#wealmostaneckbeard

[primeministerofantarctica]

You were curious what Iron lung is, so I will info-dump on you: It's a cosmic horror game where you are trapped inside of a space station habitat thats been re-purposed as a submarine to explore an ocean of blood on an otherwise lifeless moon. In order to navigate, you need to cross reference three things: a map with a lot of blank spots on it, the geo-positioning data on the "sub" control panel, and the Polaroid-Instant-Photo-esque camera mounted on the front of the sub. As you navigate the blood ocean, you will hear things through the hull and see things through the camera snapshots that defy easy explanation. Given recent events involving a submarine visit to the Titanic gone horribly wrong... The game has become tragically relevant.

jesus

i mean points for creativity but. jesus.

#im not a horror person but it does sound like it'd be fun #ask #wealmostaneckbeard

[moonlitvesper]

hello, not a bot, you make pretty pictures

thank you so much!! :D

#ask #wealmostaneckbeard

[dzamie]

You are the reason why I had to block the vore tag but at least you're the good kind of vore fetishist: the swallowed by a cartoon snake type. Your kind are paragons of decency and are practically vanilla compared to the other vore fetishists who are into butchering/dismemberment. Those guys should definitely have their locations monitored. Anyways now that I've written this out, I think I've made a great defense of pornographic expression. The deeper we make the pool of degeneracy, the more tolerant we can become of harmless weirdos.

I'm sure you mean well (and I write this answer light-heartedly), but I advocate for tolerance of "the other vore fetishists" you mention, not just "the good ones." None of us are truly based until all of us are based, or whatever. Besides, shit, you're a 40k fan, right? That setting is creaming its metaphorical pants over gore and snuff, and dollars to donuts many of its fans do, too.

I might even take mock-offense at being called a "swallowed by a cartoon snake type." I didn't write a green about futa!Chrysalis/Anon cockvore with partial cum digestion, autofellatio, and full normal digestion, just for someone to insinuate I'm only into snake pred oral vore :P

...

...heh. "AWRIGHT, YOU GITZ! I'Z DA BIGGEST PRED, SO I'Z DA WUN IN CHARGE!! ANYONE FINK OVVERWIZE, 'EY'LL JUS' MAKE ME BIGGA!!"

#text #vore related #asks #rawrs #wealmostaneckbeard

[vethbrenatto]

FCG's vague description of a cave dwelling large one eyed monster with psionic powers sounds like a nothic mixed with an umber-hulk. Given what we know about Aeorians monster-breeding it's possible the creature was just as artificial as FCG. Dancer and her creations weren't randomly attacked but lured to a remote location where they could be assassinated by a living weapon.

It just always leads back to more questions about Dancer, huh? It's absolutely a possibility that rather than just a monster in the area, FCG + crew were attacked by some sort of artificial construct that was sent after them, the question is always just why? What did Dancer and her pack have that would make them a target, why did Dancer make FCG and the others in the first place, did Dancer even really make them?

#as far as backstory NPCs she's definitely the one im most interested in #wealmostaneckbeard #ask

[someone-else-entirely]

Hey, in the tags of one of your reblogs you confessed to not knowing what Warhammer 40k is. Because I'm autistic and on Adderall, I will try to explain it: it's sometime in the 1980's, somewhere in great Britain, and some art history college students are sitting down at a pub to design a table top war game that uses dice and little model figures. They wound up inventing a grotesquely elaborate universe for their game where the Human Imperium (a parody of fascism), the Gods of Chaos (parodies of satanic libertarianism), and various alien empires (Orks, Eldar, and more!) Fight to the death for control of our galaxy. The game they created became popular/profitable and more lore was added and the major factions were broken down into loads of smaller sub-factions. Now it's the year 2023, there are licensed novels and electronic games set within the 41st millenia, and of course there is still the war game. I hope this was a good introduction to WH40K, does it sound interesting?

Not gonna lie, that does sound like a pretty cool premise! I admit I don't get into war games that much, but it sounds like there's a lot of potential for creative endeavors and I'd be interested in learning what other people have made based on that universe (that WH40K OC that I reblogged sure caught my eye, haha).

Thanks for the explanation!!

#wealmostaneckbeard

[jadequarze]

I finally got a hardcopy version of the Lancer rpg core manual for my birthday! Which has me thinking about the Bell's Hells Lancer AU again. I wanted to say that I thought Imogen was a HORUS Manticore pilot because both she and the mech can do lightning bolts and have Apocalyptic Potential. But your choice of pairing her with SSC Morning Cloak makes sense: both can teleport short distances and have a troubling lineage connected to cosmic forces beyond mortal comprehension.

Oh, happy for you!!

Tbh, I just skimmed thru the manual and most of my thought process when designing it just go, "Wouldn't it look cool if her mech have this?" No thoughts, as long as it's cool

#asks #wealmostaneckbeard

[lichdragon-fortissax]

Did you know there was a guy dressed like Mohg in the cut content of bloodborne? It was in a data mining video for the game, I forget which one unfortunately. Anyways I've joked that Mohg auditioned to be in Bloodborne and got in but his part was cut. The casting director liked him so much that he was called back for Elden Ring, and he brought his brother along to be his co-star.

Tbh that wouldn't surprise me at all, and I believe I do remember it now that I cast my mind back a bit, though iirc the model looked very unfinished so it was likely cut early in development. Mohg, however, is so Bloodborne-themed that he almost doesn't fit in Elden Ring at all, so I can totally see him being a beta form of Laurence or some other Healing Church member that ended up transplanted into Elden Ring as an Easter egg reference (that sadly got kind of bungled up by GRRM's...interesting characterizations, which don't mesh well with the theme of BB at all outside of a criticism of the Catholic church)

#mohg lord of blood #elden ring #bloodborne #wealmostaneckbeard #reply #honestly i wouldnt mind mohgs characterization being Like That:tm: as much if it wasnt for the fact that i dropped asoiaf bc of it #theres just so much incest and rape in those books that i ended up getting bored of it #which is kind of the opposite of the appeal of having it in there (for disgust and fear) #and also like i said it doesnt mesh with the bb theme of forceful adoption/killing children to become a god #so my gripe is purely from a writer's perspective

[lordtemn]

Between these two scenarios the fight with Tartigrade happens, talking with Mars long enough gives you the prompt to join her on a mission that “will benefit the both of us.” It’s a race to the end of a tunnel and a balancing act where you have to hit the beast with a modified mining laser and fight off other enemy stragglers. Hitting Tartigrade with the mining laser will stagger them for a short time but other enemies will build up, fighting the other enemies will cause Tartigrade to start catching up.

The fight ends after a couple minutes when you reach the end of the tunnel to barracks meant for Mynahs, there you find the hydraulics toolset. When you return to the mining car Mars is being attacked by Tartigrade and you have to fight them off by finally getting a shot when they open their helmet.

Rose engine, hire me for your signalis DLC and I can give the people what they want!

Also thank you to @wealmostaneckbeard for the Tartigrade boss fight idea. I did a lot more writing than I did sketching but I’m sleepy.

#original character #oc art #drawing #artists on tumblr #digital art #signalis #mynah signalis

[killer-orca-cosplay]

On Pilots: Mono and Multitask

@wealmostaneckbeard (Sorry this took multiple months, but I finally got the insperation for this)

"So...how do you...itch?" Interceptor Razor-5B's eyes tracked to port, slowly, a movement they were unused to doing; normally their eyes did not need to move very much, or were closed if at all possible.

Their eyes were one of the few things remaining of their long-forgotten, long-since discarded and weak Ur-Form. The mechtechs had noted that it was far too complicated to remove the intricate and delicate nerves and muscles from the human skull to replace with something else, and so, they stayed.

Evolution DID do some things right, 5B had often noted. Monotasking was simply the removal of those parts that did not work and replacing them. Enhancement. Efficiency.

Having some more Ur-Parts did come into play occasionally, however. Such as now.

5b's eyes finally stopped, focusing blurry, then precisely, on the speaker on the port rail of their interface-case (what the mechtechs refused to refer to as anything other than a "tomb", no matter what Command and Integrated Combat Organism Control insisted).

Data spooled through their neural-line, as it always did. To unhook was to be unready. To be unready, was to be dead.

The IFF marker indicated the speaker as Pilot David-035, and filled out his (so he still had an ur-gender as well) accomplishments and position.

A multi-task pilot. One of the mid-pointers, closer to 5b and their sibcoh than the "iso-pilots" that were becoming more of the vogue among Annihilation Command.

"We do not itch." The vocalization emerged from the small communication unit attached over 5B's hardwired skull; their mouth had been one of the first things taken, for it was not useful for integration, and unconnected humans had an annoying tendency to break teeth or bite their tongue out of instinct during standard combat operations.

"Did they...remove that too?"

The question was not as abrasive as it might have been coming from someone not a member of Command, let alone a fellow pilot. David-035 was closer to 5B than to either of their ur-forms had been. The data spooling across 5Bs vision noted dozens of individual augmentations, mostly to the limbs, nervous system, and several major organs.

Instillation dates noted a downward transition; David-035 was one of the "volunteer" multitask pilots, then, willingly trading presumably broken and weak flesh of his ur-form for the purity of metal, and the comforting embrace of a Frame.

5B could understand that willingness.

"What little epidermus that still remains is constantly maintained at an efficient level of comfort." They answered, now slowly moving their skull as best they could to properly converse.

It was difficult; not just because of the hardwiring to the interface-case, but also because this was the first time that 5B had been required to interact directly with another sentient being in meatspace.

In truth, it was a nice change of pace. And David-035s list of combat accolades and accomplishments, which continued to spool along their vision even as they were talking (there were QUITE a few important operations there, including several very bloody purges of Phobian recalcitrants) showed that he was one worth conversing with.

Interaction with him could only increase the possibilities of proper cooperation during the upcoming combat drop. There was no downside to "idle chatter" as those not uplifted would call it.

"Any sensation that would cause distraction is filtered by the Lace." The wires and ports hardlinked into 5Bs skull seemed to glow slightly brighter as they spoke of them.

David-035 gave a slight nod, understanding present on what was left of his face. He still had most of his flesh and jaw, but his teeth were gone, replaced with titanium implants and mounting points for a survival system. The gentle "click" of a mechanical tongue was audible with every word he spoke.

"Couldn't scratch it even if it didn't, I figure?"

5B had, indeed, no ur-limbs left; most had been removed for integration, but their starboard arm had originally been retained, until combat damage forced its disposal.

They did not miss it. Its removal had merely made further operation of their own Frame's throttle more efficient, directly linked to their will.

"Neg." They replied, moving what remained of their shoulders to show. After a moment, they kept up their end of the obvious bargan that was a conversation, and asked;

"Does yours?" Indicating without movement the augmentations upon David-035s own iso-form.

"All the damn time." The curse indicated a sensation that was not dulled; a constant problem.

"The mechtech's gave me some cream and a couple of poppers to help, but that stuff's not easy to make, let alone ship. We ran out of it three months ago."

Almost a week into the campaign, then. 5B felt for the still flesh-bearing pilot.

Irritations, major or minor, were something to emphasize with, 5B calculated.

"We...get phantom sensations, occasionally." They admitted. "A need to do things we no longer need to." Like breathing, or eating. Sometimes it got so bad the hardwiring had to be turned on, to calm them down.

"I feel my toes at night." David-035 moved his leg (one of the first of his ur-limbs to have been disposed, 5B noted, and also some of the most detailed prosthetics) and made a slight metallic bang against the side of 5Bs interface-case.

The presence of limbs sparked the sensation of the need to get up and WALK within 5B, but it faded almost instantly as the hardwiring intercepted it.

"Supposedly Command has an answer. It is...merely difficult to implement." Though the voice emitter showed very little difference in tone, the annoyance in 5Bs words was still notable.

"Don't they always?" David-035 laughed, a sharp bark that 5B interpreted as darkly humorous.

"They are...only human." 5B said, finally. For truthfully that was the case; pilots were the only humans among Annihilation Command that received augmentations. The further up the chain of command you went, the fewer and fewer artificial inserts and upgrades.

Supposedly the High Commander herself was 100% flesh and bone; not even a cognitive enhancer or senescence slower.

Neither 5B nor David-035 had ever seen the High Commander of course. No one here had. She was off safe somewhere, well behind battle lines, doing paperwork and ordering pilots like them into the grinder.

"They should come swap out with us for a little bit. See how they like getting shot at for once. Might make em think a bit about what they prioritize sending us."

5B found themselves nodding; or, as much as they could, with the hardwiring.

"They...do not understand." They said finally. "No. No they don't." David-035s voice grew quiet, thoughtful.

The sensors in 5B's interface-case suddenly noted a second IFF nearing. They did not turn to look at this one, as doing so would be arduous and frustrating when they had already moved to look at David-035.

"Holy shit, Dave, is that a monotask?" A female (presumably, pronouns were of course self-determined alongside position within Annihilation Command, and disrespect of them was considered Super High Treason and bounds for various unpleasantness) voice called from below the interface-case, well outside of the natural eyesight of 5Bs remaining flesh.

The case's sensors and cameras worked just fine, however, and so they focused through those onto the figure standing before.

The third of the three types of pilots...how curious.

Second Generation Multitask, or as they were more commonly referred too, "Freeborn". Nowhere near as augmented as either 5B or David-035, but conversely, far less effective and efficent.

Expendable. That was what a Freeborn was, in truth. A baseline ur-human, given just enough augmentations (if any at all) and slammed into a low-quality Frame.

Still worthy of honor and respect, of course. All member of Annihilation Command were.

But they still bore too much of their flesh to truly be considered pilots by most. Some would loose their weakness to war, of course, and slowly evolve into what David-035 was. But that would come later.

Right now, she (her data rolled up as 5B focused upon her, indicating her name to be Hester Sharr, assigned to the 85th Orbital Drop Battalion, "Hell's Riders") was just a human with a neural lace.

"We are Interceptor Razor-5B." 5B directly addressed Sharr, acknowledging her presence. "We are a second wave Monotask Pilot designated for orbital interception and superiority."

"Woah." The sound of human awe was most...unnerving to 5B. They were not used to this level of combined interaction. Had not been, for quite some time.

"I've never seen one of you guys outside of your tombs." Sharr's curiosity showed, and before 5B could comment, she was climbing the interface-case's starboard side, looking in as David-035 did from the port side.

Oddly, 5B found they did not mind. The presence of others soothed an irritation they did not realize they had been feeling.

More human than human...but still, human somewhat. The Frame does not remove everything that makes you that. If it did, you would loose what makes you better than an AI. Thats the line you must stand upon; more human than machine, while being more machine than flesh. Its complicated. But you'll get the hang of it.

A mantra from their trainer, following the first of their surgeries. Still true to this day.

Above them, Sharr and David-035 were starting a conversation; the ease of banter between them was intriguing to 5B. First Generation Multitask Pilots always seemed to find it easier; perhaps the presence of most of their nervous system being intact lead to it.

Content to listen, 5B let them talk; the conversation flowing around them as they settled into their interface-case, similarities between pilots and experiences running through them as the data compiled and expanded.

They watched with pleasure as it went. They had started to close their eyes, when a sudden, brutal interrogative punched through into them.

They seized, the need to speak suddenly so powerful and potent that the strained against the interior of the cockpit.

"Status?" David-035's voice was professional, focused. "Woah, easy there mate! Don't pull that brace out!" More emotion to Sharr's voice, and a surprising amount of care. The vocal emitter crackled as 5B tried to speak, then, finally, spat out; "Acceptance for all, alliance to variation. Annhilation to the phobe and the bigot." The rallying cry of the Annihilation Command. The reason they were all here.

"Annihilation to the non-compliant." David-035 and Sharr said it, simultaneously, overlapping but unified.

No matter the form; no matter the wave, or the Generation...a pilot was a pilot.

Machine and nerve. A weapon.

All as one.

"Pilots." 5B spoke, suddenly...content. A sensation they were far from used too...but not against expereinced.

"Pilots." Sharr said, sofly.

"Pilots." Agreed David-035.

Silence reigned, for a long moment, as each pilot, monotask, First Generation Multitask, and Second Generation Multitask, thought of their purpose, and origin.

It lasted till their vessel dropped out of FTL...and the sound for battle came.

A/N: 5B is one of those mech pilots thats fully plugged into their machine, like a Dreadnought operator from Warhammer 40k or 621 from Armored Core.

David-035 is a cybernetic pilot, similar to Daryl Lorenz from Mobile Suit Gundam, Thunderbolt, or a Halo Spartan operating a Mantis

Hester Sharr is an augmented human, similar to a Titanfall Pilot.

#mecha #fanfiction #original fiction #mech #original writing #pilots #we almost a neckbeard

[seeyouguyslater]

That new music video ManiFesto has Lappland dragging a film crew out to a subway train graveyard. Thoughts?

it would be funny if lappy and emperor somehow became close friends and helped lapp convince a camera crew out to go out there

#asking asks #wealmostaneckbeard

[lotusmesenpai]

I am now following you because of the lesbian mindflayer

Truly the most noble of reasons

#for real tho thank you #wealmostaneckbeard

[doomguy]

doomguy in heaven getting an award for killing demons from an angel and being really confused

The real award is knowing with every kill, that’s one less demon in the world

#doom #doomguy #ghostart #dg #wealmostaneckbeard

[frostynovaprime]

wealmostaneckbeard

 post

I request context

my art was featured on prime time because it was about banshee and saryn’s 6th birthday.... and this month the game turns 6 years old so yeah

#wealmostaneckbeard

[losebetter]

wealmostaneckbeard replied to your photo “relentless endurance” (see also: “sometimes the parts of ourselves...”

HE'S ONLY GOT 10 STRENGTH

yeah, i know -- but i’ve talked a bunch about how i a) scale nonhuman characters differently than human characters, b) don’t see the point in making fjord look like a skinny twink when he’s a sailor who’s done a lot of manual labor and physical work, c) often interpret stats in unorthodox ways when designing characters, or simply don’t prioritize them at all.

if you want to leave a comment like this on my messy sketches of his body type, fine, but i’d especially appreciate if you wouldn’t do this on something that’s a full composition where his body type has literally nothing to do with it. thaaaank you

#wealmostaneckbeard #replies #i'm very tired

[johannstutt413]

(requested by wealmostaneckbeard) Tachanka becomes the USSGG’s surrogate dad

Tachanka had had a family at home - at least, he had an ex and a couple of kids, and they’d made it work better than quite a few of the homes his coworkers had come from or kept - so the idea of being a father figure wasn’t new to him. What had been new to him, shortly after arriving at Rhodes Island HQ on special request from the Doctor herself (which was...well, a story in its own right), was a small group of Ursus girls that brought out the Papa Bear in him like nothing else.

“I’m not asking for a miracle,” the petite woman in a long coat explained, looking up at him from behind a mask, “but I think you could do them a lot of good.”

“...They were in Chernobog.” It wasn’t a question. The weight in his words nearly matched that of his own helm.

She nodded. “More than that, they were in a middle school where...Ever read ‘Lord of the Flies’ when you were studying English?”

“Yes.” He cocked his head. “Not Columbian?”

“Let’s not get into that right now; suffice to say, you’re not the only one from Earth.”

The ‘mercenary’ relented; he had a feeling they’d have more chances to talk later. “Later, then. How old are they?”

“They were attending middle school at the time of the incident-” Tachanka’s fist clenched, “-but it’s been some time since we got them out of there. 15, 16 or so?”

“Fifteen? And you send them on missions?” What kind of irresponsible-

The Doctor reached into a desk drawer behind her, pulled out a folder, and handed it to him. “Look at these.”

“I don’t see how-” Looking at the pictures in said folder, however, the four-war veteran had other concerns. “So much blood...Too young to be forced to see it. I didn’t know.”

“You already know them, don’t you?” She didn’t need to see his face to notice the change in attitude.

He looked her dead in the eye. “We did shots together last night. They drink even younger than I did.”

“That’s Ursus for you - those bear ears aren’t just for show.” She sighed. “They also are practically immune to alcohol, which I think is a bit more than even a grizzly back home could do. You’ll help them out, though?”

“I don’t know if I can help them, Doctor. What I will be is there for them. I go to them now. Keep the folder.”

That’d been the plan, but it was good to know he agreed with it. “Thanks. How’s your Ursine?”

“Я уже давно говорил по-урсийски, Доктор [I’ve spoken Ursine for a long time, Doctor],” he replied in his mother tongue. “Спасибо [Thanks].”

“Для чего? [Thanks for what?]” She replied, almost casually.

Tachanka didn’t turn back around as he replied, “For a chance to make this right.”

----------

It wasn’t hard to find Istina’s room, thanks to the handheld RI had given him to navigate around the base, but the mercenary didn’t go there directly from the Doctor’s office. There were customs to observe, after all.

“General, can you get that?” Rada called from the kitchen. “I have to watch these pierogies like a hawk right now!”

“Da, da, I’ve got it.” Sonya got up from the couch, which left a void between Anna and Rosalind they filled of their own accord, in order to do that.

There was Tachanka, helmet on his head even now, with a brown bag of vodka bottles in his hand. “How’s it going, сестренка [lil sis]?”

“Rada!” Zima called back to the kitchen. [Going forward, everything’s in Russian/Ursine] “Got enough stuff for one more at the table?”

“Sure!”

Sonya smiled back at her guest. “Doing great. Wanna come in?”

“I didn’t come here to stand in the door.” He rustled her hair with his free hand and stepped inside, beelining for the kitchen table to set down the alcohol. “Pierogies tonight, Radachka?”

“Oh, Tachanka! Good thing there’s plenty here! Yep, more than enough for you to have seconds!” She stepped away from the stove for a moment...in time to watch him take off his helmet.

Unlike Ash, he didn’t have anything to hide the lack of animal ears on his head, but that didn’t matter. She needed to see his smile. “Glad to hear it. I brought enough vodka to match.”

“Thanks.” Gummy was momentarily stunned, as if she’d hit herself with her third strike. Thankfully, she recovered as her boiling water was just about to boil over. “Ah!”

“Heh. Careful with that pot, lil sis.” The Sapiens looked back over at Zima, who’d similarly watched him remove his face-shield.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have an easy excuse to stop staring. “And I thought you were squishing your ears in that helmet of yours, bratan [brother].”

“What the Doctor doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” The mercenary took his helmet to a coat rack by the door and set it on a high spot. “Alright, Razz, Annechka, I know you heard me come in.”

“There’s a fight on, Big T, give us a break!” Leto leaned her head over the back of the couch, a bright smile on her face quickly turning to a gasp looking at him.

Istina followed suit, managing to keep her reaction to herself for the most part. “We still have some time before Rada finishes dinner, if you want to join us.”

“No thanks, lil sis.” The smile faded slightly, seeing the red spatter on the screen. “Combat is a life-and-death matter. Now wrestling, that’s different.”

“Oh, then we’ll turn on UFC, then! Hey, Anna, where’d you put the-” The halberdier began glancing around for the all-powerful device-

The TV turned off as the advisor hit the power button on the remote in her hand. “It’s not a good match, Razz. We have cards if you’d like to play, Tachanka.”

“Call me Aleksandr, Annechka. Cards would be perfect.” He looked around the open-format dorm, looking for where they kept their drinking glasses but finding them in Natalya’s arms as she rounded a corner. “Good evening, Tasha.”

“Good evening, Sasha. To what do we owe the honor of your presence?” Despite using formal pronouns, Rosa could easily say her relationship with the mercenary was one of her most casual. She wasn’t even that surprised at seeing him without his helmet on, after the other night.

The Sapiens shrugged. “Just wanted to visit.”

“Mmm. Anna, do you know where we put the cards? No, I’ll get them, I just can’t remember which drawer they’re in...”

Gummy had been closer to finishing dinner than the group expected, but that simply meant they could eat and drink along with their card game and the full gang ready to play. Even his Soviet veteran status wasn’t enough to let Tachanka keep up with the girls on the drinking front, but he held his own at cards to make up for it. At some point, Leto pulled out a gift from her friend Beehunter - a flask of mead, which the girls passed around - and the night steadily dissolved as they forgot they were playing cards.

“So if you’re not an Ursus, or from Ursus, how come you speak the language?” Razz asked, having long forgotten it was her turn to play a card in the center. “You’ve got an accent, but it’s better than the Doctor’s at least.”

“Ursine and Russian are basically the same, lil sis, and I’ve spoken Russian my entire life.” The mercenary threw a card in the pile, not as a play but simply to get it out of his hand.

Sonya, somber even somewhat intoxicated, followed up with, “How long have you been a soldier?”

“Thirty years. I’m not an active soldier now, though; I’m an Operator.” Not in the Rhodes sense, but there was convenient overlap in the terms. “The motherland is safe, even without me there protecting her, and going home isn’t possible yet.”

“Because of the Watchtower thing?” Rada added.

He nodded. “Yes. Whatever happened means me and my team can’t go home, so we’ll make the most of our time here. This world...This world needs us.”

“We certainly do,” Natalya whispered, setting her head on his shoulder. “Anna, what time is it?”

“Time to find the clock...There it is. Twenty-three forty...something.”

The heiress yawned. “As good a time to go to bed as any.”

“I agree.” Tachanka stood up and then plucked Rosa from her chair. “I’ll clean up.”

“Ya don’t hafta do that, Big T,” Leto said as the group followed the mercenary and cradled Sniper.

He walked through the open door to Natalya’s room and tucked her in bed. “It’s not about what I have to do, Razz. Peaceful night to you, Tasha.”

“Likewise, Sasha.” She pulled a stuffed Originum Slug plush to her chest as the procession left to continue down the line. “Peaceful night, indeed...”

Rosalind climbed into bed herself, but she waited for the Sapiens to toss the wad of sheets on it onto her to ambush him with a hug. Anna and Rada settled into the chef’s room, nightlight on and cuddling to keep the nightmares at bay, which left Sonya and Tachanka to themselves as they opened the door to her room.

“Peaceful night to you, Sonya,” the mercenary said, intending to depart once she was in bed, but a hand reaching for his stopped him.’

“Do the nightmares stop?” She asked, for a moment not the General she’d had to become, but the girl who’d simply wanted to live. “After thirty years, is it easier?”

Tachanka settled into a squat by her head, taking her hand as he did. “I can’t promise that. What made it easier for me was being with the people I care about. You have good friends, sestrenka.”

“Yeah...but I...” The words caught in Zima’s throat.

“Do you want me to stay?” Her eyes lit up, but she simply nodded. “Alright, make some room.”

An hour later, the mercenary opened one eye as the door creaked open; four sets of Ursine ears and eyes peaked through the crack. He wordlessly beckoned with his free hand, the other gently holding Sonya to his chest, and the cuddle pile arranged itself.

Finally, a good night’s sleep for the USSGG.

#arknights #arknights fic #tachanka (arknights) #zima (arknights) #rosa (arknights) #leto (arknights) #istina (arknights) #gummy (arknights) #probably not quite as subtle as wealmostaneckbeard had in mind? #but like...it's Tachanka and the USSGG. #every moment of fluffy-hearted tenderness they can get they've more than earned #and i can't imagine a golden-hearted softie like him being anything less than a proper patriarch for these girls

[outofcharacter-overwatch]

Roadhog, Junkrat, and McCree form a gang together. They get an anonymous white van as a getaway vehicle. What do they do next?

((Find a stoner with a dog and go solve mysteries))

-Mod Jay

#wealmostaneckbeard #not art