#creature commandos weasel

And he is watching close enough to tell. He tells himself it’s because you’re too much of a wildcard this mission — on this island — but he’s hardly convincing himself. Feigning ignorance is his best bet anyway, even if he is kind of worried about whether he’ll have to bury your headless body in an unmarked grave because you slipped away using familiar pathways you grew up trekking he had no chance of knowing.

Regardless, even with you being covered enough to hide the monstrous parts of your appearance, very little about the way you’re dancing leaves much for his imagination to do. The way your ass pops, the freedom in your movements, the surety in your performance, it’s all like catnip to him.

Even in tactical gear you’re still working him up. Even though you were one of his goddam charges and he was too old to be acting like his love struck son did with that June Moon chick. Too old to be falling for a woman who gave him nothing but shit consistently and who’d tried to claw him to death on their first mission the first time you and him fought together.

You were a lot of other things too, however: the first one to save him from an explosion, the first to earnestly ask for his help despite how begrudging you’d obviously been, someone who let him rant about shit without telling the others, who lit up so fantastically at certain things it made him feel a little lighter himself, the woman outcasted from your place of birth that talked him into (ie: verbally tore him apart) finally going to visit Rick’s grave at his, and you’re accent was like fucking silk. So really, who could blame him if he was falling a little in love?

A lot of people, but he’s choosing to ignore that.

Really, there’s better things he could be watching so closely. G.I. was one, he was always one, and Eric was unpredictable and volatile enough Flag was convinced he needed to be watched even closer than Weasel. Or maybe he could even be paying more attention to the literal mission they were on, but still it was you who’d captured his attention the most.

After he catches himself and realizes he’s been ogling you silently for the better part of five minutes he doesn’t watch you as closely as he genuinely wants to. You’re both not dancing for him and are supposed to be working, he needs to get himself under control.

Rick wants to keep his eyes on you, though, and has definitely been letting himself get dragged along in this game of push and pull that you're playing with him.

Jesus fucking Christ if Waller could see him now…

Because of you making a point to stare him down, raise a brow, and then step into the collective mass of dancing bodies to wukup and jam and sing in a shadowy part of the area — getting even closer to where their primary target was throwing back shots surrounded by a wall of women, and basically daring Rick to stop you if he thought he was big and bad enough — Rick ends up taking his frustration out on everyone else on the team.

You’re taking risks, but he can’t deny that even in between your singing the intel you're giving him is good. Plus, you didn’t want anything major going down in your home island any more than Rick did; more so than he did, even. So all he can do is redirect his frustration at you not following his instruction and potentially putting yourself in danger.

Rick wishes he could feel half of what you’re feeling. That he could enjoy the music shaking his teeth and feel the freedom you clearly do in your movements and in being surrounded, however briefly, by your people even ostracized as you now were as a “creature”.

Instead of that he’s been tasked to lead. He might not have you back under control yet — he’ll get to wrangling you back into working if you don’t do so yourself, but he wants you to enjoy the reprieve for now — but he can nitpick the hell out of everyone’s positions until he’s got a cacophony of people bitching and groaning in his ears and his lips are twitching up into less of a frown as he keeps half an eye on you.

Though nothing gets him as close to smiling as when you finally deem yourself satisfied (or as satisfied as you’re ever going to get as a imprisoned woman who’ll never be able to go anywhere uncovered lest she incite a mob) and slide up to him. You don’t do anything so transparent as laugh or cheer, but you do grin at him — your pretty brown eyes nice and wild — and for a second Rick feels himself grinning back.

THE BRIDE

The Bride is the main recipient of your uncharacteristically excited rambling (or uncharacteristically happy grumbling, depending on your personality), but that soft spot she has for you keeps her drawn in to listening to you talk yourself breathless instead of doing her usual and sleeping through the flight to Waller’s next suicide mission.

After you land and the two of you have been left more or less alone while the others stick closer to and/or bother Flag, you tell her all about your plans to slack off a little this go around. How you’re going to milk as much fun out of the Carnival experience as you can before you’re forced to wheel yourself back in.

When you ask that Bride please just let you have a little fun and not tattle, she scoffs. For one, she’s not a fucking child, she doesn’t tattle. For two, she wasn’t your keeper, so long as you kept out of trouble and didn’t get in her way she didn’t care what you got up to.

Except she’d really really hate to see you popped, actually.

The Bride is a bit flattered that you thought to consider her in your plans and that you wanted to ask her permission. She still thinks you're an absolute fucking idiot to risk yourself over something so small, though, don’t get her wrong. Even if she’s got little to stand on with her judgement there.

As far as you’re concerned there was little point in taking these missions if you weren’t going to maximize your “freedom” from Blackgate while it lasted.

Honestly it had been just your luck that this week’s mission from Waller had sent you to this part of the Caribbean during Carnival at all. Even if it wasn’t where you were from, the island and her festivities would surely be enjoyable regardless.

That your main goal for the majority of the first and second nights was recon and observation was an even better plus. Now you didn’t even need to sneak off.

It doesn’t take long for The Bride to be reminded of why she’s kept away from sandy areas in the last several decades. Sand was a bitch to get out of her stitches.

While you’re doing recon Bride just disinterestedly watches you dance around her and drinks from the almost comically small glass of spiked slushie in her hand, little green paper umbrella and all. She has like seven of these and isn't even near tipsy, and for someone who is trying to get drunk that tendency of her metabolism is really getting irritating.

The fact she lets you near her at all isn’t permission in and of itself to stay by her while you act a fool. Bride tolerates your presence just fine on a regular basis, but that was it. When she sees you vibrating where you stand, softly singing along to familiar songs you haven’t heard in years while bouncing in place to the beat, and then gestures halfheartedly in front of her where people are jamming all while raising a brow at you, though, that’s permission. Hell, it’s practically an invitation.

One that you take her up on very vigorously at that. Nina might be shaking head at the two of you, but you can see her hiding a little giggle when you start playing around while you dance regardless. And if it gets a little scoff out of Bride then that’s just a happy bonus.

You’re not going to act like coming down here to have fun wasn't your main goal. The second you’re out of Flag’s sight you start blowing the mission off. Of course you keep a passing track of your targets, but with the mission only being about observing the assholes you think it’s only fair you get to do something entertaining enough that you don’t die of boredom.

You wukup not because you have to, but because you want to. And you do it near where Bride’s leant against the counter of a pop-up bar because you want to too; want her to notice you, maybe make a move.

After all you guys were in lock up, not a nunnery.

You pull out every trick in the book that still flatters your inhuman body, letting the soca beats flow through you like a woman starved all the while, and if it weren’t for Bride’s occasional grunts in reaction to something you’ve done you’d think it wasn’t having any effect at all.

Internally Bride is a lot more invested in what you're doing than even you can tell, and definitely more than the bloody mission you're on. She just makes a good show of seeming like she isn’t.

The only bearable thing about the heat that saw Bride ditching her jacket in the vehicle Flag drove them in was the salt twinged breeze blowing through the short buildings with their colorfully tiled roofs. The fact that you were showing as much skin as you could get away with due to the heat wasn’t lost on her either.

Bride finds a beauty in you she hasn’t seen in anyone since Victor. A beauty that’s brought back to life some of the bits of her that died with her creator, and brings technicolor back to the bits of her that turned dull and grey as Eric continued his relentless pursuit of her.

She couldn’t deny you your whims or resist your draw if she wanted to.

The way her heart speeds up when you crack a joke about a song’s lyrics or a singer's entrance, and how she has to bite her tongue so she doesn’t laugh too obviously. The full on blush she sports when you start dancing with some drunk man in a way he clearly likes but only look her way as you work your waist in his hold, and how she wants to snap all of his fingers and wrench his hands off of you. All of that lets Bride know she’s in trouble and you’re liable to be caught in a crossfire that's been brewing for over a century.

She’s going to have to push you away soon, but ‘soon’ didn’t have to be tonight.

It’s one of the world’s most dangerous games of chicken, working around Eric Frankenstein’s unwanted possessiveness of The Bride. You’re fully aware he’s watching you and Bride too, you just don’t give a shit. Voyeuristic jackass.

Part of you likes antagonizing him.

Revels in the fact that he can’t kill you as easily as he’d like and the fact that you and the man both know it. That you were barely asking for Bride’s attention and she was willingly offering it when years worth of groveling for her attention yielded nothing for him but a fist to the face.

Every time Victor Frankenstein’s Monster comes into view and Bride clocks him lurking (and trying to set you in particular on fire with his gaze) she scoffs and makes a point of putting her back to him and moving you in the process.

It probably makes Eric blue vex every single time The Bride touches you just enough to nudge you from his view.

Bride is more gentle than she needs to be when she steps in closer to you and uses her knee to nudge you in the hip — she does it so softly, in fact, that you don’t fully comprehend her urging you to the side, it’s so out of character with what you’re used to from her, and just move.

Bride is quite fond of how easily you move at her prompting, reluctant as she is to admit it. Still, after she gets you to move, she backs back up to give you space again.

You mourn the way she towers over you in those scant few seconds. Like how harmless it makes you feel, how wholly encompassed by her presence you are, how much of her undivided attention is on you.

Despite everything Bride likes to watch, and it’s clear you're putting on a show for her even though she can’t indulge either of your desires.

You are most definitely not as on high alert as you should be as you’re jamming and singing along to the live band them, but with Bride specifically at your back you couldn’t find it in you to feel unprotected. Bride was quick on the response, and there’d never been a time when you two were working together that she’d been laid out by a hit for long (especially if there wasn’t magic involved).

Bride notices how forlornly you stare at the women still in their colorful Carnival gear from the earlier parades and snags you a feather that matches the only accent color on your mostly all black uniform.

When you preen at her she grumbles to herself, brushing your thanks off, but you hardly let that stop you and start talking away about the importance of the feathers as you finally slip from the crowd to get back to work. And Bride let’s you.

You might want to fuck around with Eric’s self control, but The Bride knows what will happen and that’s a lot of the reason why she won’t show any obvious interest in you. Quite frankly it’s mostly the fact that you’re a woman that’s letting her have as much contact with you (and Nina) as she has because he hasn’t figured out that was an option Bride would go for, and she’d like to keep it that way.

In the end you all survive. Although, she has picked up a few more worries, most pressing being that you seem to enjoy egging Eric on and that she thinks smug looks quite sexy on you.

Once you’re all back in your cell block and she starts complaining about there still being sand in between her damned stitches she can’t help but grow a bit more smitten with you when you pull her grumpy ass to a bench and get to meticulously ridding her of any remaining granules.

‘Soon’ would have to wait another day more to come.

DR PHOSPHORUS | ALEXANDER SARTORIUS

Phosphorus wants to touch you so badly. He’s not blind, he can see all the ways everyone else is dancing together and he wants to get up underneath you like that, to feel your hips against his; for a second, honestly, he does consider it but he already knows what will happen so he doesn’t give in to the urge.

He’s not in any particular rush to get the shit knocked out of him today, or to honestly fight you.

It’s still decidedly entertaining to think about what he’d be doing if he could touch you though, if he could plant his hands on your hips without your flesh boiling beneath his touch cause he’s too excited to temper himself— and a little entertaining to think about what would happen if he touches you in reality, but really he can’t be blamed for mere curiosity. It couldn’t be helped.

Phosphorus likes you too much to actually want to hurt you anyway, just obviously not enough to stay away from you or stop managing to share close quarters with you (yes, even when you’re asleep).

He used to be far more considerate about things like that, he knows. Everything is just too distorted now, the man he was too purposefully forgotten to drag back up.

If he can’t touch you (even when his temperature control is stable) he figures he should at least be able to watch you as much as possible. The good thing about not having visible eyes, too, was that he could keep his gaze on you all the time and no one could call him out on it.

Phosphorus loves whenever you feel his gaze on you and turn your pretty head to glance around. Loves the little twitch of unease you give when you can’t quite figure out that he’s watching you out of the corner of his eyes, and just generally being able to catalog all your reactions and micro expressions to what’s going on around you guys without you noticing.

So you can imagine how much Phosphorus takes in his visual fill when you start bouncing in place while you guys are on lookout together; keeping the perimeter secure around your group of targets, making sure no one was unaccounted for, and the like.

You always operate particularly gingerly around him (so long as the mutation that made you into a monster didn’t make you impervious to long exposure to radiation) — an effect on you Phosphorous doesn’t fail to revel in; it makes him smile a lot when you tense around him, though you obviously can’t tell — and so he completely forgets about bothering to pretend he cares about the mission you’re on when you start tapping your finger on the handle of your weapon or tapping your hand on the side of your thigh.

If the tapping took him by surprise, then the way you start bouncing on the balls of your feet in time with the beat pounding around you makes him choke on nothing. You notice, and boy does he like the way it makes you startle, but the great thing about getting turned into the absolute freak of nature that he is now is that not having expressions for people to read makes them more likely to dismiss what his opinions on little things like being caught doing something mildly embarrassing might be.

You go back to ignoring him easier than most would assume and get lost back in your head when a song you clearly recognize starts playing and you start singing along. Automatically Phosphorus pays more attention to the punchy beats and slick lyrics, but it’s not his kind of music and there’s too much about the dialect he doesn’t understand so he dismisses it quickly as a ‘you thing’ and just raises his brow, smirking as he listens to you.

Even strapped securely in gear and covered in fur or scales or whatever your body’s still killer and a sight to behold when you finally start to move your hips. And when your ass starts to circle he isn’t ashamed to say he doesn’t look away.

Although your movements are subtle he’s enraptured anyway.

Everything about the way you’ve acted since you got to the Caribbean has been telling and after such a show Phosphorus kind of wants to know more. If only because it’s you and because he is bored.

It’s…rare for him to find himself legitimately interested in anybody anymore. Let alone the way he desires you, the way he wants to keep you. A lot of him doesn’t really want to succumb to that seeming howling need — the need to find connection in you, to touch, to possess. The parts of him he’d thought completely eradicated after his “incident” weren’t giving him much of a choice in the matter, though.

—

When he leans back into the wall behind him and its peeling colorful paint, he crosses his arms, gives up any pretense of caring about his mission parameters, and stares at your ass.

Wining your waist. That’s what you're doing if the punchy instructions to the song currently blasting through the night air are to be believed, and he likes it.

Phosphorus starts bouncing one of his legs some with the beat, too. In tandem with your sway and bounce.

He clears his throat.

“So, what’s all this for anyway?”

“…what…?”

At first when you turn to him it’s rather absent, you’re still noticeably trying to keep an ear out for the live bands and bask in the lively chatter surrounding you both from below. Once you clock his leant position and the angle of his head your mood shifts entirely, however.

You stand up taller, glaring, and Phosphorus shivers at all that undivided attention of yours trying to pin him in place.

It wouldn’t work. Far more intimidating people have tried to ‘put him in his place’ or have attempted even dumber shit like trying to ‘appeal to his humanity or humility’ before and it’s yet to work out for any of them.

Wouldn’t work with you either, didn’t matter how much he couldn’t get enough of those dark eyes staring directly at him. Part of him wants to pluck those pretty brown cognacs out to wear around a chain. He won’t, but your eyes were their own type of diamonds he desperately wanted to preserve in a collection.

“…Were you just staring at my ass?”

Phosphorus gasps, jerks himself upright.

He makes a show of acting like he’s about to refute you, like he could never. Like he’s about to go ‘that’s presumptive’ and give you shit about not considering the fact that he’s visually a glow in the dark skeleton. Walking, talking, and killing, sure, but still with no discernible features.

He puts his hand over his heart for a second and everything.

Really, though, he’s just giving you a performance so you keep glaring at him.

“Spit it out already,” you snap.

The walking radiation bomb laughs. He does wave his act off still, leaning forward just to watch you jerk away in response to heat he’s only mostly keeping at bay— you could technically touch him right now if you wanted, but Phosphorus isn’t holding his breath.

“Alright alright,” he says, laughing lowly to himself as he stuffs his hands in his pockets so he can shrug. “I was totally watching, you have a nice ass.”

There’s a herculean effort that goes into you not knocking him down two stories, he can see it in your body language.

“You’re going to stop watching,” you declare, the growl in your voice prominent.

He shrugs, gives less grief to you for ordering him around than he would anyone else still currently breathing, “Fair enough.”

Phosphorus would, however, absolutely be in mourning over it.

When you close in on him, Phosphorus lets his back flatten against the wall where he wouldn’t in any other situation. Let’s himself bend for you that tiny bit more. He wants to see what you’ll do. To know how far he can push you.

He smiles. You clearly don’t notice. He doesn’t mind.

You bare your teeth— they’re sharp and he suddenly wants to feel them breaking his irradiated skin, “What is it that you want, Doctor?”

Doctor. Jesus Christ, he’d moan if he didn’t know that’d really make you throw him off the roof.

Phosphorus didn’t have much of an attachment to his old professional standing, and for good fucking reason, but something about how your voice wraps around such a respectful moniker in reference to him always makes him a little lightheaded.

Head tilting, he holds a finger up to point back to the expanse of writhing bodies beyond the roof.

“Well I did ask earlier.”

The fact that you don’t buss him upside the head is more a testament to your own patience — and no doubt your ability to bid your time — and less so Phos’s powers, especially since he’s not even using them.

You do spend the rest of the time explaining Carnival to him, but he’s not really listening. Not to your words.

He gets the vibe that you’re aware of his actual disinterest for your answers considering your monotone delivery. The whole time it’s like you’re being forced to give a middle school presentation with a gun to your head and Phosphorus doesn’t even mind because what he’s focused on is the tones of your voice, the restless shift of your body when a song comes on you’d clearly like to be paying more attention to, how you force him pettily to focus on the actual content of your words as you explain emancipation and why everything is so goddamned brightly colored.

The fact that he’s stealing your attention makes him deliciously frustrated. Phosphorus stands there for most of the night and learns more than he cares to while basically preening under your gaze the entire time. Hell, he nearly melts into a puddle when his eyes wander (his head tilting in response) to one of your targets leaving the perimeter and you grasp him by the jaw tight enough to ache. Forcing his attention back your way like you need his eyes on you just as badly as he does yours.

He wants to touch you. Wants to massage the plush of your ass, and rub you to completion until he gets tears to spring in your eyes and he aches for more. Wishes for certain nerves back for the first time in forever just so he can shove himself down your throat and come undone without burning his way through.

Subsequently, however, he’ll have to settle for your passive aggressive lecturing and relishing in the blood splatter from the way you pop the head of you two’s wayward target.

He kind of loves it.

Pain at picking back up that emotion relative to someone else again be damned.

NINA MAZURSKY | MERMAID

Even despite the fact that you’re still working, Nina keeps feeling the need to remind you to stay on task or else you could meet your impending doom from the bomb implanted in your neck.

It’s a real bummer, you tell her to live a little.

Despite her words, though, Nina both loves the more water based mission and loves listening to you talk about the place you grew up in. She hangs onto your every word and every anecdote you make about how free everything felt back when you were home and about how much you miss the smell of the sea. Nina gets missing the water, it might not be life and death for you but she still understands being homesick (and the bone deep longing for certain environments).

If there’s anyone on the team you’re roping into dancing with you, it’s Nina. She definitely expresses her concern about disappearing from the outskirts of the crowd where Flag can’t see you and into an alleyway of sorts, but you suck your teeth and toss out that there’s trackers literally implanted in your bodies as you drag her away.

She bitches the whole time but never once resists your lax hold or walks back to her post once you let her hand go.

The sea creature only occasionally bumps into anyone or is bumped into herself, and apologizes excessively all while looking at you bouncing effortlessly between people and turning back to smile at her every once in a while.

The two of you get stares, there’s no avoiding it when you resemble creatures out of a horror novel, but most everyone is far too intoxicated to dwindle on your appearances as you find someplace less crowded and with a bit more privacy.

When you finally convince Nina to dance with you — after urging her to relax with soft looks as you project your voice over the music to talk her through it and hold out your hands for her to grab — she starts off slowly, cringing at herself as she tries to find the rhythm.

It’s hard when she’s watching your hips to do it, trying to copy how you move your waist without being reduced to a stammering mess. She gulps and blushes through it, her steps stuttering as she slowly catches on to your movements and starts engaging her waist in a circular motion to wine, her eyes wide.

It’s a thing of beauty watching Nina let herself go loose. It takes what feels like forever, but once she starts shyly copying your movements — less a wine, more a sway of her hips side to side — Nina glances up to you with a wide smile, lashes fluttering as she looks for your approval, and for a moment you feel faint.

The both of you have a great time, though. Giggling and dancing and playing around over the sounds of music and people. And with Bride keeping a lookout for you, you don’t have to worry about people stumbling on your or Flag cutting your two person party short.

Only one person causes any actual problem for you both that night, actually. The culprit: some woman who thought you were eyeing her dude as they were walking past you and Nina, too drunk to realize that your tree wasn’t one she wanted to bark up.

When she turns to call you out, yelps as her eyes widen in fear and then snaps out a startled call of “freak” you’re already rolling your eyes. Once her man starts trying to start some shit too, puffing up his chest and staring at you and Nina like you’re evil you figure you’re going to end the night pissed off too. It’s not you who shuts them down, though; no, it’s Nina who tentatively pulls you behind her and then starts clumsily chewing the couple out for being stupid presumptive assholes.

Eventually you end up having to knock them out, Nina letting out a squeak of surprise as they both crash to the ground. While Nina angry is really doing it for you and you’re flattered that she’s come to your defense, if they got any louder you’d get people’s attention and that was the last thing either of you needed.

Nina’s gloved fists are balled tightly once the couple is no longer an issue and you run your hands over them until she relaxes. She apologizes profusely, flushing, but you wave her off and make her flush worse when you compliment her on her mean streak.

After having watched Nina promptly pepper they raas you’d swear your pupils had turned into hearts if you didn’t know any better. It’s like Bride can see them anyway when she snorts and rolls her eyes at you two when ayo finally emerge from the alley to get back to work.

By the end of the mission Nina’s relaxed again, has acquired plenty of beaded necklaces that she’s bunched along her arms and desperately wants to try conch after watching it be prepared for fritters through a food truck's back window. The fried food itself wasn’t necessarily what she was interested in, though you did seem to enjoy the basket you snatched. Nina more so wants to get in the sea to taste them more sashimi style (but without the rice).

Nina also has to admit that she absolutely loves the availability of sea water right off of the house that was rented for the team to recuperate in.

When you sneak out to the beach just beyond your home base you’re in a bathing suit that makes Nina stutter and fully prepared to relax in the sand with a towel until the sun comes up.

Still, you relegate an hour or so to getting into the water with Nina. Marveling some at just how sure and competent she was in the ocean.

In the cover of night you guys can just exist without having to worry about people getting in your way. Can just freely be the ‘monstrous’ creatures you now are for this short amount of time.

Eventually everyone else trickles out of the house with similar ideas of enjoying the beach, even Flag, but Nina doesn’t mind. She just stays lurking in the water, her gums itching for blood in a way she can actually satisfy for once.

There’s no judgement in your eyes when she attacks a fish, your eyes just glitter and you move easily to share some sugar apple you plucked from a tree on your way back to base with her, wiping off the trail of blood coming from her mouth.

She lets you feed her the sweet creamy fruit, looking you in the eyes without the bowl as a barrier for once as her heart pounds a mile a minute in her chest. This is one of the better days of her life, and she tells you as much.

When you smile at her you're more captivating than the stars. When you tell her you're glad and that you agree, especially because she’s here with you, while running the pad of your finger over one of the fins atop her head she shivers and aches for a press of your lips to hers that’s way softer than a bite.

G.I. ROBOT

“Friend Y/n, is visibly excited; is it because there are a lot of Nazis where we’re going?” “—No! No, definitely not. There’s no Nazis there, G.”

Or, at least, not any you knew of (anything was possible and people came from everywhere). Certainly not enough people that were gonna be in the J’ouvert and Carnival crowds to justify letting G.I. get too excited about it.

G.I. doesn’t understand your excitement but he’s not going to begrudge you it or anything either.

In fact, I think G.I. would ask you questions about everything (so long as he saw you as a friend and not just as a handler of some sort).

You’re eager to answer him, eyes bright while you talk as you look him in the face. When he scans you and all signs point to you being happy G.I. feels a small sense of satisfaction at having helped.

When a group of people shove past you to get to the nighttime Carnival activities, you grunt as you’re checked and have to bite back the urge to yell at them and draw attention to G.I. and you. Instead you settle for glaring at them and cussing them out stink under your breath. Your irritation obviously doesn’t go unnoticed by G.I. — even if he wasn’t personally bothered by the shoves — and he offers to get rid of them for you if it will make you feel better. He shifts his hand into his usual embedded gun and all.

It’s such an insane thing to offer, but so true to the robot, that you snort and are knocked out of your angry ranting entirely. You redirect him after that, reaching up to fix the hood of his hoodie where it was pushed back and concealing his head back in its shadows.

G.I.’s eyes still glow red in the shroud of darkness and you tell him it looks sick as fuck before ayo go back to monitoring the parimeter as the rest of the team calls out updates about where the targets are.

After that you start back up telling him about the islands. You miss being home, miss the food, miss feeling the wind blow through your tight curls and dressing up in your feathers and jewels to ramp up and down while wukkin’ up your waist with no abandon. Hell, even now you can’t participate in Carnival and you fucking hate that.

G.I. doesn’t like how upset you are even if he can’t quite articulate how to help. Eventually he settles on asking why you can’t just dance while you’re with him since the music is loud enough to hear from your positions.

Reluctantly, you agree. Once you start dancing as you walk with him you’re far less grumpy though, laughing to yourself as you explain your moves to him while he silently studies you.

When you take one of his hands in yours while you’re patrolling in order to bounce his hand off your own to the beat, he only stares at you. He doesn’t object though and takes to inquiring about some of the more confusing (to him) lyrics in the songs and even starts humming along to the music with you as you dance around him.

He’s got the spirit.

You guys are dragged away before you can sneak off to the food trucks and food stands by the time the first leg of the team’s recon wraps up. To your utter mortification you can feel your lip quiver in your disappointment and keep to yourself more than usual the entire way back to home base, G.I. sitting beside you in the van.

It isn’t until you guys are parked outside the house you’re renting and you two are left in the van last that G.I. shifts and holds his hand out. In it sits a little cup of pastry and jammed fruit. And, yeah, the tart he’d snatched for you just came from his hand but you giggle and eat it anyway, moving to hug him from the side before you do.

G.I. can’t smile, but he does actively lean into your embrace and you take that as expression enough.

WEASEL

Because of the flight risk you present since the Commandos’ next mission is on the island you were born on during one of the busiest tourist days of the year, you’re stuck on Weasel Duty.

Even relegated to the van with him as you are, you’re still close enough (the target was using all the cuhruckle of Carnival as cover) to the festivities that you can hear the music clearly.

Weasel is fairly pleasant company all things considered, but you still throw a fit about being left with him and toss little glares at him every time a group of excited people pass close to the vehicle you're holed up in. It feels like salt being rubbed into a wound.

You want to kill something. Preferably Flag. Then you’d go for Waller.

All that frustration eventually coalesces into the burn of unshed tears in your eyes as you plop down on the floor with gritted teeth and push the heels of your palms into your eyes.

You were not going to cry right now. What the fuck?

Weasel rouses from where he’s squeezed himself into the corner furthest from you, making a small inquiring noise that you ignore.

He whines over your sniffling though, and shuffles over to you with his body still low to the floor while you’re too busy trying to beat your emotions back to notice.

He pokes at your hand with a clawed finger and you startle so badly you knock the back of your head into the metal wall.

Instead of running away his head tilts and his eyes squint in what you interpret as (possibly) sympathy.

Weasel sniffs. You sneer at him. He’s not scared enough to back off and only chitters in response.

It’s…weird. Weasel doesn’t smell or anything, but he is still effectively a naked human man covered in fur and you can’t stop yourself from squinting wet eyes at him as he lowers himself and curls up next to your leg on the van floor.

Weasel’s claws stay retracted the entire time despite your dubious looks. He just looks up at you with those ridiculously large eyes, his tongue lolled out of his mouth as he pants due to the heat.

There were laws against leaving dogs in hot cars, weren’t there?

All it takes is him nudging you with his nose and making another little noise to have you reaching down to scratch over his head. It makes his leg twitch like a dogs and it’s as endearing as it is fucked up.

It’s calming though and the soft content sounds he makes are nice. Allows you to be able to enjoy what little of your home you can bask in right then, the music mingling with the natural ambiance around you.

You definitely crack the windows though, it was too hot for that fuck.

In thanks (after everyone’s finished for the night) you sneak out with him to feed him goat. Live goat, obviously. Though you leave it at just the one for the stable owner’s sake.

The crack of bones and squelch of blood is tolerable mostly because you snapped the animal's neck before tossing it to him (otherwise the bleats would’ve given you away). The way Weasel peeks up at you from over the dead body, lower half of his face covered in blood, is even kind of cute. You’ll admit it, he wasn’t too bad.

Weasel does try offering you some meat off the things’ carcass but, face screwed up, you decline his offer with a short laugh.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!! I want to write more stuff with The Bride, she’s so cool and there’s so many interesting character beats to delve into with her. I knew I’d love her.

Also, I cannot fucking stand Frank Grillo, but Flag’s characterization is pretty fun to work with. I think Flag might just stay dead too, because in the comics “Frankenstein” (ie: Eric) is the leader of the team at times, but idk because we know Flag Sr. is supposed to appear in other shows and movies.

Also also, listen, I don’t even like Dr. Phosphorus like that but playing around with his personality like this got away from me and I just started writing. Phos’s personality is taken from the episodes that have since come out, but with the last two episodes not out yet I am inferring certain aspects of his personality with only the scarce information from the 1x06 promo. Like, I think I wrote myself into liking him because then I was retroactively forced to reconsider him more closely and actually pay attention to his character.

And the title of this is from the song “Movement” by Hozier; a decision I made after writing this and noticing how well the song fit, which is why this isn’t a lyric prompt type thing.

This fic has a series tag so if you’d like to read the other festival/carnival entries then clicking on that tag would be how you’d find them.