fuck it, no-context writing dump! a variety of characters, but all based around one R6S/CoD mashup roleplay server
we do a little what-if (Vasya/Ghost) [WIP - noncanon]
It all happened too fast.
One moment, Vasya had been heading back to the bus stop, shopping in hand, Rosie loping along beside him, wondering what to make for dinner. Maybe borsch again, or perhaps he’d go for solyanka this time. Maybe he could really push the proverbial boat out and make shuba. Did Ghost like fish? He’d have to ask, make sure.
Too wrapped-up in his thoughts to notice the van pulling up alongside him. Too preoccupied to notice the back opening or the dark-clad pair clambering out. Too slow to react to Rosie’s warning bark as they approached him. Too weak to fight back when they grabbed him, dragged him to the open doors. A ziptie, tight around his wrists, ripped him from whatever fuzzy safety dissociation could’ve offered, forcing him to listen to Rosie’s furious barking, then a thump, and a pained yelp.
Doors slammed shut as he hit the floor, head bouncing painfully off the metal. Duct tape slapped over his mouth - not that it mattered, panic having already stolen his voice.
The last thing he heard, before the van pulled away, was the mournful baying of his frantic dog.
...........................................
He can’t remember passing out, but he must’ve done at some point, because he wakes up somewhere completely different. The ziptie is still a sharp presence, but the duct tape is gone. A small mercy, although his throat and mouth feel coated with dust, and no wonder; the room he’s in has seen better days, all peeling wallpaper and well-trodden carpet imbued with a distinctly damp smell. A house, then.
Beyond that, he has no idea where he is.
It’s quite possible that nobody else does either. After all, it’s not like he told anyone where he’d be going. His only hope would be if Rosie was smart enough and okay enough to find someone, or… Ghost. Ghost, who always keeps an eye on him, always makes sure he’s safe.
As a fresh wave of panic threatens to wash over him, Vasya clings to that thought with all the desperation of a drowning man. Even that specific voice in his head, the one that strives to protect him, keep him from getting his hopes up, can’t sway him. It cries and shrieks that of course nobody’s coming for him, he’s been abandoned like always, nobody will notice he’s gone, and this is what he gets for trusting people. Vasya ignores every word.
From outside come voices, real ones. His captors, assumedly. The words are difficult to process, exhausted and already slipping back under as he is, but he makes out “inside knowledge” and “easier than a soldier”. Answers, yes, but nothing that makes dealing with this any easier.
Maxim Basuda.
Kapkan.
Soldier.
Spetsnaz.
Hunter.
Protector.
He's all of these things. Some might say that "hunter" and "protector" are too far apart, that one cannot possibly be both. Mutually exclusive, for sure; one attacks, one defends. But they're wrong.
Kapkan is a hunter. He tracks, follows, corners. Learns the patterns, stalks his quarry, sets the trap, and waits. His successes outnumber his failures, but still they weigh on his mind. A busted snare. A lost trail. A life taken before its time.
He's a protector, too, of those who can't protect themselves. It's the whole reason he became a soldier; to protect, to defend, to be the reason someone's beloved family member makes it home. This isn't just limited to civilians on missions, oh no, he extends this to all he cares about. Stray animals on the street, given food and water, taken to a vet if the situation allows. Threatened habitats, causes donated-to, articles shared in the hopes that the attention will do something. His teammates… all so capable, protectors in their own rights; sometimes even they need helping.
There was a sort-of joke amongst the operators of Team Rainbow: befriend one of the Spetsnaz, and they'll die for you without hesitation. It contains, as all jokes do, a nugget of truth. The Spetsnaz are a protective bunch by nature, primarily of each other, but of chosen outsiders as well.
It becomes far too real during one mission. A hostage in need of defending, White Masks descending upon their small team from every direction, so many, too many, more than expected. His traps can't catch them all, not even when backed up by Frost's own mats. A hunter like him, with a different approach; after the gadget eval years ago, the sharing of skills and stories, he's come to call her a friend. The Canadian he can bear the most.
It's a close-call. An explosion rocks the room, Frost's gun skitters across the floor, she dives after it, instinctively. Kapkan watches as a White Mask makes an appearance, at that very moment, shotgun raised. He doesn't pause. He doesn't think. He only acts. Leaps out of cover, uses his body to shield her, tackles her into cover right after fingers close around her fallen gun, and a single finger closes around a trigger. Allies appear, the White Mask falls. Kapkan falls, too.
He awakes in the Medbay, lying on his front, thick waves of pain emanating from his back. Sees familiar faces swim into view. Doc, who undoubtedly kept him alive; Jager, exhausted-looking but relieved. Frost, alive and unharmed, exactly as he'd hoped.
Some try to call him a "hero" after that; Kapkan hates it. He's no hero, only a man. He'd do it again, he tells them, simply because it's what he's meant to do.What he's always been meant to do. Protect, no matter what.
There's a saying on base: "Befriend one of the Spetsnaz, and they'll die for you without hesitation." It's not a joke any more. They all know how true it really is.
3. Hanukkah (Ludwik/Aleks) [Aleks belongs to my m8 Z33N]
It's weird, not being home for Hanukkah.
Sure, Ludwik's missed it before, but he didn't have a choice for those times. This is by choice. He wants, more than anything in the world, to spend the first holiday season with a new place in the actual new place.
And that's something as well. As it's the holiday season, he expects that Aleks will want to decorate in some way. "It's okay", he says. "I don't mind if it's you. We can put a tree up and stuff."
To his surprise, Aleks says no, says he can go without Christmas decorations if having them will make Ludwik uncomfortable.
"This is your home, you shouldn't have to feel out of place in it."
The sentiment warms his heart to an indescribable degree, damn near brings tears to his eyes. He packs the feeling into a hug, and knows Aleks understands.
But something still feels wrong. This is a home for both of them, and Aleks shouldn't be left out either. So he makes a decision. Even with permission to disregard Christmas entirely, as he has done all his life, he chooses something different.
Not bad, even if I do say so myself, Ludwik thinks. Little twinkling lights are pretty, regardless of religion, and the miniature tree on the table isn't too much. It almost looks nice, sat alongside the dreidel and the blue and white ornaments. There's just one more thing.
His menorah, brought with him for years, and set-up wherever he stays when he can't get home. He gives it pride of place, on a windowsill overlooking the street; visible from outside, as it should be.
And when evening falls, and the first candle is lit, and he recites the two blessings (and the Shehechiyanu, since it's the first night), he pauses to look around. That's when it hits.
This is home. It has parts of him, and parts of Aleks, and belongs to both of them. They'll make memories here, for better or for worse. They'll return here after getting married (and isn't that a thought to send excited shivers through him). They'll grow and love and heal within these walls.
The realisation sends him to Aleks, tears in his eyes for real this time, as he lets himself be enveloped in a hug that feels like pure safety. I'm fine, he says, these are good tears. In this moment, he's so unbelievably happy.
He can't wait for more moments like this.
