"Every journey begins with a single step".

Set after Adler, Mason, and Woods confront Hudson about operation green light in the safe house.

No warnings

Ahh it’s good to be back

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Frank, a word.”

Your tone made it clear that the word was not optional, though the way his injured hand remained tucked beneath his opposite arm told you exactly what he wanted. Or what he did not want anyone else to see.

You closed the kit, moving on from a not concussed Hudson and focusing your attention to Woods.

“Your room.”

Frank’s brows rose.

Hudson shut his eyes as if developing a headache unrelated to the punch. Head laying back on the couch, not caring that Frank didn’t let him out of his sight after they all went inside. Anything for a five minute break before he had to made another phone call to the pentagon. Frank might have gone in first but the betrayal that had come from Hudson meant that he stayed in the main room while you checked Hudson for loose teeth or jaw.

Franks eyes went to you after that, you sighed. Tensions were high, Mason needed some space alone and had already locked himself in his room. After stopping Frank from beating Hudson into the ground for keeping information from them, Adler was god knows where smoking.

“For your hand.”

“Sure,” Frank said. “That’s what I figured.”

“No, it isn’t.”

His grin appeared briefly, but it did not reach his eyes. He led you down the hall.

The safe house had never been designed for comfort, the ones that were designated for them never were. Frank’s room was narrow, containing little more than a cot, a battered wooden desk and chair set that was falling apart. The whole house looked torn to bits. Looking around making sure everything was still where it was when he left. Anything to distract from another opportunity to assault Hudson, Frank shut the door behind you. The click of the latch changed the room. Outside, there were voices from Hudson on the phone. Footsteps, Mason was obviously upset, pacing in the room next to franks. Probably still thinking about not hesitating to back up his friend when he went in for a hit, unfortunately, Adler had a say in it.

Frank went to the bed to sit, sinking into the old mattress with a loud creek, still obviously tense. Following him, you pulled the desk chair in front of where Frank sat. The wood of your sad seat moaned louder that the springs in the mattress despite Frank being heavier. You held out your hand, waiting for him to ease up enough to let you touch him.

“Let me see.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m surprised his glasses didn’t fly off.”

Trying to lighten the mood usually worked with Frank, but his attitude always shined through after a fight. This wasn’t different than any other time.

“Should’ve hit him harder.”

“Frank.”

His eyes met yours. The rage was still there, but now that no one else was watching, you could see what sat beneath it. Hurt.

You kept your hand extended. Reluctantly, he gave you his. He never did change. A few knuckles were swollen, the skin was red but no blood. Having seen the impact, you knew there would be something you have to keep your eye on. You ran your thumb carefully along the side of his index finger. A twitch from Frank was more telling than he probably would have liked it to be.

“Fine, huh?”

“Didn’t say it didn’t hurt.”

“You implied it.”

“I imply a lot of things.”

“Yes. Usually while staring at my ass.”

His mouth opened. For once, Frank Woods appeared to have no immediate response. A fire fueled by betrayal was a hard to put out. Looking back down before he could recover from the banter, you spoke, “Make a fist.”

Doing as he was told for once, his ring finger did not bend as cleanly as the others. Pressing gently along the joint, he hissed through his teeth.

“You may have sprained it.”

“Not broken?”

“I don’t think so. But if the swelling gets worse, we’ll need to splint it.”

Frank looked toward the wall.

“Can still shoot.”

“That is not the standard by which we measure whether your hand is functional.”

“It’s my standard.”

Rotating his wrist gently was a good enough excuse stay in the room long enough to make sure he didn’t sneak out and strangle Hudson while everyone tried to sleep tonight. Frank remained uncharacteristically still, letting you do what you pleased to calm yourself down. Frank knew his anger wasn’t an easy thing to be around. His hands were rough and scarred from years of combat. There were old marks along his fingers, pale lines crossing his knuckles and the back of his hand. Evidence of violence long healed, layered beneath fresh damage.

“You scared me out there,” you said.

His eyes shifted back to you.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“Hudson’s the one who got hit.”

“I know, but you had just got back and-“

Frank studied your face, he was quick to cut in knowing what you were actually saying.

“You think I would’ve kept going.”

“I think you wanted to.”

He did not deny it, jaw tightening.

“He knew,” Frank said after a moment. “That whole time, he knew what we were walking into.”

“I know.”

“He stood there and talked about it like it was numbers on a page. Like those cities weren’t full of people.”

Looking up, you kept his hand between both of yours.

“He betrayed all of our trust, not just yours.”

Frank’s expression sharpened, as though the word had found the exact wound he had been avoiding. Saying it out loud made it a little too real, he was easier to read that he thought.

“Trust,” he repeated bitterly, “I trust Adler. Mason. Hell, Bell enough to know they wouldn’t go completely haywire surrounded by Soviets.”

His gaze dropped to your hands around his, expression still tight.

“You.”

Locking eyes, Frank seemed to realize what had slipped out at the same moment you did. The air between you shifted, and he cleared his throat.

“Don’t get sentimental on me.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was about to tell you not to punch walls with this hand.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Or Hudson again. At least not tonight.”

“No promises.”

You pulled your hands away, they settled in your lap trying to cool down from the heat coming from him. Frank flexed his fingers experimentally.

“Not bad.”

“High praise.”

“Could praise you better.”

There it was again that familiar, easy flirtation that usually came out when you were alone. But it landed differently now. The words were the same sort of thing he always said, yet his voice had gone quieter.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Turn everything into a joke.”

Smiles faded. For a moment, he looked older than he had outside, not that the grays in his beard helped. He was tired, you didn’t mistake that for weakness. Frank Woods would likely bite through his own tongue before allowing anyone to call him weak. Just tired, he’d been babysitting the whole mission just to have to deal with bullshit before they even got in the safety zone.

“You offering me a shoulder to cry on sweetheart?”

“I’m offering to listen.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“More dangerous than screaming at Hudson when he’s got a gun to your stomach?”

“Depends on what I say.”

Frank leaned on his knees, letting his bruised fingers fall loosely around yours. Not enough to trap you. Enough to keep you there. His thumb rested against the side of your hand, just above your pulse.

“When we got back from that facility,” he said, “first thing I thought about was getting answers.”

You waited. His eyes searched yours.

“Second thing was finding you.”

Your breath caught. Frank noticed.

Of course he noticed. Some of his usual confidence returned, though it was quieter now, edged with something uncertain.

“Wanted to make sure our medic hadn’t found someone more interesting while I was gone.”

“You were gone for a day.”

“Long day.”

“You nearly got yourself shot the moment you got back.”

“Wasn’t much of a fight.”

You smiled despite yourself. Frank’s thumb moved once against your skin.

“You worried about me?” he asked.

“I always worry about the team.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

You could hear the challenge in the statement, but you could also hear the escape route he had built into the question. If you laughed, he would laugh. If you dismissed it, he would pretend it meant nothing.

“Yes.”

Frank went still. Your voice was quiet, but it didn’t matter with the small space between the two of you. Continuing before your courage failed.

“I was worried about you.”

Whether it be because Frank knew you knew he and bell both were technically loose cannons, Frank couldn’t really tell where the worry was placed. His grip on your hand tightened so softly you almost didn’t feel it.

“You’ve got terrible taste,” he murmured.

“So you keep telling me.”

“Should listen.”

“I don’t take medical advice from people who solve emotional problems with their fists.”

“That wasn’t emotional.”

“You shoved Hudson into a wall.”

“Professional disagreement.”

“You punched him.”

“I call it constructive criticism.”

A laugh escaped you. Frank watched you, and the harder lines of his face seeming eased for half a second. For the first time since the car had entered the driveway, some of the anger left his shoulders.

“You stayin’?” he asked.

The question was casual. Too casual. You glanced toward the door.

“I should check Hudson again.”

“Adler can keep him conscious.”

“That isn’t Adler’s job.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Five minutes.”

You looked up, his eyes were already on yours. The same guarded exhaustion and the reluctant admission that he did not want to be alone with what he had learned tonight. You moved to sit beside him on the edge of the cot.

here is a meme

mephiston sketch (＾་།＾)

"Of course there's room for one more! No, I'm not moving any of them. Sorry!"

Space Marine books are rarely ever anything else besides "big man shoot space gun", the literary equivalent of a sloppy action movie you can enjoy with friends while drunk if its well made enough, because that's what they think the audience wants. It is rare for one of these books to ever gain any sort of recognition or fandom relevance.

Ork books meanwhile are the same, but they can give it a new spin through the perspective of the Orks, which makes it hillarious. In a way you could consider Ork-books some sort of meta-analysis of the setting from the view of someone who barely gives a shit about most things commonly seen as important, but is instead heavily invested in their own little perspective. It is weirdly grounding.

While the wolves feed, the ravens keep watch for and alert the wolves of incoming animals that might threaten them. In return, the wolves leave some food behind for the ravens. In between feedings they’re known to travel and play together.

this came to me in a dream

Blank base here:

Giving vulkan a well deserved vacation 🙏🙏

comic i drew a couple years ago

The noble prime and his squad of suitors