#strickenveteran

[ildottored]

❝It would be nothing short of an embarrassment if your prime accolade was 'better than Childe'.❞ He figures it to be quite a low bar.

"bearing in mind the absolute foolishness childe gets away with, 'better than childe' at least would imply some form of increased favoritism."

[genesisoul]

❝You've been staying out of trouble young lady?❞

"Of course I have! I haven't done anything illegal or bad!" she said offering the soldier a honest smile. "Have you been keeping yourself happy and out of trouble?" she asked turning the question back onto him.

[efriyeets-blog]

        ❛  worm  gods,  savathun’s  shitheads,  the...  vex,  uldren  ———  you  know,  they  say  it’s  a  second  golden  age.  that  means  there’s  gonna  be  a  second  collapse.  ❜  it’s a bit odd to hear such bleak topics pour from the hunter with that calm, relaxed voice of her’s. as if the potential of a cataclysmic event doesn’t scare her in the slightest. as if the face of a such an event, knowing the traveler is in fact not only fallible but can be conquered doesn’t coax those nerves into a frenzied state.  ❛  i  think  it’d  be  fun  to  stab  a  god  in  the  face.  ❜  //  @strickenveteran: sc.

[essence-flux-primed]

" Son. "

⋆ — Pauses. Tentatively: “... Dad?”

[yi-dashi-a]

Kids these days.

“Kids where when?”

[ladybuvelle]

A pause, both hands went before him. Words mouthed along with the various hand gestures ( Slow, accounting for the man's inexperience with signing ) followed. A point, then wave across his face followed by thumb & pinky out before it crossed his chest, resulting in a point leftward. " You - look - lovely - today. " Another halt, hands that time rested in creased gloves again; a stoic display as to not show much a change in his normal demeanour. " A little friend has been teaching me, Ma'am."

“...? ...!”

Happily, Sona clapped her approval and smiled. She was more excited that he’d taken the time to learn a new - and niche - language than flattered for his compliment.

“Very good!” she signed back, hoping he’d get the jist of it from her additional body language and expression. Those were important for projecting “tone”.

[honorpmoved]

this was a response to an ask a while ago, in which @strickenveteran had sent:

Drops a rather familiar red visor before the knight. "Don't worry - He put up a decent enough fight."

  THE visor merely drops. It halves bitterly, collapsed into the dirt, a horrible crack rippling through the center that leaves it USELESS and unable to support its original form. A perfect shot can be seen through the dead center, a clean hole that’s laced with just the smallest dab of scarlet to accent the vivid cherry red which it already takes, that’s already begun to weave through the fine cracks of shattered glass.

  THERE it rest, the dust which hasn’t quite settled fully already beginning to apply a thin film to the outer layer. It clumps into the small crevices which have entirely given way under the pressure of gravity, which sprinkle the ground from where his teammate returned from. Reinhardt’s eyes traced the trail with half a mind. With such great absence in his stare he almost sees right past the form of red, white and blue. The beaten soldier in the remnants. As the remnants. The fourth shade which paints down the white of his jacket in a way so obscure he considers for a moment it’s another man entirely, a different unfortunate soul subjected to such a cruel fate, a civilian caught in the crossfire, an imposter. Maybe the blood of others and Jack merely lay incapacitated. That he lay merely in pain. That any moment, he will shift. He will groan obscenities and rise. Watching the fluid sink, a creep thick and gradual as oil, into the cracks of the large seventy-six designed into his back.

  LIKE the visor, the soldier’s body lay cloaked with a thicker coating of debris he lay within. Someone obscured the German’s vision with a jacket, laden over Jack’s head partially. Respectfully.

  REINHARDT ripped the jacket from the corpse; he wretched instantly at the sight, leaning away as his stomach lurched violently. Shuttering hands grasped through the stain of the other’s jacket, holding Jack’s shoulder tightly. Whispering a prayer beneath his breath and a curse, his voice collapsing on itself as he struggled to keep his bearing. He faltered so fiercely as erratic breath escaped him with ever increasing panic, as shuddering hands began to pull and move the body as though to wake him.

  TO shake him. To fight the instinct of his body. Hands pull and guide Jack as though any moment now, he will remember how to use his body. A stiff and awkwardly bent arm will rearrange to grasp Reinhardt. It won’t drag and twist in the dirt. His stiffened form will ease from the awkward slouch against him. To plead for the other to open eyes that had been blown apart in the conflict. To desperately collect scattered gore of a lost man and pull it nearer, as though to repair a mere wound with applied pressure and replacement. For the air to leave his lungs with such ferocity he weakens, his vision dulls, his peripherals blacken. To hold the body of the other to his chest as his eyes fill, to watch as he reacts as a spirit with no control over its vessel.

  BECAUSE he’s lost him. Again. And one time was too much.

@warpledged

[ildottored]

❝ Listen, you aren't my least favorite Harbinger but you're also not first. ❞ He wasn't Childe, which admittingly was a low bar to clear. ❝ Just submit your requisition order by tomorrow evening & I'll see to it. ❞

“how deeply you find yourself enamored with my scintillating personality hardly matters, grand marshal.” there’s no offense in those words, only a pleased smile. 

“i appreciate your assistance. i’ll get the order to you shortly.”