noticed his absence, Simmons is still getting used to having the medic around again.

“Huh? Oh, I was just, um, talking to… myself?” Way to go Simmons.

“Uh-huh…” Doc raises an eyebrow, which disappears into his mop of disheveled brown hair. “Well, I brought you some food. If you want it, that is.”

Simmons detangles himself from the sheets and stands up. Once he’s certain he’s not going to pass out, he takes the plate and mug from Doc’s outstretched hands. That’s when he notices, much to his dismay, that Doc is clad only in boxers and a crumpled pink t-shirt.

Blinking furiously, Simmons concentrates on his food as if he’s studying for an exam.

“Thank you Doc this is great I’m going to go eat it now thanks,” he yammers before practically sprinting from the bedroom.

It takes a few twists and turns but Simmons finally finds the kitchen. Donut is busy preparing more omelets at the stove top. Doc strides into the kitchen and joins Donut at the stove.

There’s no way Simmons can handle both of them right now. Hell, he can hardly handle them when he doesn’t feel like his head’s about to explode.

“There must be a dining room. Or a patio,” Simmons mutters to himself. “If I can find a patio, maybe I can climb over the edge and escape this nightmare, find a Warthog and get the hell out of here.”

As luck would have it, there is a sliding glass door in the room adjacent to the kitchen. Through it, Simmons can see part of a wooden table and some chairs with a pink umbrella. Simmons, taking a quick sip of his coffee—fuck it’s delicious—slides open the door and scoots outside.

Grif is also out on the patio. His food is already gone, but he’s still nursing his coffee, which is clutched in his right hand. There’s a cigarette burning in his left.

Usually Simmons would scold Grif for smoking, but he spent all his energy running from Doc and Donut.

“You gonna sit or just stand there?”

Simmons starts, realizes he’s been staring at the smoke rising from Grif’s cigarette, and takes a seat before he can turn and run back inside.

Setting his plate on the table, Simmons admires the perfectly folded omelet, covered in cheese and green onions. His nose wrinkles a little; he hasn’t been able to stomach the scent of eggs for years, and he curses himself for taking the food in the first place. Kind of hard to eat a dish made almost entirely of eggs and cheese when you don’t eat eggs and cheese.

Grif, who has a sixth sense for this sort of thing (or he just remembers that Simmons is vegan), turns to Simmons and gestures to his breakfast. “You gonna eat that?”

Simmons slides the plate over to Grif, who digs in with a grin on his face. Simmons watches him as he eats, cradling his coffee to his chest and enjoying its warmth.

“You know, all things considered, last night was pretty fun,” Grif says through a mouthful of omelet.

“Yeah, for you maybe,” Simmons retorts. “I hardly remember anything.”

“Yeah,” Grif chuckles, “You were fucking smashed.”

Simmons just lets out an exasperated sigh.

“You sure can cut loose,” Grif adds. “For a nerd.”

“Great,” Simmons sighs. “I’m glad someone remembers how fun I was.”

“Well, the tequila helped,” Grif says, taking another drag from his cigarette.

‘Helped’ is one way to put it, Simmons thinks.

“Oh, hey! Who won the drinking contest?” Simmons asks. Enough about him.

“Who do you think?” Grif replies, raising an eyebrow. “Carolina, obviously. Donut was a close second, though.”

“I’m surprised Donut didn’t die of alcohol poisoning,” Simmons says, peering over his shoulder as if Donut is listening at the door. He’s seen Carolina drink before; for her, two shots of tequila’s like drinking water.

“Please, we’re talking about the guy who took a grenade to the face, got crushed by a spaceship, and got shot in the chest,” Grif points out. “Pretty sure Donut’s immortal.”

“Yeah…” Simmons fidgets in his seat and tries not to think about that too much. Donut’s near death experiences have caused him enough anxiety to age him at least ten years.

Glancing over at Grif, Simmons notices Grif is also not wearing pants. Are pajamas out of style? He wonders, considering his own plaid ensemble. Trying to concentrate on anything other than Grif’s obnoxious yellow boxers, he looks out at the city.

Skyscrapers and smog clog the horizon. But the warm, orange glow from the morning sun contrasts with the dismal, gray buildings, and the view is not that unpleasant. It’s peaceful, even.

Speaking of peaceful…

“Where’s Sarge?” Simmons asks. Usually the man is up and wired for sound before the sun has even risen, and the peace and quiet suddenly seems odd. Which isn’t a bad thing, it just feels… odd.

“Sarge?” Grif taps some ash from his cigarette. “Let’s just say he had an appointment with his doctor last night.”

Simmons feels his face go hot as he chokes on his coffee.

“Fuck!” He half cries, half coughs.

If anything can make his headache go away, it’s the sound of Grif’s laughter as Simmons catches his breath and scrambles to dry off the coffee he’s just spilled all over his shirt.

“Hot,” Grif snorts.

“Fuck off, fat ass,” Simmons shoots back.

“Meh, whatever you say, Simmons.”

Grif doesn’t move.

They spend the rest of the morning in silence, drinking their coffee as the world wakes up around them.

#rvb #rvb fanfiction #rvb bingo wars #red team #grif #simmons #donut #doc #sarge #swearing #suggestive aprons #alcohol #i hope i got everything tagged and this counts gaaahhhhh

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themetaisawesome · 5 years

Conversation

Overwatch characters as RVB quotes

McCree: "Oh no! It's Mad Dog Deadeye Jack Rabbit Cherokee Wild Bill Quick-draw McCree, the Red Canyon Kid! He's the meanest, and laziest, gunfighter in these here parts!"

Genji: "Hanzo doesn't know what he's talking about? Stop the fucking presses."

Soldier 76: "Once again I find myself torn. On the one hand, there's one less blue in the universe. But now Doc's got a bigger body count than me! And that just won't do. No sir."

Reaper: *in Spanish* " If I saw something, I would be shooting, dumbass."

Pharah: "Fight because you deserve to fucking win!"

Sombra: "When the EMP goes off I'll be fine. It only affects computers, remember? And I am a motherfuckin' ghost."

Tracer: "Time...line? Time isn't made out of lines. It is made out of circles. That is why clocks are round!"

Doomfist: "Everything was looking good... and that's when the meteor hit."

Ashe: "I wouldn't say I'm mean. I just get hired to do mean things."

Junkrat: "Hey, you can't make an omelet without blowing up a few eggs."

Bastion: "Rest in peace, pinkie toe. YOU WILL BE AVENGED."

Hanzo: "There's a fine line between not listening and not caring. I like to think that I walk that line everyday of my life."

Widowmaker: "I swear to God, I think somebody fucks with the sights on this thing when I'm not looking."

Torbjorn: "This is a hammer, you fucking idiot."

Mei: "Not my fault. Someone put a wall in my way."

Roadhog: "That's right. Fear the claw, bitch."

Reinhardt: "Today is a good day to die!"

Winston: "That's what you get for arguing with science. Stupid bitch."

Zarya: "Fuck that, I'm pissed! Let's fight!"

Orisa: "She is young and naive... and delicate. She is a precious flower."

D.va: "Payback's a bitch, and so am I."

Ana: "I think it would be ironic if our guns didn't shoot bullets, but instead squirted a healing salve that cured all wounds."

Mercy: "Remember; you're no good to me dead! Although, I suppose I could run some experiments on your body."

Zenyatta: "I'm not a doctor, I'm a medic. Well, a doctor cures people, a medic just makes them more comfortable while they die."

Lucio: "I have glamorous calves and a miserable fucking life!"

Brigitte: "I just wanted to say that no matter what happens, it's been an honor working with you, sir."

Symmetra: "Could you put that in a memo and entitle it, 'Shit I already know!?'"

Moira: "Running only makes me want you more!"

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phantomwarrior12 · 6 years

Text

This Isn’t What I Wanted

Warnings: Canon-style swearing, PTSD, mild depression, and general angst

Word Count: 1,611

Summary: Isaac Gates is soldier of fortune, a man whose morals have become so warped by war and time that he only fights for money. What happens to a man when his brother betrays him?

Prompt: Want by Set It Off

A/N: Hey folks,

So, this fanfic is the predecessor of three others that I posted for RVB angst war and fluff week, so, they should all make sense now (see Red Vs Blue Masterlist to read sequels)!

I would also like to thank @epsiloneridani07 and @frequentlydistressed for letting me reference some of their headcannons and their OC.

As always, prompts are open, feel free to leave a comment/like and let me know what you think! If you have a prompt you think would work well in this series, send me an ask! :)

Enjoy!

Saudade Masterlist

Part 2

-------------

Before the damage is done. This isn't what I really want.

-------------

"I never wanted this. I never wanted to lose them. Si--Mason. Sam."

Goddammit, Sam. Why'd you do it? Why did you side with them? Why'd you let them kill me?

No, you're not dead. You're still breathing, you don't know why or how, but you're still alive.

Isaac strained to lift his head, every muscle in his body screamed for him to remain motionless. He'd fallen for what felt like an eternity, the chasm boundless, mist swallowing him up before his back hit sharp rock.

He'd thought he'd snapped his neck, bashed the base of his skull on the stone beneath him. He waited, his breath fogging over the T-formation of his visor. One beat. Two. An agonizing third before he mustered the strength to roll onto his side.

His body protested, tendons shifting, bones cracking, grinding pitifully against cartilage. He pushed himself to a seated position, prying the helmet from his head, discarding it the moment it cleared his forehead.

"Why am I not dead?" His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper, raspy from the scream he'd released during his descent. His trembling fingers hovered over the panel on his wrist, hand shaking too violently to properly activate the band. His fingers curled into a fist, squeezing the muscles into a calm submission before he attempted to activate the screen.

"Armor lock is intact, thank you, sketchy black market dealer." he murmured, checking the other systems in his armor. The explosions in the distance tore his attention from his work, "What now?!"

He was on his feet, snatching his helmet up from the bedrock and sliding it over his head. He stumbled over uneven ground towards the base of the chasm he'd fallen into, spurring his aching frame into a slow climb. By the time he'd reached the upper levels, he could see the carnage in the distance.

Bodies everywhere, mercenary and New Republic soldiers alike lay scattered across the battlefield.

Dead. All dead. Only survivor, all alone. No. No, not alone--Sam's alive, Sam's okay. Find--

Isaac snapped his head to the left, the instinct fading just as quickly as it appeared. He cast a wary glance skyward, to the Communication Temple, a wry smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as Hargrove's ship stared down the structure. His attention was drawn back to the battlefield, the survivors, the simulation troopers, the Freelancers, the traitor--they'd all be gone in a matter of hours.

You never should have betrayed me, Locus. Now, you pay the price.

His eyes caught sight of an abandoned Ghost to his right, just beyond the mounds of fallen soldiers. He could hear the explosions in the distance as he scrambled from his cover, stumbling over craters and corpses until he fell against the cold metal of the machine.

Limbs struggled to support him as he heaved himself onto the seat. The adrenaline had begun to wear off, jarred muscles began to tremble, the impact of the fall weighing heavily on his chest, the searing pain in his ribs reminding him of the damage done.

He hugged a forearm to his chest, bracing the aching bones in the only realistic means possible.

A Ghost required two hands to drive, but he'd improvised before, during the war. He could almost see the memory play out in front of him, Sam assassinating the Elite in charge of guarding the vehicles, the two clamoring onto vehicles to escape the bomb they'd planted in the heart of the Covenant's base.

They made it, the two of them had escaped the explosion, certain death, but now--now he'd survive. Alone. He'd walk away and Sam--Sam would pay for his betrayal, he would pay the ultimate price.

They were brothers after all, they'd known one another for a few years before they'd enlisted, when they were nothing more than kids trapped on a backwater planet, orphans left to the mercy of the universe.

At one point, he had Liz, in their broken excuse for a home, he'd always had his twin sister. Until he didn't, until he lost her to one abusive parent on a planet light years away, until he was dragged from her after the divorce, until he was certain he'd never see her again.

Then he met Sam and he was positive that he would always have Sam, and now, he'd lost his brother. Now he's alone. Again. And he has no idea what he's going to do now.

No fucking idea.

-----------------

It's months later when he's downing another beer that he notices the headlines.

Reds and Blues Strike Again

He scoffs, turning his attention back to the beer and data pad in front of him. He'd come so close, so damn close to tracking Sam down. They'd all survived Chorus, Hargrove had failed. Shocker.

"If you want something done right," he murmured, scowling at the file in front of him, reaching absently for the bottle. His fingers curled around the cold glass, sliding the beverage towards him, inches from his lips before spasming tendons released, sending the bottle crashing to the floor, contents spilling over Isaac.

"Shit." He slammed his trembling fist onto the table, disgust etched into his features as he pushed away from shattered glass and stood, knocking his chair to the floor with a loud thud.

The thunderous collision with the wooden floor scared him more than it should, a distant echo of a war once fought.

He was poised for a retreat, as if the explosion hadn't shredded everything in its path, as if he were still a soldier in the midst of a bloody conflict.

He waited. One moment. A second. A terrifying third before his eyes fell to the wooden chair beside him.

"War's over." He reminded himself, touching his temple gingerly, memories misting away with a shake of his head until it's quiet, until there's nothing but the monologue of the television filling the empty room.

Isaac gathered himself, pushing brown locks back off of his forehead, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. He snatched the data pad from the table, ignoring the shattered glass and pooling beer on the floor as he made his way to the worn couch, collapsing into the safe haven and turning his attention back to the data pad.

His hands trembled slightly, nerves on edge as the surge of adrenaline dwindled, as his heart gradually slowed and his breathing returned to some semblance of normal. He laid a hand over a tight muscle in his ribs, gently massaging the tissue into a state of release.

He cursed the nearly healed rib, the soreness it caused anytime his heart rate picked up, a relentless knot in his side until he forced it into submission.

His fingers absently dug into marred tissue, gaze locked on the streaming data before him, skimming for indications of his former partner. It wasn't like Sam to lay low, Isaac had discovered that tendency after knowing him for less than 2 minutes.

His gaze was torn away from data pad, catching the phrase "Chorus" from the news on the far wall. He hauled himself to a seated position, snatching the remote from the worn table in front of him, cranking the volume.

Reports continue to pour in regarding the stalemate between the UNSC and Chorus. The planet has been ravaged by a civil war spanning over three decades, until it was brought to an abrupt conclusion a little less than a year ago. Since the war's conclusion, Chorus has been the center of interplanetary conflict, stubbornly defying the wishes of the UNSC to rejoin Earth and her colonies, opting, instead, to remain independent.

Peace talks have come to a halt after a series of terrorist attacks by a group of simulation troopers, the Reds and Blues of Project Freelancer. The UNSC suspects Chorus employed these soldiers to protect the planet.

Current President, Vanessa Kimball, has denied all allegations of association with the Reds and Blues, claiming, "Chorus has not contributed to these attacks in any way, and will offer full cooperation until these terrorists are apprehended. At which point, I hope the peace talks can continue."

Back to you--

Felix paused the screen, staring quietly at the frozen frame of Kimball, the throbbing in his ribs long forgotten. He settled against the tattered leather of the sofa, brown eyes studying the President of Chorus. The war, surprisingly, had been a simpler time. He'd had Sam, hell, he'd even had Vanessa, a woman of incredible strength.

The corner of his mouth turned upward in a gentle smile, recalling their attempts at a relationship. The late night talks--most of which related to strategizing, although, he had managed to redirect her attention to other topics. The smile broadened at the rarely reciprocated flirtations. Granted, he'd been playing the role of trusted mercenary, but--something about what they had hadn't been a deception. Sure, he'd had to lie to her, but, there were times he told the truth, specifically about how he felt.

She never responded, word of those Red and Blue morons had reached her. Then--then everything went downhill from there.

Isaac heaved a frustrated sigh, snatching the remote up and shutting off the television. He tossed the data pad onto the table, there would be time enough to find Sam tomorrow.

He'd been off the radar for months, which made it borderline impossible to find him. Isaac knew him, they'd spent years together, both during the war and later as partners.

Sam would slip up. He always did, sooner than later. ----------------

Part 2

#isaac gates #isaac felix gates #felix #felix mcscouty #rvb felix #samuel 'locus' ortez #rvb locus #samuel locus ortez #felix and locus #locus #rvb #Red vs blue #phantom writes #rvb fanfic #felix series-saudade

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grim-2026 · 6 years

Text

So @anneonomus requested this

rules: answer 30 questions then tag people you’d like to know better

Nicknames: ok, no one uses them but technically JD from the dork who sent this, jaybird from my family, and swimmy from my gamer tag

Gender: Female

Star Sign: Libra son

MBTI Type: INTJ

Height: 5'4" plus a bit, people are indecisive

Time: umm, you mean rn?10:30 bitch

Birthday: Oct 11, 2001

Fav Bands: so... that's an ever-changing list.. So I'll go for set it off, get scared, muse, MCR, glass animals, system of a down, red hot chili peppers, and I'll go ahead and stop here.

Fav solo artist: Simon Curtis, rag n bone man, SVECINA, NF, do any of these count, who knows.

Song stuck in my mind: jet pack blues by fallout boys because angst fan material

Last movie watched: Nightmare before Christams because i still maintain that it is my favorite christams movie

Last show watched: Black Mirror, i'm watching it rn actually, sci fi and horror, how could i not

When did I create my blog: i don't remeber when I made the account, but I just started actually rebloging things a month and a half or so ago

What do I post about: it's mostly a reference to my fandom, which happen to be mostly videogames. Might start writing things, who knows

Last thing I googled: RvB mercs amv... i swear there was a purpose to that

Do you have other blogs: I'm lazy, hell nah

Why did you choose your url: fun story, freshman year i wrote my first full length novel for NaNoWriMo, it sucked btw, but the main character was badass and had the nickname grim after the grim reaper. The year was 2026, so i made the two into a gamertag for my accounts after that and so here we are

Following: 100

Followers: technically 6

Fav Color: dark blues and blood red Average hours of sleep: .... yeah... maybe 6 on a good night, who knows

Lucky number: dont have one, but i always liked pi

Instruments: started on violin, then moved to french horn, then electric guitar, still want to learn how to play piano

What I’m wearing: camo sweat pants, an old army shirt from my pater, and a blue and white christmas-y sleeping hoodie, it has a fluff lining.. it's nice

How many blankets do I sleep with: varies from 1-3, one large fluff and two smaller fluffs

Dream trip: everywhere, but a start would be Ireland with some nice exploration

food: anything sweet, but if you're talking "real" food then it would be chicken pot pie

Nationality: I'm American but my mom's side came from Germany and my dad's is from North Ireland, so that's fun

So I don't really have other friends on here.... but umm, yeah, there you go dork

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louiseazy · 2 years

Text

Red vs Blue Swear Count Chorus Trilogy

471 swears in total for the trilogy

swear word used :

r-word/whore where used twice; douche 3 times; bastard/crap 5; dick 17; bitch 37; ass 45; damn 54; shit 113; & fuck a whopping 188 times

Fun Fact: that more than the total amount of swears for one season

Seasons Rankings :

3rd place is season 13 with 142

2nd place is season 11 with 154

1st place is season 12 with 174

Ranks :

Last place non-swearer C.C/Santa/FLISS/chairman/Matthews/Jensen/Andersmith/Locus/ Freckles/Donut/Caboose

17th is a tie Dr. Grey/Doc/counselor/Sharkface with 1

16th is Doyle with 2

15th is Palomo with 3

14th is Bitters with 4

13th is Carolina with 5

12th is New Republic with 6

11th is a tie Lopez dos point o/Sarge with 8

10th is control with 9

9th is Kimball with 10

8th is a tie The Federations/ extras with 12

7th is Lopez with 13

6th is Washington with 16

5th is Simmons with 33

4th is Epsilon with 41

3rd place is Felix with 45

2nd place is Grif with 92

1st place is Tucker with 148

Teams Ranks :

Last place the feds with 15

4th place new rep with 23

3rd place control with 56

2nd place Reds with 154

1st place Blues with 206

Ain't that a bitch ~Epsilon

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beewaggle · 7 years

Text

Hook. Line. Sinker.

Series: Demon AU. Pairings: Not sure yet. Gen right now maybe leaning towards some Tuckington and other pairings (I’m such a multishipper) Characters: Felix, Tucker, Jensen (mentioned), Agent Washington (flashback) Summary: It’s all about the lure. Previous: Demons Inspired by: @shou-rvb Demon Felix and Locus

“That’s crazy dude!”

Felix quirked an eyebrow. He was with Tucker wandering the New Republic’s base. Early on he decided Tucker was the key. He was the weak link. Simmons would over think things, Grif was unmotivated, Caboose was…Caboose. It would be Tucker, and when Tucker fell all of them would.

“I mean… we’ve met demons. You do NOT make a deal with demons and now you’re telling me everyone does?!”

Felix lets a pout play on his face as if Tucker’s words actually affected him.

“Baseless and slanderous stereotyping.”

“It—” Tucker crossed his arms self-consciously. “We’ve seen what they—what you can do. First hand.”

“Ahhh,” Felix leaned back against the wall in understanding, “You mean Project Freelancer’s soul fragments, right?”

Tucker nodded, “Yeah. Those things are just fragments and they fuck people up. An actual full one of you guys…”

Felix waved his hand as if Tucker were being silly. “You have it backwards Tucker. Think about it. A soul fragment is broken. Even the most powerful ones. Their deals are … all or nothing. My deals however? Much more subtle.”

“How is taking someone’s soul, subtle?”

Felix rolled his eyes, “It doesn’t have to be a soul. Listen, you just only found yourself in this little war here, so let me explain a few things.”

“…I’m listening…”

Hook line and sinker.

Felix gestured around, “These rebels, they aren’t equipped to handle the might of an evil empire, right? What they need are advantages. Just little ones. Something small that might make the difference in a fight. Look at Jensen.”

Tucker did. “Alright, what about her. You’re saying she made a deal with you?”

Jensen and her friends were working on one of the old Warthogs. She sneezed loudly, groaning about allergies. Tucker didn’t seem convinced.

“Uhuh. Of course she has. Everyone in this army has at least once.”

Tucker was obviously distinctively uncomfortable. He let his eyes fall back on Felix.

“It was a good trade,” Felix reassured him. He tried to keep the bite out of his smile. “Ability to drive for the ability to fix military grade engines.”

“What… you…”

“I know, it doesn’t seem like an equal trade, but she already DID have talent for it,” Felix shrugged, “So I gave her a good deal. She could have learned it herself, but the thing about war is that you don’t have a lot of time to learn things with your buddies being shot at. She was more than happy with it. Just ask her.”

Tucker shuffled. Watched as Jensen called Palomo over to hand her a cloth to wipe out the inside of her helmet.

“It doesn’t have to be…the soul?”

“Well,” Felix tilted his hand back and forth, “I mean. It’s just a little tiny piece. It’s not like you need your whole soul anyway. I’m surprised your Freelancer friend never told you about it. Wash seemed pretty informed when we spoke.”

“You spoke to Wash about it?” Tucker perked up. Felix wished he could dance right now. It was so easy to pull at this guy’s strings. Tucker so badly wanted anything he could get when it came to Agent Washington. It’s as if he thought the Freelancer would be able to fix everything if only he was there. Like Washington could fix an entire war. Pretty naïve for one of ‘Chorus’ greatest hopes.’

“Yeah, he was very aware of our small trade barter system. You guys seem like such good friends. He really never mentioned it? We even discussed getting you guys home.”

“I could get you and your men home Agent Washington,” Felix said innocently. “I mean my deal right now is getting you to the New Republic in one piece, but I would be willing to—”

“At what cost? Don’t—Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. Anything is too much. We are not doing this. We are not helping you. This is not happening.”

“If not you then maybe your friends would be interested?”

Washington tensed. He had a distinctly unhinged look.

“If you try this with them I’ll end you. Take anything from them and I will swear it will be my mission to take everything from you. Do you understand?!”

“You have a lot of prejudice Agent Washington.”

“I have a lot of experience with people like you.”

Felix gazed at Tucker. He wasn’t about to tell him that little part of the conversation.

“Wash would never make a deal,” Tucker said with authority, but he was wavering.

“I said discuss. Freelancer paranoia doesn’t make for an open mind. I thought you Reds and Blue were… free thinkers though. I guess you guys don’t get up to much without your Freelancers.”

Felix pulled back a little. He didn’t want to overplay things after all. The Reds and Blues would be easy, but making it obvious would be in poor taste. He’d dance Lavernius Tucker right into a corner.

“Anyway, just don’t be so judgy about it, man. These people have lost a lot. They need help and right now, the only one that’s been helping them is me. Some people might demand money or equipment they don’t have or can’t spare. I ask for things they can lose. A signature here, a favourite colour there, a few happy memories, a few bad one, talent at marbles. In exchange they might get the advantages they need to win their lives back. I have never offered a trade for a whole soul and trust me, these people have asked. They think their one sacrifice could save everyone. It’s sad… it’s sort of like Wash. When he closed off the caves sacrificing himself. Seems like the right thing to do, but the people that get left behind?” He glances at Tucker, “Not so great.”

“…Kimball was saying that you know Locus,” Tucker hedged.

“Oh yeah, very familiar,” Felix grinned this time letting just a little nastiness creep out, but Tucker would think it was meant for Locus. “He’s particular. A connoisseur. He takes the entire soul if he can help it. The more interesting the better. I shudder to think what the Feds have promised him.”

Felix began walking away. He counted down in his mind slowly. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…

“How much would it be for—just like… knowing where they are? Wash and the others I mean?”

Felix licked his lips, eyes brightening before he turned around. At the last moment he let his face fall into a concerned frown. “Now Tucker I don’t want to encourage you to do something you’re not comfortable with. You still have your deal with Vanessa. Help her and she’ll help you.”

But it would be the hard way.

“Just--!! I just wanna know the price, dude. Just the price. Current location. Nothing more than that.”

“Hmm… well if you just want an estimate…”

Hook. Line. Sinker.

#tucker rvb #felix rvb #demon au #demon!felix #agent washington mentioned #blue's fics #mine

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unplcnned-variable · 7 years

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Trans RvB Week - Tuesdayyyyy~!

I was really worried I wouldn’t get this out XD.

Characters: Dick Simmons, unnamed side-characters

Word Count: 587

Warnings: Canon-typical swearing, implied transphobia

I’m putting this under a cut due to implied / mentions of transphobia. Please be warned, read at your own discretion.

“Danaaaaaaa, move!” Aware of the sudden noise, Simmons shifted himself to the side a bit. He faintly acknowledged his friend's presence as she promptly sat down beside him and a few other companions of his. “So, which on is your brother?” one of them queried. “Uh... The one with 36 on his back.” Simmons pointed to one of the linebackers of their team, a tall, muscled being of a man. One of his friends made a cooing sound, leaning back in her seat. Another whistled, much to Simmons' discomfort. “Excuse my language, but damn, your brother is hot~!” the one that had forced him out of his earlier seat exclaimed, pressing one hand to her rosy-red lips. Simmons' eyes followed his brother for a moment before falling down to look at his own body, noting the differences. The chest size, the shape of the waist, hair length. Things like that. He looked back out at his brother, wondering what it was like to have a body like that. Probably amazing. He wouldn't have to wear a bra, he wouldn't have to wear dresses. He could cut his hair and his parents wouldn't yell. For some reason, he found himself loving the idea of living in a body more like his brothers. He barely even noticed the wide grin bursting on his face until a friend pointed it out. “Uh, Dana? What's the grin for?” his friend crowed, making a disgusted face. Simmons' smile wiped from his face as he shot to face his friend, stammering something about “I was just thinking- I was just-” His friend cut him off with a cackle, slapping a hand onto his shoulder. “So, Dana, what were you thinking about? That cute guy in the front?” she gestured to the field. Simmons glanced down at the field, unsure if he should even tell the truth. Taking a leap of faith, he inhaled, and spoke. “I dunno, I just- I mean, wouldn't it be cool to have a body like that?” a ghost of a smile wandered onto his face, as he glanced back to his friend, hoping for a smile in return. He never got one. Instead, he got a stern glare. After a moment, it turned into a giggling mess of a face, his friend, rocking back and forth in her laughter and drawing the attention of his other 'friends'. “What's up?” “What's so funny?” they asked. “Dana thinks that having a dude's body would be cool!” she chortled, getting snort out of some of his friends. “Seriously, Dana, are you like... Y'know... Trans?” Something caught it Simmons' throat, a wave of realization washing over him. Or at least, he thought so. This was certainly something he had to think about. “Dana...?” His mind was a mess. He couldn't be trans. His family would kill him. His friends would disown him. He'd get kicked out. He wouldn't have anywhere to go. “Dana, girl-” “No- No, I'm not, I just- I just thought that maybe- I don't know-” he sputtered out, the lie leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. A relieved, awkward laugh circulated through the group. “Thank God, Dana, girl, don't freak us out like that!!” someone chuckled. “Yeah- Yeah, I, I won't.” He hated lying about this. But he guessed he didn't have another choice right now. Besides, he had other things to worry about. What the fuck was he going to tell his parents.

#trans rvb week #profanity #transphobia #tw transphobia #trans simmons #red vs blue #please notify me if I've missed a tag #seriously I've never written something like this and I hope it doesn't violate any rules #seriously if you want me to tag anything else in this post #just tell me fam #my writing

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roosterteethinserts · 7 years

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Drunken Confessions

AN: I got inspired to write this request quickly, so here it is! I have one request left until I don’t have any more, so send requests...or just message me with questions or anything like that if you want! Enjoy

Pair-Kyle/Reader

Word Count-1831

Warnings-drinking, swears,

Summary-Telling Miles a secret crush that you have with a co-worker isn’t the best idea, especially if he’s drinking with said person and getting drunk. Miles tells Y/N’s secret about her crush on Kyle and Kyle confesses his feelings back.

The animation department has its advantages, but one of the major disadvantages of working in it is having your crush work with you during the whole work day, especially when your crush doesn't have a single clue about it. My life is based on this disadvantage that it's too distracting at times. Sure, he wasn't exactly in the animation department, but he sure worked with them a lot. The person that I've had a crush on since I basically started is the reason for ranting to myself while I'm staring at my computer screen.

To the right, I can see him and Miles laughing at a story Josh was telling them, his eyes sparkling with happiness as he was with his friends. His deep voice rang out in the office. Those who didn't wear headphones had the pleasure of their ears being filled with one of his many jokes. I had to stifle a smile as I tried focusing on the RVB scene at hand.

Kerry called, "Kyle, Miles! Can you come over and check the scene real quick? I want another opinion."

The brunette's eyes went from Miles to Kerry, nodding his head and soon heading over to the desk that Kerry was asking about. He passed me, smiling politely and greeting me. I nodded back, a faint smile on my lips. Miles looked at me, eyebrow raised in questioning over the interaction. I rolled my eyes at him, going back to the scene.

I finished my work for the day, happy to leave for the weekend. Miles and a few others were hanging out at his apartment later tonight so I had a little while until I had to be there. I decided to stop at HEB and get some food and drinks for tonight for Miles.

The party started with just me and Miles since we live right next to each other, which is one of the reasons for me even getting into being an animator at Rooster Teeth. We live on the same floor and quickly became friends when I first moved.

"So, Y/N, what was that today during work?"

I raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

He laughed, "When you were staring at Kyle and then blushed when he said hi to you."

I groaned, "I didn't blush, you moron. And you know that I get distracted sometimes when I animate. You guys were being loud and I just watched."

He didn't want to take my excuses for an answer. Instead of brushing it off like a normal human, he decided to interrogate me.

"Do you like him?"

I shook my head, "No."

"Then why do you always stare at him or be nice to him?"

"Well Miles, since I'm nice to you do I have a crush on you?"

He exclaimed, "YOU JUST ADMITTED THAT YOU LIKE HIM!!"

I opened my mouth to say something, but I realized that I did in fact do that. Admitting defeat, I closed my eyes, trying to be dead as I laid on the couch.

Miles promised me, "I'll keep it a secret though, okay? I don't want you to hate me for doing this."

We promised and I warned, "If you tell anyone, I'm taking all of your anime merch. Got it?"

He agreed, laughing as I heard someone knock on the door. People arrived and the party started. Mostly, it was just named a party and more like a hang out. We all drank and ate while playing the various video games that Miles had. A small drinking game even started where whenever someone died in a game we'd take a drink, and boy did we drink a lot.

It was nearing midnight and almost everyone was drunk. I quit the drinking game after my first beer but most seemed to keep going. Therefore, I became everyone's mother and took care of everyone, but mostly Miles. He was absolutely hammered and I regret ever getting the drinks for the party.

Miles slung an arm around my shoulders and slurred to the group, "Hey guys! Do you ever feel like animation has some people that are just too attractive, but you can't date them?"

I asked, "Why are you like this, Miles?"

I noticed that Kerry was drunk as well, making me sigh. My bosses were some of the weirdest people drunk, and a lot to handle as well.

I grabbed Miles' hand as I told him, "Hey. Maybe we should get you to bed, okay? You gotta sleep off the drunkenness before something bad happens."

Miles pouted, "No. You can't tell me what to do, I'm your boss."

I countered, "And you're acting like you're five. Bed, Miles."

He huffed, walking away to the couch to sit down. I rolled my eyes, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and going to hand it to him. Miles looked at me through glassy eyes to give me a half-serious glare.

I told him, "If you want to stay out here, drink this so your hangover isn't horrible."

Kerry whined next to me, "My beer is gone."

I grabbed the empty bottle from him and he whined even more. I disposed of the empty bottle, grabbing another water bottle for Kerry, deciding both of them need to stop drinking. The others seemed amused by my parenting my bosses, silently watching with smiles on their faces. Out of the corner of my eye I watched Kyle sip on his second beer for the night and watch as this scene played out. Instead of concentrating on making myself not look like a fool, I focused on the drunkest pair I've seen tonight.

Kerry almost threw the water bottle at me but decided to drink it after I opened it for him and coaxed him into drinking it with promises of buying him a figurine from one of his newest anime obsessions. I almost cried with joy after the two finished their bottles. Now, the hard part was upon us: getting them to bed. I wasn't going to let Kerry go home at this state, so Miles' bed would have to do for the both of them. But the hard part of moving the both of them was my next challenge. Since Miles was the easiest to deal with, I asked Kyle to bring him to his room. He agreed and basically carried the man to his room. With them gone, I faced Kerry more seriously.

I told him, "Come on, Kerry. It's time for bed. Up you go."

He followed orders, but not without the complaining drunk Kerry had. It took a couple of minutes, but eventually we were able to leave the living room and go into Miles' room.

Already, Miles was passed out in his side of the bed. Kyle stood up from his spot near the bed, giving me a confused look as he passed me. I shook it off, just thinking that Miles probably told him something really weird or suggestive, and got Kerry into bed, both of them laying on their sides in case they vomit in their sleep.

The rest of the night was wrapped up pretty quickly. Everyone else went home via rideshare and I was able to clean up and write a quick note explaining what happened and why they're sleeping together. I left towards my apartment without much thought.

The next work day, I needed to ask Kyle a few questions pertaining the set of scenes I was given. It seemed as if he was avoiding me like the plague since whenever I got the courage to speak to me, he gave an excuse to leave as soon as possible. I wondered what happened. Did he realize that he didn't like me? My mind went to the party and when Kyle brought Miles to bed. A drunk Miles can say anything, and I wanted to know what he said but I already had a feeling of what he said.

"Miles Luna, what did you tell Kyle when you were drunk?"

His eyes widened at the sudden outburst on our way back to work from our lunch break. He paused, thinking back to the party.

Miles countered, "I didn't tell him anything, Y/N."

I raised an eyebrow, "Then why does he act differently around me, huh?"

His mind searched for the answer, giving a terrified expression as he whispered his response.

"I've fucked up."

His eyes locked with mine as he went onto his knees, holding his hands up for forgiveness.

"I-I-I didn't mean to, I swear! My drunk self decided that they wanted you two together and they said that without thinking of the consequences! Please, I'll make it up to you! I'll buy you a month's worth of take out and I won't give you as much work! Just don't murder me in this parking lot."

I looked around, wondering if anyone else was witnessing this happen.

Just when I turned back to Miles, I heard from the car that just pulled in, "Does your sober self feel the same way about us, Miles?"

I froze as I saw Kyle get out of the passenger seat of Josh's car, a small smile on his face. He walked up to us as Miles stood back up, wiping the dirt off of his jeans.

Kyle asked again, "Do you feel the same way now, Miles?"

Miles swallowed, nodding his head cautiously.

Kyle turned to me and said, "What about you then, Y/N? Do you ship us together?"

I stuttered out while my face was flushed, "I-I do, but if you're not attracted to me then it's completely fine. I'm fine with just being friends."

Kyle walked right in front of me, where Miles was seconds before. He smiled as he was given a bouquet of flowers from Josh, who was done parking his car.

He asked, "I've liked you even before Miles told me, but I didn't know how to ask you. Would you do me the honor of going on a date with me and making this ship happen?"

I laughed, nodding my head yes. His smile grew and he brought me into a hug. The flowers were given to me after it, the two boys watching started cheering. I felt my cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

Miles smiled, "Come on, lovebirds. We gotta get back to work."

I rolled my eyes, "Yeah of course, boss."

Miles added, "You two are gonna be the cutest couple in animation."

"Not you and Kerry?"

"HEY!"

I laughed, "Kidding....You still owe me take out though for spilling my secret." Miles sighed, nodding his head in defeat. Kyle watched our bickering with a happy expression. It was all because of Miles that this even happened, even if his drunken mouth was the cause of it. Still, he became the best wingman even in the least sober of states, and I'd never have wanted it any other way.

#roosterteeth imagine #rooster teeth imagine #kyle taylor x reader #kyle taylor insert #My writing #roosterteeth inserts #roosterteethinserts

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meteoratdusk-blog · 7 years

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RvB Bingo Wars: Soulmates entry

Title: Wine Whine and Dine

Summary: Church and Donut talk about soulmates and have some wine and cheese that maybe doesn’t actually exist.

Pairings: talk about Chex, mostly platonic Churchnut

Word Count: 1.2k

Notes: I don’t think this one requires any warnings, but I’ve been known to miss things and I’m sick today so let me know if I need to tag for anything and I’ll be happy to oblige!

Wine Whine and Dine

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

Church froze in his investigation of the room and turned to look at his new host, who was seated on a plush mental couch, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands, gazing at Church with the most saccharine expression he could imagine. Okay, technically it was imagination because even in his own head Donut was still wearing his signature light-ish red armor, but something about the expressive angle of the helmet combined with the guy’s wistful tone made it pretty easy to picture his expression.

Being in his head also probably helped.

Church looked around for anyone else Donut might be talking to, but the room was empty except for the two of them. There was nobody else on Donut’s mind at the moment, apparently.

“Why wou—I’m—do I believe what?” he asked, because maybe he hadn’t heard correctly. He didn’t really have time to chitchat, they would be leaving soon to parley with the Reds and hopefully get him his own robot body, but time always seemed slower in other people’s heads, and the line was such a weird opener he had to ask.

Donut heaved a sigh imbued with longing and romance, and suddenly there were rose petals drifting through the air of their shared headspace.

“I’m feeling a real connection with you, Blue Guy—”

“Church,” Church corrected automatically, eyeing the drifting petals.

“Church,” Donut amended smoothly, “I think we could have something really special. I’ve never felt so close to someone I’ve just met.”

“Pretty sure that’s because we’re in the same fucking body,” Church said, glancing around at the palm trees and sofas, past the tasteful coffee table with the lacy doilies, trying to see through the rain of rose petals for a door, or maybe a garbage chute he could throw himself down. “You don’t get much closer than that. Doesn’t have to mean anything.”

There didn’t appear to be any available exits.

“Still,” Donut went on, “I’ve never been so happy to have another man so deep inside me.”

Church had to rewind that one in his head.

“…uuhh,” he said. “Just to head this off I already have a girlfriend. I mean. Sort of. When she isn’t trying to punch me and kill everyone I know. We’re working on it.”

Donut frowned. Church still couldn’t see his face but he could tell because the rose petals abruptly stopped falling and suddenly there was a cheese platter on the coffee table.

“Well that’s no good!” Donut said with an audible pout.

“Look, pink guy—”

“Donut,” said Donut, and Church knew that—obviously he knew that, he was in the man’s head—but he was absolutely not going admit it, because who was named Donut seriously. “And it’s light-ish red.”

“Pink guy—”

“You need some serious help in the romance department, mister,” Donut continued, ignoring him completely, “so it’s a good thing you’re here, because you’re just in time for my daily wine and cheese hour!”

A bottle of wine appeared on the table.

“I’m not interes—wait, your what?”

The bottle was replaced with two full glasses of wine. Red, Church noticed. What a surprise.

“Tell me about your girlfriend,” Donut said, handing him a glass of wine. Church had no idea how either one of them were supposed to drink it through their helmets. “Does she like flowers?”

“I don’t think she ever met him,” Church answered blankly. “What the fuck is happening here.”

“We’re brainstorming on ways to get you back together with your soulmate of course!”

Church blinked. Or he thought about blinking. Whatever.

“Okay no,” he said, “weren’t you just saying that you thought we were soulmates?”

“Maybe some people get more than one,” Donut said dismissively, waving for him to sit down. “Everybody needs something different. Besides, if you think she is then why would I argue? That’s just rude.” Donut paused. “So tell me, I want to hear all about it. Is she your soulmate?”

Church stared at him for a second too long. He didn’t think about other halves and things that were missing, or about great lonely gaps in the mind and the soul with ragged, torn edges that fought to stay raw. He didn’t think about echoes and emptiness, about tearing anxiety that only seemed to ease when she was there, when he could see her in front of him. He didn’t think about it, because he never did. He couldn’t. He couldn’t think about the way he felt when she was gone. He couldn’t think about the absolute certainty that one day she would never come back, that he would look away and she’d be—that everyone would be—they’re all—

Donut’s wine glass was half empty, he noticed suddenly. They were both still wearing their helmets, but the glass was half empty. What the fuck.

“How the—no wait, I don’t have time for this shit,” Church muttered, the thread of his thoughts vanishing like a ghost. It was a metaphor he knew quite a lot about, thank you.

“There’s always time for love!” Donut said cheerfully. He patted the couch cushion next to him invitingly. “Come on, Church, have some wine, relax a little.”

Church snorted.

“I don’t know how it works with the Reds, man, but relaxing isn’t something Blue Army ever has on the schedule.”

“Why not? Disaster’s not going to strike just because you looked away for a minute.”

“Have you met Caboose?”

“It’s just a glass of wine, just for a few minutes,” Donut insisted. “Everyone could use some wine now and then. You look tired.”

Church stopped short, his protest that Donut couldn’t possibly know what he looked like only half formed, because—Donut wasn’t wrong. He was tired.

He was always tired.

“One glass of wine,” Donut said, a new bottle of wine appearing on the coffee table as he reached out to refill his empty glass. “Tell me what’s on your mind, and then maybe we can figure out a good gift to impress your lady friend.”

He poured the wine. It was a rosé.

Church gave up.

“You do not want to know all the bullshit going on right now, buddy,” he said, slumping onto the couch cushion. The wine in his glass tried to slosh over the rim but he didn’t let it. Why should he? It wasn’t even real. “I swear to God, this whole damn canyon and everything in it was put here just to piss me off.”

“Ooh, let’s hear it!”

Church took a sip of the wine. Don’t ask him how he did it, because he never took the damn helmet off either, but maybe sometimes the idea of the thing was more important than the practical application.

“Okay, first of all—” he started.

Time moved slower on the inside. If you weren’t careful certain kinds of thoughts could build and grow and pile up when you weren’t looking, stacking up so high that the slightest thing could make them fall. Sometimes you had to take a minute to dismantle that tower of shit before it toppled over and crushed you, he thought. A few minutes of whining to someone who listened might actually do him good.

The outside world could wait.

And you know what? The wine really wasn’t bad.

#RvB Bingo Wars #Blue Team entry #Red vs Blue #rvb #rvb fic #my writing #I don't actually know what this was even trying to be #but here it is #Franklin Delano Donut #Leonard Church #Alpha Church #chex #churchnut #but only a little

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