#magellanicclouds

Giuseppe's POV of this bit:

So far he knew three things about John: He was very large, his eyes were alarmingly blue, and he was very quiet. All things Thomas had mentioned beforehand in some form or fashion. But Giuseppe was also expecting something more in line with other UNSC personnel he'd met through his wife, who usually came in two flavors: outrageously foul-mouthed bawdy people who loved a good, loud party and meticulously well-mannered creatures of habit. 'Starched', he called them.

The Warthog sputters and dies just a mile out from their own “home.” As far as breakdowns go, it’s easily one of the better ones Fred has been through, but he also knows that deep inside his bones, this one’s not his fault. He was driving normally this time. 

“It’s not my fault,” comes out of his mouth regardless though, an expression of determined defiance on his face as he turns to look at Veta Lopis. “I swear.”

She just raises her eyebrows. She’s not quite disbelieving... just amused. Her eyes sparkle with it. 

It’s distracting.

“I wasn’t going to say it was,” she says. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?”

☆ - for Natalia

When John was Natalia’s mentor, he got her an ice cream after a training session went well, it’s the only thing he’s ever bought out of his own money and the moment Natalia realised how much she meant to him. It’s a very small gesture to any outsider but to them it means the world :3

☾ - for Linda

Linda likes to make a nest out of her blanket to curl up in and she’ll sleep silently, like a contented cat.

★ - for Mark

(why a sad headcanon what’d he ever do to you lmao)

Imagine having a fandom legend pop into your asks to want to see your terrible writing 👀

————

“Sierra-117 to Infinity. Target is marked. Fire on my position.”

The bridge crew froze, and Commander Sarah Palmer blinked. No....

“Repeat your last, Chief?” Tom asked- pleaded more like.

“We can’t let the Flood escape. I say again: Fire on my position.”

The bridge was silent aside from the assault rifle fire and rage-filled howls of the Eternally Damned coming from the comm channel. Lasky rested both hands on the holotable in the center of the bridge and leaned on them slightly, knuckles going white and eyes squeezing closed.

“Captain?”

Sarah felt her heart rate pick up. She wanted to cry and tear apart the entire damn ship at the same time.

“Captain!” John’s voice came more urgently.

“Weapons Officer.....” Lasky began, looking up and opening his eyes, making eye contact with Sarah. The look in his eyes said it all. “..... fire.”

The deck shook, and two blinding golden flashes erupted from Infinity’s bow, 600 ton slugs rocketing into the atmosphere towards the Forerunner facility. Then came the energy projectors, and thousands upon thousands of missiles.

I’m sorry.

—————

Very much inspired by your art and writing! My brain fully derailed on the tone but I love the Gammas and I bet they will have issues adjusting to the SoF and letting their walls down while they lick their wounds. I did crack open D*vine Wind again and that was a mistake so apologies for the tone.

-

Being a Spartan, an alive one, meant having near perfect situational awareness. It was beaten into you at a young age. Like a lot of other things.

You and your siblings were the last of your unit. Your pack, your family after the one that borne you died in fire and plasma, were clinging to life by the skin of your teeth.

You looked out for each other. You learned from your elders. And you always knew where the exits were and who held the keys. You and your siblings watched the docs and nurses and orderlies. You watched your mom sleep heavily under the drugs keeping her from feeling the skull fracture. You watched the IIs with open curiosity - how could they be so similar and different from Blue Team. You all knew it was time, but seeing it in person was strange. They were rough around the edges, eerily similar to you and your siblings, not fully tempered like Blue Team. Not yet.

You heal fast. The doctors whisper. You try their synthesized smoothers, under observation, and feel the world slip into focus a little more with every adjusted dose. You feel their eyes on you. You hear their fascination muddled by fear and discomfort. They're not a green crew but they only had 3 Spartans before and now they have 6.

And you're not like other Spartans. Not even like the rest of your generation. Gammas were something else. IIIs aren't as polite as IIs, there wasn't time in the suicide trainings for manners or etiquette or scholarly discussions.

Your team has specialists in stealth and information so it's only a matter of time before you heard it all. Gross devaluation of human life, ethics violations, just kids with scarred tissue aged at least a decade. Ticking time bombs, drain on resources, maybe not in so many words but hearing what they didn't mean to say, reading between the lines, knowing who on staff would break first was important to keep them alive. None of them were in top fighting form.

But not for long.

Still when you are welcome and abhorred by the same doctors that had one of your own under observation you had to play it safe.

The fighting was never done. Playing for time and breathing room was standard operating procedure at this point. ONI had made them see enemies in allies and vice versa.