#Delta Force selection

[zentarablog]

Ten Fascinating Facts About the Delta Force: Inside the U.S. Army's Secret Unit

Crouched in the shadows, operating far beyond the glare of public scrutiny, lies a unit shrouded in secrecy and steeped in legend: the U.S. Army’s 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta (Airborne), more commonly known as Delta Force. Established in the late 1970s as America’s premier counter-terrorism force, Delta Force is a highly specialized and intensely secretive unit designed to…

[hellfiresky]

Where the city glows at night

Pairing: Clone Commando Sev (RC-1207) x F!Reader

Word count: 4040

Summary: You hadn’t done a one-night stand with someone off a dating app in a while, but you let Sev, a Republic Commando, ruin you anyway. Well, the city was glowing and loneliness was one hell of a drug.

Warning: Smut. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. One night stand. Long paragraphs. Slice of life and stream of consciousness. Also like my other fics, bits and pieces of existential crisis lol.

Taglist: @orangez3st - go to my pinned post if you want to be tagged in future posts/fics.

—————————

Just like any other city-planet, meeting people on Coruscant usually meant dating apps. Swiping through faces in the middle of a war felt ridiculous, but hey, so did everything else these days. And thanks to a disturbing combination of high clone population density and terrible algorithm, at least 70% of your feed was clone troopers.

You didn’t mind, though. They were all gorgeous. Most of them were polite. Some were funny. A few of them were very hot. And then there was the commando. You had no idea what made them different until you saw his profile, a classic clone trooper thirst trap: top half in black undersuit, bottom half armoured. The man looked broader than the average Coruscant Guard trooper you passed on the upper levels, and somehow looked even meaner with the helmet off.

You matched on a Taungsday. Talked for a few hours. And by Benduday night, you were meeting in person.

He didn’t pick 79’s, thank fuck for that. It was always a bit too loud and too military for you. And, it was too likely for you to run into an ex-fuckbuddy who worked at the GAR who’d ruin the mood.

Instead, he said Qibbu’s Hut in the Entertainment District. The hotel slash bar was shadier, sure. But it was still cheap, had a good selection of drinks, and some decent private booths. You got it. Clone credits didn’t go far, and hookup dates weren’t supposed to scream luxury. So there you were with a classic Kali Cooler in hand, elbow glued on the sticky table surface, watching the man across from you size up a Twi’lek server like he might know her personally.

He introduced himself earlier, Sev. Short for “Seven,” which you guessed was some sort of callsign or designation. You didn’t ask. You weren’t here for backstories. You sipped your drink and propped your chin on your palm to force eye contact. “So?”

Looking back from the server, he raised his eyebrows, and matched your energy. “So…” he echoed.

It wasn’t awkward. Just… that particular flavour of low-stakes first date where both of you already knew how this was going to end. Not that you didn’t like each other. You just didn’t have time for pretending it was something it wasn’t. It was Coruscant, after all. You had your life, job, rent, the whole big city routine. He had war.

“Tell me about yourself,” you chewed on the blue flimsi straw. It was such a default question - a staple for a one-night stand or a long-term partner. Small talk to make the room feel a little less like a transaction.

In front of you, the crimson-white armoured trooper hummed. “I’m a sniper. In an elite unit called the Delta Squad. There’s four of us. I have three pod brothers.”

He stretched his long legs and let out what seemed like the most relaxed sigh in his day. “That’s like actual siblings, in… randomly-ejected-individual terms.”

“Randomly-ejected what?”

He tilted his head. “You know. People who weren’t decanted from the same genetic batch. Civilians.”

You laughed. “You mean people who were born?”

“Right,” he nodded. “Those.”

“So you’ve done this…”

“Often,” Sev said, finishing the last of his drink in one swallow. “Gah, please tell me you’re not one of those people who think all clones are virgins.”

You nearly choked on your straw. “Shu-shaaah, no.”

It was an actual belief, surprisingly common among people who’d never stepped foot in 79’s, never swiped through a dating app on Coruscant, never seen what clones looked like off-duty. Some thought of them as sterile, clinical government-issued products. Property of the Republic. Others exoticised the hell out of them, like they were some collectible fuck-doll line instead of actual men. You knew the type. The people that went to 79’s for their “flavour of the month.”

“I actually hooked up with a Corrie once,” you offered.

“Aha. So I’m a checklist.”

You rolled your eyes. “No. I’m not-”

“I’m joking,” he interjected, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t give a fuck.”

And fuck, there they were again - those dimples, catching you off guard. You could already picture them disappearing somewhere below your waistline and in between your —

Nope. Absolutely not. Not now, at least. Brain, shut up.

But it was too late. The image was there now, imprinted on the foreground of your mind. Sev on his knees, those calloused hands gripping your thighs, that mouth working you up like a man starved. And you bet he’d be quiet while doing it. Judging from how you were doing most of the talking here at Qibbu’s, it tracked. Or, or worse, maybe he wouldn’t be quiet. Maybe he’d talk you through it in that low and gravelly voice, “Still responsive. Still with me. Good.”

Fuck. That didn’t make it any better. You crossed your legs tighter. Maker, you hated that turned you on so much.

“Hey.” He snapped his fingers in front of your face.

Shit. You did not just zone out

“I asked,” he chuckled, “your place or my quarters? The boys are out tonight. Or… I know Qibbu’s owner. I can probably talk my way into one of the cheaper rooms. There’s one on the third floor with—“

“My apartment,” you said quickly. “Mhm. Definitely.”

“Copy that.”

There was a moment of quiet filled in the tight space between you. Around you, the noise of the bar kept going - glasses clinking, bartenders yelling orders, electronic music blaring, someone laughing too loud from the circular booth behind you - but for that little moment, it all felt far away. You’d both just stepped into a pocket of stillness in the middle of a planet that never shuts up.

From his half-lidded gaze, you could tell he’d internally confirmed it too - that this wasn’t going to be more than one night. But for you, that didn’t mean it was meaningless. You were two people with too much noise in your lives, craving a quiet you could touch. You weren’t deluding yourself into thinking it’d be more. You weren’t even trying to make it tender. You simply craved the way city nights carve into you with its brutally cold lights, warm skin, and a stranger in your bed.

You’d probably never see him again. Or maybe you would. It didn’t matter, especially in times like these - where every day ran on borrowed hours. The same could be said for that lovely Jedi with the dreadlocks and a golden facial tattoo you’d spent the night with many moons ago, or the Coruscant Guard officer, or really anyone who wasn’t completely buried in the war machine. People were just trying to survive, and hold on to something that made them feel like themselves for five fucking minutes.

“So,” Sev asked as you slid off your barstool to grab your jacket, “you live alone?”

“Hm?” you stalled, reaching back to the table to finish the last watery sip of your drink. “Yeah,” you said finally. “Me and a pet.”

He tilted his head. “Tooka?”

“Nah,” you smirked. “Just the dog in me.”

There was a second of silence before he dropped his gaze. Sev’s lips gave way to a ghost of a smile.

“Terrible,” he shook his head. “That was terrible.”

“You laughed,” you bit back.

“I coughed. Drink was spicy.” He actually laughed this time.

You looped your arm through his as you stepped out of the bar, letting the warm buzz of your drink mix with the city air. “You’re a tough crowd.”

Everything around you was lit in a thousand colours, Coruscant never slept after all. His face, scarred around his left cheek, was briefly washed in hot pink and cyan as a massive advertisement pulsed across the building across the street. It would take a while to get to your place. A hovertrain ride, twenty minutes, twelve stops. Then another ten-minute walk through the neighbourhood. And you were prepared to fill that time with trying your best to avoid war-related conversations - until his arm slung around your shoulders and dragged you closer.

Okay. Hot was a bit of an understatement.

You could feel the shape of him. His grip was tight, and controlled. An idea about being pinned immediately brewed in your head.

“How long will this train take?” his breath was hot in your ear.

“Uh—around twelve stops.”

“Damn.”

And then he crowded you. Body flush to yours, one hand braced against the window of the hovertrain. You had no time to gasp before he leaned in and kissed you.

The kiss, like all hook up kisses, was sudden and messy - with a little too much teeth.

But fuck, you loved it nonetheless.

The train rocked as it accelerated, city lights flashing past the windows like falling stars. His mouth was on yours, hungry in a way that showed he hadn’t done this in a while. You were vaguely aware that the car was empty, Benduday night, past 23:30, contra flow. Not many people left the entertainment district this late unless they were working, or hunting, or fucking. But would you care if there were people in the car? You probably wouldn’t.

You kissed him back, hungrier. His hand stayed where it was, caging you in. The other gripped your head to keep himself - or maybe both of you - grounded. The train screeched on a turn, and you used it as an excuse to lean into him harder.

“You’re a menace,” you whispered when you pulled back for air.

“You want me to stop?”

“Mmm no. But maybe to wait?”

He kissed you again anyway.

Next thing you knew, your back hit the bed, Sev’s weight settling over you - heavy, warm, and solid like his armour. His hands moved over your body as if your body was a battlefield and he’d been trained to navigate every inch of it blindfolded.

You expected silence. Maybe a growl. Definitely something primal. Because that’s what they were, right? That’s what you heard. One of your girlfriends once bragged about hooking up with a commando and wouldn’t shut up about how rough and broody he was. The way she described it over drinks felt like you were being forced to listen to live commentary on a fucknasty holofilm - like The Senate Aide, that raunchy underground hit about the Zeltron assistant who became her boss’ submissive. You were both impressed and kind of wanted her to shut the hell up. Listening to your friends’ sex life in surround sound was never as fun as how Sex and the Ecumenopolis portrayed it on screen.

So no, you didn’t expect him to murmur, “I read a manual for this.”

You had no idea what to say to that. “I—sorry, what?”

He was hovering over you, eyes trained on your mouth, waiting for it to do something again. “There was this weird intimacy training manual back on Kamino. I skimmed it. Some of it stuck.”

“You skimmed—”

“Most of it was terrible,” he added quickly. “Outdated. Weirdly mechanical. But the anatomical diagrams were... useful. I didn’t know why I said it. I’ve done this many times before. Just popped up in my head,”

His kiss swallowed the laugh that was about to come out of your mouth. Then, the sniper started slowly kissing his way down. Past your jaw. Your neck. You felt the slight scrape of stubble and let your head fall back into the pillow. “Adjusting course,” he murmured.

His hands ghosted along your sides, pausing at the hem of your shirt and glanced up as if he might ask permission again, but instead he knitted his brows and said, “You know,” he swallowed, tone turned deadly serious, “Scorch once hooked up with a Zeltron during a mission on Zeltros. Said she made him go for at least five rounds.”

“…Okay?”

“He wasn’t functional the next day. Total systems failure. Just laid in the nest like a broken droid. Good thing it was a surveillance op.”

You stared, on your way to yet another breathless laughter. “Is this foreplay?”

“No. This is a warning.”

He leaned down and kissed your sternum.

“If I fall apart tomorrow, it’s your fault.”

You bit your lip. “So I’m the Zeltron in this situation?”

“You’re worse,” he muttered. “You flirted terribly and made me laugh.”

“Mm did I win something?” You teased, laughing. Which turned into a moan as his mouth moved lower, trailing down your stomach while his fingers hooked under the waistband of your trousers. He kissed just above your hip, breath warm against your skin, a set of brown eyes psychologically undressing you through those lashes.

“I have a week-old protein bar somewhere in my armour over there,” he jerked his thumb toward the pile of gear dumped near your bedroom door.

“…What?”

“I’d offer it as a prize. It’s chocolate flavoured.”

“Sev.”

“What?” Teeth grazing your hip. “You said you wanted something memorable.”

You threw your head back against the pillow and laughed. Truly, helplessly laughed until the sound melted into a gasp because he started peeling your trousers inch by inch, kissing every new patch of skin. And when he finally settled between your thighs, he looked up to you again and added, “Besides. I’d rather eat you.”

And just like that - goodbye, sanity.

You barely registered the sound of your trousers hitting the floor. Too focused on the warmth of his mouth around your core. He kissed the inside of your thigh, and mapped you with the same care he probably gave to his well-maintained Deecee. And the first deliberate stroke across your cunt had you arching up with a broken gasp.

“There it is,” he quietly murmured - more to himself than to you. “Responsive.”

Wrapping his hands under your thighs, Sev steadied your reactive body. With each pass of his tongue, you felt your grip on the moment slip further. He moved like he had no war to go back to. No brothers waiting. Just this bed. This night. You.

For a moment, you let yourself believe that maybe in a kinder galaxy, this wasn’t a one-night thing. Maybe in that parallel universe, he’d come home to you. But Coruscant did not leave room for fantasies. There were only flunking wartime economy, tired mornings, and lovers who didn’t text back. So, of course, you quickly sweeped the fantasy out of your headspace.

Down there, you could feel your fingers involuntarily tightened around a fistful of his overgrown curls as he sucked on your clit, and the moan that left your throat felt ripped from somewhere deeper than lust. A quieter, lonelier place.

“Good?” Sev took his time to ask.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “So fucking good.”

The clone commando nodded, dipping his head back down without another word. Leaving the room with nothing but the sweet sound of your moans and the distant buzz of the ecumenopolis outside the window. Oh, and the wet sound of his mouth, generously devoted to you.

As if it wasn’t good enough, his thick digits joined in. One. And then two. Careful, steady, slow. Slipping in deep and curling just right, just fucking right, and you weren’t prepared for how much it would undo you.

“Fuck,” you whimpered - not realising how wrecked you already sounded. “Sev—”

“Still good?” he asked again, you swore you could hear him grinning against your pussy.

“Don’t you dare stop.”

A smug little chuckle burst out of him before he returned to what he was doing. He continued working you up faster, gradually building the eventual explosion inside you. You could feel it coming in your belly, and then slowly rolled out in waves, swelling and sweet and all-consuming. Your back arched, your mouth opened - though no sound came out of it. Nothing but a silent gasp where your brain short-circuited under his touch.

And then, maker help you, you laughed and moaned at the same time. Not because it was funny. But because it felt that good. That someone had touched you like that, and it was him, of all people. A late night - almost drunken decision - you swiped just a few days ago. It must’ve been a while since you let yourself go like this.

The stress. The suffocating anxiety. The grind of surviving on a city-planet that never slept, in the middle of a galaxy-wide war that was slowly eating people alive - you hadn’t even realised how tightly you’d been holding on until he unraveled you.

Sev pulled back to look at you. His beautiful face, the one he shared with millions of other men but somehow still uniquely his - flushed and glistening with your cum, resting between your thighs. “You laughed,”

“That was. Fuck. That was not funny,” you breathed, trying to adjust your vision back into focus.

“You did laugh.”

“I didn’t know I could come that hard,” you flustered. “Shut up.”

He rested his chin on your thigh, expression unreadable except for the tiniest pull at the corner of his mouth. Those fucking dimples again.

“SITREP,” he said. “Subject responsive. Outcome: extremely effective. Reaction: uncontrolled laughter. Will continue for further analysis.”

You groaned and chucked a pillow at his face. Sev caught it one-handed, and threw it back behind him. Something clattered on the floor - probably one of those cheap plastic decor you’d impulsively bought just to feel something. You’d never even bothered to untag them.

Oh-Seven climbed back up and kissed you hard. As if he hadn’t just had his mouth on your cunt. As if the past ten minutes hadn’t ended with your orgasm hitting so hard you laughed.

You could feel how hard he was through his blacks, how tightly he held himself together, savouring the moment before he lost control.

“You still with me?” He rasped.

“Fuck yes.”

“Good. I need you to actually stay with me this time.”

And that was the moment everything changed. His earlier playfulness, that chaotic warmth, folded and replaced by a rough intensity. He stripped the rest of his blacks off, and stars, you barely had time to process before his cock sprang free, thick and flushed and fuck. Yeah. That tracked.

This man was solid muscle, scarred and freckled, in a way that was not delicate. Sev was designed to be a weapon for maximum damage. And right now, all that force was for you.

You reached for him, but he caught your wrist and pinned it above your head. “Let me,” he commanded.

Sev stretched you open in one slow thrust - deep enough to knock the air out of your lungs. You tried to hold yourself back, planted yourself in your bed, and he held you there to adjust, forehead pressed against yours. Not moving, not speaking, just feeling it with you.

“Shit. Sev!”

“I know,” he whispered.

Only after you nodded did he begin to move. He started slowly, taking his time to feel your warmth, before it gradually turned deeper and relentless. Every thrust of his hips dragged a moan from you. Every grind sent heat down your spine. He was watching you the whole time, not looking away for one bit.

You tried to close your eyes or even look away from his intense gaze, but he cupped your face.

“Eyes on me.”

You managed to refocus your sight.

“Good. Stay with me. I want to see you.”

And fuck, he did. Sev saw everything. From the way your body shuddered underneath him, the way your walls clenched around him with every deep, brutal thrust. The way your mouth parted before you begged - faster, harder, don’t stop. The way your sweet moans unraveled into messy whimpers and feral cries the deeper he fucked you.

Sev didn’t look away. Not once. Not even when your legs coiled around his waist and your nails marked a long line down his back.

He leaned down and devoured your mouth through it all - swallowing your cries, your shaky breath, your everything - like he needed it to stay sane.

Because he did. Because this was his, too.

He didn’t just want to make you come or make himself come. He wanted to fuck you so hard the shared loneliness between you didn’t stand a chance.

And gods, you could feel it in the way his thrusts started to falter into an uncontrollable rhythm. He was right at the edge, and so were you. You felt your entire body tightening, shaking, bracing for the fall. To unravel together.

You knew this would be the kind of orgasm you’d come back to later. Maybe in the shower. In the dark. Whenever the city got too loud or the silence got too suffocating. You were filing it away, storing the memory in that little corner in your mind where it could stay warm.

Sev buried his face in your neck and groaned your name repeatedly like a prayer. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, holding him through it, legs trembling as his heartbeat pounded against yours - and you both came hard. A quiet, yet planet-shattering orgasm.

Before you knew it, Sev dropped his full weight on top of you as if you were the only safe place left in that wide galaxy. Neither of you said anything. You let the silence grow, filled only by the distant wail of a CSF siren a few blocks away. The loud tooka next door started meowing again. Somewhere down below, the 24/5 noodle bar buzzed with life - the sound of metal chairs scraping, speeder doors slamming, someone yelling over delivery mix-ups. The usual noise of Coruscant after midnight.

The city glowed outside your window, bathing your tangled naked bodies in the faintest cerulean light. Letting the moment suspend, you shut your eyes.

“You took it well,” Sev said eventually as he settled beside you. He reached over to brush back your sweaty hair and tucked it behind your ear. “You deserve that week-old chocolate protein bar.”

“Ew.” You giggled, still feeling the warm leak of him between your thighs. “We even forgot to use protection.”

“Shiiiiiit,” he burried his face into your hair for a second before kissing your forehead. “I got tested recently though. Clean. And I requested… you know. The GAR clearance.”

You raised an eyebrow. “The clearance?”

He nodded. “Yeah. No risk of anything… sticking.”

“I’ve got an implant too. Don’t worry.” You laughed.

“Hmm.” Sev hummed, hand gently tracing down your back like he was still trying to memorise the shape of you.

“I’ll get you water.”

————————

The last thing you remembered from that night was both of you eating cup noodles. You, only in your knickers, wrapped in a blanket. Him, still shirtless, stabbing through the seasoning packet and aggressively sprinkled the content into the cup.

He told you about that time he ran a mission on a ghost ship and almost died. Told you about Scorch, the clown of the squad. About Boss, their sergeant, apparently the one who cussed the most. And Fixer, the quiet one, the slicer, the nerd, the one who called Sev “unhinged” every five seconds.

Somewhere along the way, your vision went dark. You remembered mentally telling yourself that he’d be gone by morning. And it was fine. It was always supposed to be that way. That’s how this city worked. One night. One warmth. One lover gone before the sun.

But then you woke up to a death grip around your waist and a snore. Turning your body slowly, you squinted against the harsh Coruscant sunlight peeking through your blinds.

Sev was still there.

He was still wrapped around you. Barely moving. You thought about waking him. About doing the usual morning-after ritual - a kiss. A joke. A breakfast offer. A “call me later” even when you both knew it probably wouldn’t happen. A clean-up. A goodbye.

But you didn’t. You smiled to yourself instead, and snuggled deeper into his chest. Just for a little while longer.

[blah993]

BvZ Rant/Theory

Warning: To my knowledge this is NOT cannon.

But there is something to be said about how suspicious L.A.I seems(London Academy from the fourth episode flashbacks/static moment.)

Anyone else pick up odd vibes from them?

The letter that information came from seemed to indicate that due to a parental result that their child needed to be evaluated. (With probably more than the psych exam we were shown)

Perhaps looking for something hereditary and if so then for what exactly?

Potentially a privately funded experiment that may use a feature in a valid subject genetics to maybe trigger compliance and force obedience. Using a high profile boarding school as a cover and base for tests on children.(Adults with no children who graduate from the program could potentially become caretakers for future cycles.)

That seems to have a familiar sense to Sub Delta. When subjects were chosen with a specific trait in mind. (Also perhaps the Mafia but we don't have much on them.)

Since almost all records were destroyed with Earth, it would be curious if some recovered notes from The Academy projects were able to survive. Possible to inspire another slew of testing to help fill out research on partial notes and records.

It could be possible to have L.A.I inspire one or even multiple projects of inhumane nature to help "train" candidates.

Now if we infer that Karmor and or Crow was a part of that original project. The case could be made that they could've been a before to what would become other projects like Sub Delta.

Another small note and possibly would be due to only having a limited pool of subjects like the triad ,only using bastards, would stunt progress and give minimal successful cases. However, the Mafia having more selections of people would contribute to advance their methods beyond prior information.

I could be wrong but that's just my thoughts on it.

[the-stars-are-warring]

DELTA SQUAD WEEK Day 3

Tags: @deltasquadweek

No themes hit today but I did get another ficlet done so :)

"Delta Three-Eight." Three-Eight steps onto the mat facing Vau. He hears the way Sev sucks on his teeth and the sympathetic noise Four-Oh makes.

His ribs ache and his shoulder is still stiff from a bad fall yesterday, but no aches or pains are going to matter when the war arrives and none of it matters now.

Vau stands perfectly poised across the mat, the strill has its head on its paws behind him, eyes half lidded and watching.

"Begin" Vau snaps and he lunges forward.

Three-Eight jabs at Vau's chin and over-plays, he jerks his face to the side, barely deflecting Vau's elbow enough to avoid a black eye to add to the list of aches.

There's no conscious thought, no time to plan - just muscle memory and instinct, movements practiced over and over and-

Three-Eight twists out of reach when Vau nearly gets a hold of him and when Vau follows him - he twitches aside at the last second and traps the sergeant's arm against his rib cage.

Its a simple move, every fighting style in the galaxy has some version of it. Three-Eight grabs Vau's forearm and twists to lock it in place, snapping his other fist into the strained joint of Vau's elbow and feels the bone give against the heel of his palm.

There's an involuntary gasp that changes to a hiss of pain from Vau and Three-Eight feels a bolt of vicious satisfaction as he lets the instinct carry him through as he grabs the back of Vau's neck and pulls.

He pivots, trips the older man as he stagger steps forward. Six months ago he wouldn't have had the bulk to force Walon Vau to the mat but he does now. He lands his knee between the Mandalorian's shoulder-blades.

The breath comes out of Vau in a rush and Three-Eight braces, the other man's broken arm still held against his ribs.

He broke Walon Vau's arm.

There's no time for the terrified glance he wants to throw to his brothers. Vau is not a man to be held and Three-Eight knows from experience that any lapse in attention will mean a new scar or worse.

Mird has perked up and is watching them intently, drool forming cords down to where it's head was resting on its paws. Three Eight keeps an eye on the animal in his peripheral.

It wouldn't be the first time the strill had set on a clone. But Vau doesn't usually have it interfere in hand-to-hand training. Vau's ribcage shudders and Three-Eight zeros back in on the other man.

"Gev." Vau says - still a hair breathless and Three-Eight drops the other man's arm and staggers back to attention.

He can feel his brother's eyes on the back of his neck and holds perfectly rigid. He's nearly 8. Almost tall enough to look their sergeant in the eye.

Vau picks himself up, holding the broken arm to his chest. There's a tightness around his eyes but otherwise it's hard to tell the man is in pain at all.

Vau stares at him for a moment. Three-Eight forces himself to hold eye contact. "That's enough Delta." Vau says. Somehow his crisp enunciated way of speaking is still there. "Pack it in."

"Yes Sir." Delta choruses and '38 finally allows himself to look over at his squad mates. Sev's eyes dart from him to Vau in what Three-Eight knows is a desperate attempt to predict the man's next move. Four-Oh nods slightly relief echoing the same that Three-Eight is feeling.

Six-two tilts his chin up slightly. 'Boss' he mouths and Three-Eight snaps his eyes back to Vau. They don't have a squad sergeant yet and he doesn't want to accept a name like Boss if Vau selects Four-Oh instead. Or if the Kaminii decide that their squad cohesion isn't good enough and split Delta up.

Six-Two won't stop calling him that though, Sev even slips into it now and then.

Vau is already walking away which means the four of them are to head to their bunks get cleaned up and make it to the mess in time for late meal.

Six-two rattles his shoulder off Three-Eight's as they pull on the training armour they've been basically living in for the last year.

"Nice move Boss."

"We all learned it." Three-Eight hedges. He broke Walon Vau's arm.

"Think Vau will be mad?" Sev asks and Six-Two hesitates.

"Didn't seem mad." Four-Oh says and Three-Eight presses his lips together.

"He never seems mad." Six-Two says what they're all thinking in an undertone. "But he didn't seem… disappointed."

-

"Delta Three Eight." Walon Vau is back in front of Delta and Four other Squads, arms held behind his back. The bone-menders must have worked fast on him.

Three Eight steps forward, helmet under his am, staring straight ahead. "Yes Sir."

"You have been selected as Sergeant of Delta Squad. Your decisions will be a determining factor of whether your squad succeeds or fails. Don't let them down. Don't disappoint me."

"Sir Yes Sir." Three Eight salutes with his free hand but he can tell Vau is already looking elsewhere.

"Delta - Form up on your sergeant. the rest of you, make ready - we're doing combat simulations - debrief in two minutes."

Thirty-Eight releases the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and pulls his helmet on.

"Finally." Six-Two is saying over their squad com. "This time we'll beat Kappa Squad for sure, they've been holding Nine-Four being sergeant over everyone for a week."

"Nine-Four's the only one of them with any kind of tactical ability." Four Oh says "I'd say it wasn't much of a pick there."

His helmet tilts towards Three-Eight.

"Ready for briefing?"

"Yeah give the order Boss Man." Six-Two prompts and Three-Eight rolls his eyes.

"Delta Squad Form Up."

[eva-stator]

I think I can try to answer anons questions about the characterizations. Apologies in advance because this is LOOOOOONG.

First things first, to be in the SAS means more than just being a soldier. The British SAS are the literal top of the top, cream of the crop of their special forces. They are compared a lot with DEVGRU (seals) and Delta Force. Less than 1% of armed forces members can pass selection and complete their training. They are all, in their own ways, very hardened individuals. They’re all extremely intelligent in several skills, and equally competent. (This isn’t to stroke off the special forces. They are not superhuman and are never immune to dying from their own mistakes or pure bad luck. It’s extremely dangerous to be in counter terrorism or do raids like they do, and a not insignificant amount die of dumb mistakes or unavoidable circumstances. But they’re not to be fucked with either)

Soap is sniper, demolitions expert. These require math skills and chemical knowledge. He’s intelligent, stoic sometimes but more spirited. He wants to help. He gets angry when bad things happen, and he seems to really care about civilians. He’s got a strong sense of right and wrong, and voices his opinions always. He pushes buttons and boundaries, but he’s no braggart. Equally, he is intense. His humour is actually kinda dry and teasing, banter style humour. He’s not actually very silly.

Ghost is more ambiguous. He’s more rugged and detached. More introverted. He only starts joking with soap in alone, more than halfway through the game, so his trust is gained through time and effort. His humour is dry, sometimes dad jokes and sometimes fucked up jokes. Overall, he’s emotionally detached and goal oriented. He’s got a bit of the sillies though, just a taste.

Gaz is an extremely important main character. He was vital in all games, including the first mw reboot game in 2019, his character was made before soap and ghosts were. (Which is why his deliberate exclusion is a goddamn travesty). He’s spirited and strong, his skills of resistance to interrogation, escape and evasion, as well as VIP protection means he’s an intelligent independent mind. While injustices anger him, he’s got a level head and can cede to reason and keep that anger supressed, as well as be an important voice of reason. He can also be sympathetic and guiding, as seen in the mission where he guides a civilian through an extremely dangerous situation to safety.

Captain price is a staple character for the series. He’s confident but also slightly unhinged. He’s experienced, maybe a bit detached, he doesn’t give a god damn about consequences unless he gets what he wants or completes his goal. He will throw every law out the window. He will abandon basic morals and principles. He’s extremely dangerous and not to be fucked with or questioned. Hes called John “war crimes” price by the fandom for a reason. He has his more gentle side, but it’s rare and he will only show it to people he seems worthy of it, like Farah Karim or Kate laswell. He saves people but he does it roughly, he never seems to handle civilians with kid gloves, and he’s kinda rough and detached from them. He’ll save your life, but he’ll probably break your arm in the process and definitely won’t apologize for it. It’s important to note he knows what he does is fucked up. He knows people don’t like it. He gives people a way out, lets them choose if they really want to fully jump in the mud with him. He also smokes cigars with car windows rolled up. Absolutely evil action. He’s also my favourite and I love him in a way that you love a grizzly bear.

Obligatory Kate mention. Kate is a cia agent who is basically the leash that keeps John from acting out too hard. She reins them in, keeps them informed. She’s level headed and a quick thinker. She knows how the game of war is played, when and how to play by and within the rules and keeps everyone from breaking them in ways that could spiral out of control. She also knows when to let them do shady shit, and how to get them out of the messes they get themselves into. She is a very strong character, mainly in mind but also in body, and will get her hands dirty if she has to.

TLDR these are deceptively complicated characters, as in, it’s easy to mistake them as pretty surface level. They’re also easy to mistake with their fanon characterizations, which while fun, are often headcanons that the fandom has taken and run with. They’re also, not always very accurate depictions of the characters. If you wanna write them right, you gotta watch and listen to their mission dialogue.

These are generally simplified introductions based on what I observed playing the games.

Tip and trick, if you’re writing a dialogue line, imagine the characters voice saying it out loud. Say it out loud yourself. If you can fully hear the character saying the line, it’s probably a great line. If you can’t picture them saying it, tweak it until you can. This helps me a lot.

Thank you :)

Also love the kate mention

[irrealisms]

diptych || a c!crimeboys web weave

[sources and IDs under cut]

The first collage is a collection of 14 images.

Image 1: A human hands a raccoon a gun. It is the same image CC!Wilbur sent CC!Tommy with the caption "Me passing the dirty crime boy title to you."

Image 2: Question 4 of 15 Do you love your brother? Answers, please choose 1

Image 3: WILBUR: This isn't just a silly river delta to me anymore, it's got a name, it's got a story, it's— it's L’Manberg, and it's … to me it's, it's you.

Image 4: A painting of Cain and Abel. Cain holds a club in one hand and Abel's wrist in the other as they walk forward. While it is in the background and mostly covered by the other images, their faces and hands are visible.

Image 5: Question 5 of 15 Liar. You feel guilty, don't you? Answers, please choose 1

Image 6: A screenshot from The Fall by SAD-ist. Wilbur has his hand on Tommy's shoulder and is leaning forward to speak to him. Tommy looks anxious.

Image 7: "Am I my brother's keeper?"

Image 8: A piece of paper pinned to the wall, reading "Someone is looking up to you. Don't let that person down." In the context of the collage, it is pinned onto Wilbur's sleeve/upper arm from the SAD-ist screenshot.

Image 9: Question 6 of 15 But you're the one that left him. Answers, please choose 1 [check mark next to the selected answer] I wanted to and I wanted it to hurt him so he could let go of me.

Image 10: WILBUR: I’m glad, Tommy! You know what, I’m glad! Because me and you were never good for that server. We just weren’t!

Image 11: When I close my eyes I'm climbing in the dark Trying not to fall apart Sometimes I get so high Falling is the only out I see And I don't wanna take you down with me

Image 12: a softer world comic. the text reads "At my worst, I worry you'll realize/you deserve better./At my best, I worry you won't."

Image 13: Question 7 of 15 Do you think your brother loves you? Answers, please choose 1

Image 14: WILBUR: Tommy, come over here, please, I— Tommy, I was scared I wouldn’t see you again if you didn’t forgive me. And I didn’t want to not see you again.

The second image is a collage of 11 images.

Image 1: WILBUR: You love it, don’t you, Tommy? You love… L’Manberg…

Image 2: a softer sea comic. the text reads "You're my brother and I love you./That's it./No punchline."

Image 3: A painting of two men standing next to each other. they look similar. the one on the right puts his hand flat above both of their heads, sheltering them; the one on the left has his hand up to touch the hand of the one on the right. the painting is titled My Brother's Keeper.

Image 4: I will stand in the dark for you I will hold you back by force I will stand here right outside your door I won’t see you disgraced I will protect your name and your heart Because I miss my friend

Image 5: A screenshot from Final Waltz by SAD-ist. Wilbur has his hand on Tommy's shoulder. Tommy looks up at him.

Image 6: In essence, the entire Bible is written as an affirmative response to this question.

Image 7: TOMMY: I believe that everyone’s got a little bit of good in them. And I know that Wilbur had good in him. Alright?

Image 8: This is no garden. This is my brother and I need a shovel to love him.

Image 9: A collage of an open book with forests, butterflies, etc. the text reads: i care for you still and i will forever.

Image 10: A painting of two young boys wading in the ocean and holding hands. The smaller one has spiderman swim trunks.

Image 11: TOMMY: It’s not about chances, Foolish. It’s about making sure you don’t give up on the people you care about.

[racequeenparadise]

2024 Race Queen Retirements - Nana Nanase

Nana made her debut as a race queen in 2021 as part of the Tracy Queens for Tracy Sports with Delta team in the Super Taikyu motorsport class. She then moved to the Super GT as part of Pacific Fairies for 2022, staying until the end of the 2023 season. In the same year she was selected as the Grand Prix winner in the Newcomer category at the Japan Race Queen Awards.

Nana also became a Round Girl as part of the martial arts event RISE as part of the R-1SE Force Round Girls in 2023 and remained with them until 2024. In her final year as a race queen, Nana joined the ZENTsweeties in the Super GT and also played the role of Mari Illustrious Makinami race queen for Evangelion Racing which competes in Super Taikyu and Formula Drift Japan.

Race Queen Appearances

• Tracy Queens, Tracy Sports with Delta, Super Taikyu, 2021, • Nitro Racing 41, MFJ All Japan Road Race, 2021 • Pacific Fairies, Pacific Carguy Racing, Super GT, 2012 to 2023 • R-1SE Force Round Girls, RISE, 2023 to 2024 • ZENTsweeties, TGR Team KeePer Cerumo, Super GT, 2024 • Evangelion Racing Race Queen, Goodride Motorsports & Evangelion Racing, Formula Drift Japan, 2024 • Evangelion Racing Race Queen, Audi Team Show Apex, Super Taikyu, 2024

Image Girl and Event Appearances

• Tokyo Auto Salon, Car Workshop Booth, 2022 • Tokyo Game Show, Nihon Kogakuin Booth, 2022 • Japan Poker Festival, Poker Queen, 2022 • Tokyo Auto Salon, Shibatire Booth, 2024

[zentarablog]

Ten Fascinating Facts About the KSK: Germany's Highly Trained Special Forces

Germany’s Kommando Spezialkräfte (KSK), or Special Forces Command, represents the elite tip of the spear for the Bundeswehr (German Armed Forces). Formed in the mid-1990s, the KSK was established to conduct highly specialized and dangerous missions, often behind enemy lines, ranging from counter-terrorism and hostage rescue to special reconnaissance and unconventional warfare. Unlike conventional…

[whencyclopedia]

Zheng Yi

Zheng Yi (also Cheng I, Ching Yih, Cheng Yao-I, Cheng Wen-Hsien, or Cheng Yud) was a Chinese pirate who lived from 1765 to 1807. Operating in the South China Sea, Zheng Yi famously led a 600-ship pirate confederation. This force of more than 40,000 men was divided into six fleets and it terrorized merchant ships of all nationalities travelling between Hong Kong and Malaysia.

Zheng Yi's personal fleet was the Red Flag Fleet, so-called because each ship flew a flag of that colour to distinguish it from other ships in the pirate confederation that flew flags of another colour. Looting cargoes of gold, silver, silk and spices, Zheng Yi's pirates also attacked coastal towns and villages and demanded protection money. Following Zheng Yi's death in 1807, the pirate confederation was successfully taken over by his widow, Zheng Yi Sao (aka Ching Shih).

Early Career

Zheng Yi came from a long line of pirates and so he fully appreciated the risks and opportunities of taking merchant ships on the High Seas from a young age. He seems also to have participated in wars involving rebels in Vietnam. In some European documents, he is described as a hunchback.

Returning to China in 1801, Zheng Yi selected Kwangtung Province as his base. He operated in the South China Sea from Vietnam to Hong Kong, taking advantage of the busy shipping routes from China to Vietnam and back again, as well as ships on the China-to-Malaysia trade routes. By 1802, Zheng Yi had established himself as the pirate chief in this area, a position formerly held by his cousin (or uncle) Cheng Chi (1760-1802). Targets ranged from small local fishing vessels to intercontinental merchant ships. The latter class of ships carried gold and silver as well as valuable cargoes like rolls of silk, spices, Chinese porcelain, cotton, and tea. The pirates made such frequent attacks on ships in the Canton area (modern Guangzhou) and around the small islands that dotted the Canton River Delta that European sailors called the area and the people who haunted it the Ladrones (meaning thieves or brigands). When the pirates could not find sufficient provisions on the ships they captured, they attacked and looted coastal villages.

The captured cargoes were sold on to merchants eager to get their hands on discounted goods while corrupt officials were given bribes to turn a blind eye to the illicit trade. Zheng Yi had no qualms about taking European vessels that were not too heavily armed. Their cargoes were just as valuable, and there was the added bonus of being able to ransom the crews. Although Chinese seamen were frequently tortured when captured to reveal where their valuables were hidden, or simply on a sadistic whim, there are no records of Europeans being treated in this way by Chinese pirates.

One European mariner, John Turner, was captured by Zheng Yi's pirates in 1806. Turner was the chief mate on the Tay, and he was held captive in terrible conditions for five months until a ransom was paid. He describes in one passage how a captured officer of the Chinese imperial navy had his feet nailed to the deck before he was beaten with a rattan cane, taken ashore, and dismembered. Not for nothing did Turner title his memoirs as the Sufferings of John Turner, Chief Mate of the Country Ship Tay Bound for China and Captivity Among the Ladrones, published in 1809. In another passage, Turner describes another brutal killing:

A man was here put to death with circumstances of peculiar horror. Being fixed upright, his bowels were cut open, and his heart was cut out, which they afterwards soaked in spirits and ate. Mr Turner did not witness this bloody execution, but he was shown the mangled body. He also understood that this shocking treatment is frequently experienced by those, who, after offending the Ladrones, should ever be so unfortunate as to be in their power afterwards.

(Turner, 19)

Continue reading...

[sweet-hearts-and-destiny-knots]

What was the big ‘Oh I’m in love with this person’ moment? For both sides of the equation.

Since there are so many pairings within Sisterhood, I'll simply select three in particular for this response:

🤎Conflictingshipping🤎

It's rather difficult to pinpoint exactly when the realization occurred, but Leaf has loved Green for a very long time - ever since they were children dreaming of travel.

He was a different boy back then, or rather he was far less obnoxious. Dare I say perhaps sweet? He gave Leaf all his time, attention, and an assortment of promises he intended to keep.

Green vowed that, once the two of them received their first partner Pokémon, they would journey across Kanto together, and someday the world, as husband and wife.

Unfortunately, his ego grew to a detrimental degree sometime after reaching his teens, and Green doesn't realize he loves Leaf until he's lost her. It requires a great deal of apology and pleading to convince Leaf to leave Mt. Silver.

Once she's returned to his life, Green makes every effort to amend for his previous behavior and broken promises. When a mysterious map falls into their possession, perhaps this will be the adventure the two can finally embark on together as partners.

🤎HoennChampionshipping🤎

Steven develops feelings for Haruka and recognizes them relatively swiftly. He's far too polite to ever complain outwardly on the matter, but he's become accustomed to women fawning over him because of his wealth, status, and attractive appearance.

However, Haruka is different. When in her company, he isn't heir to the Devon Corporation, the Hoenn League Champion, and the region's most eligible bachelor. He's simply Steven, the young man with an interest in collecting stones.

It takes Haruka a while longer to fall for this stunning male specimen. Their relationship is rather platonic from her point of view, as she manages to frequently misinterpret his various attempts at making his affections known. Steven suddenly traveling to another region without giving her the opportunity to say goodbye following the Delta Episode does not do him any favors.

He also refrains from calling her during this time since he fears her reaction to his letter, earning appalled ones from Wallace and Lisia. With their assistance, he learns how best to reconcile with Haruka. And it takes a little more than a Poké Doll or a few.

Steven offers to go on an adventure with her, to investigate the undersea ruins past Pacifidlog Town. When he proves to her this isn't simply a gesture to pacify her frustration but an activity he's enjoying alongside her, Haruka finally begins to see what's so special about Hoenn's silver-haired dreamboat, Steven Stone.

🤎Wieldershipping🤎

From the first meeting, Volo knows he loves Akari. Anyone who would wish to remove all suffering from the world must be at least somewhat of a romantic. But his justification for these abrupt feelings is possibly surprisingly poignant: If Akari is hated for no discernible reason, why can he not love?

However, her first impression does leave a strong impact. From the way her head remains held high in defiance even when surrounded by the whispers of the villagers to her pleasantly plump figure, she captures Volo's intrigue and his heart. Then as the two of them speak, that sharp gaze of hers softens ever so slightly.

Akari also acquires his Togepi's attention. She hides her face against his chest when in the presence of others, but Akari's aura coaxes the Spike Ball Pokémon to turn around in her Wielder's arms. Were Volo not already awed, he certainly would be following this feat.

It takes Akari considerably longer to return his affections. Nearly no one, and not excluding Volo himself, believes she could do so after what occurs on Mount Coronet's summit. But Volo experiences an epiphany: Akari is the greatest force of good he's ever encountered, and by dedicating his life to her happiness, he can aid in the creation of a better, kinder world.

Volo's sentiments towards Arceus have shifted to indifference and his devotion to her runs deeper. With persistence, Volo leaves little room for doubt in Akari's mind the tender moments they shared prior to his betrayal weren't mere fabrications.

She's eventually forced to acknowledge that, due to them originating from different time periods, Akari may have been in denial of her own feelings of fondness all along.

[thetreehousechronicles]

Operation F.A.L.L.E.N - Characters Bio

KND OPERATIVE DOSSIER – CLASSIFIED

Name: Nigel Uno

Alias: Numbuh 1 (formerly), The Watcher, Iron Clad Specter

Status: Active – High Authority

Affiliation: Iron Clad (Central Command), Former Galactic KND Operative

Last Known Location: Citadel Sector-01 (The Core Spire)

Allies: Iron Clad Elite, Citadel Overseers, select enforcer squads, Rachel McKenzie, Fanny Fullbright, Patton Drilovsky

Enemies: The Broken Tooth Rebellion, Hellhound (unconfirmed), independent raider cells, ex-KND operatives

Known Triggers: Mentions of Wallabee Beetles, failed ops labeled "Delta Fall", Rebel Tooth propaganda, unauthorized access to Archive 42

INTEL UPDATES

[RESTRICTED ACCESS – LEVEL OMEGA CLEARANCE ONLY]

Nigel Uno once symbolized leadership, justice, and childhood rebellion. After The Collapse, he returned from the Galactic KND only to find the Earth sector in ruins—its ideals buried under betrayal, survivalism, and silence. He did not rejoin the Kids Next Door. He took it over. Now operating as a top enforcer and tactician within Iron Clad, Uno has become a symbol of order and preservation—at a price. The group he now leads is no longer a grassroots resistance but a bureaucratic machine that filters protection through loyalty and rank.

Rumors swirl that Nigel knew the location of Wallabee “Wally” Beetles during his capture. This information was classified at the highest level. Only a handful know the truth—and it haunts him. He avoids discussions about former KND Operative Wally. When forced to confront it, his composure cracks. Field operatives report him becoming increasingly volatile, detached, and prone to extended absences inside the Core Spire’s sealed archives.

OPERATIVE SUMMARY

After the Collapse, Uno is not the same commander who once inspired legions of operatives during the Golden Era. He speaks less. Smiles even less. Some say he is merely a shadow running a machine he no longer believes in—a ghost wearing the skin of a legend. To most Iron Clad agents, he remains an icon: the last surviving link to the Galactic KND, a master tactician, a hero of Earth. But to others—especially among the ranks of the Broken Tooth Rebellion—he’s a coward, a hypocrite, or worse: a traitor who abandoned his own.

His orders are law. His presence was unyielding. And his eyes… they carry the weight of something unforgivable. And yet… on certain nights, deep within Iron Clad territory, faint signals whisper out from his private channel—coded, encrypted, unacknowledged. No one knows the exact location. No one knows who he’s calling. Only that he hasn’t stopped.

[blaxploitations]

𝗦𝗨𝗜𝗧

If sorrow is a suit, its weight is incalculable. One day he’s gone and it sews itself inside you. Mourning drapes your skin in its invisible fabric. Every memory furs atop a price memory. Your limbs, your teatures, your senses extend themselves to accommodate the sadness. One morning you wake and try to wear this new suit in the bathroom or the bedroom, in the shower or at the front door, down the stairs of the stoop to the walkway hovering before you, and you finally realize you are carrying another body, his body, your former body, your bodies together, in and on you, and this slows you, and stills you, weighs more than two bodies or many bodies inside your body, it's like the bodies are breeding bodies, metastasizing bodies, so much bone and vein and hair, and you touch the force, the heat of the seething arteries, feel the sheer new tonnage moving and pressing in on you, grief's scent like the first breath in a foreign country, and you fear your entry but you're already in. You think of flight but woe offers no exit. You sing, you weep, you dance but there's no way out. Except one. Through your own skin. This one, heavy with sweat, matted, half-shed and broken by a delta of scars, smelling of something familiar, indiscernible and animal, slick and smoldering like volcanic rock, as white as ash, and death itself: take it. You take it. You take it off.

- 𝗝𝗼𝗵𝗻 𝗞𝗲𝗲𝗻𝗲, Punks: New & Selected Poems, 2021

[finnarcher721]

@rosieblogstuff

Delta Force was established in 1977. Not just anyone could become a Delta Operator. Only the cream of the crop could receive an invitation to tryout for Delta selection. Selection and training lasted around 18 months and is highly classified. The attrition rate is very high averaging around 90%. Jack received his invitation after two years in the Ranger Regiment and he was the only one to make it into the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment Delta out of the 120 candidates in his class. Jack’s Delta operator number was 921, which in itself spoke volumes about how elite the Delta Force is with fewer than 1,000 operators existing since their inception. Jack was in CAG for nine years and led his unit as a Master Sergeant for seven years.

This wasn't the first time Mac had been annoyed with Bozer after his long time friend made a comment insinuating that Jack wasn't as intelligent as the rest of their team. To be fair Bozer didnt know Jack like Mac did and Bozer had never been in the Army and knew nothing about the intelligence and skill required to make it into a Delta Squadron let alone lead a Delta Unit. Bozer didnt realize how special Jack Dalton was and he had to remedy that.

[dangerousthingobservation]

iconographika.com

Vulcan VX770 - Pure Jet

The Boneyard Collection is an art project based on Cold War military aircraft. From many Cold War contenders, we have selected 5 classic aircraft types: CF-100 Canuck, an all-weather interceptor of the Royal Canadian Air Force; F-102 Delta Dagger, a United States Air Force all-weather interceptor; F-104 Starfighter, a German Luftwaffe supersonic interceptor; MiG-21, a Ukrainian Air Force supersonic interceptor; Vulcan VX770, a nuclear strike bomber of the United Kingdom Royal Air Force. The Boneyard Collection has 2 Air Forces consisting of 300 aircraft in a Pure Jet Air Force and 300 aircraft in a Hybrid Jet Air Force. A Pure Jet flies in a single-colour sky. A Hybrid Jet flies in its own unique tri-colour sky. Each aircraft type flies in its own Pure Jet Wing and also in its own parallel Hybrid Jet Wing. Each Wing consists of 5 Squadrons of 12 aircraft with each Squadron identified by its own distinctive sky colour. Physical prints of one selected aircraft from each of the 25 Pure Jet Squadrons and 25 Hybrid Jet Squadrons are available in 4 sizes, and can be purchased at this IconoGraphika website. The Boneyard Collection website showcasing all 600 aircraft can be found at www.Boneyard.cloud. Dark Blue | Light Blue | Gray | Green | Red

[trulybetty]

october | 21 x acorns

pairing: frankie x f!reader word count: warnings: none, as always un-beta'd. summary: Despite knowing what getting into a relationship with Frankie would entail, the reality is not always so easy. ao3: linked

{ x. series masterlist }

author note: prompts are not in chronological order, the story is told throughout the life span of the relationship. once all are posted, I'll post a list of the prompts in chronological order.

12 x Acorns.

The longest stretch Frankie was stationed at a base before serving with Delta, was almost two years in Virginia. It was also the first time you’d lived outside of military housing. It had been a big deal, Frankie giving you the reigns to pick somewhere after moving states in quick succession before this assignment. So with enthusiasm, you’d spent your nights alone while Frankie was deployed, searching rental listings before settling on a house ten minutes from the base.

He’d leant over squinting at your phone, “It's close to base?”

“Ten minutes. You could probably shave it down to eight,” you replied with a small smile.

Frankie had timed it to the second. Ensuring that he could reach the base as quickly as possible. In the backyard stood a large and towering oak tree. It was large and imposing, its branches reaching over the house, almost like it was cradling the house.

The rental agent had mentioned something about acorns being a symbol of fresh starts. Considering Frankie’s new posting and you’d taken it as a sign, already in love with the house, instantly imagining lazy summer afternoons in its shade and watching the colours transition to fall.

Frankie had been skeptical at first, you could picture him vividly, dressed in oil-stained overalls tied at the waist, eyeing the branches warily. “Gonna be a bitch to rake all those leaves come fall,” he’d muttered, but you’d caught the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

You never thought to question Frankie's sudden desire to move out of base housing. Just happy that you were in a place where he had promised roots for you both. You’d joked that the tree in the yard was symbolic in more ways than one.

What you hadn’t expected, almost a year to the day you’d moved in, as autumn painted the leaves in hues of gold and crimson, Frankie home early from base, with the news of a new assignment and the reality of what had brought you to Virginia in the first place.

“I've been assigned to a new training program,” he began carefully. “Delta. It's in North Carolina. Fort Bragg.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. “When?”

“I leave next week.”

You hadn’t missed the emphasis on the fact that only he would be leaving next week.

“Next week?” The shock rendering you momentarily speechless. “Frankie, that's—”

“I know it's sudden,” he interrupted, his eyes pleading for understanding, “but…” he trailed off

You eyed him suspiciously, “But what Frankie?”

Then that was when it all came out. Why Virginia, and why he was so resolute about living off base, knowing what was ahead for him already. He had put himself forward for Delta Force training and subsequently had passed, only a handful making it through the vigorous rounds. They’d kept him there in Virginia, playing a large role with their E Squadron, focused on aviation. Not long after, with several other successful recruits, they’d selected them for reconnaissance. Frankie, a ranked major, was assigned as assistant team leader.

Frankie’s voice had softened as he had explained. His eyes locked on yours, searching for understanding. “I wanted you to have something stable, something away from the chaos, the secrecy. I wanted to put distance between that and home. I wanted…” he trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

You could see the conflict etched in the lines of his face, the weight of his choices heavy on him. You held back tears as the realization sunk in.

“You knew,” you’d whispered, more a statement than a question.

Frankie had been silent in response.

Despite saying his move was a week away, Frankie was moved overnight to North Carolina—headquarters in what was now known as Fort Liberty. The process so quick that neither of you had the time to discuss anything more than the fact you would remain behind and follow him out at a later date.

Frankie left for North Carolina amidst a flurry of hurried goodbyes and unspoken apologies. You were left to pack up the house, coordinate with movers, and notifying your job of yet another relocation. Then on top of it all, with Frankie consumed with even more training, deployments and more, meant it was on you to handle the arrangements of a new home in Carolina.

On your last night in Virginia, the house empty having sent off its contents that afternoon in a moving truck. You’d stepped outside to the yard, stood underneath the impressive oak tree, in the dark its branches losing their comfort now only seemed to mock you with their permanence. Bending down, you picked up a handful of acorns scattered across the grass. Rolling them in your palm you let out a soft bitter-tinged laugh remembering the realtor's statement about putting down roots. You felt foolish for really believing that you were going to be settled there, would see out the rest of Frankie’s service.

The next morning, you caught an early flight to North Carolina, exhaustion pulling at every fibre of your being. As you shifted your bag on your shoulder as you descended the escalator from baggage claim, you spotted Frankie waiting near the exit. He gave you a small wave, uncertainty painting his features.

“Hey,” he greeted softly, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“Hi,” you replied, forcing a smile.

He reached for your suitcase. “How was the flight?”

“Fine,” you simply replied.

The drive to the new house was thick with unspoken tension. Frankie cleared his throat. “I set up the bedroom. There's an air mattress until the movers arrive.”

“Great,” you responded, staring out the window, watching the scenery pass by.

Pulling up to the new house, you took in the sight of it—a standard military rental, identical to the others lining the street. No character, no history, just another temporary shelter.

He glanced at you, worry creasing his brow. “I know this isn't easy.”

You sighed, finally turning to face him. “Frankie, we've moved three times in the past three years. Packed up our lives each time, started over in new places. I knew what a relationship with you entailed, but it's... it's just hard.”

“I never wanted it to be this way,” he said quietly.

You smiled sadly, “I know.”

Later, lying on the air mattress in the sparsely furnished bedroom, you stared at the ceiling. Frankie slept beside you, his breathing steady. You reached over, your fingers brushing his hair from his forehead. You knew what being with Frankie entailed, you weren’t naive and he had given you plenty of warnings. You’d thought you’d prepared yourself for all of it—but reality was different, much more challenging than either one of you could have imagined.

[bejoomi]

"we shouldn't be unreasonable and hold on to an illusion. we should accept reality."

joomi is not an actor.

this is what he keeps saying, and yet somehow, time after time, he ends up in a situation where he needs to act. one acting workshop, another acting workshop, and now this – truly his stupidest venture yet.

he had no intentions of getting anywhere near axis's drama auditions. a former joomi might've thought, "what the hell, why not? it's not like they'll select me for anything. it's just a new experience," but after approaching next gen that way and getting on the show, he knows better.

and yet he can apparently not say no to the people he cares about most, especially if they make good points. jay of all people encouraged joomi to try it. he said something about how they should seize every opportunity they can, because being in a drama can only help them and their popularity when they debut.

joomi thought that was fair enough, and jay can truly be so annoying when he wants to be, so joomi eventually agreed. fine. chances are he wouldn't get a role in the drama, but if he did, he'd do his best, and hopefully draw more attention to the delta boys.

it's only now, moments before he's set to go in the audition room, that he realizes he could get selected and bring attention to the delta boys for being a horrible actor.

no, no, surely axis wouldn't choose him for anything if he was a horrible actor. right?

it's his turn to audition soon enough. he plants himself in the center of the room in front of the judges' long table.

"hi. i'm jung joomi. i choose the scene from start-up," he informs them, and watches as the lady he assumes will be his scene partner for the audition shuffles papers.

maybe it's a risk for him to choose a scene where the male lead cries for his audition. joomi is not that good of an actor. he doesn't know if he can pull it off convincingly – but he's already familiar with the scene from the acting workshop they took, there are only a few actual lines for him to memorize and say, and he thinks he naturally looks a bit miserable. all he really needs to do is play into his image, right?

he's only practiced to the point of crying once. he forced himself to practice in front of the mirror so he could see his own expressions at least for a bit, but he hated it and felt awkward. he's comforted by the fact that he doesn't actually care what happens here. he'll do his best, and that's that.

he will unlock his ability to potentially cry for this, though. all he really needs to do is think about jinyoung in the place of dalmi in the scene. an alternate universe where joomi also goes to lime entertainment and gets picked over jinyoung to join vybe. it would play out the same, wouldn't it? even if not, it's easy to imagine. he doubts jinyoung would be nearly as torn up about it, either.

the staff member starts them off. you're making me miserable.

joomi does his best to look as miserable as possible. it's honestly not that hard – or at least it doesn't feel hard. he doesn't know how he looks, but he imagines those words leaving jinyoung's mouth and it hurts.

the staff member keeps reciting the lines, and he stands there pitifully.

and i'm not your dream, she says, and it reminds joomi of something. back when jinyoung told him he wanted to leave studio delta to join project green, he didn't react well. he mentioned something along the lines of having to cope with his dream being destroyed, and jinyoung said a person can't be your dream.

the memory comes at the perfect time, because it's when he's supposed to get more emotional in the scene. jinyoung wasn't his dream, but debuting with him was, and just like in the scene from start-up, joomi had no say in that dream being shattered.

it is really fucking sad, and sadder still that maybe if jinyoung stayed – maybe if he honored joomi's dream enough not to leave him twice – joomi would still wake up next to him every morning, and they'd still be training together.

of course, there's no knowing that. it doesn't matter, either, because like dalmi says...we shouldn't be unreasonable and hold on to an illusion. we should accept reality. he doesn't usually let himself dwell on it for long, but for this situation alone, and the purpose of stirring up the necessary emotions, he does.

"it's my birthday today," joomi says the line. and of course, joomi has a terrible track record as far as his birthday goes. something like this would happen to him.

his first year with jinyoung, he got his hopes up that he finally wouldn't be alone on his birthday – but jinyoung stopped talking to him. once jinyoung settled into himself again, joomi once again couldn't help but imagine a joyful holiday and birthday season – but jinyoung enlisted, leaving him more alone than ever.

i know.

by the end of the scene, the original actor in his role cries. all it really takes for joomi to do the same is focusing on opening himself up. it feels unnatural to cry, especially in front of other people, but he's supposed to cry over this. this is the kind of thing even boys cry over.

unfortunately, once he starts crying, he can't stop it. the scene ends, one of the staff members saying, "thank you, joomi," and tells him when he can expect to know the results, and joomi still cries.

it's time to take himself out of the scene and return to reality now, but reality is still...sad. it's even sadder that he cannot escape from this. it's no scene from a drama, where he has a boyfriend who will wrap him up in his arms after they say the word cut. this is no nightmare he gets to wake up from.

when it's all said and done, he feels...cold. alone.

"sorry," he tries to laugh through his tears that still won't stop coming. "um, thank you."

it'll be fine. he just needs five minutes in a bathroom stall to pull himself together. then he can return to training as good as new.

hopefully he just won't run into anyone on his way there.