i talk big shit about monsterfucking but the truth is nothing has ever made me as indescribably aroused as that one shot of dragoon gloves in the ffxiv heavensward trailer
Loop (2456 words) by bloodiedtongues
Chapters: 2/2
Fandom: Warframe
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Arthur Nightingale/Original Character(s), Arthur Nightingale/Persephone Douglas-Miller
Characters: The Hex (Warframe), Amir Beckett, Eleanor Nightingale, Quincy Isaacs, Arthur Nightingale, Jade (Warframe), Persephone Douglas-Miller, Protoframe OC - Character, Leticia "Lettie" Garcia, Drifter (Warframe), Aoi Morohoshi, Original Female Character(s)
Additional Tags: Angst and Tragedy, Tragedy, Temporary Character Death, Warframe: 1999, Warframe Spoilers, The Hex Spoilers (Warframe), Warframe: 1999 Spoilers, Original Character(s), Angst with a Sad Ending, Happy…ish ending comes in chapter 2, Original Character Death(s), Jade Protoframe - Freeform, Mild Gore, OC X CANON
Summary:
The first morning back from hell.
Waking up for the beginning of a brand new loop, maybe this time he won't have to hear her choke.
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐏𝐓𝐒𝐃, 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡
Chapter 2: Wake up, Lieutenant
"𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫! 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟗!"
Convulsions awoke him in his unit, jackknifed upright with a cough jamming up his lungs. He rubbed under his breast, swallowing once, twice, thrice for good measure. His mouth was dry. No time had elapsed, but the bed under him was a fever dream of sweat and torn sheets. Click went his neck when he lolled it side to side, had he been dreaming?
No.
No dream.
"You look like shit, boss."
One grey eye flicked up, his face contorting into a grimace.
"Fuck off, Quincy,"
Air sucked through the sniper's teeth, both palms lifted in placation.
"Tsk- Touuuchy." Quincy tilted his head, studying his rugged leader. "Sol, you do, though."
Arthur didn't dignify him with a response. He just sat on the edge of his bed with his elbows to his knees and eyes on the floor, scuff in the concrete.
Breathe.
The floor was still there.
The room was still there.
Somewhere in the mall did a door slam shut - Drifter's room, more than likely.
Sod them, their fault they're stuck in this damn year. Their fault that midnight now at the end of the year will fold in upon itself and spit him back here. His shoulders went up before he could mask it. He brought them back down with a huff and Quincy, to his credit, feigned having working eyes or common sense.
"Are you planning on leaving, Quince?"
"Yeah, but, you actually alright?"
He blinked, dragged back into the room by the question. His eye found Quincy at long last, then passed him - sweeping an unfocused gaze past the Sniper's shoulder instead of meeting it.
"Fine."
"Right, yeah mate, and I'm the bloody King."
Upright he went, with more force than necessary, rising whilst the room lurched. The unit reeled sideways; and his mitt struck the shell of a broken computer before his knees could follow. Quincy's levity thinned with haste, and Arthur pushed himself away.
"Where's Angel?"
"Bit early to be mooning over a nurse, boss." A brow climbed. "Since when do you wake up askin' after Douglas-Miller anyway?"
"What?"
"Angel." He shrugged. "Lettie roped her into patching Amir up after he tried climbing over the food court rail to prove…"
Pausing, his brow knitted into a furrow whilst his teeth caught his cheek.
"…Can't actually remember what he was proving. But, said he needed 'gentle hands' because Lettie was too rough, pisstake."
Arthur was through the doorway before the rest arrived.
"Oi- Arthur!" Boots fell into pace beside him. "Mate what's gotten into you?"
"Nothing"
"Yeah? Could've fooled me." He retorted with a frown, falling back half-sideways with a mutter. "Be like that then."
Höllvania was just stirring.
Fluorescent tubes buzzed overhead, the concourse bathed in jaundiced small plinks of light. His mitts flexed, opened, clenched again, he expected the tackiness of blood between his joints - the stink of iron in his nose. A shutter rattled open, a broken advert jingling about On-Lyne's 'new' year-long tour from a nigh-dead TV, tinny and warped.
Arthur missed a step.
The concourse dissolved beneath his footfalls. He pressed both hands to a rotten wound on his forearm, half of it gone, white hair matted red across torn flesh.
Teeth ground together, blood coated his tongue. By the time he'd reached the pharmacy upstairs - his thighs screamed with the effort of holding back an unknown fury. A thin curtain hung half-open across the entryway. Behind it, Amir droned in his usual melodrama.
"…Is only bruised, idiota."
"I can have internal bruises."
"You can have a shut mouth."
Angel snorted, pressing an ice pack to his side whilst Lettie cleaned the blood from his hair in annoyed strokes; "Amir," she cooed, smothering another laugh as he placed a hand to his forehead, "-stop squirming, you're acting like an oversized toddler."
“I am injured, Angel. There is a dignity to suffering, there's a very real possibility my spleen has exploded!”
"Tch- You don't even know where your spleen is," Lettie retorted, batting him with the wipe.
Amir hissed, clutching his chest. "OW! See? Hostile workplace."
Arthur's hand gripped the curtain and one of the hooks snapped free with a ping.
"If you're not bleeding, wait." Lettie didn't even need to look up, just raised a hand as she got another antiseptic wipe from the dwindling packet on her knee. "Ay, palomita, we need more of these next supply run."
He drank her in: gaze dropping to her throat, the wings fluffing as she laughed, the line of her ribs beneath her uniform, the falls of silk down her back that ended in feathers.
He couldn't breathe.
He looked again, slower, as though the first accounting had been insufficient.
Amir's throat cleared with a cough, straightening but an inch "Uh. Hi, Arthur."
One step carried him in, then another, one more. His feet stopped short of his Angel, close enough now to see between the porcelain wings that'd shrouded her visage from him - to the viridian eyes that were fixed onto his.
The muscles beside his mouth shifted but once.
"Angel."
Her name came clipped and colourless, the callsign hauled up like a barricade.
"Status."
Amir glanced over himself.
"Bruised, apparently. Though- I maintain-"
"Not you."
Arthur's eye remained upon Angel, but never quite met the gaze through the sliver of feathers. It caught upon her shoulder, the edge of a pinion or her pulse beneath her jaw.
"Are you injured?"
Gods how pathetic was it that his last word frayed at its end.
"No," she ebbed slowly, the ice pack sagging in her mitt. "Not- not that i'm aware of, Lieutenant."
"That isn't an answer."
"It rather is."
"Check."
Her wings tightened around her face.
"Lieutena-"
"Check."
There wasn't a lick of anger in Arthur's face. That would've made it all far easier. Anger was a familiar beast, could be met, and softened, and endured...
The ice pack was lowered.
"All right."
Her hands passed over herself with the brisk, practised efficiency of a nurse indulging a most unreasonable patient. Throat. Ribs. Abdomen. Hips. She rolled each shoulder, stretched her wings one after the other and glanced behind herself to inspect the long porcelain vanes.
"No fractures. No blood. Nothing torn, Lieutenant."
Arthur's eye flicked to every motion.
"Your abdomen?"
Her mitts stilled.
"My abdomen is fine."
He stared. Each part of her should've been utter, complete ruin - the cavity in her gut, the wings torn, mouth bleeding, arms shaking, his hands buried wrist-deep in her belly as it gushed the last pulses of her life.
But she was whole.
Her wings parted slightly if not only to meet his stare.
"Good."
She paused at his words.
"Good?"
"You're fit for duty."
What an idiotic retreat. Lettie’s mouth flattened. Amir looked between them with all the discretion of a searchlight.
Angel’s eyes narrowed and so the feathers fell back into place. Her lips parting to speak afore the other medic rose with a sigh.
"Mm. You come into my infirmary," she began, pinching the bridge of her nose, "nearly tore down my curtain, frightened Amir into silence - which is medically impossible, then say 'oh yeah you're fit for duty'." She mocked, prodding a blue-gloved finger toward him, dark eyes flicked to and fro - to his poorly concealed pallor and sweat at his temple.
"Siéntate."
"Sit down."
"Lettie," Arthur warned.
“Ay, sí. ‘Lettie.’” She mimicked his clipped tone with venomous precision. “Mírate. Estás pallido como un cadáver y tiemblas como un perro bajo la lluvia.”
"Look at yourself. You're as pale as a corpse and shaking like a dog in the rain."
Taking a breath, she pointed to the chair.
“Que te sientes, cabrón.”
"Sit your ass down, asshole"
"I am not ill, Leticia."
“No, claro que no. You always stagger into my shit and interrogate my nurses. Sit your stubborn ass down before you fall and crack open that thick head of yours.”
His attention flicked to Angel, and Lettie of course noticed that, too.
"Ah. Esto es por ella."
"Ah. This is because of her."
"Lettie."
"Do not 'Lettie' me. You look at her like you expect to find her in pieces."
He stared through her with a glare that perhaps in an old life, would've stopped a Corporal, but Lettie of course was immune to his tactics. With a breath he looked to his right with the one eye that worked.
Loop (2456 words) by bloodiedtongues
Chapters: 2/2
Fandom: Warframe
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Arthur Nightingale/Original Character(s), Arthur Nightingale/Persephone Douglas-Miller
Characters: The Hex (Warframe), Amir Beckett, Eleanor Nightingale, Quincy Isaacs, Arthur Nightingale, Jade (Warframe), Persephone Douglas-Miller, Protoframe OC - Character, Leticia "Lettie" Garcia, Drifter (Warframe), Aoi Morohoshi, Original Female Character(s)
Additional Tags: Angst and Tragedy, Tragedy, Temporary Character Death, Warframe: 1999, Warframe Spoilers, The Hex Spoilers (Warframe), Warframe: 1999 Spoilers, Original Character(s), Angst with a Sad Ending, Happy…ish ending comes in chapter 2, Original Character Death(s), Jade Protoframe - Freeform, Mild Gore, OC X CANON
Summary:
The first morning back from hell.
Waking up for the beginning of a brand new loop, maybe this time he won't have to hear her choke.
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐏𝐓𝐒𝐃, 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡
Chapter 2: Wake up, Lieutenant
"𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫! 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟗!"
Convulsions awoke him in his unit, jackknifed upright with a cough jamming up his lungs. He rubbed under his breast, swallowing once, twice, thrice for good measure. His mouth was dry. No time had elapsed, but the bed under him was a fever dream of sweat and torn sheets. Click went his neck when he lolled it side to side, had he been dreaming?
No.
No dream.
"You look like shit, boss."
One grey eye flicked up, his face contorting into a grimace.
"Fuck off, Quincy,"
Air sucked through the sniper's teeth, both palms lifted in placation.
"Tsk- Touuuchy." Quincy tilted his head, studying his rugged leader. "Sol, you do, though."
Arthur didn't dignify him with a response. He just sat on the edge of his bed with his elbows to his knees and eyes on the floor, scuff in the concrete.
Breathe.
The floor was still there.
The room was still there.
Somewhere in the mall did a door slam shut - Drifter's room, more than likely.
Sod them, their fault they're stuck in this damn year. Their fault that midnight now at the end of the year will fold in upon itself and spit him back here. His shoulders went up before he could mask it. He brought them back down with a huff and Quincy, to his credit, feigned having working eyes or common sense.
"Are you planning on leaving, Quince?"
"Yeah, but, you actually alright?"
He blinked, dragged back into the room by the question. His eye found Quincy at long last, then passed him - sweeping an unfocused gaze past the Sniper's shoulder instead of meeting it.
"Fine."
"Right, yeah mate, and I'm the bloody King."
Upright he went, with more force than necessary, rising whilst the room lurched. The unit reeled sideways; and his mitt struck the shell of a broken computer before his knees could follow. Quincy's levity thinned with haste, and Arthur pushed himself away.
"Where's Angel?"
"Bit early to be mooning over a nurse, boss." A brow climbed. "Since when do you wake up askin' after Douglas-Miller anyway?"
"What?"
"Angel." He shrugged. "Lettie roped her into patching Amir up after he tried climbing over the food court rail to prove…"
Pausing, his brow knitted into a furrow whilst his teeth caught his cheek.
"…Can't actually remember what he was proving. But, said he needed 'gentle hands' because Lettie was too rough, pisstake."
Arthur was through the doorway before the rest arrived.
"Oi- Arthur!" Boots fell into pace beside him. "Mate what's gotten into you?"
"Nothing"
"Yeah? Could've fooled me." He retorted with a frown, falling back half-sideways with a mutter. "Be like that then."
Höllvania was just stirring.
Fluorescent tubes buzzed overhead, the concourse bathed in jaundiced small plinks of light. His mitts flexed, opened, clenched again, he expected the tackiness of blood between his joints - the stink of iron in his nose. A shutter rattled open, a broken advert jingling about On-Lyne's 'new' year-long tour from a nigh-dead TV, tinny and warped.
Arthur missed a step.
The concourse dissolved beneath his footfalls. He pressed both hands to a rotten wound on his forearm, half of it gone, white hair matted red across torn flesh.
Teeth ground together, blood coated his tongue. By the time he'd reached the pharmacy upstairs - his thighs screamed with the effort of holding back an unknown fury. A thin curtain hung half-open across the entryway. Behind it, Amir droned in his usual melodrama.
"…Is only bruised, idiota."
"I can have internal bruises."
"You can have a shut mouth."
Angel snorted, pressing an ice pack to his side whilst Lettie cleaned the blood from his hair in annoyed strokes; "Amir," she cooed, smothering another laugh as he placed a hand to his forehead, "-stop squirming, you're acting like an oversized toddler."
“I am injured, Angel. There is a dignity to suffering, there's a very real possibility my spleen has exploded!”
"Tch- You don't even know where your spleen is," Lettie retorted, batting him with the wipe.
Amir hissed, clutching his chest. "OW! See? Hostile workplace."
Arthur's hand gripped the curtain and one of the hooks snapped free with a ping.
"If you're not bleeding, wait." Lettie didn't even need to look up, just raised a hand as she got another antiseptic wipe from the dwindling packet on her knee. "Ay, palomita, we need more of these next supply run."
He drank her in: gaze dropping to her throat, the wings fluffing as she laughed, the line of her ribs beneath her uniform, the falls of silk down her back that ended in feathers.
He couldn't breathe.
He looked again, slower, as though the first accounting had been insufficient.
Amir's throat cleared with a cough, straightening but an inch "Uh. Hi, Arthur."
One step carried him in, then another, one more. His feet stopped short of his Angel, close enough now to see between the porcelain wings that'd shrouded her visage from him - to the viridian eyes that were fixed onto his.
The muscles beside his mouth shifted but once.
"Angel."
Her name came clipped and colourless, the callsign hauled up like a barricade.
"Status."
Amir glanced over himself.
"Bruised, apparently. Though- I maintain-"
"Not you."
Arthur's eye remained upon Angel, but never quite met the gaze through the sliver of feathers. It caught upon her shoulder, the edge of a pinion or her pulse beneath her jaw.
"Are you injured?"
Gods how pathetic was it that his last word frayed at its end.
"No," she ebbed slowly, the ice pack sagging in her mitt. "Not- not that i'm aware of, Lieutenant."
"That isn't an answer."
"It rather is."
"Check."
Her wings tightened around her face.
"Lieutena-"
"Check."
There wasn't a lick of anger in Arthur's face. That would've made it all far easier. Anger was a familiar beast, could be met, and softened, and endured...
The ice pack was lowered.
"All right."
Her hands passed over herself with the brisk, practised efficiency of a nurse indulging a most unreasonable patient. Throat. Ribs. Abdomen. Hips. She rolled each shoulder, stretched her wings one after the other and glanced behind herself to inspect the long porcelain vanes.
"No fractures. No blood. Nothing torn, Lieutenant."
Arthur's eye flicked to every motion.
"Your abdomen?"
Her mitts stilled.
"My abdomen is fine."
He stared. Each part of her should've been utter, complete ruin - the cavity in her gut, the wings torn, mouth bleeding, arms shaking, his hands buried wrist-deep in her belly as it gushed the last pulses of her life.
But she was whole.
Her wings parted slightly if not only to meet his stare.
"Good."
She paused at his words.
"Good?"
"You're fit for duty."
What an idiotic retreat. Lettie’s mouth flattened. Amir looked between them with all the discretion of a searchlight.
Angel’s eyes narrowed and so the feathers fell back into place. Her lips parting to speak afore the other medic rose with a sigh.
"Mm. You come into my infirmary," she began, pinching the bridge of her nose, "nearly tore down my curtain, frightened Amir into silence - which is medically impossible, then say 'oh yeah you're fit for duty'." She mocked, prodding a blue-gloved finger toward him, dark eyes flicked to and fro - to his poorly concealed pallor and sweat at his temple.
"Siéntate."
"Sit down."
"Lettie," Arthur warned.
“Ay, sí. ‘Lettie.’” She mimicked his clipped tone with venomous precision. “Mírate. Estás pallido como un cadáver y tiemblas como un perro bajo la lluvia.”
"Look at yourself. You're as pale as a corpse and shaking like a dog in the rain."
Taking a breath, she pointed to the chair.
“Que te sientes, cabrón.”
"Sit your ass down, asshole"
"I am not ill, Leticia."
“No, claro que no. You always stagger into my shit and interrogate my nurses. Sit your stubborn ass down before you fall and crack open that thick head of yours.”
His attention flicked to Angel, and Lettie of course noticed that, too.
"Ah. Esto es por ella."
"Ah. This is because of her."
"Lettie."
"Do not 'Lettie' me. You look at her like you expect to find her in pieces."
He stared through her with a glare that perhaps in an old life, would've stopped a Corporal, but Lettie of course was immune to his tactics. With a breath he looked to his right with the one eye that worked.
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