daysofrefuge

[daysofrefuge]

R&R

Chili Cook-Off! This event will be held in Forward Mess Hall. To enter, contract Master Chef Jonathan Lowell. To attend as a taster, pick up your tickets any time before February 25! Miller just wanted to enjoy his morning off, but he's voluntold to attend the Chili Cook-off. There he runs into some familiar faces. Fernando bullies and gets bullied by his coworkers. Linda socializes and reports back to Blue Team.

Technically a sequel to Backup - the other Miller/Esparza fic that takes place during SpOps.

Also posted to ao3

-

February 25th, 2558. A perfectly normal Saturday.

4 days since the invasion. Not even two weeks since Castle was shot down on their way to Copernicus base. So much had gone wrong.

The hole in Miller's Fireteam roster yawned ever wider as the campaign pushed everyone to their limits. He had thought he'd lost Crimson too, but their luck had held out so far. But losses were common, regardless of what the propaganda said. It really was only a matter of time.

Get it together, Miller. He thinks to himself and huffs a sigh. At least he can be dramatic and morose in the privacy of his own bunk.

"Good morning, Spartan Miller!"

Never mind, he's not safe anywhere. Maybe he should be grateful that Roland has the decency to wait until he's awake.

"Roland." He sighs and rolls over, glaring at the ceiling. "It's my morning off."

"Was your morning off. Put some pants on so you don't scare my delivery boy. I hope you're hungry!"

Miller grumbles something about pushy AI and pulls on some sweatpants before there's a knock at his door. It's probably Dalton or someone from Crimson in on Roland's scheme. Miller scowls and opens the door.

It's not Dalton or Crimson. It's Linda. 058. Blue Team Linda. Sharp-green-eyes-that-see-into-your-soul Linda. Linda from the speed dating event, who-acted-like-she-wanted-to-win-it Linda. That Linda. At Miller's door. Where he's standing. Shirtless and half awake. Well, he's fully awake now. He stares at her, frozen as the white hot fear and panic turns him to stone. She stares at him, expression blank as usual, maintaining prolonged eye contact as Miller’s brain both empties and goes into overdrive. He goes for casual seconds too late and aborts a half-motion to cover his chest. Playing it off like he went to scratch his neck, he finally regains his grasp of the English language and manages human-like speech.

"Hi." The greeting creaks out his throat.

Linda nods in lieu of a greeting and opens her palm to reveal comically archaic paper tickets. They look small and childish in her hand - so out of place on a warship. Paper tickets, a novelty on their own, but on the Infinity they mean one thing; Morale boosting events. R&R, hand-delivered and Roland-enforced. Miller is doomed. He’s getting roped in. Roland somehow roped Linda (058, his brain supplies, as if leaving the numbers off is rude) to rope Miller into attending.

Miller blinks. Linda doesn't appear to need to. He holds his arm out robotically and receives them. He's unsure what's happening. Surely he’s still dreaming and this social fumble is just a nightmare.

"What are these for?" He asks.

"Chili cook-off. You're a taster." She says, voice cool and calm. Miller can't tell what she's thinking or feeling. Linda’s the most mysterious member of Blue Team because of her quiet and secretive nature. Beyond being the sniper, Miller isn’t really aware of any aspect of her personality. Even Chief emotes more than Linda. Miller thinks Linda lets people see exactly what she wants them to see, which is none of her, most of the time.

"What? This is what Roland was talking about?" He sighs, "I'm sorry you got dragged into this." He is genuinely apologetic. There was something of a Roland blast zone surrounding Miller and those who got too close were collateral for the AI’s whims. 

Her head tilts a fraction of a millimeter. "I'm going too." She reveals her own ticket. "See you there." And then she's gone.

Miller blinks and Linda is disappearing down the hall while he stands there like an idiot. He knows he only sees her leave because she wants him to. Why did the "see you there" sound so threatening? IIs were such different beasts from IVs, socially at least. He was fine being a handler and helping on Ops with IIs, but without Fred balancing them out, Blue Team was nigh indecipherable outside a combat setting.

Miller groans. He'd been looking forward to laying around in bed for his morning off. Now he's saddled with expectations. If he doesn't go, Roland won't allow him a moment of peace until he decides Miller's suffering has balanced the scales. He's at the mercy of a fickle AI. He knows Roland knows he knows this. He better get on with it, for his own sake.

Gunmetal gray walls and bright lights greet him as he leaves his room and exits S-Deck to the less Spartan-friendly areas of the ship. There’s a dull roar as he approaches the cafeterias and Miller sees more groups congregating than he had expected. The Forward Mess Hall is a hive of activity as Miller steps through the door. Voices drone together in a low buzz as bodies swarm different tables. Crew from every department and rank are rubbing elbows, some for the first time ever. Master Chef Lowell is conducting the competing cooks with a smile on his face. The overall mood is surprisingly light given that just a few days ago the Infinity had been boarded by Covenant and Promethean invaders.

The crew needed this. A small, lighthearted respite in the midst of a messy campaign. Miller needed this too, though he didn't sign up to be a taster for the Chili Cook-Off of his own free will. Roland signing him up looked like it would turn out to be a good thing, not that Miller could voice that where the AI could hear. Roland's ego needed no help.

Miller finds himself in a swarm of crew vying for the seats at the tables across from the cooks. He's a head taller than most of the people there, sticking out like a sore thumb. There's one Spartan competing which assuages some of his nerves - it's funny seeing Spartan Hedge in an apron that barely makes it to his upper thigh.

He's scouting for a spot to sit, one that will support his augmented weight, when someone calls his name.

"Spartan Miller?"

It's the civilian from the group that huddled in the Op Center during the invasion. The engineering contractor or something, Esparza. He waves at Miller and gestures to the empty seat next to him. Miller raises a hand to wave back and finds himself gravitating towards the table. It wasn't like anyone else was going to wave him down.

"Esparza, right? How have you been?" Miller asks as he takes a seat.

Esparza grins at the fact that Miller remembered his name. Fernando incorporates Miller into his small group near-seamlessly. “Good, good. Nice to see you again, you know, without the danger.”

“I guess that depends on the chili.” Miller laughs awkwardly. He regrets the joke immediately but it makes Esparza smile and his group mates groan goodnaturedly. 

Esparza is kind. He chuckles as Miller gingerly sits, testing to see if the seat will support him. The metal folding chair groans but holds. Esparza laughs outright at how Miller's eyes go wide at the sound and he throws his arms out to brace. It's a nice laugh. They make small talk and Miller learns he doesn’t flub every social interaction he’s a part of.

Esparza introduces him to the other people sitting around their table. Mostly civilian types, contractors and engineers. Egghead types, the commander would say, but they’re good people and Miller finds himself relaxing. He finds himself forgetting how much he sticks out and just enjoys the company. There's some words about him being the Spartan that protected the engineers during the invasion and Miller hates that he feels his face heat up. He knows the tips of his ears are red, but it feels nice to be remembered for something good for once. 

"Did you come here with anyone?" Esparza asks.

He shakes his head. "My 'friend' signed me up for this, even had someone else drop off the ticket. I thought I might see someone here but I'm not sure. She's...good at blending in."

Esparza looks curious. “Your friend made you come? They must have thought you needed a break. I’m glad you made it.” He says while gently nudging Miller’s side.

“Thanks.” Miller says,“Don’t let him hear you say that though. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Who?”

Miller looks around and lowers his voice before answering. There’s too many people and the noise should prevent him from hearing, but who knows? He’s probably watching and lip reading from some unseen camera angle. “Roland.”

Esparza looks confused for a moment. “The Ship AI?”

“Yes.” Miller says mournfully. Esparza laughs, probably at this tone and the look on his face. He knows he’s pouting.

“I have to know, why? Is it because he’s like your boss?” Esparza leans in.

“I think he just likes picking on me, specifically.”

“So he likes you.” Esparza says grinning and sitting back. He crosses his arms and the easy curve of his posture is relaxed and knowing. He looks smug.

Miller feels himself losing control of his expression. He’s affronted. “I wouldn’t say that. I think he just likes causing problems.”

“Does he pull stunts like this often?” One of the other engineers asks. Miller can’t recall her name.

“He’s always popping up on Ops. I think he thinks he’s helping. Or he gets bored.”

“He rarely talks to us. I think we saw him during onboarding, but he rarely talks to our department directly.”

“He must like you.” 

“He’s pulling your pigtails because he doesn’t know what else to do.” Esparza says with a thoughtful face before he cracks up and laughs at Miller’s bright red face.

“Thanks. A bald joke, never gotten one of those before.” He says snidely.

Esparza waves him off. “No, he likes you and he’s showing his feelings the only way he knows how. By being defensive.”

“Probably picked it up from Command.” Someone at the table whispers. Miller ignores the image of Commander Palmer that pops into his head.

“I don’t know about that.” Miller mutters. “And you guys sure know how to gang up on a guy. What happened to me being the cool Spartan?”

“We started talking to you.”

“Jeez, okay I walked into that one.” Miller sighs, crossing his arms on the table and dropping his head dramatically. Joking aside, he is having a good time. He’s used to jokes at his expense,  but this feels different. Esparza’s including him and the man’s presence is comforting. Still, he’ll play his part and act put out. Maybe he can guilt them into sharing their portions of the taste testing. 

Esparza takes pity on him and pats his arm. “There, there. Look, it’s time for the food.”

In the end, they do share food with Miller when his faster metabolism comes up in conversation. He doesn’t share too much about the augs, but it’s interesting to talk to civilian types with just enough clearance he can clear up some misconceptions. 

“I didn’t know Spartans could be nerds.”

“We’re not all meathead jocks!” Miller laughs and steals a bite of one of Esparza’s samples. “Oh, which one is that? That’s going to be my number 1.”

He tries to swat Miller’s hand and fails. Scowling, Esparza bides his time until Miller starts talking to someone else and goes for the kill. His spoon gets mere inches away from Miller’s plate before the Spartan traps his hand with his own.

“Gotta be faster than that.” He laughs.

It’s Esparza’s turn to be flustered. He wiggles his hand in Miller’s strong grip and can’t get free. Miller yields and releases him, his palm feeling cold now that it’s no longer wrapped around Esparza’s hand and wrist. He was gentle, but Esparza still cradles his hand with wide eyes before coughing and clearing his throat.

Whatever he plans to say is interrupted by an announcement of the winners. Master Chef Lowell beams and introduces the winners. Miller can see Spartan Hedge near the winner’s circle looking pleased. Miller’s favorites didn’t win but they got honorable mentions. 

Then Miller sees her. Linda materializes out of the crowd and goes over to the 4th place winners with a strange intensity. She offers them the most formal handshake Miller's ever observed and must congratulate them on their work. Bobrov beams with pride and Gomez looks a little starry-eyed as Linda 058 of Blue Team fame tells them she liked their chili the best. It honestly looks closer to a medal giving ceremony than something as low stakes as a chili cook-off.

With the event officially over and his shift starting soon, Miller excuses himself with a small smile. “Maybe we’ll run into each other soon!” He says and winces internally. 

Esparza and the others smile and say their goodbyes as well before heading towards their own parts of the ship.

Miller looks around for Linda, but doesn’t see her. He hopes she had fun. He also hopes he will get morning warning before she pops up again. All the excitement is keeping him on his toes. The small break over, he still feels lighter than he has in weeks as he preps to send Crimson out into the field.

“So?” Roland asks once Miller’s seated at his station. Ask is too nice a word for it, it’s more of a demand from the AI.

“It was alright. I had fun.” Miller admits. He’s going to keep a closer eye on Roland now. Miller was considering previous conversations with Roland in a new light now. Maybe the AI was more than just bored and Miller was more than just the easiest target.

“So I was correct in making you go.”

“Maybe. If I let you set the waypoints for my Fireteams, will you stop bullying me on comms?”

“Maybe.”

It’s a start.

—

The civilians trail back towards their departments in groups, gossiping about the cook-off and who they thought should have won before the conversation turns around to focus on Fernando. He should have expected it, but honestly, he was too old for this.

"The Spartan's cute, and you guys have a great first meeting story. Why not ask him out?" One of his coworkers titters. His team had been insufferable about The Spartan That Saved Them and the moment Fernando and he had had during the crisis.

"Shhh!" Fernando waves her off and playfully scowls the others grinning at them. "He might hear you!" They were only just past the doorway to the Mess Hall.

He considers it slowly, rotating the image of the Spartan in his head and talking to Miller over the course of the last hour or so. Miller is more human and shy than he expected. Awkward. It was  funny seeing a Spartan off-kilter. He's less intimidating without the armor and he acts like he’s surprised when people like him.

"He is cute." Fernando acquiesces.

"And tall."

"And strong."

"Stop!"

“But he might be taken?”

“Yeah, you might have competition. The AI might pull your pigtails.”

“You guys are the worst. I feel like I’m back in school.”

He waves them off, but he finds his mind lingering on the Spartan as he finishes up his reports. Maybe they would see each other around. His contract on the Infinity was a longer one and there wasn’t any harm in seeing where this went.

—

Linda returns from her outing with a sense of satisfaction evident to the rest of her team. Her shoulders are relaxed and she’s talkative. Rather than return to rest from the strain of the social spotlight often aimed at the IIs, Linda seems satisfied.

Her team perks up when she returns, their body language shifting to welcome her back into their space. She has their attention and they read her posture and gestures like an open book. It went well.

“Have fun?” Kelly asks as her sister enters the room. 

Linda nods and signs the Spartan smile across her face.

John tilts his head and nods in acknowledgement. He doesn’t move off his bunk but he sits up to show he’s listening and starts mirroring her posture. 

“You know it’s not a date if both parties aren’t aware.” Fred points out from his bunk.

“Not a date. Observation.” Linda says.

“What was the speed-dating thing then?”

“Recon.”

Fred sighs. “I guess this counts as socializing. I’m glad you had fun.”

“I got some numbers.” 

“Of course you did.” Fred says and is promptly hit with a pillow. Headshot.

“Are you going to call any of them?” John asks. It’s a genuine question. Linda’s been observing and opening up to new experiences since they’ve been stationed here. If carving out time for socializing and resting in the middle of a campaign was something they did, then she would try it.

“Maybe.”

“No pillow for him? Come on.” Fred complains, but there’s mirth in his voice.

“She likes me better.” John says smugly and dodges the pillow Fred throws at him.

Maybe there was the time and space for them to branch out here. They might not have roots anywhere, not anymore, but they still had this.

Kelly makes eye contact with her and she signals “go.” The pillows fly.

#Halo #Jared Miller #Roland the AI #Linda 058 #fernando esparza #john 117 #Kelly 087 #fred 104

[daysofrefuge]

Mjolnir Syndrome: A Helping Hand

My half of an art trade with @fablepatron - find the whole thing here on ao3.

The first chapter is too explicit, but here's the second chapter Roland POV.

-

Another night watching his crew recover. Another night of patrolling the circuits of the ship, checking and rechecking, herding dumb AI back into their functions, herding dumb humans back to their responsibilities like sleeping. Most of Roland is divided into the monotonous tasks required to run a starship of this size and to care for a crew of this many talents. However, there was a negligibly sized portion of his focus on the single operating War Games sim and one Spartan Miller.

He didn’t play favorites. (Statement: untrue.) He had a handful, maybe. (Also untrue.) But that came with the territory of being a shipboard AI. Lots of handshakes and handholding. It made sense to keep an eye on a specific few in Command. Really. Just as a way to get a read on the rest of the crew and understand the social systems in place. That was the real reason Roland was watching Miller beat himself up in the wee hours of the morning, and why his subroutines flagged more processing power to monitor the Spartan as his vitals peaked.

There’s a spark of brain activity and a rapid release of cortisol in Miller’s system. His temperature raises even further and Roland considers getting help. Nothing had changed other than the slowly ramping feedback of the Mjolnir systems. The closed system was prone to feedback loops when worn for longer periods of time without a release of charge or not maintaining proper levels with an AI syncing the NI and the various layers of the armor.

Miller hadn’t wanted his help so he was keeping his distance. Mostly.

It was strange to see the usually quick-thinking Spartan brute force his way through what was bound to be unpleasant and quite distracting sensations. Unless… he wasn’t expecting it. Did Miller not know about Mjolnir Syndrome? A fun nickname given by more season Spartans and crew in the know of the…symptoms. Is that why the sudden spike in vitals?

His favorite Spartan was easy to fluster. He’d need help soon, Roland could tell. The constant influx of sensation only built and then plateaued as Miller froze. He’d never reach overload by himself, especially if he just became aware of why h-everything was so hard.

Luckily, and with no outside input from Roland, help was on the way.

The Master Chief had noticed Miller, not for the times Miller wants to space himself over, but because like Roland, Chief found Miller interesting. Maybe it was akin to studying something and finding yourself attached, like those scientists over in xenobiology who named the new flatworms they found on Requiem. Miller was Roland’s flatworm, and he was willing to share, if it meant helping the poor Spartan out.

Chief observes Miller with a tilt of his helmet. Roland was still learning the IIs body language but he thought he was picking up amusement. The specific head tilt and slight shake of the helmet for outsider observers was one he had seen Chief use with Blue Team. But they weren’t here, it was just him and Miller and R-.

Oh. Chief was including him again. It was so strange when humans did that. Only a handful seemed to remember his presence, unless he made them. Always running in the background, ready at a moment’s notice. Well, this was interesting.

“Hello, Master Chief, fancy meeting you here.” Roland says after his ping for channel access is accepted.

“Hello, Roland. I’m assuming he’s not hurt?”

“Do you think I’d let my crew get hurt and simply let them lay there.”

“No, but I wasn’t sure if I was intruding on anything.”

That gets a pause from the AI. He’s still debating on which snarky or too-honest reply to go with when Chief checks on Miller.

"I believe Spartan Miller is experiencing some technical issues with his armor." Roland supplies. He’s helping whatever this is along. Chief’s got him thinking now, which is always a dangerous thing when you’re as fast and clever as Roland. He’d been a passive party for so long. An observer or helper, and it’s not like Miller was chomping at the bit for Roland’s help, even when his plans had been so helpful in the past.

“He’s lying to you. Not that you didn’t pick that up. He’s been active for over 24 hours. He won’t let me help.” Chief doesn’t need to know how honest Roland’s words were, or that Roland’s been watching Miller push himself for 36.3 hours now.

“Have you tried asking nicely?” Chief asks and Roland wishes he had a plinth nearby to deploy his avatar on for the sole purpose of squinting at the Master Chief. He stays silent.

Chief asks and Miller says yes.

Roland wasn’t jealous. No, he was something else. Some higher AI experience rather than some silly, illogical, human emotion. Miller would let Master Chief touch his armor and help him, but not Roland who’s always there and who knows the specs forwards and back and is so familiar with piggybacking off Gen 2 Mjolnir systems.

Miller’s fine being all sweaty and nervous and frustrated around Chief. Chief who is so frustrating and calm and never rises to Roland’s bait. Chief who’s asking for Roland’s help overriding the safety features on Miller’s armor?

The great thing about being a vast machine intelligence with unfortunate connections to human emotions is the ability to experience time differently and to save threads of oneself being petty to feel petty later. He’d put this behind him for now to help them out - help Miller out.

What’s a little power reallocation between friends?

#Halo #Jared Miller #John 117 #Roland the AI

[daysofrefuge]

Was given permission to share one of the most insane Golftrot drabbles to date. Sometimes your OC gives you lore at 1am and you are cursed with that knowledge. Aiden belongs to @bellygunnr, Graham belongs to me. The clowning never stops

-

Aiden's returned from his trip to the mountain town and is much less antsy than he was before he left. D connected back with him fine and must've filled him in on what he and Graham had been up to while he was gone.

Leaving a fragment of your brain fungus with your boyfriend to feel better about taking a trip was as close to coping as Aiden was going to get. But from what Graham had picked up during their relationship, it was with good reason.

It didn't matter now. Aiden was back, the trip went fine, and he didn't have too many new cuts or bruises. There was almost a suspicious lack of bandages but Graham wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He got to wrap Aiden in a hug that lasted embarrassingly long and push him down onto the couch while sinking to his knees. He palms Aiden's knees and raises his eyebrows as he spreads his legs to slot himself between them.

"Oh so you did miss me?" Aiden smirks.

"Maybe, maybe not with that attitude." Graham pouts but retaliates by running his hand along Aiden's thighs and squeezing.

Aiden sighs and goes boneless on the couch, slouching and looking pitiful. He even reaches out to pet Graham's cheek.

"You're a menace." Graham says, cheeks pink as his kisses Aiden's palm. Before Aiden can respond he grinds the heel of his own palm over Aiden's crotch and gets a firm twitch and a loud grunt for his troubles.

"-shouldn't have left you alone with D. You're mean now."

"I've always been mean. Shut up and let me suck your dick."

Aiden raises his hands in defeat and gestures for Graham to continue.

Graham looks unimpressed and teases circles with his finger around the fly of his pants to make Aiden squirm. When he opens his mouth to complain, Graham leans in and nuzzles his dick outline.

An exhale and a hand in his hair lets him know how Aiden feels about the current progression so Graham hooks his fingers into Aiden's waistband and shimmies it down to get to his prize.

And freezes.

Aiden notices after a few seconds and cocks his head to the side.

"Uh…?"

"You good? You know you d-"

"I've sucked your dick before. That's not the issue here, man."

Aiden just looks at him. Graham can see the buffering going on behind his eye.

"Could have sworn you were cut last time?"

"I-"

"You have a foreskin now."

"Oh. Well, s-"

"Nope."

"What? You don't want to hear about how -"

"I do not want to, in fact. I have been pretty cool about a lot of things."

"Do you have issues with uncut dicks?"

"What?! No!"

"Man, Graham's prejudiced, can you believe that, D-"

"Do not. I do need to know or it's going to haunt me."

"Grows back."

"Okay."

"At least usually, or like if -"

"Wait, usually? Like, more than once?"

"Yeah?"

"You've gotten circumcised….more than one time?"

"Ye-as."

"Like," Graham sighs loudly. "Recreationally? No. Why are we discussing this? This is insane."

"You were going to suck my dick."

"Is your dick going to still have a foreskin the next time we fuck? Or is this just when the mood strikes you?"

"You're really interested in this."

"Because it's insane!"

#Original #Graham Donnelly #Aiden York #Golftrot

[daysofrefuge]

Sad graham words …

Thank you for asking for Graham words. I need to write and share him more.

-

It's the third visit to Mrs. Troy when he finally gets the nerve to ask about the woman in the photos.

Mrs. Troy smiles and sips her tea. The stoic mask slips and Graham is reminded of Kingfisher in a way. He's been at the apartment for nearly a month and Mrs. Troy and Kingfisher are two of a kind. They care too damn much, but god forbid you ever let them know you noticed. Kingfisher would double down and be twice as snippy, but Mrs. Troy would simply scowl and retreat back into her mask before politely shooing Graham out the door with an invitation to come back for tea later.

"She would have liked you." She says in lieu of answering. "Would have called me out for spoiling you so much. You know I've never let anyone borrow my casserole dish until you moved in?"

"Oh." Graham doesn't know what to say. So he sits and drinks his tea and put on his best listening face.

"All of this flowery bullshit is hers." She says with the gusto of a passing breeze. The words are so light and airy, wistful.

It still almost makes Graham spit out his tea.

"I liked solid colors or tasteful patterns, but Daisy liked flowers. I couldn't bring myself to get rid of it." Mrs. Troy continues as if Graham didn't choke, her hand stroking the tablecloth affectionately.

Graham likes the tablecloth. His mother would call it garish but his aunt would like the personality.

Mrs. Troy gestures towards the living room, her hand rising and falling slowly. Graham notices for the first time how small Mrs. Troy looks. She's been no nonsense and full of a quiet confidence every time he's seen her in the hall or been invited over for tea. She had wanted to make sure he was eating and getting out of his apartment. She also liked gossiping about Kingfisher. Mrs. Troy worried about it as much as it worried about her. Now she seemed to age in front of Graham. Small, tired, and pulled into herself. Her skin looked papery and her movements uncertain.

"Next visit, I'll get the photographs out. I don't have time today." She sighs and the scene changes.

Somehow Graham watches her take all her grief and fold it back up, tucking it away like a beloved quilt. Her posture straightens and her eyes come back to focus from the glassy nostalgia. "Daisy would have liked you. She would have also used the shit out of you. I would never have to get groceries again. You'd have been her errand boy."

Graham smiles, "What am I now then?"

"A strapping young man who's going to take those cookies over to little Samuel and the Goncalves family. I promised him some if he showed me his report card and got all A's and B's."

"Yes ma'am."

"Stop being so polite, people will take advantage of that." She shoos him up from the table and towards the tupperware that's older than him and decorated with faded flowers.

"Wouldn't want that." He huffs under his breath.

"I can still hear. Now go on, tea will be the same time next week. I'll have Kingfisher fetch you if you're late."

"Hey now, no need for threats!"

She pushes him out the door with a cookie in one hand and the tupperware in the other.

Her door decoration clacks gently as the door clicks shut. Plastic daisies in a wreath encircle her apartment number.

#Original #Graham Donnelly #Kingfisher AI #Mrs. Troy

[daysofrefuge]

A commission for @lyndexv of OCs Geoff and Elonwi! Thank you again for the comm, I had a blast writing them.

-

Birdsong starts before the sun crests the treeline, gold burnishing the newly green leaves and buds to a backdrop of song, but Geoff is already awake. Sleep had been difficult after staying up late to finish his own song; the excitement of sharing it too great to let his mind rest. Last night had him quietly strumming and making some last minute additions and finally his masterpiece was ready. 

Awake again, he dresses and eats without issue, despite his nerves. Taking one last look around his room, he glances at his comics and his prints of old jalopies decorating the walls and smiles fondly. With a deep breath, he turns to leave, feeling lighter than he has in a while. Today was going to be a good day, he would make sure of it.

Spring had come and with it all the colors of the earth had returned to Rodez. Verdant greens overtook the cold browns of winter and life returned to the countryside. Farmland and forest grew noisy in their renewed life and the routine of spring. It was no matter to Geoff and Elonwi, they had their own secret hideaways and paths in the Forest of Agen-Aveyron.

Geoff lingers in the doorway to the garage. Her room. His eyes dance across the sleek lines of  her polished chassis with a warm fondness as he wishes her a good morning. His hand comes to rest on her soft top in a fond embrace. 

“Good morning, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Geoff jostles her gently in his excitement and Elonwi rocks happily on her suspension in an echo of his happiness. He strokes a thumb across her door handle out of habit before taking his place in her driver’s seat. The plush lining of the chair feels like home. Still, Geoff takes his time starting her up; the brisk spring morning meant her oil was cold so he needed to gently ease into as she warmed up. He slowly opens the choke and feathers it closed again with a practiced hand. 

Elonwi sputters to a start and backfires, shaking her frame. Geoff smiles and pets her steering wheel, fondness etched across his face. He chuckles when she revs and only sputters and chokes out a bit of black smoke.

“Easy girl.”

Geoff squeezes the steering wheel with affection and takes her down the road towards the forest. They make good time down the quiet lane, and he decides to share his song. He taps out the beat with his thumbs as they drive, the sunlight dappling them through the leaves and painting the moment a soft gold in his memory. Geoff’s voice starts low and even but then crescendos as Elonwi picks up speed.

He sings for her and she sings back. His heart swells and he laughs in joy as she revs her engine and sputters at the sound of his voice. Her tires grip the packed earth below them and she’s off, sputtering and backfiring and beautiful. They fly together and Geoff belts the song he wrote for her at the top of his lungs. 

His knees almost brush her dash as they rattle down the path. Her suspension keeps him secure and the ride smooth as silk, a testament to her engineering and care. Scenery whips by as fast as her 29 horsepower can take them. Tree branches whip past her open windows but the world has narrowed to Geoff-and-Elonwi.

The two of them together.  

#Original #comm examples

[daysofrefuge]

For @fablepatron - edits of their art accompanied by a short drabble based on their original characters and universe.

Original art by Fablepatron found here

[Top Left]

[Top Middle]

[Top Right]

[Bottom Left]

[Bottom Middle]

-

When she was young and not yet Loop, barely even L-i18, she dreamed of the sky. What was a horizon? A distant line? Somehow the biggest thing in the world and yet too mundane or secret that the handlers never spoke of it. Maybe they missed it too. Maybe it was in their dreams as they slept hundreds of meters below the sea and the sky and the horizon.

Not-Loop kept most of her curiosity bottled up. Questions were rarely tolerated. Could she miss something she cannot remember? Or maybe she hadn't seen it at all. Not-Loop, little L-i18, didn't remember a time when looking up didn't treat her to the same view of gray reinforced metal or the darkest, deepest blue.

The sky was a far away thing; a fairy tale, like family and friends. And safety.

This was back when Indie was Indie, before L-i18 killed her. Indie used to be alive and the sky was a dream and even if most nights were met with bruises and bloody knees, little L-i18 had a friend and someone to share her questions with. What if they saw the sky together someday?

Now Loop was Loop and she had seen so many skies. Different dimensions had different elements which meant different resources which meant color combinations her childhood imagination couldn't even begin to conceive.

Seeing the sky always felt like a half-step. Moving forward, but always that moment of hesitation. That urge to look to her side, where Indie was supposed to be.

They were supposed to see it, together.

But L-i18 had killed I-i12. She would never see the sky and Loop sees too many. Indie is dead and Loop is alive and that means she must work. Indie is dead and Deep Blue needs maintenance and Loop is alive so she must perform it. Deep Blue killed her handlers and now Loop is the one left to do the work.

Alone again. The work continues. Loop keeps moving forward, one step, then another. The hesitation never leaves.

#Original #Floodworld #Loop #Deep Blue

[daysofrefuge]

IDs in alt

A fan-edit project of what an in-universe zine might look like. What would get passed around by all the little people trying to keep their Spartans going?

#Halo

[daysofrefuge]

Making the Most of It

A follow-up to Blown Lightbulbs by bellygunnr featuring Lasky, Palmer, and Roland and the ever-present passage of time. Here's 3.4k words of AI Possession, brunch, banter, and salvaging your precious time together after a trip to your childhood home.

Also on ao3. This work is mature but not explicit.

The trip to Mars wasn't a total wash just because of the disastrous meeting at the Lasky Household. They still had a few things left on the itinerary that Sarah and Roland had put together without Tom's knowing. And Roland wanted to try those mimosas.

There's some movie droning on the wall sized TV in the background, screen dimmed along with the lights in the room, casting gentle shadows on cream colored walls. Half the pillows are arranged in a comfortable nest, propping them up while the other half are piled on the overstuffed recliner in the other room. They're too high up for street noise, but every so often the passing engine sounds of a ship taking off rumbles through the thick walls of their hotel room.

It’s a little ridiculous, a huge room high above the sprawling landscape of a bustling downtown, views of the shipyard and further out the edge of the terraformed greenery giving way to natural Martian red-brown. A penthouse suite complete with minibar and a bathroom bigger than his quarters on the ship. Beyond excess, but he knows they picked it out for him. Just like they both came along, and comforted him when the house and everything related to it was so damn cold.

The sheets are soft and clean, and the comforter light yet warm, like a cloud surrounding them in their small bubble. Pressed against each other, skin on skin, her mouth moving from his ear to the back of his neck, trailing kisses as they entwine and exist.

He's two people right now and also just one, experiencing the feeling of being held, of warmth and love made physical as she crawls closer and pulls him back against her, their surroundings and worries forgotten as she pets his head, his hair, fingers scratching lightly as her other hand soothes and squeezes his arm, his stomach, his chest. Their legs tangle, his cold feet making her hiss before sighing as they settle down again.

There’s no Mars, no shipyard, no botched family reunion or ghosts of his past haunting them. Just the sounds of her heart beating slow and steady and the dual warmth of being pressed against her and the feeling of his passenger heating the CNI with his presence.

Dozing for a short time, they awaken as the movie ends and another one starts. The reminder that the time they have together is passing makes them oddly emotional, a swelling melancholy that stoppers their throat and leaks out their eyes. They sniffle quietly, blinking away fat, hot tears that slide down to pool on the arm holding them close.

Quiet concern murmured into the spot where two become one makes them fidget and turn, burying their face into her neck and squeezing her tight. She reacts with a forceful hug, one hand coming up to wipe their tears. Rolling over to her back,  she allows them to sprawl across her while they sigh and wheeze as the roiling emotions of two beings settle again. Warmth and a steady rhythm of her breathing soothes them slowly. She waits until their stuttering breathing evens out and kisses their forehead and then both their hands.

There's no hiding here. No need to. No ranks or titles. A brief respite against the rising tide and ticking clock. They may starve for touch outside the four walls of this borrowed room, but here and now is an oasis of privacy. Embracing away from prying eyes, a chance of catching their breath without some threat hanging over their heads, not choking on the signs of their stations collaring them. No need for armor. 

Her hands squeeze and let go of theirs before tracing feather light touches down their back and up their sides, teasing spirals and swirls into twitching skin as they struggle to stay still. Retaliation comes too late even as they try for the spots on her side that make her laugh; she flips them and drags the cover over their head.

Cocooned in the glowing warmth of the backlit blanket, they are pinned by her weight and by her mouth on them. Kisses and raspberries attacking any available skin, their wrists in her hands, their legs pinned by her sitting atop them. They laugh and struggle against her, bucking their hips against the onslaught before she pauses. Her smile beaming down on their flustered face, her hair messy and ringing her sleep-lined face.

"Vacation's not over yet. You can't get weepy on me after one nap, boys." Her voice rasps out of her throat, still thick with sleep. She releases their wrists and drops her arms beside their head, holding the majority of her weight off them as she boxes them in. Her chest presses against theirs, hearts pounding together and she looks them in the eyes and smiles with teeth glinting in the low light.

"We still have plenty of time, and I have a few things in mind." She whispers, grinding her hips down on them as she mouths at their neck, grazing her teeth along the junction between throat and shoulder. She doesn't wait for a response as she moves lower and laves at a nipple. Words seem out of their reach so they make some kind of noise, halfway between a question and an affirmative. She moves to their other side, repeating her actions with teeth and tongue, making them gasp, before she purrs in their ear. "You two should tell me what you want to do. We should make the most of this."

They remember their hands are free and take a moment to figure out where to put them. She notices their slight hesitation and lets them figure it out, only to be surprised when they grasp her face in their hands and pull her down for a kiss.

It's slow and sweet and lingering as they figure out who's driving. Waiting with a patience solely reserved for them, she lets them explore and hums her assent when they do something she likes. After a moment she kisses them back, gently leading this time, growing more forward and licking at their lips til they part; deepening the kiss til they draw back for air.

Their lips are wet and swollen and their eyes are blown wide, rings of gold still shining around dark pupils. Tom's face is flushed and wearing Roland's half cocked grin and she wants to eat them alive and hold them close and never let go all at once.

It must show on her face.

“Like what you see?” The words tumble breathlessly out of Tom’s mouth, but the confident little smirk doesn’t falter.

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” 

Their next quip, either Tom’s or Roland's, is lost as Tom’s stomach growls in defiance. The sheepish grin is Roland’s while the embarrassed flush on his ears is all Tom.

“Room service?” She asks, inches from their face. A nod and she kisses them again before pulling back. “You’re buying, Lasky. This place is too rich for my blood.”

She rises, taking the comforter with her as Tom-and-Roland squawk at the rush of cold air. She laughs and throws it back at them as they grumble. 

Going to throw on one of the too-small complimentary robes that came with the room, she chucks a pillow at their surprised face while they bundle up in the regained comforter. 

Yes, Tom could afford to cover the cost. Captain's salary he never spent. The place was expensive, and she was the one that booked the room. Least he could do was pay for the food…and drinks.

They splurge. The numbers on the right side of the menu sit there politely in neat font while she fights her rising blood pressure. They want how much for a burger? She’s out of touch with the cost of tea in civilian populated areas- her own food and nutrition coming straight from the UNSC for so long now. Her main concern was sending money back to Luna for her dad and squirreling the rest away for some inevitable emergency. It’s fine, it’s a vacation, but she can’t imagine spending that much regularly. 

Tom can afford to splurge and being planetside means fresh food. Fresh food alone makes it worth the price. That and Roland's eager to try almost anything. He's practically chomping at the bit for new experiences.

The food arrives on a cart left at their door; the wheels sinking into the plush carpet under the weight it bears. It's covered in silver serving dishes complete with cloches, looking like it's straight out of an old movie. They aren't dressed like it's an old movie though, but it's their vacation. Food tastes better lounging in a robe or half wrapped in a duvet anyway.

Roland delights in revealing their brunch- brunch! Isn't that neat? A meal for people who don't start their day at 0500- and they dig in.

She can't keep the grin off her face as she watches them eat and talk between themselves in one body. Roland seemed to lose most of his usual issues about crumbs and mess in his mission to try as many foods as possible.

She ends up having to hide a laugh in a sip of coffee as Tom reins him in and redirects them away from the mimosas. 

She wonders how long that will last.

Tom's trying to tell Roland that his- their tastebuds didn't like hollandaise sauce, but he's bound and determined to try it all. Watching the usually more reserved duo decimate the plate of bacon and eggs was cute. She was endeared and trying not to be annoyed about it. Her chest felt full and she couldn't stop grinning. 

So the hardened Spartan Commander shoves half a bagel with lox in her mouth and starts fixing a third plate instead of dwelling on it. Hashbrowns and cholesterol will change the funny feeling in her chest. No carefully planned meals here.

The eggs benedict are tried, despite Tom's warning. It has their nose wrinkling in something close to defeat before she distracts them with another dish and finishes off the plate herself. She was never picky about food, couldn't afford to be, but now with free time and Lasky's paycheck, she could agree it was a little weird. Wouldn’t stop her from cleaning her plate.

They start digging into a grapefruit and making faces at the tartness. Fresh fruit was a treat aboard a starship, and most of Roland's secondhand exposure had been so processed or refined, it's no wonder the preconceptions he had were a bit off. She and Tom were having fun forgetting to warn Roland about certain sensations. Sarah was waiting til they switched who had Roland to introduce him to the wonders of capsaicin. 

Still, seeing Tom's face squinched up made her chuckle and lean over, cloth napkin wiping the juice dribbling from their chin.

She's in rare form, so she doesn't insult them. Maybe she's getting soft. Instead, she offers the fruit platter up as a better option. 

"Here. Try these, they're sweet." She holds up a grape, round and cool and much nicer than the ones she's had in the past. So much sweeter and real, no chemical aftertaste or electric purple dye clinging to her tongue. Leaning forward she takes their chin in her hand and feeds it to them, thumb brushing their lip as she waits for their judgment.

They chew and brighten, eyes darting towards the plate in front of her and her face as a blush forms. She leans closer, chin on her hand. "Well, did you like it?"

Tom-and-Roland swallow and nod, and grab a glass of water to wash away the lingering tartness. Their eyes flicker from plate to plate and back to her face. A hand sneaks forward and wraps around the delicate flute of mimosa and she rolls her eyes.

“I want to try it! You’re both making a big deal out of nothing.” Roland says, eyeing it with burning curiosity. 

Three glasses later, they’re giggling as Tom mentions there might be more champagne than orange juice in there. 

“I hadn’t noticed.” She says smoothly, stabbing a waffle off their plate and stealing it before they can respond. The pitcher is on her side of the table, out of their reach, next to her own empty glasses. “Drink some water.”

They smile broadly at her and dutifully sip some water. She can’t take her eyes off them, it’s how she knows they haven’t stopped smiling since they woke up. 

Roland reports he likes the mimosas more than scotch. He also reports he wants to order Irish coffee but she and Tom shoot that down.

“It’s not like we’re driving!” Roland pouts with Tom’s face, but the furrowed brow is all Tom.

Sarah swallows a half chewed bite of food and it goes down jagged and prickling. “I’m driving, you two can argue who gets to navigate.”

Their eyes light up and Tom’s mouth struggles to hold two different smiles.

It’s not a long drive, but traffic and checkpoints to get out of the city delay them long enough for Tom to relax again. She’s glad to see his posture relax and his eyes turn from her to their surroundings. Mare Erythraeum still sported wounds from recent battles. Dotting its landscape like bite marks were great gouges in the ground from ordnance and Jiralhanae ships.

It was more of the same. Signs of war everywhere they went. Signs of the UNSC and its progress were everywhere too. The choking miasma of fuel and engines from the shipyard stunk up their warthog’s cabin for the first few minutes of the drive.

Eventually gray gave way to green gave way to brown. Mars’ red brown soil had been carefully cultivated to support terraforming and human industry before nature had taken its own course back and flourished in an unproductive manner a few kliks out.

Past the old rundown towns that orbited big shipyards where the old hands used to live. It reminded her of Luna in a way. The atmosphere was nice, no fear of failure there, but the signs of age and neglect on old homes next to poorly maintained roads with bright new billboards showing off the latest ads and propaganda. Same everywhere she went. Sad and comforting in a way, as long as you stay useful, you stayed fed, and your home wouldn’t end up boarded up and abandoned.

Now she was overthinking things and being morose, what the hell?

Sarah eases the ‘hog out of the slower speed zone of the small town and back out onto the open highway towards their destination. Few others were on the road this way so she looks over at Tom-and-Roland with a smile, rolls down the windows, and guns the engine.

It takes off with a delayed roar and the wind greets them with its own roar in return.

Her passenger whoops as the warthog shudders and revs under her demanding hands. She wouldn’t push it too hard, not when they had the drive back to the hotel ahead of them. Sarah took care of her equipment and it took care of her - she just expected performance out of the damn thing for the price it cost. That’s what you get with a rental, she thinks with a sigh.

Tom’s hand rests on her thigh while he and Roland watch the road disappear under them. There’s a strange pause in their body language she can see out of the corner of her eye and then they’re sticking Tom’s head out the window.

She laughs, loud and clear at the moment. It’s a good day, beautiful even. They sit back in the seat after about a minute and Sarah smiles at the state of Tom’s hair. She ruffles it with her hand, pleased with the chilled feeling and their sunwarmed face and that she can touch them without looking over her shoulder.

They arrive at their destination with enough time before sunset. The Martian day was nearly identical to an Earth one, and she and Roland had researched their options when Tom had told them about his upcoming trip. Though it seemed Roland kept his thoughts quiet because Tom looks around in quiet awe as they clamber out of the warthog. Their boots crunch on the gravel parking lot and he takes in the trail signs and information boards. 

“The Olympus Highlands Nature Reserve?” He says in a quiet voice. “I’ve never been. Never really left New Harmony until…”

“I always knew you were a city boy.” Sarah says with a nudge. “And we don’t get enough time planet-side. Love the atrium, but I thought we might like something a little more real. Don’t worry, I’ll still go slow.” She smirks at him and swallows her own uncomfortableness at Tom’s emotional display. 

“Thank you, Sarah, Roland, I mean it. I-” His eyes shift and he swallows. Sarah allows him and Roland this brief mental scuffle while she unloads the packs.

“You won’t be so grateful after I make you hoof it up the trail. You’re pulling your weight here. The both of you.”

“Yes, Commander.” They say together. She turns on them, glowering at their wry smile and warm eye contact.

She scoffs and slaps the pack into Tom’s hands. “Maybe I’ll lose you on the trail, be free of this. Officer types never listen to me.”

“But then you’d be in charge.” They say, tilting Tom’s head to look at her with his stupid brown eyes wide and pleading.

She looks away from them playing dirty. “Damn, you’re right. I need you two around to do all the boring work. I guess you’ll survive the trip.”

“You always say the sweetest things.” They say as they put on the pack with a huff.

“Shut up and get walking. Roland needs to see how plants fix our monkey brains so he stops bothering the crew.”

“I ask a few questions and everyone gets so offended!” Roland whines, throwing Tom’s hands up before crossing his arms.

“Come on, I want to get moving.” She calls over her shoulder, three strides ahead of them and already ducking into the tree lined path.

They follow without complaint. The trees swallow the road noise and then they are left with only the soft orchestra of the park. Wind rustling the leaves as the sun dapples them with faint light, bird and bug calls echoing from all angles, and the sound of flowing water from somewhere down the path. There’s a low call from the valley where the Reserve houses its animals and information center. A strange baying noise that sounds like the braying of cattle crossed with an elk’s eerie keening voice. They stop and listen. The wind blows an answer that whips their hair and clothes around. Sarah and Tom inhale in unison and release the breath before turning back to their path.

Roland chuckles with Tom’s voice. “I think I get it.” 

Sarah takes their hand and they climb.

The path snakes up the incline, grasses and tree roots anchoring the loose red brown soil while they slowly turn the whole hillside green. Rocks rounded by water and time glisten on the creek bank while dark shapes dart just below the waterline. Dragonflies and other insects flit around in an unknowable dance while larger wildlife scurries into their holes and hiding places amongst the decaying logs and nest-heavy tree branches.

Sunlight dims as time marches on, but it has been time well spent. Tom-and-Roland still feel the ache at the reminder, but the sadness is no match for the warmth of Sarah’s hand in theirs.  

The path leads them to the treeline and beyond. A few more steps up the ridge has them standing on the precipice of one of Mars’ many craters-turned-valleys. They sway in the last of the sunlight as their star edges ever closer to the horizon, dyeing the skyline a cool blue.

Dust particles and Martian atmosphere, Roland thinks, but the scene is all too familiar to Tom. It hurts less than he thinks it would. Being on Mars, seeing the same sunset he watched disappear into darkness when he was left alone. Time passes, but it doesn’t have to hurt. At least, not all of it.

He-and-Roland inhale and exhale, a deep lung-filling breath that nearly escapes them without shuddering. The wind is chillier up this high, but Sarah’s there. Her hand is warm, and so is her arm as she draws them in close to watch the horizon.

They look up at her face and smile. 

It’s her first Martian sunset, they’d missed yesterday’s at the house. Her eyes are clear and her shoulders lower in the most relaxed body language they’ve seen all trip. She needed this too. 

“You know,” She swallows, uncharacteristically quiet. She mulls over her words even as she doesn’t take her eyes off the sky. “I could get used to this.” She says with a squeeze of her arm around them. The wind is chilly and night will be too, but it’s not so bad. He’s not alone.

“Me too.”

#Halo #Sarah Palmer #Thomas Lasky #Roland the AI

[daysofrefuge]

For @magellanicclouds - I wish it was happier but I am still thinking about the Gammas on that ship after being undercover for so long.

-

As soon as they're well enough to do so, the Gammas start patrolling.

The impulse is instinct beaten into them. Establish a basecamp and then monitor it and its surroundings. Two go and one stays with Mom. She nods and lets them because recon is important and just because ONI isn't on the Spirit of Fire doesn't mean they're safe. Someone is always watching.

The captain. The AI. The medical team. The IIs.

Red team may be apologetic about the circumstances they met under but IIIs don't do manners. Or socialization. It's why during a scouting trip past the onboard gym they heard themselves described as "feral".

At least you could count on marines to be too dumb to be anything but loose lipped and honest.

Years undercover aren't undone overnight. The tangled strands of who they were then and who they are now can never be the same. Some strings are cut to survive. Some parts lost. Habits that kept them alive are viewed as nervous tics and hypervigilance by people who had the luxury of sleeping through the worst of the war.

Maybe that's unfair, but so is their existence. The Gammas are the most volatile of the IIIs. They can never forget it. Revealing their need for smoothers meant handing over their leash. The need for a chemical tether never bothered them so much as the supplier. Nothing is ever certain but the mission. The mission's over now. Everything is uncertain and without each other to ground them, the Gammas would be lost.

Ash thinks of Onyx and Kurt. He thinks of being a leader and what sacrifices are necessary.

He listens to his brother struggle to breathe and wake up choking in the night. He holds Mark closer these days. He hears the sacrifice in his slower words and sees it in his far-away look.

"Exitus Acta Probat" - the ship's motto haunts his thoughts. Exploring yet another colony ship retrofitted for war should stir something in him, but Ash is tired. They're all so tired. Livi had gathered information on one of her patrols and then she had returned to their quarters and slept. And slept. Exitus Acta Probat: the end justifies the means. But what is the end? And where is the limit?

Ash doesn't know, but he'll lead his team as long as he draws breath. He makes Mark lean on him on the way back from patrol, shouldering his brother's weight with his head still on a swivel.

Eyes on them. Rescuers and witnesses to the means. In the end the mission was a success. Intrepid Eye was no more. The Keepers failed. Life goes on, for most.

A young man tucks his family in and then sleep takes him. He dreams of caves and phantoms and the sight of Mark still in the water.

Tomorrow he will get up and walk the ship again. There is no end, only the means and the ever growing middle.

#Halo #Ash G099 #Mark G313 #Olivia G291

[daysofrefuge]

hurt/comfort prompt(s): "i know you're freaking out, but I've had worse" and/or "you're not fine!"

From this prompt list!

"Tom, remember to breathe. And if you're going to puke, aim somewhere else." Sarah says with all the concern she can muster. She's being incredibly patient about the whole thing and the fact she's got a medic and Tom in her face. It's not like she wanted to get shot, but it what the armor was for, what she was for. Damn thing hurt like a bitch, but at least it went all the way through. At least the military kept her up to date on all her shots. Tetanus on top of everything else happening would just make her mood worse.

He's holding her hand and squeezing hard enough she can notice it through the gauntlet. The error codes her HUD hasn't stopped throwing in her face now subside as the Mjolnir's sensors on her palms read his touch and read out to his IFF tag. They both look and feel like shit, but that makes sense. It's been months with very little progress. No word about anyone else. What is happening out there on the other fragments of this damn Halo?

Thinking about it soured her already dismal mood. Her adrenaline keeps fading and she grimaces at the mess of her shoulder. Missed shot. She huffs a laugh and explains to a bewildered Tom, "Don't let Halsey see, or she'll offer to make us match."

"You're joking? I guess I should be happy about that." He sighs and rubs at his temples. His smile dies a quick death on his face as he looks her over again.

She and the medic attending the weeping wound in her shoulder both side eye the captain who's looking a bit green as he eyes her in return. Well, her wound and the spike round lodged into the rock behind her.

Tom opens his mouth to argue, his bloodshot eyes meeting hers, but the medic finishes taping her and immobilizing her left arm before he can. They spout off basic care. Keep it clean, keep it dry, do not try to poke it - typical instructions for a S-IV. They nod and leave the commander and captain locked in a silent conversation.

When the medic is far enough away, Sarah beats him to the punch. "I know you're freaking out, but I've had worse."

"That doesn't help and you know it."

"You're concerned over nothing. We're built to take hits. It's most cauterized anyway." She's losing ground in the argument and she knows it. She used to silence his worries and deal with the puppy eyes he'd use instead of words. Now he's hovering and he won't stop talking. "Help me eat my lunch and I'll tell you how I saved an Admiral from a Chieftain and only got hit twice by someone not even in the fight."

"Sarah."

"Tom."

She scowls. If she had more energy she'd be pissed off, but these days it was harder and harder to hold onto anything that wasn't anger or revenge. Spite had fueled her a long time, but now there was hardly anything left. She and the armor had been running on empty. Her HUD squawks warnings and overdue updates. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine!" Tom bellows and it shocks her into silence. "Don't say it is. Don't lie. You know I can hear the warning, I can see you limping when the armor locks up. It's unpredictable but this all ends the same way."

He deflates, hand still locked in hers. "I hate seeing you in it and thinking about how it's going to be your coffin."

"Is that all?" She asks. Her voice only catches in her throat on the last word.

Tom's jaw flexes and he swallows hard. He's a mess. She can't really talk, but at least she's keeping up appearances.

"Then we do something about it. Like we always do." She pulls him closer, good arm wrapped over his shoulders. "Pry me out of the tin can and keep moving."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

#Halo #Sarah Palmer #Thomas Lasky

[daysofrefuge]

“I know it itches, but you have to stop messing with it.” 

Miller and John

From this prompt list!

"You know, for all the things I was worried about happening on shore leave, this wasn't one of them." Miller chuckles even as his eyes dart to John's face. His hands are gentle as he spreads the cooling gel over the worst of the sunburn.

John sits patiently with a frown firmly on his face. There's gel on the top of his nose and cheeks, just visible enough to draw his eye down. Distracting.

"I thought you wore a hat?" Miller asks, his voice confused.

"I did." John states with a sigh.

"Huh." Miller was probably wondering how a human being went from white to burned in such a short amount of time.

He scratches absentmindedly at his arm. It's strange, having worked so hard to remember how to move without the armor that he can do it without a thought. Maybe the R&R everyone had been pushing on him had some benefits.

Except for the risk of burning in the sun. He knew he was pale, but this was ridiculous.

“I know it itches, but you have to stop messing with it.” Miller chides.

Of course John went to Miller rather than let Kelly or the rest of Blue Team see that 1. he had gone outside, and 2. the consequences of said venture. Miller worried about normal things like ticket prices and public transportation. He treated John like another awkward guy rather than a timebomb.

"You'll end up with a farmer's tan once it fades but it's not like the gear shows that off. We're gonna have to let the stuff dry before anything else."

John nods and looks at the gel on his arms and face. "Thanks."

"We should stick to something indoors. I heard there's an aquarium a couple blocks north of here." Miller says pulling up his wrist and the cheap chatter on it to look at his itinerary he doesn't know John knows he made. "They have a military discount! I mean if you want."

A grown Spartan has no right looking that sheepish.

"Might be nice seeing animals not trying to attack me." John says and gestures for Miller to lead.

"Oh. Yeah sure!" John can see the wheels turning in Miller's head as he struggles not to follow that line of thought. "It's mostly fish. Fish are calming. You don't have bad experiences with fish, do you?"

John opens his mouth to watch Miller deflate and then he smiles. "Fish are fine."

Miller lights up.

"Just no mushrooms."

#Halo #Jared Miller #John 117

[daysofrefuge]

For that one-word prompt: rain?

The jungle was creepy. He'd been to some weird places since they crashed on the Ring, but Bisenti wasn't sure why the hair was standing up on his arms. Bitching with Mendoza and the Sarge on the pelican did little to distract the primal fear and sense of wrongness about this place.

But orders were orders and the captain wanted to check it out. They need to control Halo before the Covenant.

The rain was heavy and the air hot and humid. It made his breath stick in his throat and his uniform cling to his skin. Clammy and cold, hot and flushed with adrenaline. This mission sucked shit.

At least he wasn't Jenkins at the rear, marching through the churned up mud the rest of them caused.

There was a structure in the distance. Their goal and hopefully a chance for shelter and respite. Alien architecture loomed, at odds with the organic landscape threatening to swallow it. It felt like a haunted house or maybe a mausoleum. Spooky stone and shit meant to be condemned and forgotten.

He had a bad feeling about this.

#Halo #Marines #Misc

[daysofrefuge]

OC Shenanigans - early golftrot at the apartment.

-

"We got another wave and then the shield's drop. My super's almost up."

His teammates voices confirm their plan through his headset and he kills another hoard of cannon fodder before dropping a healing circle. Reloading, Graham strafes and jumps up the stairs in time to release his super along and finish off the ogre's health bar.

Numbers fill up the screen and the thing shrieks as it dies. It dissipates into a fog and all that remains is a chest on the ruined plaza.

Graham opens it and sighs. His fireteam doesn't have any more luck than him.

"I keep getting sniper rifles."

"I got an exotic I already have. And the rolls are dogshit."

"Well, I've got work in the morning, and I said this run would be my last."

"Booo."

"Mr. Responsible over here."

"Whatever, you guys. Have a good night."

"Say hi to your weird neighbor for me!"

"Yeah, stay on his good side. You're our only warlock."

"Thanks." He replies sardonically.

Graham logs off and shuts down his computer. The screen darkens and something moves behind him.

"JESUS CHRIST!"

He jolts, hitting his leg on the desk and scrambling to his feet to see Aiden, the weird neighbor, perched on the back of his couch like a gargoyle, dorito bag in hand. He nearly falls over but rights himself on the doorframe, hand still stretching toward his bat.

"How long have you been there?" His voice cracks.

A shrug.

"The door…was locked…"

His lip twitches and he eats some of Graham's chips.

"Wh-"

"You really suck at those jumping parts."

"Hey!"

#Original #Graham Donnelly #Aiden York

[daysofrefuge]

Imagine you’re an experienced caseworker on the UNSC Insert Stupid Name Here. You have experience with veterans, PTSD, people who have seen combat, life changing injuries, loss of home/planet, anxiety, depression. You’ve worked with all types from grunts to pilots to captains to ONI so you know how to be quiet and professional. You’ve seen and heard it all, or so you thought. You get a new client, straight from the higher-ups, with a history of mostly black ink, several extra forms swearing you to secrecy, and the creeping sense of dread is outweighed by the curiosity.

The appointment comes and sitting across from you is a 7ft tall, heavily scarred, ghostly pale, out-of-armor Spartan. They’re bigger than the S-IVs you’ve seen from a distance and much more disciplined. They dwarf the couch that groans under their weight, and they sit as still as a statue.

You have do a little extra prodding because the one word answers and responses of “Classified“ mean the first session is almost silent.

20 minutes after your initial spiel and question of “What brought you here/ what do you want from our sessions?“ The Spartan tells you his name. John.

You smile. You can tell from the tiny amount of body language that he’s paying attention and wants to do well. You’ve already written down that he seems like one of the types to view therapy as a mission to beat.

Eventually you both find a safe topic of conversation and the walls come down, almost imperceptibly. John says a whole sentence, even if it’s a dry joke.

The session ends. You tell John the choice is his if he’d like to continue working with you. He nods politely and disappears down the hall, moving silently despite his size.

A few hours later, an appointment is scheduled for next week at the same time. Almost immediately you receive a secure file with slightly less black ink. You read it over, put down your tablet, and scream into your pillow.  

You have your work cut out for you.

#Halo #John 117 #misc #snippets

[daysofrefuge]

Played some more Halo 4 and was talking with @bellygunnr and @shitty17 about John and Cortana sharing the neural load so that she survives long enough fighting Rampancy. And of course, John would offer, he makes promises! He loves her! So the idea was if Cortana thinks herself to death when she has so much processing power and subroutines maybe she can purposely limit herself to John’s neural net.

Compress herself to fit and still process certain things and only certain amounts, who’s to say it won’t work?

Splitting is bad but what about compressing into zip files and storing the parts that fly the supercarriers away and keeping the body-sharing, sensation-feeling, memory-having, personality-holding parts?

This bit takes place Halo 4 after Chief and Cortana get to the Infinity the first time, because he’s been in space for almost five years and needs a snack, a shower, and a nap before they throw him out into the field again. Lasky is also there, because he’s neat.

-

The techs offered him nothing he wanted to hear so he moved away, ignoring the look Lasky was giving him.

“He looks like a kicked puppy, Chief. Don’t ignore him.” John makes a face beneath his helmet, mind straying from his mental map of ideas. He’d been going so fast that hitting this wall has left his mind blank. He’s so tired, and starving. Now that his body is out of combat and his mind has caught up, he realizes his stomach is growling loud enough that the techs and the commander can hear it.

Keep reading

#Halo #Cortana #John 117 #Thomas Lasky

[daysofrefuge]

🌹🌹🌹🌹

Bro u see all my drafts, this isn't fair. Uh, here have ancient half life words.

---

A gravelly, unfamiliar voice that spoke with a strange affectation echoed through the room as Gordon reached the grate. The room below was a lab, with papers covering every horizontal surface and blackboards with trajectories and formulas lining the walls.

Gordon quickly spotted his mentor over near a monitor. He felt his heart stop as he took in the sight of Dr. Kleiner alone, with an alien stalking towards him. 

#Half Life #Gordon Freeman

[daysofrefuge]

🌹🌹🌹 A bouquet for your wip sentences, most wonderful pervayor of toothy-crab. 💙

Oh you're too nice! And I can’t narrow stuff down or save surprises, so sorry, here’s a whole chunk.

---

The quiet space of their quarters became a sanctuary rarely afforded to them. Secrets and hopes and fears spilled from lips that never spoke about what had happened. Reach, Halo, half-remembered dreams and missions that could never be forgotten.

They would have a talk and sometimes it wouldn't end well. Kelly would go for a long run, John would go clean weapons in the armory, Fred would torture himself with safety checks or seek out Veta if she was around, and Linda...

Linda would find the highest point with the widest field of view and she would sit, and breathe. The engines hum and the idle chatter would melt away until there was only her and her breathing and her body touching the warmed metal.

Sometimes when she meditated, she almost dreamed.

She felt a soft touch at the nape of her neck as if someone was pulling at hair she no longer had. It was nice.

When she had her fill she'd go back. John would have cleaned the room, Kelly would have more stories to tell about what she saw, and Fred would have fewer ghosts behind his eyes.

Linda thought about growing her hair out. Kelly didn't follow regulation. No one seemed to like telling any of them what to do.

She had curls once, maybe it'd be nice to have them again.

#Halo #Linda 058 #snippets #Blue Team #John 117 #Fred 104 #Kelly 087