Have gun, will shoot

#fuck it I'm procrastinating on work let's put this here too #doodles #Marcus #Ragomir #Marcomir

this isn’t what I was trying to draw

Opting Out - RED

Marcus yelped, clinging at Ragomir as he was unceremoniously removed from the ground. He hadn’t yelped in years. He hadn’t grabbed anyone around around the neck for dear life at any point in his recollection, for that matter, but before he could argue as such they were on the couch — Marcus flushed and startled, and planted squarely in Rago’s lap.

"If we are going to preoccupy ourselves with acrobatics, I am going to need more of a warm-up!" Marcus pressed his hands to Ragomir’s jaw, leaning in for a firm, enthusiastic kiss. He planned to make the most of the peace and quiet that night. Pulling back, he ran his fingers through the dense brush of the other man’s hair, leaning their foreheads together with a smile. "The holidays have been rather quiet…perhaps I ought to try and coax some volume out of you."

#Cove RP #Marcus #New Year's Shenanigans

Ragomir laughed warmly, reflecting Marcus's enthusiasm as he leaned in for another rough kiss, fumbling to tug the Medic's shirts up and slide his hands underneath. There was a voice in the back of his mind that told him this was dangerous, however, and there was a faint hesitation for a moment--the odds of someone returning to retrieve left supplies were low, but still seemed like a possibility. And if they were caught in such a compromising position, they...

They what?

The Heavy grinned slyly, leaving eager, tickly kisses against the Medic's throat. He could feel that his face was already brightly flushed, and probably would be for hours, even after the others returned. Which would be fine, he told himself; this wasn't his home country. This was different. This was Marcus. If they were caught--that wasn't their problem.

"Is this challenge, Marcus?"

Opting Out

Ragomir watched as the stragglers left for the party, a small, conspiratorial smile on his face—as much as he was desperately curious to see if a certain one of the…new rivals would be attending, he was far more interested in the fact that a particular one of his teammates wouldn’t be.

"So," Ragomir grinned from behind Marcus, lazily sliding his hands up the Medic’s back to squeeze his shoulders and lean in close, "who from team do we have staying behind tonight?"

Marcus leaned back into Ragomir’s chest, arms still folded, expression relaxing into something that hid a smile. “I would have thought for sure young Mr. Wallace would stay. Or JT, perhaps.”

He let one hand drop to his pocket, the other coming up to lay across Ragomir’s at his shoulder. “Obviously, he must have decided cooking for himself tonight was not worth the trouble, or he will be assisting his small friend with burning something for the festivities. But it would seem…” Marcus turned a little, angling a glance up at the Heavy, “…that we will have the base to ourselves this evening.”

#Cove RP #Marcus #New Year's Shenanigans

Ragomir chuckled and leaned in even closer for a peck on Marcus's cheek. "Es not big loss--would not imagine either to be very good company if were staying behind."

"And now that they have gone--" it wasn't very often that the common room was safely clear, and with a subsequently mischievous smile Ragomir leaned over to sweep the Medic's legs from underneath him for easier portability in moving the both of them onto the couch, pulling Marcus on top of him, "--will just have to find some way to occupy time, hej?"

Opting Out

Marcus lingered in the common room near the Infirmary entrance, wincing at the clatter of glass bottles as their own team’s hard-earned company liquor was toted away for communalcelebration.

"Et tu, Wallace?" The Medic folded his arms with a dry frown as the Scout passed through, looping a heavy scarf, toothpick between his lips.

Kirk shrugged. “I follow the beer, Doc.” "You’re all traitors."

"If the Blighters and the Alleymen could have a truce at Christmastime, I think we can manage it."

"I have no idea what you just said. Please leave immediately."

Kirk switched his toothpick from one side to the other, giving the Medic a sullen once-over before skulking off ahead of the departing band.

#Cove RP #Marcus #New Year's Shenanigans

Ragomir watched as the stragglers left for the party, a small, conspiratorial smile on his face--as much as he was desperately curious to see if a certain one of the...new rivals would be attending, he was far more interested in the fact that a particular one of his teammates wouldn't be.

"So," Ragomir grinned from behind Marcus, lazily sliding his hands up the Medic's back to squeeze his shoulders and lean in close, "who from team do we have staying behind tonight?"

Coexistence

In some ways, coexisting with the Pyro felt like taming a wild animal.

Ragomir was settled into one of the arm chairs in the common room, notebook in lap and pen in hand, and had been for the better part of an hour. Across from him, the Pyro lay on the couch, not doing anything in particular as far as he could tell; thinking, perhaps. Occasionally rolling to sluggishly drape over the other arm rest. Readjusting a current residence within the common room blanket of questionable ownership. Snoozing at points. Either way, it was a pretty astounding accomplishment; a year ago the Pyro would've simply stood up to leave as soon as Ragomir sat down, usually with resentful body language and unintelligible, assumedly cutting remarks towards the Heavy.

While the reason for such antipathy in the first place left Ragomir curiously baffled, he found himself ultimately amused, and before the move to their newest base accommodated the small mercenary's preference for his absence; harboring an active prejudice against someone easily over twice the Pyro's size took guts, after all.

Or foolishness, but Ragomir liked to believe his teammates weren't all that stupid.

"It's cold in here, hej?"

No response from the Pyro. Ragomir glanced up from his writing to find the small mercenary staring from halfway under the blanket before rolling to face the back of the couch, and more specifically away from the Heavy. After nearly two years, however, the surly indifference was significant progress.

Ten minutes later Ragomir heard a light snore; the Pyro had apparently found the new position to be pleasantly comfortable. Twenty minutes later there was talking in the kitchen and the Pyro was awake again. Five minutes later and the presence in the kitchen was found to be more interesting, and the Pyro sprang up to leave.

But not without aggressively tossing the blanket at Ragomir first.

The blanket was still warm from the Pyro's inhabitance, and Ragomir chuckled to himself as he settled it into his lap under the notebook, shuddering lightly against the contrast of the room's colder temperature.

Significant progress, indeed.

#Cove RP #the pipster

#ye this goes here too #doodles #Ragomir

So there was a post about soft masc going around and I’m betting you didn’t even know you wanted soft masc Ragomir

#why haven't I put this here yet #Marcus #Ragomir #Marcomir #doodles

so I’ve had a super rough day and needed some self-soothing draws and if you’re not expecting Rago & Marcus from that then I’ve got news for you

#this goes here too #doodles #Ragomir #grandma Egresky

AU where grandma Egresky was still alive by the time Rago was caught kissing a boy in grade school and as a result he never grew up with a crippling insecurity about his own sexuality

because ain’t nobody messes with her grandbabies

((have I ever mentioned that I may or may not had chosen to draw Rago's avatar specifically facing the left for the reason of

okay carry on))

#sometimes they line up on people's following lists and I giggle #ooc #mels is a huge dork

Marcus leaned his folded arms on the tabletop, incining his head toward Ragomir with a conspiratorial smile. “I am sure such things are within my power this evening. I have been somewhat concerned about the thinness of the walls, given these new living arrangements.” His foot nudged the Heavy’s ankle under the table. “We shall have to take our time…and go slowly. Even if it takes all night.”

He sat back then, reaching out to remove a nicely-browned chunk of potato from the edge of Ragomir’s plate and tasting half. “Hm. Respectable. Who said I wasn’t a cook.” He paused, chewing the other half. “And I digress, but I am confident your sister could handle herself in a bear pit, needless to say any base the company has to offer.”

"Oh, ha! Es probably true--takes so much after mother, who was known en family for heving scared off angry bear with single punch." He chuckled, pausing to chew another piece of lamb. "Hev ever told you story? Must tell sometime."

He moved his foot to return the gesture, smiling, and after another furtive glance towards the common room slowly slid his hand across the table, fingers fluttering lightly in a request for his. "You are wonderful cook--would love to see in action next time, if are needing extra set of hands."

His smile broadened into a grin, however, with a sly wink and a lowered voice. "Though, em supposing will see in other action soon enough. Es better action, anyway."

Marcus shrugged lightly. “Nothing like cooking to kill the appetite. I figured I would wait until later, and join Mausi into gnawing a bone or two. You should go sit…” He gestured to the empty dining room, the fireplace a pleasant buffer from the common room where most eyes were fixed on the television. “No use staying on your feet…I could stand to get off of mine for a few moments anyhow.”

The dining room was slightly cooler, too, than the kitchen, and more dimly lit. Marcus pulled out one chair, then dragged another closer by. “Sit. And tell me what you want for your birthday. You may not get it until next month, though…provided it does not end up lost at sea.”

#Cove RP #Marcus #don't need candles and cake

Ragomir retrieved his plate and joined Marcus at the dining room table, noting the occupants of the common room idly--it had scarcely occurred to him that someone might have seen them in the kitchen, though it seemed that those still in the near vicinity wouldn't give the two men sitting at the table together a second thought. It was a good enough safety for him at the moment.

He chuckled, looking down for a moment to further cut a piece of lamb. "Es certainly kind gesture, but... cannot think of much that am wanting that would be possible to obtain. Mostly wishing for way to contact Sophea, but considering, ehh, company disagreements... will just hev to trust she can handle herself et different base."

He glanced towards the common room, however, and leaned closer, a sly smile forming as he spoke in a hushed tone. "Though, things perhaps involving you later tonight... em sure can think of something more accessible."

Marcus nodded as Ragomir spoke, rolling his sleeves up and attacking the pan with a scouring pad. “Age and experience are extremely relative things, Rago. And nothing we should worry about much. After all, people like you and I distort time and cause and effect for a living.”

The thought verged equally on fascinating and morbid, and Marcus directed his attention back to Ragomir’s parents. So young when they died, no doubt their son barely knew them. ”It is sometimes fun to imagine what if…”

Pausing a moment, he put down the scrubber and reached for a towel to dry his hands. “…but you cannot worry much about what has been missed. Or lost.” Marcus reached out to slip an arm around Ragomir’s back. “Only what is ahead. Or what is here now, hm?”

Ragomir smiled and set his plate on the counter, draping his arm around Marcus's shoulders and letting it drift to his waist to pull him closer. "Mm. Es true. Was many, many years ago--should not be invading thought still, hej?"

He thought for a moment, however, watching Marcus. "Though, em wondering if most people here hev similar thing to wonder. Es at least comforting thought to not be alone in topic." He glanced at the pan in the sink, then, and to the food still remaining. "Have eaten yet, Marcus?"

Marcus cleared his throat, the pan he was moving scraping against the aluminum rim of the sink as he nearly dropped it. “Today?” Grimacing, he gripped at the handle, managing to slide it into the soapy water with less of a splash than there might have been. “My god, the year vanishes quickly…”

He looked over at the Heavy, expression apologetic. “I should have known…I have been reviewing the timelines for the physical exams. It seems as though every week or so I reminded myself, but things do not stick the way they used to!” He tossed a pair of spatulas in after the pan to soak. “Though it may not have killed you to mention this yesterday…”

The Medic smirked a little, then tilted his head. “You are not proud of having survived this long?”

"Oh! No, es not problem--en honesty only remembered today, sometime this morning; es not common anymore for me to remember until day has already passed, es seeming." His smile broadened, then, and he turned his attention back to his plate for a moment. "Well, em very proud. Es just..."

He sighed, though he felt a twinge of comfort--it was strange to him how few things he kept bottled up and to himself nowadays, with Marcus around. He certainly wasn't complaining; something about the Medic always made him feel safe to speak freely, which was a feeling he soon enough found himself readily accepting. "When father died, he was mid-thirties, hej? Maybe 35. Mother, ehh, 26, 27, close to. Es just... Every year es reminder that I am now at age they hev never gotten to experience."

He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "Em knowing es not topic to be dwelling on, but es difficult sometime, hej? Wondering what they would hev been like at ages."

“Oh, well enough…spent an hour or so after lunch picking ticks off of the dog.” Marcus sighed, reaching for the faucet and swinging it over the dish sink. “And bathing her just as the wind picked up. That was a nice time.” He turned on the hot tap, then turned his back to the sink and folded his arms to watch Ragomir finish serving himself.

“I have not seen much of you. You have been busy…or looking for ways to remain so?”

Ragomir chuckled faintly, leaning against the counter and pausing to eat a slice of potato before speaking. "Es sounding so."

He paused, taking a moment to poke more vegetables onto his fork. "Es easy to tell, hej? Well--em supposing es just one of days to struggle with forgetting thoughts. Es not to worry."

He chewed thoughtfully, however, and eventually smiled faintly. "Ehh, em supposing on more positive side... em forty today."

The wind had died down late in the day, finally allowing a chance for outdoor chores to be completed. There were perimeters to check, after all, and at least two tarps had been blown away from the pallets of pavers and aluminum roofing that were waiting to be assembled sooner or later. It had become evident relatively quickly that the base — while outfitted to house a team — had not been forced to accommodate one in relative comfort for a while.

Marcus had pulled the straw for cooking, opting to throw several large portions of a lamb carcass into a braiser, along with the oldest and ugliest of the root vegetables in the pantry. The aroma eventually attracted his teammates one by two, an ever-rotating shift in their little mess hall as people began to come in from the outdoors and the windows outside grew red, then began to dim. Summers in California were chilly affairs.

The smells of food, and occasional tastings (and occasional nips from the wine bottle), kept the Medic’s own appetite at bay, and he was attempting to recall who’d been to the table already as he considered whether to wash pans or eat first.

Ragomir had spent most of the day in various chores--writing had proven ineffective, and as such his time had been used in checking his minigun, and anything he could find around the base and outside that needed his help; it was an unusual year that he remembered his own birthday, after all, and as such he felt little desire to be left alone with his thoughts.

Evening had come around soon enough, however, and as he ducked into the kitchen he realized that he had barely eaten in his distraction. Fortunately, however, there still seemed to be ample food left despite a number of the base residents seeming to have already been by, and, even more fortunately, his favorite one was still present. He smiled, not hesitating to take a plate and begin loading it with the lamb and vegetables. "Marcus--hev been well today?"

#okay carry on shhh #doodles #Henrik #egresky cousins

((..........so I have this Soldier kind of in the works maybe and

his name is Henrik and he studies linguistics but mainly bludgeons people))

theitaliansoldier-blog

“You have to really flex those muscles if you want to make the ladies swoon.” Leo strode into the kitchen in time to see their Heavy ‘impressing’ one of their two lady team members, and he grinned. “They’re not impressed with just simple anatomy like a doctor, am I right?”

With a wink to Queenie, the Soldier moves past Ragomir and spots the package of pork on the counter. “Hey, hey, what’s this? We could pound this out and fry it up. Do a little tomato sauce. Some rice or whatever pasta they gave us—oh, unless you got something else in mind? What are you making, man?”

scout-next-door

“Are you guys talkin’ about food?” Molly slid into the kitchen next, having followed the Soldier in the hopes that some sort of meal preparation was on the horizon. “Are we gonna have real dinna’ tonight?”

She’d taken note in the early spring that their team didn’t seem to have one consistent cook to rely on when a work schedule wasn’t imposed. Leo or Ben usually came through in a pinch, but the others’ abilities apparently ranged anywhere from “it’s edible” to “did you really just burn water?” and their motivation was even less reliable. Edging over to the counter, she poked at the package of pork with her index finger. “I can help cook, ya know? I used to make dinna’ for my dad all the time.”