#helldivers oc

[nichollasvvv]

bound outlaw.

[gehenna-checklist]

Shit man, this Super Earth war is fucked. I just saw a helldiver toss a shiny ball and say "500kg eagle bomb" or some shit, and every squid in fifty meters got crushed, had their tentacles explode and then disappeared. The SES crew didn't even commend them, that's how common shit like this is. My ass is using EATs and throwing frag grenades. I think I just heard "380mm orbital barrage" two blocks over. I gotta get the fuck outta here.

[plecopsar]

[robustaart]

Helldiving

[natt2001-14]

At last i got some free time to draw my diver o7

that armor and helmet combination got to be one of my favorites

[gruvu]

@lydiaalin introduced me to HD2 ages ago and we had a lot of fun with our two idiots. And honestly I need to practice armor so ta da.

[derpthingies]

Essence of Liberty classes (Halo X Helldiver ship)

[girl-lostconnection]

Fun funny idea that helldivers have a difficult time creating connections with other people, they’ve seen so many of their own die and not mention seen so much violence (I have seen helldivers whole bodies torn apart with only a torso left). I feel like they’d have a hard time connecting with normal folk but they have a difficult time explaining just why that is, so they instead just tend to stick with other helldivers when it comes to socialization. They won’t make too close of a connection since they know they could each die in any mission, but it’s still SOMETHING, something that makes them feel human again for even just a moment. Something to make them feel less like cogs in a machine that demands for blood and guts, and instead more like people, scarred, broken and bruised to all hell but still a person or at the closest they can get to being a human again after all they’ve gone through

Anon, you have such a big brain. You evil genius, let me affectionately pat your shoulder

Also you are so right because as far as I know it’s very common even for regular soldiers to stay within their military friends circles because when you return from battle it’s just…feels weird.

I can imagine Reader straying away a little from TaskForce 141 because they are military, yes, but they are not Helldivers. They don’t understand how it is.

So imagine feeling a little too out of place on some pompous gathering, different branches and soldiers all in one place, claping each other’s shoulders and grinning widely.

They know each other. Lucky for them not to move from planet to planet, lucky for them not to see what you see on daily basis.

Soap is hanging out nearby, as if feeling your discomfort, because gatherings like this require to be in formal attire and god knows after synthetic fabrics of your Scout armour the natural wool feels itchy.

You don’t know anyone here, you are both figuratively and literally so alien in here. A soldier from a different dimension. A soldier from a war none of these people participated in.

Kyle carefully herds you back to the corner when you almost sneer at some navy admiral, who jokes about you keeping helmet on. Who jokes about the cape of your uniform.

Man of his station is supposed to know that it’s mandatory part of your uniform. Man of his station is supposed to recognise that cape is Helldiver’s honour. A symbol of the branch as a whole. An insignia of all your sacrifices.

The mood shifts when a new group walks in the room, boots too heavy, uniform just a hairspread of being an armour, capes behind each and every one of them.

Your whole face lights up as you make your way to them through the crowd, the pack of four Helldivers perking up when they notice you pushing through them.

You salute the group, eyes quickly scanning the ranks of them, your body practically vibrating with excitement.

Finally, that’s someone who you can properly mingle with.

Helldivers circle around you, greeting you properly, their capes — different colours and patterns, signifying specialisation of each of them. Demolitions, terminid exterminator, ranger, medic — you have never met them before and they don’t know you, but it doesn’t matter in this moment.

Because in this room, there is no one else who would understand you better. There is no one else you’d rather chat with about the last improvements on the battlefield or the latest updates to the ship, cackling when the ranger of their team jokes about stealing you and the bright head of yours.

It’s lovely. You haven’t had this much fun in ages and maybe that’s why you don’t notice immediately the shift in the mood all around you.

Other soldiers pulling away, command watching you with barely concealed disapproval. They can’t say anything to you — the gathering was organised specifically for soldiers to mingle but you can see how uncomfortable your lot makes them.

Weird soldiers. Wild soldiers. Alien soldiers.

Rumour mill is already turning, pack around you tensing up and pulling back as well. But they are pulling back with you. They aren’t leaving you behind.

It doesn’t matter that you didn’t know each other until ten minutes ago, it doesn’t matter that your due is all that ties you together. None of it matters.

Once Helldiver — always Helldiver. And your lot may be wild and rowdy and alien to these folks. But they aren’t to you. And you aren’t to them.

So when their demolitions expert hooks his arm over your elbow and pulls you back, you don’t protest instead chatting them up about grenades they usually use.

And when their medic and exterminator “accidentally” position themselves so they could cover you both, you just murmur quiet thanks.

They are the biggest of the team, moving like a well-oiled machine — practiced ease of it testament to years of service together, testament to many such gatherings and unfriendly faces.

Exterminator of their team bumps your hip with theirs and slings their arm over your shoulder — their side pressing into yours, warm and human. Silent reminder to cheer up.

It doesn’t matter whether or not others like you, whether or not you are even welcome here. While these shitty parties have at least one Helldiver you will never be alone. You will always be part of the team and part of the family.

That day, when you leave the gathering your tracker blinks with four new connections.

Your shoulders still aching from how hard you hugged the whole pack of your new comrades before saying goodbyes.

141 just watches you silently, Kyle’s fingers tightening when Helldivers they don’t know (though what difference does it make) touch you, like you are theirs. Like they can just take you to themselves, like they don’t even have to steal you away — you’d go willingly, naturally gravitating towards those who understand you better. Towards those who aren’t regular soldiers.

Kyle doesn’t miss the way the tallest of the team, stares down anyone who’d like to approach your little gathering. Helldiver’s bright, ridiculously flashy cape — blue with orange attracting way too much attention.

In nature those who are so colourful are the most poisonous.

Soldier catches Kyle’s gaze and tilts his head to the side, their helmet a menacing angular thing with scribbled “one shot - one kill” just above the visor.

A sniper.

“Like a bloody fortress, aren’t they?”, John hums, nursing his glass, eyes trailing the whole group, eyes hardening when another Helldiver presses themselves against you with ease that grates on John’s nerves. Fucking wanker.

John doesn’t miss the way others in the room steer clear of the group.

John also doesn’t miss that Helldivers themselves aren’t too keen on mingling with anyone but each other. That they keep their packmates on inside and guarded tightly, that they aren’t the biggest fans of anyone but each other.

John doesn’t miss the way Helldivers hook in on each other and hold tightly, pushing away everyone else away.

Dangerous bunch. Entirely too co-dependent and entirely too unruly.

Just a matter of time before it blows up in someone’s face.