#palmsky

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Part 4/? of halo shitposts

Normal Halo Fan Behavior

Previous posts here: 1, 2, 3

Text from Bad Blood and Fifth Canticle. I will never forgive and never forget

[bloodybeskaro4]

Wake Up Call

Drawing a deep breath, Tom opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling.

In the dark, he couldn't see the giants sleeping next to him.

But he could hear them. Sarah snoring like a sailor. John's quiet breaths.

Their bodies radiated a comfortable warmth that enveloped him. He knew he was, probably, the safest person in the galaxy right now, with two crown jewels peacefully sleeping next to him.

And yet...

Everytime he fell asleep, nightmares plagued him.

Of Cadmon. Of Chyler. Corbulo in general. Most recently the events on Zeta Halo.

But he was at home now. In his own house on Mars. In bed with the two people he loved more than anything in the galaxy.

Tom sighed and lifted his head to eye the dim holographic clock.

Damnit. 3 AM.

With a quiet sigh, he carefully and very slowly wriggled out from in between the two Spartans.

He left the bedroom and the door slid shut silently behind him.

He made his way through the house to the living area on the ground floor and ultimately decided to sit down in front of the piano he inherited from his uncle when he died.

Tom couldn't remember the last time he played. Was it on his last leave? Before his Captaincy? Before he was deployed on the Infinity?

Regardless, he always made it a point to have the antiquity in front of him tuned as soon as he returned home.

After all his uncle once joked, he'd haunt him, if he didn't maintain his greatest treasure.

Thomas gently put his hands on the keys, hoping he wouldn't wake the supersoldiers sleeping upstairs.

And then he started playing.

Easy things at first to warm up, then more and more complicated pieces, always careful not to rouse his companions.

Thomas stopped when he noticed the sun began to rise and golden morning light poured into the room.

"Why'd you stop?", a groggy low voice made him jump in his seat, accidently hitting a few keys.

His head whipped around to look at John, who stood on the stairs, squinting and grimacing against the sun.

He smiled at him, at how good he looked in the morning light.

"Just wanted to enjoy the lighting. Did I wake you?"

"Not with your play. You left the bed.", the other man said, almost offended. As if Thomas had fled his lovers.

"Yeah, sorry. I kept having nightmares and didn't wanna wake you two."

"You can wake me, if you need me.", hushed John, making his way over, to kiss the shorter man on the head.

"Think you can play Swan Lake for me?", his lover asked, breathing into his hair, sending a tingle down his spine.

"I don't think I ever played Swan Lake. I'd need notes.", he sheepishly admitted.

A quiet grunt was his answer, as John's comforting warmth left his back.

In one long stride John was at the coffee table, picking up his own data pad and started typing around.

A moment later, he proped it on the piano. Musical notes for Swan Lake.

The large man sat criss-cross on the floor, looking up at him with a child-like expression on his face.

Thomas could feel a blush burning on his face, through his ears, when suddenly there was shuffling on the stairs.

An upset looking Sarah emerged from the twilight of the staircase.

"How dare you two leaving me alone?", she grumbled, "Neither of you even made coffee."

Before Tom could say, or do, anything, John got up, kissed both of them on the forehead and disapeared to the kitchen.

Sarah stared at him. A new blush formed on Thomas's face.

She always had a talent for looking through peoples bullshit, especially for her partners.

"Had nightmares, John came to check, stayed to listen.", he explained. A boyish smile cracked his face.

She awarded him a kiss on the cheek, followed by a stern look.

"You know, you are allowed to wake us and ask for help when you need it, right Tom?"

He just nodded and leaned into her.

The scent of coffee filled the room, as John returned, holding two cups of the stuff for Sarah and Tom, and a cup of tea, as he didn't like coffee.

John sat back on the floor and stared expectantly at Tom.

Sarah crawled into John's lap. Also staring.

Tom sighed and startet playing.

[fablepatron]

Hi :o)

[doom-dreaming]

The More The Merrier: Ch. 2 - Preparation

“I’m being taken out for drinks.”

“You make it sound like you weren’t given a choice.”

“I wasn’t.” Sarah had always assumed the whole “butterflies in your stomach” thing was reserved for teenagers passing their crushes in middle school hallways, so she’s not entirely sure why she’s feeling it now. People offered to buy her drinks all the time. Hell, she usually accepted. Free alcohol, right? But something about their insistence had been so… God, what was the word…

“Who would be so bold?” Tom jokes, still not looking up from the datapad in his hands, oblivious to the metaphorical insects in Sarah's gut.

“Kelly and Linda.”

That does it. She sees his head pop up in her periphery. “As in...Blue Team Kelly and Linda?”

“Do you know any others?”

“...that seems strangely sociable of them.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” She runs her fingers through her hair. Was that too much? Should she just pull it back like she always did? She huffs, reaching for the elastic band she’d just taken out.

Slowly, Lasky’s attention returns to the datapad. “When are you going?”

“Tonight.”

“Ah. And…is that why you’ve been standing in front of the mirror for ten minutes?”

“It hasn’t been—” she checks her watch. “Whatever. Hair up or down?”

He sighs. Sets the datapad on the table. Rubs at his eyes. “Do whatever’s comfortable, Sarah. Am I missing something here? You don’t usually put this much effort into…” he gestures toward her.

Before she can answer, the room's holotank glows a brilliant gold and Roland’s avatar appears in a swirling flourish, arms crossed, looking suspiciously cheerful. “Based on the elevated heart rates of all three Spartans during the time of their conversation, I’d say you’re missing something significant, Captain.”

Two seconds tick by. To Sarah, it feels like two years.

Roland grins.

Tom blinks. “Sarah, is this a date?”

She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t considered the possibility. “If that’s what it turns into, I won’t complain,” she concedes with a shrug and a gentle glare in the direction of the holotank. “But I wasn’t gonna mention that part unless it actually went somewhere—thanks, Roland.”

“You’re welcome!”

Tom’s face morphs into something close to that kicked-dog look he got when his usual strategies of garnering sympathy weren’t working. “I know we keep things pretty open between us, but do we need to talk? Am I not enough for you anymore?”

Oh, a joke. She bites her tongue for a second as the word she’d been searching for earlier comes screaming to the forefront of her brain. Arousing. Their insistence had been arousing. Suddenly, the butterflies make sense…and instantly become wasps. “You know I haven’t fucked anyone my own size since I became a Spartan?” She might as well approach this for what it was. Or what it could be. What she wanted it to be? "...Miller doesn't count."

Some of the surprise drains from Tom’s posture at the mention of Miller, replaced by resigned agreement. “No, he doesn’t. But do you really think that’s where this is going to end up?”

“Again, wouldn’t say no if it’s offered.”

“...that’d be something to see,” Roland mutters.

Sarah turns on him. “You wanna watch?”

“I—um, meant it more in a rhetorical sense, Commander. But…of course, if you’re open to the idea…”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay? I don’t know that we’ll be doing anything besides drinking and trading war stories. If—and only if—it ends up being something else…we’ll figure out the logistics." Her eyes flick between Tom and Roland, narrowing on the latter. "Until then, stop getting my hopes up."

"Sure thing—just one question. In the "hypothetical" event that you do end up…involved with the lovely ladies of Blue Team," he makes a big show of miming the quotation marks. "Could I…maybe ride along sometime? Just for curiosity's sake?"

There's a near-simultaneous sigh from both humans in the room. "We let him join us the one time…" Lasky starts.

"Actually, Captain, I've been included in your sexual escapades no less than three separate times and I find it exhilarating—"

"That’s my point.”

"And you can hardly fault me for that!" Roland retorts with mock indignation. The holotank flares brighter. "It's in my nature to seek new experiences and a threesome of Spartans would certainly be—"

"Okay, okay!" Sarah cuts them both off. "Roland, shut up. Right now this is not a date and there is no plan for a threesome. Right now it’s just drinks. Got it?” She doesn’t know who she’s putting more effort into convincing—the two of them or herself.

Roland shifts like he wants to say something but, wisely, stays quiet.

Palmer tightens her ponytail. “Good.”

[sarnakhwritesthings]

with thanks to @poisonheadcrabsalesman for the template, and @infinityactual for the idea

[your-local-granny]

palm x bisky fandom wya

[filamints]

what if your wife was a spartan and could pick you up with zero effort?

[bellygunnr]

Finer Points, Dull Edges

You have a tendency to not think. Or, more accurately, not reflect. Introspection slows you down, you think, and asks you to dwell on the more complex facets of your life, of which there are many. How could there not be? You’re simultaneously buoyed and chained down by the half-ton of armor cinched around your neck, and the dizzying effect is equal parts a heady rush of power and a crushing sense of the unknown. To a point, it’s useless to dwell on the full impact of your decision.

After all, you didn’t change anyone’s life but your own. To a point.

Beneath the armor, you’re still a human body, flesh and blood. The blood hasn’t been altered. It runs red and dries black. Your skin bruises when impacted (even if it heals much faster). Your lungs function the same, if much more efficiently, which is only beneficial in your line of work.

But you have been told you can survive the vacuum of space now. To a point. That’s something to be reminded of, when you live on a starship. The observation deck threatens to suffocate you with the unabashed glimpse into eternity. If the glass broke, you wouldn’t die immediately, armor notwithstanding.

There’s a reason you don’t go up here often. But someone you know does. You wonder why either of you look to the stars for guidance, if this is how you’re both left feeling. 

Then again, the stars couldn’t really judge you. You’re fairly certain they had a lot more going on than humanity ever could. Judgment for your lot was a lot more... physical.

A hand touches the outer edge of your gauntlet. You blink, cocking your head over the bulk of your pauldron to look him in the eye.

“Will you tell if I have a smoke?”

“Do I look like I’m going to tell? Ask Roland.”

He rolls his eyes and lights up. It’s not a brand you recognize-- so, probably contraband from one of the transfers, spread out somewhere between the near-eighteen thousand crew. It stinks. You don’t know what it smells like, actually.

Roland probably has it broken down, though. Chemical compounds. How it affects his fine-tuned shipborne atmosphere. How it makes him feel, armed with swathes of knowledge that contradicts itself. Humanity stands too good, too high, for something like smoking to slow it down.

“Where’d you get that pack, anyway?”

“Do you think I’m going to tell, Spartan Commander?”

You look at him, affronted.

He smiles, flicking ash onto the floor.