Sarge, Grif, Simmons, Donut, And Lopez Watching TV Being A Family Would Be Pretty Fun! -spookyourpressure

Sarge, Grif, Simmons, Donut, and Lopez watching TV being a family would be pretty fun! -spookyourpressure

Sorry for taking so long, Anon! I hope this is what you had in mind! It was kind of fun to write, though I’ve still got to work on getting into the character’s voices.On another note, I’ve decided to leave short rvb requests open indefinitely! Drop them in my inbox and I’ll write them as I get to them.

“Not this again!” Grif groaned loudly as he hovered behind the old decrepit couch where his teammates were sitting.

He had been dragged from the bliss of his mid-evening nap by an unholy commotion in the next room. A large part of him had wanted to roll over and let whatever revolution was sweeping Red Base continue without him. A smaller but much more persuasive impulse told him that he didn’t want to die today and had him on his feet. What he found was less of a revolution and more of a hostage situation. Evidently someone had dug the old projector out from under the communal pile of junk and spare parts and set it up against one of the base’s bare walls. Sarge, Simmons, and Donut all sat with their eyes transfixed on the title screen of Mama Mia!, which they had all seen at least a dozen times. How Donut had gotten ahold of that old-as-dirt piece of crap was beyond Grif. If he was going to smuggle in movies, why couldn’t he at least smuggle in something good? Or, you know, not hundreds of years old. (“It’s a classic!” Donut would always insist.) “Quiet, dirtbag! I’m missing the previews!” Sarge snapped. “The previews.” Grif said slowly. “For movies that came out more than a hundred years ago. On a movie that you’ve already seen.” Sarge’s growl threatened murder (or worse, actual work) when he was less preoccupied. The only way Donut even gotten away with hosting these movie nights was with Sarge’s permission. And Sarge only consented to watching the same damn movie over and over again because of his weird fascination with Meryl Streep – whoever that was. But apparently Sarge wouldn’t mind sharing a trench with her. Grif was reasonably certain Simmons hated the movie about as much as he did, but the coward would never say anything. He would plaster on the fakest smile Grif had ever seen and kiss Sarge’s ass all the way through the opening credits. “Esto no era un uso eficiente de mi tiempo.” Lopez announced as he shuffled into the room with a large bowl. The couch being full, he was relegated to the floor, container in hand. Sarge grinned broadly. “Yahtzee! I had Lopez whip us up some popcorn!” He eyed Grif expectantly. “You stayin’ or goin’, Nancy?” Popcorn? Where the hell had they been hiding popcorn? He could smell the butter from where he was standing. “Aw fuck.” He grumbled before taking a seat beside Lopez on the floor, digging his hand eagerly into the bowl. Just like that, they had him. He found himself sinking into the familiar and oddly comforting routine of movie night; Sarge commentating loudly and aggressively on the main character’s life choices, Donut bursting into song at every opportunity, and Simmons energetically pretending to care.

The movie really wasn’t that bad.

Corruption: Eureka's Nightmare

               It all began with the stillness. It was unnerving, unnatural.  No wind moved through the palms and the ocean lay stagnant. The bloated orange sun hung low in the sky, admiring its reflection in the water’s glassy surface. With no breeze to stir it, the day’s heat was heavy an oppressive. It made everything feel uncomfortably damp and sticky. The only sound to be heard was the lazy sawing of the cicadas in the distance.                 At the water’s edge a girl squatted, toes just dipping into the cool water. In her hand she held a long and slender twig, which created serene ripples as she dunked it into the sea.                 “What’s wrong, little fishy?” Eureka cooed, using the rod to gently nudge a portly silver fish hovering just beneath the brine. It looked sickly to her: there were white blotches beginning to form on its sleek scales, and its eyes were rheumy and unfocused. There was something wrong with the island; she could feel it. Fish this large had never ventured into such shallow waters before. The dorsal fin of her specimen was almost protruding from the water. To her it seemed as if the fish had come to shore to die, to make its final journey to the surface less tiresome. It was not alone in its plight. Recently an unusually high number of fish carcasses had been appearing. The entire ecosystem was feeling under the weather. Suspicious gray fungus was creeping up the roots of the trees and just yesterday she had seen a flock of birds drop out the sky for no apparent reason.                 Eureka had always been uniquely attuned to the moods of her island. She had been born from the sea and tossed ashore by its loving waves. She was the isle’s sole human inhabitant. If, in fact, she was human. Eureka had never seen another being quite like herself. She had seen others who walked on two legs as she did, drifting by on their lofty boats, but they were not like her. They did not have two long, cephalopodan tentacles sprouting from the back of their necks. There were no dotted lines of bioluminescent color running over their skin like veins. She had only encountered one that shared her snowy white hair, but he had looked shriveled, like a dad fern. Her pale, reflective eyes were hers alone.                 Eureka had watched these people from afar, but hid whenever their boats coasted too close. She would submerge herself in water, breathing through the gills under her arms, or crouch behind rocks or foliage. She was not really frightened of them – she was more curious than anything – but her bashfulness constantly won out.                 Even a castaway from one of these crafts could have seen that something was amiss. If one had eyes and cared to look they could see the signs. From this troubling observation stemmed a concerning question with a much more elusive answer: Why? Eureka had scoured the island, searched and hunted and dove, but all in vain. There was no tainted spring or beetle infestation, to foreign plant or overbearing volcanic ash. If there was a centralized cause to this blight, she could not find it. All was as it should be.                 And yet, it was not.                 Eureka was left consumed by a poignant feeling of helplessness. Whatever was happening was beyond her control. She was small, oh-so-small, and insignificant in the grand scheme of the universe. If it wanted to kill her island, it would. Little people like her could not fix big problems. How could she fix what didn’t appear to be broken? By the time the gradual changes compiled into a sudden cataclysm it would be too late. All she could do was try to treat the symptoms; patch holes in the dam while the tidal wave loomed overhead.                 “Go on, fishy. There’s nothing for you here. Go home to your friends.” She coaxed.                 The fish refused to budge. It stared p at her through its deadened eyes with something between indifference and contempt. She met its gaze stubbornly, pursing her lips.                 When even a stern tap with her stick would not persuade the finned martyr she eased back on her heels and allowed herself to fall back into a sitting position in the sand. She watched her fish grudgingly, silently feuding with it. It remained unaffected. It occurred to her that the only way to deliver this obstinate beast its rightful abode was through force. Given the creature’s willingness to do more than blink placidly, she discerned that that would not be difficult.                 “This is for your own good, fish.” She warned, jabbing an accusing finger in its direction. She had tried to talk reason it. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, she bade the fish stay still while she rocked onto her knees and reached forward for it.                 The fish hissed at her. It hissed at her. It pulled back what constituted its lips, pried its jaw open and let out an unearthly, ungodly shriek that could be heard even above the surface. And its mouth… its mouth was filled of twisted, needle like teeth. Eureka stumbled backwards in shock and horror, unable to do anything but watch as the fish began convulsing, flailing and splashing in place. All the while its tortured, now-reddened eyes remained affixed on her.                 She was so transfixed by the fish’s epileptic dance that she almost failed to notice the rusty brown goo that was leaking out of it. It was only when the creature finally laid still, body bobbing upwards, that she was finally able to rip her eyes away. All only to be transported to a fresh hell.                 Oily brown fingers were spreading out across the ocean, gripping it tightly and choking the life out of it. Whole schools of limp fish were being dragged to the surface and entrenched in the ooze. Floating gulls squawked and struggled as the muddy water snatched them and yanked them under. A gasp left Eureka’s lungs as she saw a tendril of horridly polluted water snatched a low flying bird right out of the sky.                 And then there was the smell: the horrible odors of death and rot wafted towards her. She gagged on the putrid scent. She was suffocating. Had it always been this hot? The air was smoldering all around her. It was so hot it was boiling the sea. Bubbles were forming out in the deep: huge, deformed swells of brown and black. As they swept outwards a cacophonous bellow erupted, so loud that Eureka could feel the vibrations in her bones. She screamed at the pain in her ears, but it could not be heard over the howls of the ocean. The leviathans of the deep were dying.                 Oh gods, she thought, Oh gods. But her gods were dead now. And in their place, from the foaming sea, rose a new deity. It had a human shape but it was not human. It appeared to be made of the same black smog and muck that it heralded its arrival. It was slender, fluid, and constantly changing, twisting, dripping. It turned at her and smiled a ravenous, empty smile.                 The way it moved made it seem to melt towards her, and at a surprising speed. It had a sickening grace to it. It made landfall before Eureka had even forced herself upright. In its wake it left a trail of death. The sand coiled and charred beneath its feet and from its footprints sprang networks of life-sucking capillaries. The plants they touched withered and died, any crustaceans unlucky enough to be caught in their path were reduced to nothing but flaking exoskeletons. Screams went up from the jungle. When Eureka looked into the hollow eyes of this monstrosity she knew that she would not live to see the stars that night.                 Still, some natural instinct in her body compelled her to run. It wanted her to fight for her life tooth and claw. Even as her feet carried her forward, she knew the effort would be fruitless. But her mind tantalized her with the image of safety. She could see, just behind the curtain of reality, the tranquil spring that bubbled quietly in the center of the forest. Its cool, inviting waters beckoned her, offered her refuge. If she could just make it there she would be alright. And so she darted madly through the foliage, ignoring the shooting pain of sticks that puncturing her bare feet, the sting of branches whipping in her face. She moved nimbly, but had no time to consider her route. She could feel the corruption nipping at her heels. She didn’t need to turn to know that the New God was giving a sporting chase. She could hear the moaning and crying, smell the putrefaction. She didn’t want to look, but she did, and saw nothing less than she had expected. The forest behind her was desiccated and the New God was strolling behind her at a leisurely pace.                 Run faster! Her primal self urged her. Already Eureka’s muscles were beginning to tire. Her throat burned and her diaphragm ached.                 Just a little further.                 The bottom of her feet were raw and bleeding, her body was bruised and scratched from the groping branches of the now claw-like trees.                 Almost there.                 She didn’t know how much longer she could run. She wanted to stop but her body wouldn’t let her. She wanted to die. She wanted to live.                 And finally, just when she thought that her body would give out under her, a speck of glistening blue water appeared through the trees. It gave her the energy to push just a little bit further, just a little bit harder. The tiny waterfall over the pond gurgled invitingly. The grass fed by it was still green and flowers blossomed along the ridge. So close. With a burst of will she thought she had exhausted, she leapt.                 And was grabbed by the ankle. “NO!!!” She cried, tears prickling around her eyes. She had been so close. So close! It wasn’t fair! She thrashed and kicked and dug into the ground with her hands, trying to drag herself those last few inches. The rot was climbing up her leg, draining all of the color from her radiant streaks. She kept writhing as if it would make a difference, but already the oily sludge had wrapped around her waist. It climbed and climbed, stripping away flesh as it went. It was crawling up her back, caressing her shoulder, tugging at her hair. The New God was standing over her now, watching with his cavernous smile. It looked like he was laughing at her. She opened her mouth to scream but was stifled by the mire as it rushed down her throat. . . .

Eureka’s eyes flew open as she awoke with a start. She jolted into a sitting position, drawing the modest white sheets up to her chest. Her whole body was damp with sweat and her legs were tight and sore. She gazed around her spartan room, blinking the last of the dream from her eyes. She sat in bed staring vacantly outwards until her heartbeat slowed and her chest stopped heaving.                 That dream again. Always that dream. It lurked behind her eyes and came to life whenever she closed them. It always left her feeling so dirty, so violated. As she had many times before, Eureka slid out of bed, feet falling silently to the cold white tile. In the dark, in nothing but her white patient gown, she made her way to the bathroom. The yellow, florescent lights in the lavatory had become comforting to her, and she basked in their glow as she started the sink. She laved her hands with soap as the water warmed and then began scrubbing. Her hands were already red and cracked from the many times she had performed this nightly ritual. Still the suds and hot water brought her a comfort that she could never find on her own.                 One of the night nurses heard the running water from down the hall and heaved a heavy sigh. Another midnight cleansing. She meandered quietly towards the bathroom and hovered in the doorway. She watched the young woman mutely as she rubbed her hands raw at the sink, humming to herself and shaking ever so slightly. This was not a new occurrence, and these days the aging nurse barely had the heart to scold her and send her back to bed. This was the only time that the sad girl with the lank brown hair and strange red lines on her skin seemed at peace. [Author's Note: Wow! I can't believe I finally finished this! This is (another) nightmare sequence for my dear friend Kozz and her role play buddy Laura! It's for their site, Institution, (http://bloodywrittenthing.wordpress.com/) which is really an awesome place. It has a tantalizing story with beautiful artwork, and if you're tired of my drivel just head on over there. You're in for a real treat. A while back Kozz posted a challenge for writers to write their own nightmare sequence to compliment the story line. I already did one, which I have yet to post on tumblr because I want to edit some of my errors, but I wasn't really happy with it. It was long and drawn out and ended up more like an acid-trip than a real nightmare. I tried to be a little loose with it, make it not as rigidly plotted as the last one. It still ended up a little more stiff than I would have liked, but overall I like it better than the last one. It hangs together more nicely. I wanted to work on a few things with this story: mainly pacing and lack of dialogue. I don't think I did very well with pacing. It started out slow then all tumbled out at the end. But my writing is a work in progress. Because I have a hard time reading body language in real life, dialogue tends to prop up most of my stories (-cough- Living High, And the Earth Shook, etc. -cough-), so I wanted to do a story with barely any talking to see if I could accurately portray emotion without the main characters blabbing all the time. I think I did better on this front than I did the other. In any case, I hope you like the story Kozz and Laura! You don't have to put it up if you don't want, but I had a lot of fun with it! As always, comments, criticisms, and critiques are always welcome!

Hi there! This is your secret santa! Do you have any particular favorite haeadcanons for York? (or any of the freelancers really ahaha)

Haha oh gosh that’s a really good question. I guess I should have thought about it more in the past! A lot of the things I assume about him are kind of loosely based on canon? I’ll try to give you some! Sorry for the extended rambling.Well, I don’t really have any specific headcanons for his physical appearance, given that we’re pretty much shown what he looks like out of armor in the show. I guess in general I always assume that all of the freelancers have plenty of scars, crooked fingers, healing bruises, etc. than are really shown, given their line of work.One point where I diverge a little bit is I guess a lot of people perceive York as kind of incompetent, given that most of the scenes featuring him show him failing to get through locks. Despite that, he’s still number two (then three) on the leaderboard, right under Carolina. I always kind of assumed that he was a lot better at his job than was let on. He doesn’t covet his skills or his ranking like some of the other freelancers do, so he can take a joke about his own abilities.Overall, I always imagine him being very group-oriented and extroverted. He likes to keep the mood light, doesn’t take himself too seriously. He’s pretty charismatic and can get along with almost anyone if he tries hard enough — even South and Tex. He’s also very protective of his friends and the people he cares about. I imagine he doesn’t like it when there’s a lot of group conflict. He really just wants everyone to be safe and happy. To this end he can be a bit of a joker, sometimes even taking it to the extreme and seeming a little asinine to people who are more sensitive I also envision him as a little bit impulsive when it comes to things that he wants to do — he just goes ahead and does them and sometimes doesn’t stop to think how other people may not think something is as awesome as he is.That being said, York seems like an idealist to me. He wants everything to go over smoothly, and he has ideas in his head of how things would go in a perfect world. In his mind he works with a team that’s basically a small family, they’re the good guys who go out and save the world. You can see it a little bit too in his relationship with Carolina — in his perfect world they run away together and escape the project. As with a lot of idealists, though, when real life lets him down he can get a bit melancholy. Out of Mind York is much less carefree and lackadaisy than Project Freelancer York; he’s had a huge dose of reality (losing his friends, Carolina, having to steal to survive) and he’s a bit bitter, a bit tired, a bit sad. But he still keeps his streak of optimism,  he jokes with Tex and Delta, and he tries to do what’s right.I think he and Delta probably get along better and better as time goes on. They work pretty well together in Project Freelancer, even if they do snipe at each other a little bit, but by the events of Out of Mind it seems like they’ve become very close friends (Delta’s willing to die with him). I’ve also kind of jumped on the assumption that he. North, and Wash were pretty close friends during the project. I mostly ship him with Carolina, because I think it’s really subtle and cute and I love relationships where the woman seems like the dominant partner. Also I’m not very creative with shipping so there’s that.

Some assorted headcanons: York is a caffeine addict. He drinks unhealthy amounts of coffee. Sometimes he does it because he needs to stay awake for a mission or a meeting, but sometimes he drinks coffee just because he likes it. For absolutely no reason whatsoever I also envision him as a really tactile person. He likes lots of physical affection, people playing with his hair, generally being close to other people. He doesn’t give nearly as many awkward hugs as Florida, but there are some in the heat of the moment. I imagine this drives some of the more reserved freelancers crazy, and has gotten him more than one black eye from South. I can also see York being a movie buff. He doesn’t really like the artsy, oscar-winning stuff, but he likes unabashed action movies. He likes “classics” like James Bond. He also likes Zombie movies. He also seems like the type to impose cheesy traditions or activities on the other freelancers: Christmas parties, snowball fights, the like. He likes animals, especially dogs but also cats on occasion. He gets along well with kids but should most definitely not be trusted to be the responsible adults supervisor (if York babysits someone should come along to babysit York).So, I’m sure that was far more than you ever wanted, but there it is! I won’t do any of the other freelancers in this post but if you want me to go into detail about them or if you have any other questions feel free to message me again! =3Sorry this turned into such a behemoth. 

So it's almost 4 am and I just finished rewatching some Red Vs Blue. And I came to the conclusion that there is not nearly enough Agent York on the internet. So I came home and searched the Agent York and Yorkalina tags. And goddammit tumblr how dare you do this to me?! I trusted you with my feelings! I don't know how fictional characters can make me want to whimper like a fucking five year old! You should be ashamed of yourself. I should probably go to bed.

Hello there! Sorry I had to contact you through a reblog but I couldn't figure out any other way to ask you about this! I actually found out about your give-away through my good friend Kozz (According to her you're also the one that made my Magikarp plushie, which is an absolute cutie-patutie! =3) In any case I saw this and thought I would throw my hat in the ring, if you're still accepting. Obviously you're under no pressure to do anything with it. If you do happen to be interested, though, I thought I would request a picture of two of my characters, Creature and Luka together. They're quite the dynamic duo (though not romantically connected). They communicate mostly through sarcasm and derogatory comments, but stick together nonetheless. Our mutual friend has done some lovely commissions for me of both of them. Creature: http://komical.deviantart.com/art/Cats-and-Dogs-p2-342244103 (The one that isn't Nox) http://creature-of-twilight.deviantart.com/art/Commision-New-Challenger-327491774

Luka: http://24.media.tumblr.com/e0f442f9de2a7d689bfd663142830ea8/tumblr_mpai6hZJdG1qks47bo1_r1_1280.jpg

Creature is kind of a hot-head and a wild child, always swearing and fighting and bantering (though she's quite small). She is what's called a yee naaldlooshii, the navajo word for shapeshifter. She can transform into any animal, but she must have a piece of its pelt on-hand. The usual form she takes is that of a large black direwolf. Not really elegant looking, but a big mass of hair, teeth, and drool. Luka, on the other hand, is quiet, thoughtful, and pretty sweet. He tends to come across as brooding because he's shy and a little awkward, but he's mostly a nice guy. He puts up with Creature and thinks of her like a little, annoying, but wise sister. Sorry those are kind of suck-y descriptions, but I'm running short on time before the deadline. If you'd like to know more about them feel free to ask and I'll type something real up. Or you can take a gander at a little drabble I did that features the two of them here: http://creature-of-twilight.deviantart.com/art/Living-High-Chapter-1-Strays-383518081

Anyways, thanks for reading! I hope you have fun drawings, even if you decide against doing this request. --Auggie

LIGHTENING DRAWING REQUEST

I WANT TO DRAW PEOPLE THINGS

GIVE ME A REQUEST AND I’LL DRAW IT

FREE, NO CHARGE

ONLY AVAILABLE TILL MIDNIGHT TONIGHT (Eastern Standard Time)

PLEASE NOTE I WILL DRAW YOU A MINI COMIC IF YOU ASK. JUST GIVE ME A PROMPT AND I’LL DRAW IT.

So,, to celebrate my five-day weekend, I've decided to open some RvB themed fic requests! Some quick guidelines: I don't to NSFW requests. I don't personally do a lot of shipping (Yorkalina being my Achilles' heel), so any otps may end up looking a little more like brotps. Sorry in advance! I'll do my best! Requests will probably be a couple of paragraphs to a page or so long. I will do as many as I can, but I may not get to all of them! If you're really invested in your request and it doesn't get done this weekend, contact me and I might try to get it out in the next couple of weeks. Other than that, go nuts! AUs, canon, anything that you like! Just make sure to give me more than two characters names! If you're interested in something longer than a few chapters, with fewer restrictions, I am open for Art/Craft trades that can even cover multi-chapter fics! (The art trade I'm working on right now is going to be eight chapters long). I also take commissions! Anyways, I can't wait to get to your guys' requests! Have at it!