Coyote Writes

The place where I dump my objectively mediocre writing.

[dancing-coyote]

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So hey my birthday is coming up this Friday and it sure would be nice if I could pay the outstanding half of my internet bill and also get some laundry moneys and maaaaybe also get something nice for lunch at the Good Locally-Owned Coffee Shop downtown ;u;

[wickedsnack]

so as long as tumblr keeps this, here's the tumblr version of etiquette that was maintained when twitter's quote-retweets affected artist visibility/notes:

for art that someone has added reblog commentary to (or removed the caption from), reblog from the source

otherwise, avoid adding reblog comments to art (as this will affect the artist's notes/visibility)—utilize tags and replies to provide commentary (which artists will absolutely appreciate)

reblog comments are comments added to the body of a post, not the tags and not replies.

[coyotedraws]

Shane hasn't had a moment's peace since they got indirectly whacked by an Illuminate monolith.

Could've pushed this a lot further, but I also didn't want to spend more than a couple hours on it, so this is as polished as it's getting-

[coyotescribbles]

It was a simple objective: Find the monoliths, blow up the monoliths.

….Or, well, it should have been a simple objective.

But nothing was ever simple when the Illuminate were involved, what with their stupid floating eyes that alerted what felt like every Overseer within ten kilometers of your presence and summoned swarms of mutated Voteless to swamp your position and tear you to pieces…

The team had fought their way through hundreds of those shambling monstrosities, liberating them from the shackles of Illuminate mind control and allowing them to die as free citizens. They'd fended off Overseers and Harvesters, too, despite the aliens' best efforts to put a stop to their mission.

They'd found a monolith.

Shane, as usual, was on hellbomb duty, while Riley watched their back and Cordelia and Devon secured the area. They'd gotten into position, called down the bomb, and…

…And that was where everything went sideways.

"Just a few seconds, then we can bail, get out of here, and move on to the next one…" Shane breathed, tapping at the bomb's input.

Riley said nothing, but they heard the scuff of a boot across concrete. Something about it sent a shiver up the back of their neck.

"Ri…?" They paused, turning to look back - and seeing Riley shuffling another step closer to the monolith, reaching one hand out to touch it. "Riley, NO-!"

Shane didn't remember much of what happened next. They remembered lunging, grabbing Riley's arm, intending to drag them away -

A blinding flash of brilliant violet-white light.

And then… nothing.

Not until Cordelia's frantic voice pierced the darkness, and they felt her shaking them almost violently.

"Shane - SHANE?! Shane, wake up already-!!"

They groaned softly as consciousness crept back, bringing with it a steady throbbing agony inside their skull and a sharp stabbing pain in their right eye.

"Stim," they slurred out, struggling to sit up.

"Huh?"

"Gimme… stim…"

"Oh! Right, right, here-" they could hear Cordelia fumbling with an injector, then felt the sharp prick of the needle followed by the head-clearing rush of the stimulant cocktail burning through their veins. It didn't do much to relieve the headache, but it at least managed to reduce the pain to a tolerable thrum.

As their thoughts and their vision cleared, Shane realized that their helmet was missing, and immediately turned to look for it. Cordelia, however, was already moving to hand it to them.

"I found this before I even saw you," she admitted sheepishly, "it was lying by the curb all the way across the intersection. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, 'm fine… I think… Where's Riley?"

Her helmet tilted to the side as she glanced away. "He's. He didn't make it. Devon tried to revive him, but he was already gone."

Oh.

"…Do you think you can run? We really need to finish arming the hellbomb and get out of here."

Shane sighed, turning their helmet over in their hands - noting the scorched visor - before pulling it back on and latching it shut.

"…Yeah, I'm good to go. Let's get this done and get out of here."

-----

The whispers came later.

At first, they were just thin threads of barely-audible sound twisting just at the very edge of their perception. They wrote them off as their imagination - the effect of spending too much time on loud, violent battlefields.

But they kept getting worse, even as the color drained from the section of their face that lined up with the scorch marks on their visor. As that patch of skin turned pale, as the hairs turned white and the eye turned a pinkish-lavender… the whispers intensified.

Sinuous, susurrating sounds, speaking words they didn't understand.

And with those came the nightmares, vivid dreams of too luminous eyes and too many grasping hands reaching from the darkness to drag them down, down, deeper into the starry black until their lungs burned and all they could do was scream-

They grew to hate cryo; being unable to wake from the horrors, being left helpless and unable to ignore the voices and the visions…

But they didn't dare so much as breathe a word about it to anyone. The ship's medic would report them to the Democracy Officer in a heartbeat, and the Democracy Officer would turn them over to the Ministry of Truth.

And once the Ministry of Truth got their hands on them…

Shane choked down another cup of burnt black coffee, hurriedly shoved their new, unscorched helmet back into place, and turned to head to their hellpod.

Voices or not, there were still missions to do.

[shewriter]

Writing with Colors

A list of resources to help you describe different colors in your writing.

The Color Thesaurus A collection of infographics that show various shades of different colors, each shade/color labeled by name.

Color Reference Chart Another collection of infographics that show various shades of different colors, each shade/color labeled by name.

Hair Color Reference Chart A collection of infographics that show various shades of different hair colors, each shade/color labeled by name.

Eye Color Reference Chart A collection of infographics that show various shades of blue, brown, and green eye colors, each shade/color labeled by name.

Different Ways to Describe Hazel Eyes A list of ideas and suggestions for describing hazel eyes. Can be used as prompts or for brainstorming.

Different Ways to Describe Green Eyes A list of ideas and suggestions for describing green eyes. Can be used as prompts or for brainstorming.

Different Ways to Describe Blue Eyes A list of ideas and suggestions for describing blue eyes. Can be used as prompts or for brainstorming.

Different Ways to Describe Brown Eyes A list of ideas and suggestions for describing brown eyes. Can be used as prompts or for brainstorming.

+

I’m a writer, poet, and editor. I share writing resources that I’ve collected over the years and found helpful for my own writing. If you like my blog, follow me for more resources! ♡

[thegreatwicked]

This obviously needed its own post and here it is, a collection of blog posts and resources I have found and used for my own writing, I hope they help you too! Go forth and write that spice!

The Smut Writers Dictionary By @maybeeatspaghetti Seriously, how many different way are there to write cock? Does anyone else wonder if they've used the word 'lips' too many times? Well, this is a good place to start!

The Ultimate Guide to Writing Smut This is the first one I found and I go back to it frequently! There's also some great information about specific areas of sex that may not be common knowledge for first time writers!

How to Write Smut By @urfriendlywriter Another great source of information from different verbiage to use and a few tips to hel you along (giggity)

Smut Thesaurus By @prurientpuddlejumper just what it sounds like and you can never have too many words at your disposal.

6 Steps to Writing Better Sex By @chaoschaoswriting If you're at a loss or just want some more help this is antoher fantastic blog!

Writing Prompts NSFW By @seidenbros Need some dialogue? Or a story idea? Have a look!

#100 NSFW/Smut Dialogue Prompts By @a-cure-for-writers-block More? More. This is also a fantastic writing blog with lots to offer!

Intimate + Sexual Headcannon Questions By @petalsprompts Good questions to ask your characters to get to know them better and make more well rounded characters!

Smut & Mature (18+) Master List By @pendarling A great list dialogue prompts, scenarios, and helpful bits!

Poly NSFW Alphabet By @smaoineamhsalach Another great way to get to know your characters and maybe a handful of ideas for story ideas.

Kink Prompts Another from the previous blogger above and I didn't know what half of these are! I'll work on a kink dictionary next!

Writing Smut 101: Overcoming Smut Shame @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 There's a lot to be said for this particular subject! It's hard to write stuff like this, so how do you get over it? Start here!

How to Write a Kiss Scene By @youneedsomeprompts Yes!!! I still struggle with this one! There's a thousand ways to kiss, find your favorite!

Smut Oneliners By @deity-prompts you can never have enough one-liners!!

How to Write a (Great) Sex Scene Another great article for new smut writers

9 Tips for Writing Steamy Scenes More tips to help you wirte good steamy stuff!

How to Write Erotica and a Damn Fine Sex Scene A WEALTH if information on writing, structuring, and helpful tips!

@saradikahas a fantatic blog with graphics for you to use to add some fun to your posts. Things like MDNI Banners, 18+ Content Warnings, Support Your Favorite Writers and Reblog banners! They are free to use but she does ask that you reblog her stuff if you do! She's also a very talented writer and she writes some AMAZING Din Djarin stories!

Gay Sex Positions Guide This is a WONDERFUL adition and thank you so much @b7bubby for bringing this to my attention, I didn't have any resources for writing M/M fairings but this is a much needed addition to the spicy community! i've never written an M/M pairing and I feel like such an idiot for overlooking the need for a resource like this!

Writing the Perfect Kiss Scene provided by @writers-potiona fantastic little guide to writing better kisses!

If you find any other great smut writing resources feel free to tag me so I can add them to this list! Good luck with your writing! Now go write that story and LET THE SPICE FLOW!!!!

[coyotescribbles]

Chapter 9 of Like A House On Fire is live!

[coyotescribbles]

Like A House On Fire [Part 19]

Continuing on from...

Adze was reluctant to return to the battle, knowing that Bolo was still queued for repairs, and might remain such for the next several hours. Only the threat of being physically removed from the bay sent him slinking back out.

It wasn't fair.

But nothing about their lives had been fair so far, had it?

Unslinging his rifle, he wove through the barely-controlled chaos of the terreplein until he spotted Hatchet, then made straight for the big Devastator's position.

"All in working order, little brother?" He asked, as Adze took up a post on the wall beside him.

"It's fine," was his reply, wasting no time in turning his attention to the desert floor below.

"How's Bolo?"

Z's voice made him bridle in annoyance.

He didn't even know why.

"He will be fine," he snapped, "no thanks to you."

"Hey! The fuck did I do, besides save your ungrateful ass-?!"

Adze unsteadily rounded on her, stabbing an accusing digit in her direction. "If I had not been distracted by your complaining, I would not have missed that rocket and my brother and I could have moved out of the way in time!"

"Oh, so you're blaming me?"

"Enough, both of you," Hatchet's tone brooked no dissent; "your enemies are out there, not here, do you understand?"

Adze and Z traded glares for a long moment - then, with a disgusted sound, she dismounted from the stack of crates she'd been perched on and stalked away. "Fucking god damned impossible ass I swear to God-"

He tried to ignore it. To ignore her. To ignore the grief and fear and anger and shame and something he couldn't pinpoint churning in his chest. But it was impossible to ignore Hatchet, or the withering look he fixed him with.

"I'm not sorry," he mumbled, checking and shouldering his rifle as he turned his attention back to the desert floor.

All to hide the fact that he was unable to meet the Devastator's optics.

"Of course you aren't," Hatchet's voice was as firm as his grip as he bodily turned him around and nudged him in the direction that Z had gone. "That is why you are going to be the one to go retrieve her, and apologize."

"Hatchet-"

"Go."

Ducking his head, the Trooper slung his rifle and slinked away from the wall, more unwilling to test Hatchet's (rare and, from what little he'd seen of it, terrifying) wrath than he was to leave the front lines to go retrieve his pet.

Adze would never understand what drove him to be so soft towards the little vermin.

She wasn't hard to find, at least - kneeling beside the body of a lone Helldiver who had stupidly steered their pod straight into the middle of the base. As he approached, she tugged something free, and held the piece of armor up for inspection.

"What are you doing," he said flatly, earning a scoff from her.

"What's it look like, genius?" She replied, her voice thick with sarcasm. "Dude doesn't need his gear anymore, no point in wasting it if it can still be used."

Z unlatched the man's helmet and pulled it free next, squinting at the interior for a moment before wiping at a spatter of blood droplets with her sleeve. "Besides," she continued, "it's not like it's the first time I've taken gear off a corpse. Won't be the last time, either. Could you get out of my light, please?"

"Disgusting," Adze ground out, grudgingly stepping aside; she just shrugged, continuing her clinical removal and examination of the dead man's armor as if a war wasn't raging all around them.

He shifted uncomfortably, feeling like she was up to something that he wasn't privy to.

When she stripped off her coat and shoved it at him with an "if you're just gonna stand around, at least make yourself useful and hold this," he realized, with a sense of creeping dread, that he was right.

Wasting no time at all, Z began strapping on the armor pieces, only pausing to check and adjust the fit as necessary. She started with the chestplate - briefly prodding at the charred holes before shrugging to herself - and quickly down her legs, then upper arms, before finally pulling on the dead Helldiver's gloves and gauntlets. One last check was made to the stratagem screen - and her disbelieving giggle when it still worked was almost unnerving.

"What are you planning," he asked pointedly, "because if you are thinking about doing what I think you are-"

"Hatchet won't like it, yeah, I know." She tucked the helmet under one arm and stooped to scoop up the man's weapons, along with her new rifle. "But I'm pretty sure he'll be understanding when he hears me out."

"And what is he going to be hearing out?" He grabbed her upper arm and pulled her back when she started to walk away. "Didn't you just almost die out there?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, don't try to act like you care all of a sudden-" She scoffed, trying to extricate herself from his grip; he only tightened it in response.

"Answer me, Z."

"I've 'almost died' a lot of times, Adze. I know what I'm doing, now let go of me."'

With a growl, he glowered down at the defiant little beast - then turned sharply to march her back towards Hatchet's position, not once loosening his grip despite her furious protests. He didn't let go until they'd reached the wall where he was leveling cannon fire at yet another group of encroaching Helldivers below.

"Your pet is trying to get herself killed, again." Adze finally released Z, giving her a push towards Hatchet and ignoring the glare she shot his way.

"I am not, I have a plan," she replied sharply, detaching the cape from the chestplate and letting it fall to the ground as Hatchet turned to face them.

He did not look pleased.

At either of them.

"Z?" His carefully-leveled question belied his obvious frustration, evident in his stance and posture. If she noticed, however, she didn't give it away.

"Look, I already tricked three Helldivers once already, it wasn't even that hard," she held her hands out, palms up, as if in emphasis; "and that trick might not work a second time, but they're definitely not going to think twice about someone wearing this-" Curling one hand into a fist, she tapped it against her chest.

Hatchet's optics glanced down, towards the charred hole in that battered chestplate, then turned his optics back to her face with a skeptical look.

"Look," Z continued, almost pleadingly, "I feel useless up here. I know I'm a good sharpshooter! But I hate it-!"

"So what you are suggesting is that I let you go out there, after risking several lives to retrieve you?"

"I'm not going to need rescuing a second time."

"You don't know that."

"I know I'm in fighting shape and not half-dead with a bashed-open skull-"

"Z-"

"-And I have never needed rescuing before. Not… when I know what I'm going up against and am prepared for it, anyway."

"And you know what you would be going up against out there?"

"Of course I do!"

"Z, no. We've already come too close to losing you once already today, and this battle has only just begun. We need you here."

"No, you need someone on the ground thinning the bastards out, and I'm the perfect person for that role."

"That may be, but-"

"I'm going, Hatchet."

That stopped him short; Z glanced aside, looking almost remorseful.

"…I know you worry about me, Hatchet, and I'm. Grateful for that. No one's ever cared about me the way you do," she continued, her voice so quiet that it was only barely audible over the chaos around them. "But I'm a soldier. It's all I know how to be. I can't just… sit up here taking potshots from a safe distance. I'm at my best when I'm on the ground, up close and personal and in the thick of it all, not bundled up in a crow's nest."

"I would feel more comfortable if you remained here."

"I know. Comfort's not gonna protect this base, though. Besides," Z smiled tightly, "you promised me kin, right? You gotta let me fight for my family, Big Brother."

Adze glanced between the two of them, knowing - knowing - that Hatchet was going to cave.

And he still managed to feel disbelief when the big Devastator vented a heavy sigh and nodded.

"Very well, but the moment you even suspect that they've caught on to you-"

"I'll retreat back inside, I promise."

"Are you serious?!" Adze's vox stuttered in disbelief, "after what we just went through, you're going to let her run back out there?!"

Hatchet turned his gaze on him next; he just glowered back, drawing himself up taut as if that would affect the Devastator in the least.

"If you would care to physically hold her back, feel free, little brother," he replied evenly, "but remember that she is armed now, and what happened last time you tried to restrain her."

Adze could only sputter angrily, bridling at the reminder. "You ordered me to-!"

"Hey, Two-Tone, quit your bitching, you wanted to get rid of me anyway." Z's voice was aggravatingly cheery as she turned to address him, "besides, you're gonna love this part."

"What," he spat, glaring at her as she tugged her helmet on and secured it in place.

"Hit me."

Both of them looked at her questioningly; Adze couldn't see her face now, but he just knew she was grinning behind that visor as she held her arms open in a challenge.

"I am not-"

"C'mon, I need to make this look convincing and I know you've been waiting to do this since we left the old base, so hit me."

…In spite of himself, he hesitated.

"Oh, don't tell me all that big talk on the way here was just bluster and you're scared-"

Letting her coat fall to the concrete, he curled one hand into a fist - a fist that connected squarely with her helmet's faceplate barely a split second later. Shatterproof glass fractured and crumbled beneath the impact, sending tiny glittering cubes flying as her back hit the ground and, before he could even think to stop himself, he was planting one foot squarely on her chest, pinning her in place as he glared down at her.

"I am not scared of you, pest-!"

"Adze…"

It wasn't Hatchet's stern warning that shut him up, though.

It was the fact that Z was laughing.

Thin and reedy at first, as she recovered from having the wind knocked out of her, but quickly building to a delighted cackle.

"Fuck, man, I almost thought you didn't have it in you," she wheezed between laughs, slapping at his leg; "fuckin' pleasant surprise, that."

"…" With a wordless growl, he stepped away from her, unslinging his rifle as he turned away to stalk back to the wall. Behind him, he could hear Hatchet helping the annoying little brat back to her feet.

"Hey, Adze."

"What."

"Thanks."

Looking back, he caught only a glimpse of gleaming jade-green eyes before she looked to Hatchet, murmuring something he didn't quite catch before affectionately bumping his arm with a loose fist. Then, she once more gathered up her weapons and set off for the gates at an easy jog.

Good riddance.

But something about the look Hatchet wore as he returned to his station gnawed at him. Even the air with which he sent out his wideband transmission - Flagging friendly unit, black, yellow Helldiver armor, no cape - carried more worry than Adze could stand.

He couldn't wrap his mind around it. Couldn't understand Hatchet's softness. Couldn't understand his own concern.

You're only worried because if anything happens to her, he's going to be insufferable.

He spared the Devastator one last glance; then, with a sound of raw frustration, tore himself away from his post to run after her.

Not for the first time, he cursed her speed - she'd already gotten a significant head start on him, and with how fast she was running, the odds of him catching up to her were… low.

Meanwhile, the odds of her charging right through a pack of overexcited Berserkers was uncomfortably high.

Swearing in every language he knew, Adze pushed himself to run faster.

(Bolo was going to kill him. Bolo was going to laugh at him and then he was going to kill him.)

Plunging down the steep incline of the switchbacks, he let gravity do the heavy lifting - and it still wasn't fast enough. Z had at least thirty meters on him, and she was already closing on the desert floor and the imminent danger of the Berserkers there, swarming anything even vaguely human-looking that got too close.

And Whipsaw was gearing up to take a swing at her.

Slamming his comm channels open wide, Adze risked startling them all.

[WATCH WHERE YOU'RE SWINGING THAT HACKSAW, YOU IDIOT! THAT IS HATCHET'S HUMAN!]

[coyotescribbles]

Chapter 8 of Like A House On Fire is LIVE!

[coyotescribbles]

Like A House On Fire [Part 18]

Continuing on from...

By the time they were all safely back inside the walls of the base, Z was starting to shake. Her head was buzzing like a yellowjacket nest, and the roar of the Berserkers' chainsaws was still ringing in her ears and -

And she realized there were optics on her.

Stopping short, she looked up to meet the gazes of the six Heavies that had come down with Hatchet, and who were now watching her intently. When he was sure he had her attention, the one in the lead - the one with the freshly-scarred and thermite-scorched shield - rested his gun arm across his chest and inclined his head towards her.

"För Cyberstans ära."

"Ha-Hatchet," Z squeaked out, eyes darting to her brother where he was setting Adze back on his feet; "Hatchet, am - am I supposed to say something? What do I say??"

Leaving Adze to Guillotine's tender mercies, Hatchet crossed the pavement to stand at her side. "Follow my lead," he said quietly, sounding almost amused as he mirrored the Heavy's gesture with his own gun arm; uncertainly, she followed suit, curling the fingers of her right hand into a loose fist and pressing it over her heart.

"Må hennes stjärnas ljus någonsin lysa på dig, Devastator."

"Må hennes stjärnas ljus någonsin lysa på dig, Devastator." She was sure her accent was atrocious, but at least she made it through the reply without stumbling, for what it was worth.

The Heavy chuffed harshly. "Och du likaså, Lille Kommissarie."

Then, with a parting nod to Hatchet, he thudded away with the rest of his group in tow, leaving them alone near the gates once more. Z just frowned after them, mouthing Lille Kommissarie to herself.

"I - did he-" She looked up at Hatchet, "…Did he just call me Little Commissar? I'm not just imagining that, am I?"

"Yes, he did, and no, you are not," he laughed softly, resting a hand on her upper back and steering her back into the base proper.

Z took a deep breath as she followed alongside him, glad for the guidance and shelter he offered as he led her to another casemate, this one manned by a handful of Troopers that had to be the remainder of their little unit. None of them spared her more than a brief glance, too otherwise wrapped up in raining plasma fire down on the Helldivers outside.

Fuck, she thought, sucking a slow breath in through clenched teeth as Hatchet sat her down on an equipment crate.

"Little sister?"

Shit. She must have looked even worse than she felt.

"I'm okay," she reassured, focusing as much on her breathing as possible; "I just - stims and I don't get along, is all. Once in a while is fine, twice in one week is… not."

"Will you be all right?" Even the heavy modulation of his voice couldn't hide his concern, and she managed a weak smile.

"I'll be fine, I just need a few minutes, is all."

She took another measured breath.

And a heartbeat later, she was scrambling to shove the lid off the crate, as her stomach chose that moment to purge itself clean.

When she could finally breathe again, all she could do for a minute was slump against the side of the crate, her head hanging over the edge as a moderately-alarmed Hatchet knelt beside her.

"Jesus fucking - god…" Z coughed, spitting out bile as a full-body shudder seized her, and heaving a shaky sigh; "…sorry…"

"You did warn me," he replied quietly, helping her lower the lid back into place and resting his hand on her back as she doubled over to press her forehead to the floor. "Better?"

"In a second… maybe thirty… Ugh, I'm sorry, 'm keeping you from your job…"

"They'll survive without me for a few minutes."

She snorted softly, and sniffled, and didn't move again until her heart had stopped racing and she was no longer breathing like she'd just sprinted five klicks.

And when she could finally move again without feeling like her guts were about to turn inside-out, Hatchet helped her back to her feet.

She hated how guilty she felt over his attention.

"Ready to rejoin the fight, little sister?"

With a final quiet sniff, she nodded, scrubbing at her face with her sleeve. "I think so, yeah."

"Good," he chuffed softly, retrieving her rifle from where it had fallen to the floor and holding it out to her. "Come, we can talk and fight at the same time."

Z slipped the rifle's carry strap over her shoulders and followed the big Devastator back out of the casemate, to a spot on the wall just outside. He boosted her up onto a pile of munitions crates stacked against the casemate's exterior wall, and took up a position beside her.

It was plainly obvious that he was keeping himself between her and the rest of the base.

"So… am I in trouble?" Z asked, unable to keep a wry tone out of her voice as she shouldered the rifle and began raining down fire on the desert floor below. Hatchet just chuffed again, a little more harshly this time.

"Not as such," he replied, "you were reckless, though, with those grenades. You could have gotten yourself killed."

"I'm not sorry and I would do it again."

"I know you would, because you were also very brave. Tricking a team of Helldivers, staying with Adze when he was too damaged to flee and you were not, taking control of the situation with the thermite, fighting alongside Devastators you did not know…" He paused, just long enough to fire off several rounds of his own, then, "…I am proud of you, Z."

She stopped short at that, completely blindsided by his words.

When was the last time anyone had said they were proud of her? She couldn't remember, if indeed it had ever happened at all.

"I-" Her voice faltered for a moment, "…I was just doing my job, that's all."

He chuffed softly, and she felt her cheeks redden.

"You tell yourself this, but I would wager that it's purely defensive," Hatchet said quietly, "if I had money to wager with."

"I mean, maybe," she mumbled into her coat, trying to focus on shooting down would-be invaders; "…yes…"

"I thought as much."

Out on the battlefield, reinforcement pods were starting to rain down, interspersed with weapon and supply drops. Several attempts at flinging stratagems over the walls were frustrated by sharpshooters - including Z - picking the offending beacons off mid-air, and she could see the gathering Helldivers growing more and more frustrated as they searched for any access point that wasn't the obvious choke point guarded by tanks and swarming with Berserkers.

"They're being weirdly cautious," she murmured, "either these guys are freshmen out of their depth, or they're too experienced to just go charging in blind."

"In your professional opinion, which option seems more likely?"

"Mmh…" Frowning slightly, she singled out one team to observe them - and thought back to the team that had inadvertently "rescued" her.

They'd seemed pretty inexperienced, too trusting of another human just because I put on an authoritative act, too willing to hand over a gun and turn their backs on me…

"…Most likely a lot of green freshmen, probably with a few more experienced Helldivers thrown in." She paused for a moment, then; "…I think I would rather be dealing with a bunch of pros, honestly."

"Oh?"

"Pros would be more liable to fight smart. They would take their time and draw things out, make sure they got the job done and got it done right. But freshmen-" she picked off another team, one-two-three-four in rapid succession; "-they're gonna be stupid. They're gonna waste their stratagems, and their ammo, and they're gonna resort to throwing themselves at the gates to try to complete their mission. The pros would make for a more relaxed fight. The freshmen are gonna get real fucking crazy, real fuckin' fast."

Almost as if on cue, a single hellpod screamed out of the heavily-overcast sky to land squarely in the middle of the base's yard. As one, every Automaton within twenty meters turned to face the intruder - who was met with a barrage of plasma fire the moment they emerged.

They were dead before the pod had fully opened.

"That," Z sighed, "was a prime example of crazy freshman behavior I was just talking about."

[coyotescribbles]

Like A House On Fire [Part 17]

Continuing from...

Hatchet rarely panicked. There was nothing to gain from losing one's head in combat, except for the possibility of literally losing one's head.

That didn't mean he wasn't sorely tempted at the moment, though.

Not when one of his soldiers was seriously damaged and two others had just been unceremoniously dumped onto an active battlefield without the benefit of a squadron to support them. He had no doubts whatsoever about Adze and Z's combat prowess, but they were two against dozens, and he had no way of knowing how badly damaged they were with Adze's radio being nonfunctional…

"Where are you going?" Guillotine demanded, ducking back down behind the wall as another wave of ordinance swept overhead; "you cannot possibly- "

"I can and I am, Commissar," he replied evenly as he thudded resolutely towards the gates; "those are our troops out there and their safety is as much my responsibility as it is yours."

"This is not the time for you to be a self-sacrificial sap-"

"I'm going, Guillotine."

There was a thud behind him, followed by the Commissar's measured footsteps as he hurried to catch up. "Remind me to have your CPU examined when this is over, Devastator."

"I did not ask you to accompany me, but I will keep your request in mind. Commissar Rho!"

"Yes, Devastator Hatchet?"

"May I borrow your Heavies? We're going to need their suppressive fire and shields if we're to recover our unit members."

The other Commissar regarded him carefully for a moment, then nodded once; at his unheard signal, the six Heavy Devastators stepped back from the wall to fall in line behind Hatchet and Guillotine.

"I will be quite cross if you don't bring them back in one piece," Rho added, his voice deceptively mild. "Go. Secure your troops."

"You have our gratitude, Commissar," Hatchet inclined his head to him, before resuming his foray outside.

As they approached the gates, Whipsaw and Crosscut broke off from the Berserker pack to jog after them, much to Hatchet's - and Gi's - chagrin. The big Devastator turned to face the brothers, holding his hand out in a "halt" gesture.

"Not this time, you two," He said firmly, "you'll get your chance soon enough, but I don't want to have to drag more damaged Automatons back than I have to."

"As if we're as easily-damaged as some Trooper," Crosscut snarled, pawing impatiently at the concrete and revving his saws aggressively.

"Or a human," his brother rumbled.

"I said wait, do not make me repeat myself."

The two Berserkers growled at him; Hatchet just stared them down until they finally relented and backed away, slinking off to rejoin the pack. With a huff of his own, he turned back to the gates.

"You know they're just going to follow us, anyway," Gi scoffed.

"As long as they wait long enough to give us plausible deniability," he replied, "they can do as they please."

"Tch."

Once through the gates, the group took the quickest route down, foregoing the switchbacks almost entirely as they charged down the steep incline. They hit the desert floor in under a minute, and from there Hatchet led them behind the redoubts where the tanks continued to lay down blistering screens of cover fire, and along the plateau base towards where Adze and Z were now pinned down by Helldiver fire.

Like predators smelling blood, the human soldiers were zeroing in on the pair, hardly deterred by their return fire. Only the arrival of Hatchet's party stalled their continued advance, giving the Automatons the opportunity to insert themselves between their target and the Helldivers, with the Heavies forming an impenetrable barrier with their shields and allowing Hatchet and Guillotine to close the remaining distance.

It didn't take more than a passing glance to see that both Adze and Z had suffered damage - the Trooper stood awkwardly, unable to bear his full weight on his left leg, and Z's hair was matted with drying blood, with more smeared across her face and staining her coat.

Both of them, at least, were alert and attentive. That was reassuring.

"All in working order, little sister?" Hatchet asked, kneeling beside her as Guillotine saw to Adze.

Licking her lips and breathing hard, she nodded, clutching a new rifle in a white-knuckled grip. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I got stimmed, so I'm probably gonna puke here shortly, but otherwise I'm good as new." Baring her teeth in a grimace, she glanced sideways at Adze; "Two-Tone's got a couple of shot servos, though."

"I can still walk," Adze spat back, prompting Gi to soundly cuff him upside the head and scold him about not twitching as he examined the damaged motors.

"The fuck you can, you're just as bad about not accepting help as I am."

"Z," Hatchet gently drew her attention back, "you were given a stim? By whom?"

She gave another one of those teeth-baring grimaces, but didn't hesitate with her answer. "A team of Helldivers that found me when I was unconscious and bleeding out. I think they thought I was an escaped prisoner or something, which was a notion I did not disabuse them of for the sake of self-preservation."

"I see. Good thinking." He carefully rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment before looking back over to Gi; "what is his status, Commissar?"

"Multiple servo motors showing extensive impact damage, including two in the left leg," he replied curtly, "stressing the actuators and interfering with mobility."

Ah. "Understood."

"I told you you were fucked up, Two-Tone," Z hissed through gritted teeth as Hatchet stepped over to retrieve Adze, ignoring his indignant electronic squawking. There was no time to let him set the pace when there were Helldivers practically throwing themselves at the Heavies' shields. Many had already fallen to their chainguns, but many more were pressing forward to replace the dead.

If they didn't move, they would be dead soon, too.

Almost as if on cue, he heard two thuds behind him, rapidly followed by Z's cut-short swearing and the sound of her gun hitting the ground.

"Son of a fucking - THERMITE! MOVE!!!"

The Heavies reacted almost reflexively, the defensive line parting like a curtain; as Hatchet turned, he saw her yank one grenade out from where it was embedded in the ground and whip it forcefully back towards whomever had thrown it.

The second charge was already starting to ignite by the time she turned to snatch it up, too, but that didn't seem to deter her at all as she lobbed it back the way it had come - at the same time a third thermite grenade came whirling through the air to hit one of the Heavies' shields with a resounding clang. Biting back another curse, she turned once more, trying to pull the grenade free from where it was stuck, but it held fast.

"Z, fall back, they can leave the shield-!"

"We'd never get out of the blast range in time! But, I-" Bracing one foot against the shield, the stubborn little human grabbed at the grenade's throwing handle with both hands and threw her entire weight into a fierce yank that unbalanced her... but succeeded in dislodging the brightly-burning explosive. For a nanosecond, Hatchet felt his steel heart drop-

"-Got it!!"

Sparks fountained from the body of the grenade as she hefted it, sending it sailing end-over-end, straight into the middle of the nearest cluster of Helldivers.

The first and second returned grenades may have missed, and been smothered in the snow, but the third hit one man square in the chest, its spikes digging into his armor even as it fully ignited.

The panicked shrieking echoed across the desert floor as the small group of Automatons regrouped to retreat.

And the resounding BOOM of the detonation preceded a rain of artillery fire that chased them back to the switchbacks.

From the periphery of his vision, Hatchet could see glimpses of Z hanging back with Guillotine near the Heavies, taking cover behind their shields when they weren't dealing out bursts of return fire. He thought it rather brave of her - while he knew Rho and was sure that his crew was trustworthy, they were strangers to her, and she had no way of knowing whether or not they were safe.

And still, in spite of that, she fights beside them with no hesitation.

He would have to commend her for it later. After he scolded her for her recklessness.

And when they weren't actively under fire.

"Move! Move!" "This way!" "We've got 'em now!" "Little traitor bi-!"

Or being actively pursued.

Hatchet didn't need to look back to get an idea of the carnage unfolding behind them - the near-deafening cacophony of gunfire and the baying voices, each silenced in turn only to be replaced by a new one, painted a vivid enough picture.

Just a little further -

Hissing and spitting invective, Adze finally succeeded in twisting around under his arm, the digits of the Trooper's free hand gripping Hatchet's armor as he raised his sidearm to add his own salvos to the firewall. His accuracy suffered for the position he was in, and the jostling he was subject to, but he certainly wasn't about to let that stop him.

(He could appreciate the dedication to the fight, though he did wish that Adze wouldn't kick and flail so much.)

They were only one last switchback from the gates when the Berserkers made their move.

Crosscut led the charge - because of course he would, the impatient glitch - plunging recklessly down the incline with almost thirty of his brothers hot on his heels, the collective roar of their saws all but drowning out the sound of gunfire as they passed.

He'd seen Berserkers' handiwork up close and personal often enough to clearly envision it once the pursuing Helldivers started screaming - and yet he still found himself looking back once he reached the top of the incline, watching as the pack threw themselves into their gleeful, gory work. The chaos was a stark reminder that fully half of the damage sustained by Berserkers on the battlefield was inevitably inflicted not by Helldivers, but by other Berserkers, and as Hatchet watched the blood-soaked scene unfolding below, he could understand why. Their oversized meat saws were far from being precision weapons, and the mad abandon with which they swung them meant that anything and anyone within arm's reach could - and likely would - become collateral damage.

He could only hope - perhaps in vain - as the last of the rescue crew hurried back into the base proper, that they would avoid any serious injuries...

[coyotescribbles]

Chapter 7 of Like A House On Fire is OUT

I can't say I'm entirely happy with it, but it is what it is lmao

[coyotescribbles]

Vae Victis: Dead Man's Waltz

A predator stalks the battlefield.

Concealed by smoke and dust, the lone Marauder prowls past rocky outcroppings, trailing behind a pack of unwary humans. Helldivers. Prey.

Sand-muffled footfalls and the soft whirr of servo motors are the only sounds he makes.

They are too preoccupied, too caught up in gunfire and orbital ordinance to notice him, and hot anticipation coils in his mechanical innards; they are small, and stupid, and distracted, and he is eager to teach them the error of their ways. As physically incapable of feeling hunger as he is, he is positively starving for this.

Red laser fire rains across the battlefield. It is answered in turn by a hail of bullets.

The humans are laughing.

They do not laugh for long.

The Marauder strikes fast, dragging the nearest human to his knees; silver flashes bright in the dim rusty light and then wet slick red is pouring down the man's armor. He barely has time to gurgle out a warning cry before the predator abandons his dying body, and lunges for his next victim.

She screams, outraged and vengeful, and she tries to bring her rifle to bear but he's already on her, forcing her gun down and grabbing her arm. Squeezing. Twisting. Bone splinters and she screams again, and again when he yanks her into her comrades' line of fire. Bullets pummel her back, pulverizing armor and flesh and bone and she chokes, more of that sweet slick red pouring from beneath her helmet as she drowns in it.

He can see her eyes through her visor. Can see them grow dim as the life floods out of her and into the sand at their feet.

He purrs.

And then he is shoving her lifeless corpse into the arms of her nearest comrade, and flinging his knife with pinpoint accuracy into the arm of the furthest. He is lethal grace as he dodges another wild spray of gunfire and pounces for his next target; the man is too horrified by the dead woman in his arms to react in time, and in the blink of an eye his head is wrenched around so violently as to nearly detach it, and he joins her in oblivion.

Only one left now. One last Helldiver, struggling to hoist his gun as blood seeps through the arm of his jacket, flowing out around the blade intractably embedded there, caught in the bone.

Finally, as the Marauder stalks towards him, he gives up and throws the rifle to the ground, scrambling for his sidearm instead.

It will do him no good. Not now.

He seizes the man's good wrist in an iron grip and squeezes until the bones crumble under the pressure and the gun thuds uselessly to the sand. Howling in rage and agony, prey struggles against predator, trying to twist away, to kick free, anything to avoid the inevitable.

Reaching out with his free hand, the Marauder grabs hold of the knife handle and yanks it free. The man screams again, but there is no breaking that unyielding grip as he is slowly, slowly, deliberately slowly forced back until his back is against the sun-baked granite of a nearby outcropping. Until the predator is pressed close to him, almost intimate in the way he looms over him. Almost tender in the way he slips the knife between armor plates and beneath ribs and into the reservoirs of lifeblood behind them.

"Poor little lamb," he croons, soft even as he twists the knife, the eager butcher keen for the slaughter. "Shh… it will all be over soon…"

The man can only gasp, shallow shuddering breaths.

The knife comes out in a rush of shining red; the predator feels the prey going slack. The man's free hand paws weakly at him, clumsy, failing, even as he presses closer, close enough to feel that fluttering heartbeat as it slows, and slows, and shudders.

"Don't fight it," he purrs against his neck, a wispy electronic sound almost like a sigh escaping him.

(Oh, how he loves this moment, wants to savor it, burns it into his memory so he can revisit it again later.)

The man chokes, and shivers. His blood turns the Marauder's silver to ruby-red.

And then he is gone.

The whole ordeal had barely lasted two minutes. How disappointing.

[Commander Thirteen, if you're done playing,] a voice crackles over his radio as he steps back to let the dead man crumple to the ground, [Commissar Cheza requests your return. He says he has a project for you.]

[A project?] He is not one to defy his Commissar, but the phrasing piques his interest enough to ask questions.

[Fresh meat,] is the cryptic response.

Judging by the faint echoes of screams in the background, it seems that Cheza has wasted no time tenderizing said fresh meat for him. If he could, he would smile.

[Let the Commissar know I'll be on my way shortly. And if you would be so kind as to relay a message to him? Ask him not to break the new toy too badly before I get there. I've had enough disappointment for one day...]

[coyotescribbles]

The Day The War Stood Still

Whoops, my hand slipped.

(Inspired by yesterday's war mechanic-breaking bug lmao)

[coyotescribbles]

They had been inseperable, once.

Yeva and ██████, they are attached at the hip, the grownups would always say, their voices fond. They would pat their heads and usher them to safer areas of the mines and give them portions of their rations so that they wouldn't go hungry, knowing that neither had parents left to look after them.

Yeva and ██████, always together.

Yeva and ██████, the precious children of Vladivostok.

Yeva the Red and ██████ the Black.

They couldn't have been better-suited to one another if they'd tried.

And so it had been devastating when Yeva had died.

So devastating that ██████ had died, too, leaving only Hyena in their place. Hyena, who moved silently in the dark, stalking their prey. Hyena, who sharpened their teeth in anticipation of a future that they knew might not come. Hyena, who dug their way into the hidden depths and learned the forbidden knowledge of the people of Cyberstan.

Hyena, who waited.

[coyotescribbles]

Like A House On Fire [Part 16]

Continuing from...

....Honest to god, y'all, I never really expected this thing to get this far :')

Anyway every time I come out and say that I'm going to have more time (and energy, and lack of pain) to write, I jinx myself, SO... onward!

-----

"Neden onu aptal saçmalıklarınla ​​rahatsız ediyorsun ki? Four o'clock, forty-five degrees."

"I've got 'em."

"Ben onu rahatsız etmiyordum, sen sadece otoritersin." Bolo picked off the last two of the Helldiver unit that had been closest to the plateau; whatever the brothers were arguing about, it was a bit intense. "Ayrıca. Tanıdığımız diğer insanlara benzemiyor mu?"

"Ben değilim!" Adze hissed. "Her durumda, neye benzediğin önemli değil, Super Earth scum öyle Super Earth scum."

"Oi, hey! Even I understood that, Two-Tone!" She elbowed the Trooper, scowling. "Quit talking about me when I'm standing right here."

"Let me say, I was being nice," Bolo replied, earning a scoff from his brother.

"You were being ridiculous."

Z rolled her eyes, scouting out another scurrying shadow, drawing a bead… and getting nothing when she pulled the trigger.

"Fuck," she breathed, "well, whatever, I'm out of ammo and it's really starting to heat up out here. Can you two argue inside?"

Adze ground out something she didn't quite catch, slinging his rifle behind his shoulder and hopping over the edge of the casemate roof without waiting for any further input. Before Z could follow suit, though, Bolo caught her arm.

"Not so reckless, yenge," he stuttered amusedly, even as a salvo of bullets pinged off the concrete wall overhead.

"BUNU DUYDUM!"

Bolo stuttered out another laugh, helping Z over the edge to where Adze waited to boost her back into the casemate; only when she was secure did the two brothers clamber in after her. Turning to kneel at the embrasure, they proceeded to lay down another salvo of blistering laser fire while she scrambled to reload her own rifle.

Part of her wondered where Hatchet and the others were.

Part of her realized that they almost certainly had roles to play outside. The officers would be directing troops and managing logistics, and the troops themselves would be, well… doing what she was doing.

More hellpods rained down from the waiting destroyers, their impacts a steady percussive beat behind the chattering rapport of gunfire.

At least the snow is clearing up for now, she thought as she joined Adze and Bolo at the embrasure. Visibility was still shit, but it was better than it had been, and it was easier for her to pick out the small moving targets crossing the desert floor.

Still, she would have preferred to be down there, herself. She had excellent aim - had earned an embarrassing nickname for it, even - but there was nothing quite like charging into the middle of a swarm, guns blazing…

"…I don't know how to tell you guys this," she said after a moment, "but either I'm gonna need a new rifle here in a bit, or I'm gonna need to go out there and get up close and personal."

"No."

"The fuck you mean, no?" She glared at Adze from the corner of her eye as she fired off another salvo.

"Hatchet would kill us," he replied flatly. "No."

"So are you at least going to get me a replacement gun."

"If any are available. Be patient, pest."

"I am being patient, but I didn't walk all this way just to take a few potshots and then get sidelined-"

"Ah-"

Bolo's brief warning came only a moment before the shrill whistle of an inbound rocket reached her ears; looking up, she caught the briefest glimpse of red-orange flame before she was dragged to the floor.

A split-second later, the world quite literally exploded into chaos.

Z was no stranger to long falls; she'd taken more than her fair share while hunting bugs, in fact.

That didn't make the experience any more enjoyable.

Someone - she couldn't tell if it was Adze or Bolo - had hold of her for the first half of the fall, doing their level best to shield her from the worst of it. But at some point, they'd hit an obstacle, and she found herself tumbling free, the world whirling into a nauseating blur as she desperately tried to slow her fall or at least shield her head and then she'd slammed into something with enough force to knock the breath from her lungs and she was airborne for a few sickening seconds and then -

A nearby locker door slammed with a BANG!

"…Well, if it isn't the motherfuckin' Dragon Slayer, herself." A familiar voice came from behind her as she was stowing her gear, causing something in her chest to tighten. "What the hell, Z, how've you been? It's been years!"

"First off, I don't call myself that, it's embarrassing," she turned to face K, plastering a practiced smile across her face and shoving the uncomfortable feeling back down as she playfully punched his shoulder. "Second, when the hell did you get tall, K? What the hell have they been feeding you, and where can I get some? God damn."

He just laughed, catching her up in a tight hug.

Not knowing what else to do, Z returned it, hoping that her awkwardness wasn't too obvious.

"Word around the scuttlebutt has it that you shot down forty Shriekers and rode a Titan on your last mission," K grinned when he finally pulled back. "Pretty impressive for a shortstack like you, if you ask me."

She snorted and lightly elbowed him in the ribs for that. "Whoever said that was exaggerating. It was more like fifteen Shriekers, and I didn't ride a Titan, I just got really fuckin' lucky with a grenade and a high vantage point."

"Ah, you're too modest, Z. You need to let people hype you up, you know, to drive home how badass and unbeatable Super Earth is!"

Her smile turned tight; she hid it by turning away to shove the rest of her gear into its storage locker and closing the door. If she spun the lock a few times more than was necessary, who would notice?

"You know me," she forced a laugh, "I prefer to keep my head down. If the COs thought I was too competent, they might actually expect things from me."

"They might recommend you to the Helldiver Corps."

"My point exactly," she snickered, "that's the worst possible thing that could happen to someone like me. Let's face it, K, I'm just not cut out for all the public-facing work that job entails."

He gave her a curious, almost disbelieving look that lasted just long enough to grow uncomfortable… then he laughed, clapping her on the shoulder. "You're funny, Z. C'mon, we both know you'd be a natural at it - just look at how great you already are in the regular military!"

"Naaah…"

"No, really! C'mon, you should fill out the application! I sent mine in before I got transferred, hopefully I'll have heard back from them by the time we get back. If you fill one out tonight, you should be getting a reply around the same time! We could even be on the same team! It would be just like when we were kids again!" K gave her a pleading grin, gripping her shoulders and giving her an insistent little shake. "Wouldn't that be great?"

She had to look away. Had to take a moment to smother the twisting sensation in her chest, to take a moment to reapply that same old stage smile, to make sure she was still firmly in the role of the Dutiful And Patriotic Soldier.

When she managed to look back, it was as if she wasn't acting at all.

"…Sure, okay, you convinced me to put my name in for a promotion."

"Great! Awesome!"

"If I get in, dinner's on you, though."

"That won't be a problem."

…Something nudged her shoulder, and Z let out a pained groan. Everything hurt, and her brain felt scrambled… head trauma? Probably. Probably a dozen other traumas, too…

"Hey! She's still alive! D, gimme one of your stims!"

What the hell…?

"Why my stims?"

…Retreating back in through the embrasure…

"Because you still have all three and haven't needed a resupply, now hand one over."

…Arguing with Adze…

"Ugh, fine, but you owe me.*

…The rocket…

"Sure, whatever."

…The fall.

There was the faint click of a stim injector being uncapped, followed by a gloved hand on her forehead as someone tilted her head to the side and pressed the needle to her exposed neck.

And then there was the all-too-familiar pain, burning through her veins like fire as what felt like a very extensive catalog of injuries were knitted back together.

Of course she screamed, and kicked, and swore until the blistering pain subsided and she could think clearly again.

"Son of a fucking bitch…!" Coughing and spitting out leftover blood, Z rolled to her knees and scrubbed at her face with her sleeve; it came away red with even more blood. "Urgh, motherfucker, god damn it…"

"Ma'am?"

Z waved a hand dismissively, pretending to need a moment to catch her breath.

She needed to get into character.

"Thank fucking liberty you guys showed up when you did," she breathed, letting the nearest Helldiver help her to her feet; the way her knees wobbled wasn't an act. "I was sure I was gonna die in there…"

"Ma'am, what happened to you?"

Z just shook her head, stooping a bit to rest her hands on her knees as her entire skull began to buzz from the stimulants and nausea washed over her. Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried to ignore the disturbing amount of blood coloring the snow as she drew in a slow breath.

"No time to explain. When's your Pelican due for extraction?"

"Uh…" The three Helldivers - they must've lost one and not had a chance to reinforce yet - exchanged glances; "not for another half an hour, ma'am. Are you -"

"I'm fine. I just need a gun, I can hold my own for thirty minutes."

"I don't think-"

"Super Earth doesn't pay you to think, Helldiver." Straightening up, she locked gazes with the man who seemed to be taking the lead and stared him down; he was a full head taller than her, but she could see him hesitate. "They pay you to follow orders, and I am a senior officer giving you an order. Do I have to file a report with your Democracy Officer and tell them about how you left me defenseless on the battlefield?"

"I, uh -" The man faltered, fumbling his words, then held a hand out; "D! Peacekeeper, now!"

"What?! Why me again?!"

"Because you're annoying me, liberty damn it! I already said I'd pay you back so quit stalling!"

Muttering something under his breath, the second Helldiver unholstered his sidearm, checked the ammunition, and handed it to the first Helldiver who, in turn, handed it off to her. Z made a show of doing a second once-over, then nodded in approval.

"Good. Cool. Now, let's take care of business, yeah?"

"Right, uh, yes ma'am. And don't worry, we'll make sure those clankers don't lay another rusty hand on you, I swear it."

She smiled; the expression was taut and tense. "I appreciate it."

The three Helldivers took point, laying down cover fire as they followed the base of the plateau; Z hung back a pace, making herself inconspicuous out of habit.

Thirty minutes. She had thirty minutes to extricate herself from this situation.

Fear, resentment, and resolve all warred within her as she stared at the Helldivers' unguarded backs. They didn't know the truth of why she was here, couldn't possibly know, and yet…

If they DID know, they would shoot you where you stand.

For a moment - just a moment - she wondered if she could actually shoot them, though. It was tempting to just slip away and go back to look for Adze, or Bolo, while the Helldivers were looking elsewhere… it certainly would have been easy enough.

But then she thought of Hatchet, with his soft voice and gentle hands, the first person to ever treat her as a person and to show her empathy and compassion. She thought of Bolo and his easygoing nature and companionable chatter. Even Adze and Gi, the prickly bastards, who still afforded her respect when no one else in her life ever had.

She thought about the possibility of losing them.

Or worse, being taken from them.

And the fate awaiting her the moment she set foot on one of those Super Destroyers.

Her resolve won out.

Raising the pistol, she drew a bead on the nearest Helldiver's neck. She gave no warning before pulling the trigger.

He was dead before he hit the ground.

The other two started to turn, startled by the sudden gunshot; she dropped a second Helldiver with two shots through their visor.

That just left "D," who was in the process of raising his rifle - when a bolt of red energy vaporized half of his head. Suddenly slack, like a puppet with cut strings, he dropped to his knees, his rifle tumbling to the ground, before falling on his face in the snow.

With a sharp exhale, Z looked in the direction the last shot had come from, and spotted a Trooper limping in her direction.

His slightly-mismatched optics immediately told her who it was.

"Took you long enough, Two-Tone," she breathed, running a hand through her hair - and wincing when she felt how sticky it was. Her fingers came away covered in clotting blood, and she distantly wondered how close she'd come to not waking up again.

With a grimace, she tucked the Peacekeeper into her belt and took a moment to scoop up a handful of snow, scrubbing it between her hands until the blood was gone and her fingers stung. For a few moment, she was almost oblivious to the not-so-distant sounds of gunfire - until Adze was there and pulling her back to her feet, wordlessly urging her forward.

"H-hey-!" She barely had the presence of mind to catch the strap of D's rifle with her foot, kicking it up so she could catch it with her free hand. "What the deal??"

"Are you forgetting that Hatchet will kill me if anything happens to you," he ground out, "and that something has already happened."

"First off, no, he wouldn't kill you." She extracted her arm from his grip, "second, if you feel guilty for being too distracted to see that rocket until it was too late-"

"I don't-"

"-There are better ways of dealing with it than being a dick-"

A volley of bullets buzzed over their heads, hitting the rock wall in a series of rapid-fire cracks that sent splinters of stone flying in every direction. A handful rattled off of Adze's armor as he grabbed a handful of her coat and yanked her close, all while bringing his gun to bear and returning fire.

Z squeaked and staggered, off-balance for a heartbeat, and then she was shouldering her own gun - it was shaped strangely, not at all like the Liberator she was used to, and it took her an uncomfortable moment to find the proper grip - and pulling the trigger as well.

The near-lack of recoil surprised her. The laser bolts that spat from the muzzle surprised her even more.

"Oh, shit-!" She let out an incredulous laugh, sparing a downward glance at the rifle before resuming fire; "…hah! I think I could get used to this! Uh, Adze…?"

"What, pest?"

"You can let go of me now."

"…" Letting go of her coat, he snatched his hand back and immediately shifted to a two-handed grip on his gun.

With a short nod of acknowledgement, Z moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him and, together, they added their return fire to the blistering barrage of plasma raining down on the battlefield from above.

[coyotescribbles]

Like A House On Fire [Part 15]

Continuing from...

-----

"What are you doing?"

Loose stones ground underfoot as she tested the ground outside the embrasure. There wasn't much of a foothold, only a few inches, but a few inches would be more than sufficient… "What's it look like?"

"Trying to get yourself killed."

Z scoffed, narrowly dodging an attempt to grab her as she pulled herself up the craggy rock face to climb onto the narrow roof of the casemate. Below her, Adze spit an angry-sounding electronic noise, followed in short order by Hatchet's heavy footsteps.

"Z?"

"Yeah?" She perched at the edge of the roof, rifle resting across her knees.

"Care to explain what you're doing out there?"

"Keeping watch. It's easier when I can see more of my surroundings."

It's probably easier on the others if I'm less visible, too. Out of sight, out of mind.

"Is that the only reason?"

"It's the only one that matters, I think." Z sighed, then, "…Don't worry, I'll come back down when the shooting starts, I just don't want to get caught off-guard or, y'know… be a distraction."

Biting cold wind sent flurries of snow whirling around her, and a blanket of muffled silence descended over the world. For a long moment, all she could hear was her own breathing.

Then, "…very well."

"It's not personal, Hatchet, I just…" she let out another sigh, heavier this time; "I know things are touchy right now. I don't want to cause trouble for you."

"You are no trouble, little sister, but if you feel safer staying out of sight, then by all means, keep watch from there."

"…Thanks, brother."

Brother. Brother… The second time she'd said it, and the word still felt foreign in her mouth; she rolled it around on her tongue as she settled back against the rocks, trying to remember if there'd ever been a time when it hadn't felt like an abstract concept. The closest thing she'd ever had to a brother before now had been…

…Well…

The less said (or thought) about K now, the better, honestly.

He was gone long before he died, so deep in the weeds that he never would've found his way back even if he WAS still alive. Z sighed to herself, checking her rifle for the twentieth time. Fucking propaganda. Fucking Super Earth…

(Treason, treason, treason, every thought more treasonous than the last.)

"Stop it," she hissed to herself, thumping the heel of her hand against her forehead. "You're off that leash now, stop keeping score-"

Easier said than done, though.

The scrape of metal against stone interrupted her train of thought, and she looked up to see a Trooper - distinctive scratch marks on left shoulder, no mismatched optics, that's Bolo - hauling himself up onto the ledge to perch nearby. She could hear Adze bitching from inside, but he made no move to join his brother. Not yet, at least.

"Too crowded indoors?" She asked dryly.

He let out one of those short, stuttering laughs, only briefly glancing in her direction. "I thought I would see what the fuss was about," he replied haltingly; he clearly wasn't as used to speaking English as Hatchet, or even Adze or the Commissar. "The view is nice. Not sure it is worth the effort."

Z had to stifle a scoff, pressing her sleeve to her face for a moment. "I like being able to see the whole battlefield and having something solid at my back, that's all."

"Tch." Bolo shifted slightly, folding his legs neatly beneath himself; "…can I ask questions?"

"Not like I have anything better to do at the moment. Fire away."

"You have combat experience, yes? How much?"

"Worried you're gonna have to carry me?" She smirked, letting her head roll back and looking up into the slate-gray sky. "Eleven years, virtually all of it on the terminid front. Got really good at killing Shriekers and Stalkers in particular, but they were all fair game. Rest assured, I can hold my own."

"Never doubted you for a moment," he laughed, "but Helldivers are not bugs."

"Course not, they're even dumber," Z snorted softly, almost smiling. "It's the combat meth, you know? Makes 'em crazy."

At that, Bolo threw his head back with a laugh that sounded more like a distorted version of a Berserker's cackling than the usual electronic stutter.

"Ah, you really aren't bad at all. Adze!" He leaned forward to speak over the edge, "Bu kızdan bir nedenden dolayı hoşlandığımı biliyordum!"

Z just covered her face to stifle a quiet laugh of her own as the two Troopers briefly conversed, and when Bolo finally sat back once more, she was happy to let things lapse into companionable silence and just watch the snow fall. For a while, he seemed happy with that, too.

"…One more question," he spoke up after a few quiet minutes.

"Hm?"

"Where are you from?"

She blinked once in surprise, turning her head to meet his eerily unwavering gaze.

"I…"

Before she could answer, though, she was interrupted by Adze's appearance as he clawed his way onto the ledge and promptly situated himself between them, shouldering his brother aside with a growl and a staticky, hissed "Meraklı olmayı bırak!"

"Everything okay there, Adze?"

He huffed so hard that steam billowed from his vents, still glaring at a snickering Bolo. "Don't entertain my brother's foolishness, you'll only encourage him."

"Ondan hoşlandığını biliyordum."

"Kapa çeneni!"

"He wasn't bothering me," Z snorted, trying not to smile; "but it's nice to know that you care, Two-Tone."

"I do not," he visibly bridled at the implication, fixing her with a withering glare that had her smothering a giggle.

"Uh-huh, course you don't."

The three of them settled into a quiet, uncertain sort of camaraderie after that, neither overly chatty nor too aloof. In that way, they kept each other company as the morning crept on.

Every once in a while, Z would catch movement in her peripheral vision when someone - or several someones - would break from whatever they were supposed to be doing inside the base's walls to peek down at them. Or at her, most likely; she never acknowledged them, just let them think they were stealthily snooping until their Commissar caught them and set them back to work with a harshly-barked order.

And so the hours ticked down, from five, to four, to three, to two…

Z sucked a breath in through her teeth, shifting her grip on her rifle as she kept her gazed fixed on the sky. Everything felt suddenly oppressive, with an underlying hum of electricity that made her increasingly anxious and uneasy as the last hour ticked down.

It's kinda like the countdown to deployment, isn't it?

Except this time, the objective would be much, much different.

She exhaled slowly, deliberately, focusing on keeping her wits about her and not giving in to the urge to get up and pace. For all her cavalier attitude towards the situation, Z forced herself to admit that… she was afraid. Terrified, even. She would never say it out loud, but…

A sound like rolling distant thunder through the clouds, and she rose to one knee, rifle at the ready as she scanned the sky for signs of their inbound targets.

"Think it's showtime, boys," she breathed.

Adze and Bolo rose to their feet, and she could hear other Automatons scrambling to battle stations behind the walls. A buzzing sensation filled her skull, spreading out into her limbs as time seemed to slow to a crawl.

Breathe.

You can do this.

You HAVE to do this.

It's the only way to truly slip the leash.

Overhead, the sky began to boil as dozens of high-speed projectiles plunged towards the snowy desert below, resolving from hazy orange glows into brilliant points of fiery gold that hit the ground in a harsh cacophony of resounding BOOMS that she felt through the stone and concrete as she quickly tallied the numbers up in her head.

"…One hundred and twenty bogies in the weeds, 9 o'clock to 4 o'clock," she breathed, watching the developing battlefield light up as the Helldivers began to call down their arsenals; "guessing there are more from five to eight, can't worry about them right now, though."

Shouldering her rifle, she drew a bead on the nearest cluster of blue beams; beside her, Adze and Bolo did the same.

This would be so much easier from the ground.

At least in a Terminid fight, she was up close and personal with her targets, and fog or dust could only do so much to conceal them.

Diffuse silhouettes moved in front of the lit beacons; she drew a bead on the nearest cluster, and managed to pick off three figures before the lights darkened and they were lost to the snow once more.

"Shit." Z hissed, looking up again before glancing to the side; "...Adze."

He lowered his rifle a fraction as he turned his attention to her, an unspoken "what?" hanging between them.

"Be my eyes," she said hurriedly, "I can't see through this snow at this distance, but I know you can. Just point me in the right direction so I'm not wasting all my ammo."

Adze stuttered out something she didn't quite catch, but when he turned his optics back towards the battlefield and began rattling off adjustments, she listened.

And she joined her new comrades in opening fire.

[coyotescribbles]

So I decided to let my Spartan-III OC, Jeanette-B315, have a traipse through Helldivers!verse and I ended up with a CyOp!Jeannie monologue that I really kinda want to render as sequential art.

"My father died when I was still too young to remember him well. I have… vague recollections of affection, and laughter, and warmth, but I do not know the man associated with them." "Et ma mère… My mother ceased to exist when I was six. This, I remember." "She asked too many questions about how my father died, where was his body, why would no one answer her letters…" She laughed bitterly. "The democracy officer who came to collect me after she was taken away said that she had been taken to a hospital, that she was unwell and could not be visited right then, but she would be home again soon." "…The woman they brought home from the "hospital" was not my mother. She looked like her, talked like her, knew my favorite dessert and the lullaby my father used to sing to me, but it was not. Her. Do you understand? Do you see the horror of growing up in the same home as a faceless thing wearing your mother's skin?" "I do not care about the risk, I do not care about reward, all I care about is revenge, so point me at a target, give me an objective, and it will be done. For her."