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rabotimagines · 3 months ago

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"Insecticon assault" GN BOT Reader x The insecticons (Noncon!)

Summary: Reader experiences a triple insecticon attack while under Bombshells' outlier ability.

Warnings: Noncon!, Smut 🔞 MDNI

G1 characters: The insecticons!

Genre/Theme: Smut 🔞 Scenario

Notes: Reader gets hit with one of bombshells mind control shells. They call reader "slave" because of this. Reader has limited control of themselves. Reader is also mostly just annoyed about the entire ordeal to be completely honest. Autobot reader!

Pronouns: You, your, yours, them, they, their

You don't know how the pit you got into this situation. You were on night watch and saw some suspicious activity on the outside the ark camera so you noted it to Teletraan 1 to alert the others if you didn't relay back in a few klicks and went to check it out. Next thing you know, you're getting electrocuted so hard your senses reset themselves. You come to on your back with the spark damned insecticons standing over you. You jerk upwards, ready to physically bash your way out if you have too, only for Bombshell to shove himself forward and something to strike you in between your optical ridge.

You have half a nanoklick to realize you're fragged before your frame slacks of its own accord under Bombshells control. "Ha lucky- lucky! We got the one we wanted! Wanted-!" Shrapnel grabs at your faceplate and tilts your helm side to side.

"Autobot slave! You'll forget how to use your communication system while under our command." Bombshells voice is ringing on your audials, and just like that, you forget exactly how to use your com system. Oh Primus, what were they gonna have you do for them. Slag, what could they have you do before Teletrann 1 alerted the others-?

"Lie back slave!" Your frame slacks on the ground, and you're staring at the trees now- "Open your interface panel." Oh- Wait- This is happening? Your interface panel snapped back, exposing your array to the open air. Digits are suddenly rubbing between your valve mesh and- Oh yeah, this was apparently just happening!

"Slave, you're in control of your own frame, As long as you don't move from your spot on the ground, close your panel, or touch my shell." Your optics snap wide when you abruptly have even partial control of yourself again. And you have exactly enough time to get your elbows under you before you get jumped.

Now you're staring down, wide opticed, at the insecticons who've readily taken to slobbering all over your array. Bombshells between your thighs and using his usually hidden mouth to lap greedy strips along your valve. (Why is his glossia so long!?) You can't see him over Kickback and Shrapnel. Who are on either side of your hips and dragging their glossias along the length of your spike. Your servos had tried to push at them, but it only served for both of them to grab one of your wrists. You hissed in a vent and watched when Shrapnel dragged his glossia along the underside of your spikes head. Your spike throbbed on the insecticons' glossia, while Kickback dragged his own glossia along the side of your shaft. Bombshells digits suddenly slipping inside your valve made you buck your hips. "Slave tastes good. Good-!" Shrapnel's words sends humming fits down your spike since he's muttering against you.

You can- Can you call for help? Slag, would it be loud enough, though? It might just only make them order you to stay quiet- and Teletraan 1 should alert someone soon anyway. You just needed to hold on- Bombshell sucking hard on your anterior node makes you cry out and abruptly start overloading right onto Shrapnel. Shrapnel got a splash of your transfluid right in the faceplate, which made him jerk back in surprise. Kickback only leaned forward and started stroking your spike off as you continued overloaded all over yourself. You grunted when bombshell began to curl his digits and lap at your anterior node.

"Naughty slave." Kickback murmured and started lapping at your spike again- like you hadn't just overloaded. Shrapnel wiped your transfluid off of his faceplate and lapped it off his own digits before joining Kickback in cleaning your spike- Slag slag slag- You were sensitive still- Your digits flexed against the dirt.

"Stop-" you whined when Bombshell quickly pulled his digits out of your valve. You could see his helm suddenly, his mask back in place, and something else was pressing against your valve- "Don't-!" Bombshell bottomed out inside you with no remorse. Your back jerked, but your frame refused to raise off the ground. You could only grunt when his hips snapped against your aft in short but forceful thursts.

Bombshell groaned, "Your valves taking me well, slave." Bombshell brazenly admitted, before grabbing one of your legs to hoist onto his own pauldron. His pelvis knocked against your aft every time he thrust back into your valve.

Your attention was quickly brought back to your lap when Kickback and Shrapnel actually started fighting over your spike. Kickback finally raised a leg and smashed it into Shrapnels chassis, sending him tumbling off through the shrubbery. Kickback laughed and threw the already raised leg over your hip. The cons array snapped back, spike pressurizing and valve dripping onto your own plating. Kickback lowered himself, making your spike kiss his valve entrance. "Wait-" Bombshell bottomed out in you hard enough, his pelvis grinded down on your anterior node- And Kickbacks valve was suddenly taking in the entire length of your spike. Your servos latched onto Kickbacks waist, your digits tight enough to want to warp the metal underneath it.

Kickback only laughed "Big- and nice." Kickback rocked back and forth, and you whined through clenched denta. His valve squeezing down on you without remorse. Kickback didn't hesitate to get his own thighs under him and promptly start slamming himself up and back down your length. Valve fluttering over your spike and making your thoughts get even more muddled. Bombshells spike slammed into a deeper pleasure node, and you cried out again.

"Slagger Kickback! Slagger-!" Shrapnel hissed, scampering back over to where you were. You didn't even have the chance to glance at the angry con. Too focused on getting fragged and rode with no regard. So you weren't exactly ready when Shrapnel suddenly straddled your throat with his array out. "Use your glossia slave! Slave-" Your mouth opened on its own accord, and Shrapnel didn't wait to sit his valve right on top of your faceplate. Your muffled noise of protest only made Shrapnel grind down on you with a huffy laugh. Your servos abandoned Kickbacks waist and clung onto Shrapnels thighs instead. Your glossia moved itself against Shrapnels mesh and node. At least he didn't taste terrible (Small mercies.). But Primus, they were using you like an interface toy!

You groaned against Shrapnel when Bombshells spike smacked into another deeper node in your valve. You instinctively clenched down on his length, which made the con groan. Bombshells thrusts only picked up till he was practically slamming back into you to bottom out every time. Kickback started picking up his own pace, his servos grabbing onto your chassis. Thighs working faster to frag himself down your spike. Shrapnel only ground down more enthusiastically, his servos grabbing at your helm kibble. "Good slave-! Take it- take it!" You groaned against his valve, and you felt your second overload rear it's helm and smack you right in the chassis.

You arched as well as you good against the three of them. Overloading under the triple insecticon assault. Kickback overloaded right after you, his valve fluttering in pulses around your spike. Kickback laughed and ground down on your length through his own overload, making you keen pathetically against Shrapnel. Bombshell overloaded next, spike buried deep as he could be inside you and pumping your valve full of transfluid. His servos were squeezing your thighs, and you could feel what you thought was his glossia lapping strips along your leg. Shrapnel finally overloaded with a breathy cackle- hips grinding down on your faceplate through it. Servos clutching your kibble tight and keeping your helm still. Once Shrapnel finally slacked, you relaxed under all three of them.

Shrapnel pulled himself off of your faceplate. You gasped in vents only to watch Shrapnel turn, so he was above your helm- you tilted your helm back to keep a view on him only to find his spike tip kissing your derma. "Now take my spike! Open up slave! Slave-" Your mouth opened of its own volition, and Sharpnel shoved his spike into your intake. A muffled noise echoed out of you when Kickback started fragging himself back on your spike again. Bombshell followed soon after and started fragging your valve again. Valve fluttering and squelching when he fragged his own transfluid out of you.

Frag- They were insatiable- they always were! Just- you just needed to wait for help- you could do that! Your glossia lapped along Shrapnels spike, your servos grabbing back onto Kickbacks waist for some type of purchase. You could survive this- just- You needed to hold on. You could hold on!

...Right?

It was morning, the sun streaming through the gaps in the trees. Your helm was fuzzy from how many overloads the insecticons dragged out of you. If the insecticons are smaller then you (which considering they were about minibot sized, the chances were high) They'd end up figuring out that you can take two of their spikes in your valve at the same time. After that, your valve was constantly double stuffed for the rest of the night. (If you're noticeably bigger than them, then they will attempt to fit all three of their spikes in your valve simultaneously.)

They ended up making you overload so hard at the end that your senses reset again. Only when you came to this time, they were gone. Bombshell did not pull his shell off of your helm before he left, so you're stuck on the ground- Covered in transfluid and fragged silly. With copious amounts of transfluid still dripping out of your valve. Waiting for rescue still- Primus, you wish you remembered how to use your comm system.

"-I don't understand how Teletraan 1 shorted out." A familiar voice makes you perk up- as well as you could anyway still stuck on the ground.

"There was a big electrical surge, and Teletraan 1 couldn't handle the output, so Teletrann 1 reset and couldn't turn back on. We only realized it this morning- and they sent that alert actual earth hours ago- I just hope they're okay."

Hoist! And Grapple! Primus! Okay! You could get help. And well... it suddenly made sense why you got fragged till morning with no help at all.

You glanced down at your transfluid stained self.

Yeah, there was no hiding this. You were covered in purple, dark, and silver paint transfers, too. You stared at your still open modesty panel. Which you still couldn't close because of the shell...

Slag it all. Hoist was a medic, and Grapple wasn't the type to gossip. At least your spike wasn't still pressurized. Plus, you technically just got... sexually assaulted. And neither of them were afts, so you should be fine.

Knowing you wouldn't keep what little dignity you had you through your helm back and shouted for help. You thankfully heard your designation being called back and the shrubbery starting to shuffle towards you.

At least Red Alert couldn't be mad at you for abandoning your post... small mercies.

...

And thank Primus Ratchet had replaced your baffles last week... Primus sized mercies.

#🔞#transformers x reader #transformers x cybertronian reader #transformers x y/n #the insecticons #x reader #x gn reader #insecticons x reader #g1 bombshell #g1 shrapnel #g1 kickback #everyone who liked this say thank you to the anon who asked for it to be posted!#valveplug #rabot writes

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archivewriter1ont · 3 months ago

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Echo and the Cadet Batch Chapter 19: The Domino Twins

art by @littletroggo

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58834273/chapters/162533413

Summary:

Back on Kamino, Hunter has some explaining to do, Tech is still working on a way to get home, and all of the Batchers are distracted by their two new "recruits." Echo and Fives think this is great, Wrecker adores all kids but especially these two, and Crosshair is trying desperately not to make friends he knows he can't keep.

SNEAK PEEK: ⬇️

Hunter stood just inside the door and cleared his throat uncomfortably, his gaze darting to each of his three siblings. For once, the sergeant’s golden eyes were unsettled, uncertain of how his batchmates would react. He was almost squirming under their slack-jawed scrutiny.

Crosshair would have laughed at the unusual sight, if he hadn’t been so surprised that his vocal chords refused to operate and his brain seemed to have briefly fritzed itself out of commission. If everything hadn’t just gotten turned directly on its head in an instant.

If Hunter didn’t have two cadets with him, including one who had just answered to the name Echo .

The sniper’s nerves finally ceded control back to his brain and he snapped his jaw shut, still staring at the two cadets. They looked just like any other clone cadets in their fourth year, like the 99s would have looked if they hadn’t been made different , but the one who had been called Echo…

Crosshair had been trained from decanting to notice and break down every detail of the world around him. His enhanced eyesight gave him an unmatched advantage, but merely seeing wasn’t enough. He had to understand it, to separate every miniscule particle of what his vision relayed to his brain and evaluate each separately, systematically, before putting them all back together and analyzing the whole. After years of honing his skills, that entire process was now embedded in his every waking moment, threaded beneath his skin and intertwined with his DNA. He was able to break down, assess, and make split second decisions based on what he saw before most people could even realize what they were supposed to be looking at .

And that little cadet – he was too familiar, even though Crosshair had never seen him before. His eyes shone with an all-too recognizable gleam, and there was something about the way that he stood, with his hand holding Hunter’s as if he were afraid to let go but his face boldly turned toward the three strangers, that Crosshair was shockingly accustomed to. There were other things, too, that confirmed it – small things, but sometimes the small things mattered more than the bigger ones – but Crosshair didn’t need to itemize them. It was already cemented beyond a shadow of a doubt in the sniper’s mind.

Sometimes he went over things in his mind for a moment, rethought them before letting his conclusions solidify as accepted fact. But in the time between Hunter pressing the operating panel and the door hissing shut, Crosshair realized that he didn’t even have to think about this one. He knew that the cadet was Echo.

And something in his heart, something coiled up and cold and feeling suspiciously like fear, instantly released.

They hadn’t found their Echo…which meant he was safe aboard the Negotiator . Echo was okay .

Of course, he still had to deal with the fact that a younger version of his brother was staring him in the face, but he could handle that in a minute. For the moment, he chose to be grateful, and wait.

{the rest is at the link above!}

❤️Tag List: @leapingbadger, @badbatchposts, and @kybercrystals94, @maybe-some-words @littletroggo @spinoqueenwrites

LMK if you want to be added (or removed)

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webslinger-holland · 1 year ago

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Best Pilot in the Galaxy | Tech from The Bad Batch

Summary: During a mission, Tech has a hard time allowing his ship to be driven by someone else.

Warning: slight angst and argument

Pairing: Tech x Fem!Reader Pilot

Type: Oneshot

The Marauder was sitting on a world in the Outer Rim called Cassander. It was a lush, green planet with a few major bodies of water. However, most notably, the planet was growing in population and had recently become Ord Mantell's most competitive trading rival.

The ship was nearly empty, except for a singular pilot sitting in the cockpit. She was not the rightful owner of the ship, but had been assigned this mission with the group of rouge clones that did own the ship. The squad was located somewhere in the capital city nearby, attempting to steal the package in which they had come for. The pilot waited patiently for the pickup call.

Now, the pilot had been waiting for nearly two hours for the call to come through the comms. She did everything she could think of to pass the time, which included rummaging through the squad's belongings. Though she didn't find anything of value.

The gonk droid made a noise as he waddled into the cockpit. The pilot went through the ship's log, seeing all the planets the squad had recently visited. Their last stop happened to be Ord Mantell where they were assigned this mission in particular.

"Y/n! Come in," Hunter's voice sounded desperate over the comms. She quickly jolted forward in her seat, pressing the button to relay a message back.

"Read you loud and clear," Y/n responded. She began clicking buttons on the control panel, preparing the ship for liftoff.

"We need a pick up. We've been compromised," Hunter explained. He was panting on the other end of the line, which probably meant they were running.

"What part of stealth mission is so hard to understand?"

"Just hurry. We don't have a lot of time. They're sending air support," Hunter warned her.

"Oh great," Y/n scoffed sarcastically.

"I'm sending you our coordinates," Tech interjected over the communications.

As the Marauder departed off the ground, the landing gear retracted back into the ship. The wings moved downwards as the ship was angled towards the sky. The engine roared to life; the ship began flying towards the rendezvous location.

The workers from the trading post were shooting their blasters at the criminals running away from them. They tried to keep up with them, firing relentlessly as they got away with some of their own goods.

It was Wrecker, Hunter, and Tech who were carrying the heavy cargo in the form of a shipping container. Normally, it would take four guys to carry the cargo, but since Wrecker was so strong, he was able to carry the left side without help. Behind them, Echo and Omega fired shots back at the workers. They covered them as the rest ran as fast as they could.

"Whatever is in here, it better be worth it." Wrecker grunted, dodging the blaster fire.

"As long as we get paid," Hunter responded.

The small squad continued running through the vast forest, maneuvering around trees in hopes of using its coverage to their advantage. They came into a clearing with the workers getting closer each second. All of the sudden, a cliff came into their view which caused them to halt in their place.

"Where's our ride?" Echo asked desperately. He peered around his shoulder with his gun still raised.

"There!" Omega pointed into the sky.

The Marauder rounded the corner of the mountain, coming into their line of view. It flew over to the edge of the cliff to meet them. The ramp lowered to hover right by the cliff, allowing the squad to climb aboard the vessel.

The blaster fire was beginning to hit the sides of the ship. The squad fired back, striking a few of the workers down. Once everyone was aboard, Hunter slammed the button on the side of the wall so the ramp was lifted.

"That's everyone," Hunter shouted. "Get us out of here!"

"Roger that," Y/n said.

Pulling a lever, the thrusters sent a powerful volt back which propelled the ship forward rapidly. By steering the ship, Y/n directed the ship back into the mountain range. She could hear the air support coming up behind them. She took a sharp turn to deter them.

The sharp turn caused each member of the squad to loose their footing and grab something nearby to steady themselves. Carefully, Tech quickly made his way into the cockpit. He leaned over the back of the pilot's seat, resting his hand on the panel for support. He hadn't taken the time to remove his helmet.

"That is sufficient," Tech announced to the pilot. "I'll take it from here."

"A little busy here," Y/n stated instead. She turned the wheel to the left, taking another sharp turn which made everything in the ship turn that way. And Tech ended up leaning a little into her.

"Wrecker," Tech ordered. He moved to sit in the co-pilot seat which was where Echo usually sat. "Get to the tail gun."

There were at least six smaller ships following them at this point, firing as many rounds as possible. The Marauder swayed to the left and right, expertly dodging each blast aimed at them. In the tail gun, Wrecker got into position before firing back at the ships. He managed to hit one of them, but it wasn't enough to bring the ship down.

Back in the cockpit, Tech began pressing a few buttons on the control panel. The pilot glared at him through the corner of her eye, knowing exactly what he was trying to do. She maintained her grip on the sides of the wheel.

"Transitioning controls back to co-pilot," Tech announced. He went to press the final red button, but she swatted his hand away. "What are you doing?" Tech demanded an explanation.

"I know how to fly," Y/n said through gritted teeth. Her eyes were still facing forward as she focused on the task at hand.

"I never said you didn't," Tech informed her. "I am simply stating that I am ready to transition controls back to me as I am more capable of flying this vessel than you. It is my ship after all," Tech said as a matter of factly.

Hunter rolled his eyes in the background. He knew it was pointless to argue over the comment.

"You weren't hired to be the pilot for this mission," Y/n argued back. "I can get us out of this."

With that comment, one of the blaster fires struck the right wing which caused it to catch on fire. The two of them peered out the window, spotting the trail of black smoke falling behind the hit.

"You were saying?" Tech replied. He gestured to the damage done to his ship. She rolled her eyes at him.

A few more ships began trailing behind them. They began firing more shots towards them. There was no way one ship could take the whole fleet down.

"Uh guys," Wrecker announced from the tail gun. "We've got more incoming."

Ignoring the comment, Tech quickly transitioned controls back to his wheel before the other pilot could protest. He gripped the wheel harshly, moving the wheel to take a sharp left hand turn. The ship was forced to swerve around the side of the mountain; a few of the enemy ships crashed into the sides as a result. She switched controls back to her wheel, taking a right hand turn. The ship weaved around another mountainside.

Behind the googles of his helmet, Tech squinted his eyes in slight irritation. He changed controls once again. He quickly grabbed onto the lever, pulling it backwards so the thrusters gave another jolt of energy. Now they were flying a little faster.

Nevertheless, another blaster hit managed to strike the back of the ship. The Marauder jolted forward from the force of the blast. The two pilots lurched forward in their seats. The others continued to hold onto things for support.

"You aren't doing much better," Y/n replied snakily. She reached forward to press the button once more. She turned the wheel as far as she could, which caused the ship to completely turn around. She pulled the lever for the extra push.

"What are you doing?" Tech exclaimed. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

Down in the tail gun, Wrecker began firing at the ships flying directly in front of them. With his expertise, he struck down three ships. Those ships exploded into a million pieces, fierce flames erupting around them. The Marauder flew through the fire without taking damage.

The enemy ships needed to turn around before continuing their chase. They quickly swerved their ships. Once the ships were facing the right way, the thrusters kicked in for that extra power. And the enemy continued their pursuit.

"I will only say this one more time," Tech's modulated voice spoke through his helmet. He turned to face her in his seat. His eyes looked angry behind his googles. "Relinquish controls now."

"Over my dead body," Y/n challenged him. She didn't take her eyes off him.

In the background, Hunter and Echo seemed to raise their eyebrows at the two pilots. They looked between them, half expecting one of them to cave in and go back to flying the ship. But neither of them faltered.

"Uh guys," Omega interrupted them.

Both of them directed their line of attention back towards flying the ship. With a quick maneuver, they managed to dodge the mountain they were heading straight for at the last second. A few more ships crashed into it.

"You're both going to get us all killed if you don't figure something out," Hunter shouted behind them.

Reaching forward, Y/n went to press a few more buttons, but Tech swatted her hand away this time. He went ahead and pressed his own buttons. He was punching in the coordinates for their destination.

"You are not the best pilot in the galaxy," Y/n claimed. She glanced at him through the corner of her eye. He kept putting in the coordinates.

"Hardly a measurable cause," Tech said with a roll of his eyes in annoyance.

"You haven't made the Kessel Run in fourteen parsecs," Y/n added. It was like she was insisting that it could be measurable.

"I have a theory that it can be done in twelve," Tech stated as a matter of factly.

"I highly doubt that," Y/n chuckled at the comment.

Suddenly, Y/n pressed the wheel forward with all of her might. The ship began to descend down at a rapid pace, shifting into a nose dive position. The ground was growing closer and closer with each second. The enemy ships following right behind them, firing non-stop.

Both Hunter and Echo were holding onto panels behind them. The force of falling forwards was pushing them back. They were unable to move.

"You have to pull up--" Tech ordered in a slight panic.

"Oh for the last time," Y/n shouted over him. "I know what I'm doing!"

At the last possible second, the wonderfully skilled pilot pulled the wheel into her chest so that the ship was pulled up. It was so close to touching the ground, but it missed it by a hair. The last two ships crashed into the ground, exploding suddenly and sending debris flying.

Now that the threat of the chase was finally over, Y/n could relax in her seat a little. The rest of the squad was completely silent, realizing that she had managed to get them out of the situation with little damage in the end. Beside her, Tech kept his eye on her since he was still angry with her.

The Marauder started to climb in altitude, shifting towards the edge of the planet's atmosphere. It finally passed through the atmosphere, flying through space. The stars throughout the galaxy sparkled as the planet grew small and smaller. It was now all behind them.

"Are the coordinates to Ord Mantell in?" Y/n wondered. Her voice was so much calmer now. Her shoulders slumped at her sides. But she refused to make eye contact.

"Yes. They are in," Tech informed her softly. His eyes softened behind his helmet. He studied her carefully, trying to figure out what she was thinking in that brain of hers. He quickly shook it off, directing his attention back towards the void of space in front of them.

Without thinking, Tech and Y/n went to reach for the lever to send them into hyperspace. Their hands grazed each other's with neither of them being any closer to the lever than the other. They both awkwardly pulled their hands away upon contact.

"I'm sorry," Y/n muttered under her breath.

He wasn't sure if she was apologizing for the situation they just came out of or the situation that just occurred with the lever. Nevertheless, she reached for the lever once again, pulling it back to send the ship into hyperspace.

Back at Ord Mantell, the Bad Batch went back to Cid's Parlor. They stood on the other side of her desk, having just delivered the cargo that she paid them to retrieve. She peered into the package, checking to make sure everything was there.

Behind the group, Y/n stood there in total silence. Her eyes were trained on the floor as she shifted in her place awkwardly. She waited for their boss to address them.

Beside her, Tech stood about an arm's length away. He glanced at her through the corner of his eye, taking note of her odd demeanor. He raised his finger and opened his mouth to say something to her, but he was rudely cut off.

"Looks like everything is here," Cid announced. She closed the cargo container. She began rummaging through her drawers, collecting the correct amount of credits to pay both parties.

Now Y/n went to take a few steps forward and made her way through the members of the squad. She stood in front of the desk. Her boss went ahead and placed a handful of credits in her hand.

"That is your cut," Cid told her. She handed the rest of the credits to Hunter. "And here is your cut. I'll call you when I have another job," Cid claimed.

There was a brief moment of silence in the room. Cid went to cross her arms over her chest. She narrowed her eyes at the company of six standing in front of her.

"You guys work well together," Cid said honestly. "You should work together more often."

In response, Y/n breathed a scoff under her breath. The boys turned their heads to look at her, slightly surprised at her reaction. She shook her head in denial.

"Yeah. Like that's ever going to happen," Y/n rolled her eyes at the notion.

Without hesitation, she spun around on the heels of her feet in order to head towards the door. She purposely bumped into Tech's shoulder a little too harshly. She left the room with the door closing behind her.

"What's wrong with her?" Cid scoffed. She looked at the rest of the squad for some form of explanation, but none of them said anything. "Fine! Be all quiet and mysterious. See if I care," Cid said.

By the time the Bad Batch left Cid's office, Y/n was nowhere to be found in the bar. They went to sit down at the bar so they could order drinks to celebrate another successful mission. They sat in complete silence, thinking about what transpired during the mission.

"Where do you think she's gone?" Echo wondered.

Though they never pulled missions together, the Bad Batch knew that the pilot worked for Cid and was stationed at Ord Mantell. They had seen her quite often over the past few months. They had grown familiar of her. And now they worried about her.

"The odds are that she returned to her flat," Tech explained. He pushed the bridge of his googles up to be more secure on his face. He kept his focus on his data pad.

"Probably," Hunter shrugged his shoulders. "But it's late. Which means it's dark out."

"Astute observation," Tech claimed sarcastically. He gave a single nod, but didn't take his eyes off his data pad.

"And she's walking back to her flat...at the edge of town...late at night," Hunter further explained.

"She will be fine," Tech stated. He knew where he was going with this. "She is always saying how she can take care of herself and doesn't need our help. Why would that change now?"

The other members remained silent. They turned their heads to take quick glances at one another. With a silent agreement, Hunter rose to his feet and went to stand by Tech. He roughly grabbed his shoulders and hoisted him out of his seat, much to his dismay.

"Go find her. Make sure she gets home safe. And apologize to her," Hunter ordered.

"I do not see why I have to be the one to apologize when I did noth--" Tech began. He was quickly cut off.

"Tech," Hunter said in a warning tone of voice. He crossed his arms over his chest, showing that he meant business.

"Fine," Tech said in defeat. "I will apologize."

With some hesitation, Tech grabbed his helmet and fitted it over his head. He began making his way towards the door of the parlor, leaving the rest of his crew behind. He walked through the deserted streets of Ord Mantell, passing a few shady people in the process.

Now Tech knew that she lived near the edge of town because she had once mentioned it during a conversation. Besides that, Tech really didn't know where to look and simply hoped he'd bump into her before she got home so he'd know she was safe. He passed by a few alleys, peeking through each one briefly.

The Marauder was parked in a hanger bay only a few blocks away from the parlor. Just as Tech passed by the hanger, he heard a familiar voice coming from his very own ship. He backtracked by taking two steps backwards. He peered into the hangar bay to glance at his ship.

Stepping into the bay, Tech tilted his head to the side in slight curiosity. The right wing of the ship began to move downwards until it lay completely horizontal. A few seconds later, Y/n began descending down the ramp with a toolbox in hand. She walked over to the wing of the ship.

Upon seeing her, Tech sharply inhaled. He felt the back of his throat close up and his shoulders tensed at his sides. He hesitantly took a few steps forward, fiddling with his fingers nervously.

Reaching upwards, Y/n placed the single toolbox onto the flat surface of the ship's wing. She proceeded to grab onto the wing before hoisting herself up onto it. She climbed to the center of the wing to assess the damage inflicted in the crossfire.

At this point, Y/n had no idea that he was also in the hanger bay with her. She opened the toolbox, rummaging through to find the right tool. The damage done to the right wing was a massive gaping hole with burnt edges from the fire. It would eventually need a panel welded to cover it up again. But for now, she focused on the internal repairs.

Thankfully, from the assessment, nothing major had been hit. A few bolts had gotten loose and a few parts needed to be replaced. She focused on that for now.

After grabbing a socket spanner, Y/n leaned down to place her arm into the gaping hole of the wing. It went so far down that her chest was practically pressed against the surface of the wing. She used the spanner to tighten some bolts.

"What...are you doing?" Tech decided to finally announce his presence. He stepped forward until he stood in the light coming from the opening of the hanger bay.

Upon hearing that familiar voice, Y/n only rolled her eyes to herself. She continued her work as she preferred to focus on repairs rather than on him. She grunted softly, making sure that first bolt was nice and tight.

"What do you want Tech?" Y/n wondered. She pulled her arm out of the hole to assess her work. She didn't even bother to glance towards him, knowing he would have sent her a look of disapproval for working on his ship.

Slowly, Tech began to lower his gaze to the floor. He contemplated his next words carefully, fighting the urge to lash out at her for meddling with his ship. He liked things to be a certain way and would have much preferred if he did the actual repairs. Now Tech didn't want to fight with her so he changed his approach.

"I analyzed that you left the parlor on your own and thought it would be better if I accompany you back home," Tech explained. She huffed at his answer.

"I've told you before," Y/n began. "I can--"

"Take care of yourself," Tech finished. He adjusted the lenses of his goggles though he still wore his helmet. He noticed how she fell silent. "Yes, I've gathered that much."

"Why are you really out here?" Y/n wondered. She went to lean down again in order to tighten more bolts.

"I...could ask you the same," Tech replied slowly. He honestly felt like this was the first civil conversation they had ever had.

"I wanted to make some repairs on your precious ship since it was apparently my fault," Y/n claimed. Her tone sounding a little harsher now. She tightened two more bolts in the process.

"That is not what I meant," Tech interjected. He took a step forward. He gazed up at her figure perched on the wing, attempting to reason with her. "I was...caught up in the moment. Shouldn't have said those things," Tech confessed quietly.

"Well, don't worry. As soon as I finish up these repairs, I'll leave and you'll never have to see me again," Y/n responded.

For some reason, Tech couldn't combat a response to her comment. He simply nodded his head understandingly. He lowered his gaze to stare down at the ground and allowed her to finish her repairs in silence. He thought for some time how he could fix this relationship since it wasn't his strong suit. Fixing things was more his style.

"Blast," Y/n's voice pulled him out of his train of thought. He glanced up at her.

The sleeve of her blue flight suit had gotten in the way of her repairs. She had rolled her sleeves up to keep the material out of her way, but the sleeves continued to fall back down to her wrists every time she placed her arm in the hole. She pulled back and rose to her feet.

Without hesitation, Y/n's hands flew to the top button of her flight suit. She began to undue the buttons in which she revealed the black tank top underneath. All the while, Tech studied her carefully as her nimble fingers worked steadily. His pupils dilated behind those goggles of his.

Upon reaching her waistline, Y/n had stopped unbuttoning and shrugged the suit off her shoulders. She tied the sleeves around her waist. She dropped to her knees to continue working without the distraction of her clothes getting in the way.

Slowly, Tech raised his hand to the side of his head and clicked the bottom to save the recording to the drive. He records everything and he was certainly glad he recorded that. He wanted to revisit the recording later for his own 'research' purposes.

"There," Y/n sighed. She sat back on her knees, wiping her dirty hands on the pants of her flight suit. "Repairs are finished."

Naturally, Y/n began to pack away the tools she used and placed them back into the box. She closed the lid of the toolbox, tossing it over the edge of the wing for it to land on the ground with a thump. She then proceeded to jump down off the wing of the ship, landing a little hard so her knees buckled slightly.

Just like she promised, Y/n had every intention of leaving the hanger bay so that they'd never have to see her again. She went to walk away, but just as she passed beside him, Tech reached out and grabbed her forearm. She halted in her steps.

Neither of them could look at each other. She felt his gloved fingers digging into her bare skin, but not hard enough that it would leave marks. She slowly turned to look at him, but he kept his head down.

"I...really came here to apologize," Tech confessed. When Tech lifted his gaze to meet her face, he saw how her eyebrows went up in slight surprise. It definitely caught her off guard.

"I see," Y/n thought about his words carefully. She shifted her balance from one foot to the other. "So all those things you said back on Cassander where just...what?"

He closed his eyes, seriously regretting everything he said. "Like I said earlier, in the moment, I was incredibly frustrated with you."

"Because I wouldn't give up the controls?" Y/n said flatly.

"No, because I recognize that my levels of dopamine are elevated when I'm around you and I distance myself from you in order to prevent that from happening,” Tech confessed before he could even stop himself.

But now, hearing what he just said, Tech quickly averted his gaze away from her. He was thankful to be wearing his helmet so she wouldn't see how bright his cheeks had gotten. He released his grip on her arm, letting it fall back down to his side.

For once, Y/n actually understood what he said. Her eyebrows rose in surprise at this sudden confession. She definitely did not expect him to blurt out his emotions that night, especially after their fight on the ship. She knew better than to tease him at a time like this.

"I-I don't understand why," Tech said rather sadly. That was the first time that he'd spoken those words out loud.

What broke her heart was the tone of defeat laced with his words. It told her that he'd been wrestling with these foreign emotions and thoughts for some time. He didn't know how to react around her and so he acted with defense. He pushed those feeling away, fighting against it.

Hesitantly, Y/n lifted her hands to the sides of his helmet. She went to remove his helmet slowly, revealing his face to her for the first time today. She tossed the helmet to the side without a care in the world, but he still refused to meet her gaze.

"You are probably repulsed by me," Tech began. "From the way I treated you and the words I said to--"

But Tech wasn't able to finish that sentence. Because Y/n had taken his face in her hands and leaned upwards to press her lips against his own. He froze in his place.

His eyes were wide open in surprise. His hands were elevated on either side of him because he didn't know what to do with them. He could feel the softness of her lips still against his own. Before Tech had the chance to process what was happening, Y/n pulled away from him.

The two of them were standing so close together; the chests being pressed against one another's. Their breath mingled as their noses bumped together once or twice. He glanced down at her lips because he wanted nothing more than to taste them once more.

His hands found their way down to her hips with one hand sneaking around her lower back. He pressed that hand into her back which brought her body even closer to his. She released a small gasp.

"Apology accepted," Y/n whispered to him. She played with the edge of the plastoid armor on his chest. "And I'm sorry for the way I acted towards you."

"Why cyare?" Tech wondered. He raised his hand to the side of her face, tucking a single strand of hair behind her ear. He held his hand against her cheek.

"I should have given up the controls. You are the better pilot and it is your ship," Y/n explained with a shake of the head.

"I am not the better pilot," Tech stated firmly.

There was a moment of silence between them. "I can't make split second decisions and calculations like you do when you're flying."

"Well, I've never done the Kessel Run." Tech argued back playfully. He smiled down at her. "At least, not in twelve parsecs."

"Fourteen," Y/n corrected him. "I did it in fourteen."

"Fine. Fourteen," Tech caved in.

Slowly, Tech tilted his head to the side and began to lean down with every intention of kissing her again. But the two of them were interrupted when someone cleared their throat over by the entrance of the hanger bay. The two of them quickly pulled apart and turned to face whoever had interrupted them.

The other members of the Bad Batch stood looking at them near the entrance of the hanger. It was initially Hunter who had cleared his throat to garner their attention; he stood with his arms folded across his chest just as a disapproving father would. Beside him, Wrecker and Omega were practically squealing with each other. They couldn't contain their excitement. And Echo averted his gaze in an awkward manner.

"Care to explain yourselves?" Hunter hinted. He glanced between the two of them with a playful smirk on his face.

"I think they finally confessed that they like each other," Wrecker interrupted. His words coming out louder than anticipated. He nudged Echo who stood beside him.

"You think?" Echo glanced at him.

"It's exciting, isn't it?" Omega smiled at them.

Meanwhile, Tech quickly collected his helmet off the ground and placed it over his head once again. He hoped it would cover the blush creeping up his neck to his face. He knew he wouldn't hear the end of the taunting from his brothers anytime soon.

"Well boys. It looks like we got another member on our crew," Hunter said slowly. "Welcome to the Bad Batch."

#the bad batch #the clone wars #tech bad batch #tech x reader #tech x y/n #tech x you #star wars #the marauder ship #tech oneshot #tech fluff #tech angst #tech imagine #hunter #crosshair #omega #wrecker #echo #tech

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zoeykallus · 16 days ago

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In His Crosshairs

Crosshair x Fem!Reader

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Masterlist Warnings: "Minor" Violence and injury _______________ AC:

In Case anybody is wondering about the song beeing sung in this chapter, it's this one: Good Things Go ________________

Chapter 3. No Second Shot

The comm tower was quiet now.

The bodies had been dealt with. Your arm was bandaged, stinging under fresh synth-skin, and your blaster sat in your lap like a weight you weren’t sure you could carry again.

Crosshair stood by the door, gear packed, rifle slung across his back. He hadn’t spoken since the last bounty hunter dropped. But you could feel something heavy in the air between you. Not quite anger. Not quite closure.

Just unfinished business.

You broke the silence first. “So what now?”

His back remained to you for a long second. Then he turned, slow, deliberate, and walked over, stopping just a few feet away.

“You’re lucky I'm not a good soldier,” he said. His voice was calm. Too calm.

You looked up at him. "What's that supposed to mean?”

He mutters, "Good soldiers follow orders" You blink, not sure what he was on about, “Was that supposed to be comforting?

“No.” A pause. “It’s supposed to make you think.”

You rose to your feet, wincing slightly. “I told you. I didn’t know what I was carrying.”

“And now you do.”

He was close enough that you could see every line in his face. The set of his jaw. The way his eyes pinned you down, same as they had when he was aiming down a scope.

“You’re not turning me in,” you said quietly. It wasn’t a question.

“No.”

“Why?”

He hesitated. Just a flicker. But it was there.

Then, his gaze sharpened.

“Because I think you’re smart enough not to be this stupid again.”

You almost laughed. “And if I’m not?”

He stepped forward. Just enough to make your breath catch.

“Then next time,” he said, voice like steel, “I won’t miss.”

The crosshair tattoo over his eye pulsed with that quiet threat. You didn’t doubt him. Not for a second.

“You’re letting me go,” you said. “But this isn’t over.”

His mouth twitched. “Not even close.”

You nodded slowly. “Fine.”

He stared at you a moment longer. Then turned.

Walked to the door.

Paused.

“One warning shot,” he said without looking back. “That’s all you get.”

And then he was gone.

You stood alone in the silence of the tower, the cold wind seeping in through the cracks in the walls.

You should have felt relieved. Safe.

Instead, your heart was racing.

Weeks later:

You didn’t recognize the distress signal when it first lit up on your console. Just another encrypted ping bouncing off an abandoned relay station.

But the coordinates? They weren’t far.

Too close to ignore.

You debated it for a solid minute, hands hovering over the controls, foot tapping against the floor of your mostly functional ship. Then, with a muttered curse and a shove of the throttle, you changed course.

You told yourself it was just curiosity.

You were lying.

The canyon was steep, narrow, and littered with smoke. You kept the ship low and quiet, sensors pinging every few seconds as you zeroed in on the signal. It took a second to see him, black armor half-covered in dust, rifle beside him, his leg pinned under a collapsed outcropping of rock.

And worse: three hostiles circling above. Blasters out. Not bounty hunter, mercs, maybe. Trained, armed, and absolutely out for blood.

You landed hard enough to rattle the panels.

Doors opened before the landing ramp touched ground.

“Hey,” you shouted as you stepped out, weapon raised, voice smug and far louder than necessary. “Funny seeing you in the dirt.”

Three heads turned. Too late.

You fired twice. Clean hits.

The third one ducked, fast, but not fast enough. You didn’t get him, but your shot knocked him off balance long enough for Crosshair to recover his rifle.

One shot. One breath. Gone.

Silence returned.

The wind kicked up dust, blood and tension.

You lowered your blaster and strolled forward, chin tilted up just enough to make your grin feel like a weapon.

“Look how the tables have turned.”

Crosshair didn’t respond right away. He was breathing hard, propped against a boulder, his armor scraped and blood streaking down one thigh.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, because of course he did.

You crouched next to him anyway.

“Sure,” you said. “You look great. Real intimidating... if I squint.”

He gave you a look that could have frozen fire. “Are you here to mock me or get me out?”

You made a show of thinking. “I mean… I could leave you. Wait around for the next group to finish the job.”

He didn’t flinch. “You won’t.”

You clicked your tongue. “Why not?”

He looked at you. Really looked. That tattoo drawing your eye like a magnet. His voice dropped just enough to hit somewhere deep in your chest.

“Because I let you walk away.”

That shouldn’t have made your heart do what it did. You stood abruptly. “Yeah, well. Call it even.”

You helped him up, awkward, heavy, but steady. He hissed once when the weight hit his leg, and you caught his arm before he stumbled.

The contact was too warm.

Too familiar.

You guided him toward your ship, trying to ignore the way his fingers tightened around yours, just for a moment, before he let go.

“You’re limping,” you said, a little too smug again.

He shot you a sideways glance. “You talk too much.”

“Must be the concussion from watching me save your ass.”

He didn’t respond. But you saw it, the twitch at the edge of his mouth. Almost a smile.

Almost.

The hum of the ship's engine thrummed low beneath your feet as the planet shrank behind you. In the cockpit, the nav was locked in. Smooth jump to hyperspace in less than a minute.

In the back?

Crosshair sat on the edge of the bench in your medbay alcove, one leg stretched out, jaw tight, eyes sharper than ever, even while bleeding.

You crouched in front of him with a med kit and a scowl.

“Stop glaring at me,” you muttered.

He didn’t respond. His gaze was somewhere else, not on your hands, but over your shoulder. Scanning.

You knew the look. He was cataloguing everything.

And there was a lot to catalog.

Your ship wasn’t standard. No cold chrome. No Imperial precision. Instead:

Music playing low over the comm system, a rough, steady rhythm.

A dog-eared book, half-opened, wedged into a compartment above the seat.

Trinkets on the shelf. Old flight pins. A dented flask. A ragged scarf tied around a pipe that served no function.

A painted panel on one wall — something someone once called art.

He didn’t ask about any of it. He just saw it.

But you could feel the shift. Like he was starting to understand something about you he couldn’t quite articulate yet. Something that unsettled him more than a firefight.

You finished cleaning the wound. “You’ll live,” you said, gently pressing a bandage over the gash.

“Obviously.”

You rolled your eyes. “You know, for someone who almost died today, you’re in a remarkably shitty mood.”

“I don’t like being shot.”

“I don’t like being hunted,” you shot back, voice quiet now. “Yet here we are.”

That made him pause.

The music shifted. Something angrier. You weren’t sure which track. It had bled into the playlist naturally, but now the lyrics felt too raw.

I tried so hard and got so far...

He looked at the speaker. Just for a second.

“You listen to this on purpose?”

You gave a half-smirk. “It helps drown out too loud thoughts.”

He looked at you again, longer this time. Like he didn’t expect the honesty. Like it did something to him he didn’t want you to see.

Then his gaze dropped to your hands, still stained from the fight, still shaking a little.

“I flinched.”

“But you didn’t run.”

You shrugged. “You were bleeding. I didn’t have time to run.”

Another pause. Then, so soft you almost missed it: “You could’ve let me die.”

You looked up. Met his eyes. That damn tattoo again. Always watching. Always targeting.

“I could’ve,” you said. “But I didn’t.”

The silence stretched again, broken only by the music.

Then:

“You should change your codes.”

You blinked. “What?”

He nodded toward the panel. “Your ID tag. Your registration’s still flagged from the last planet. If you’re going to keep flying with that name, someone’s going to find you.”

You stared. “You… checked my tags?”

“I had time.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Not really. So you leaned back, set the med kit aside, and looked at him.

“You still gonna turn me in?”

“No.”

“But you said...”

“I said no second chances,” he said. Then added, almost like it hurt, “This wasn’t a chance. This was a… complication.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m a complication now?”

He looked at you like you’d said something obvious. “You always were.”

You stood before he could say anything else, moving toward the cockpit.

Behind you, the music changed again. Low and intense.

And as you slid into the pilot seat, you realized something:

For the first time since he walked into your life, Crosshair wasn’t just watching you like a target. He was watching you like a person. And that scared you more than the bounty hunters ever did.

The hum of the ship had faded into the background hours ago. Now it was just you, the faint ache in your shoulder, and the quiet pull of the engine coils that needed organizing, or maybe just touching, just something to keep your hands moving.

The playlist kept running. A track drifted in, one you usually skipped when someone else was around.

You didn’t skip it this time.

“Good Things Go.” You weren’t really thinking. You were somewhere else. Half-remembered regrets, sharp edges dulled by fatigue.

And your voice, soft, low, almost a hum, joined the melody.

Say I hate you when I don't... Push you when you get too close... It's hard to laugh when I'm the joke... But I can't do this on my own...

You didn’t notice him shift in the cot.

Only you can save me from my lack of self-control... And I won't make excuses for the pain I caused us both... So thank you for always standing by me even though... Sometimes bad things take the place where good things go...

The last note faded.

You blinked, suddenly aware of the room again. Of him still behind you. You turned your head halfway, not meeting his gaze, not needing to.

He hadn’t moved.

Not much.

But you knew he’d been listening.

Maybe not to the words. Maybe just to the sound of you. The way your voice had softened. The way your guard had slipped.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t react. Didn’t ask.

Just kept his gaze steady, unreadable, cool, but not unkind. And maybe a little longer than necessary, he didn’t look away.

You cleared your throat, turned back to the compartment. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

He didn’t respond.

But his voice came a few moments later, low and distant:

“…Didn’t sleep.”

That was all.

But somehow, it was enough. Maybe it was somehting in his voice, in that moment, that told you, he wasn't as cold as he was acting.

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@thecoffeelorian @littlemissbshine

#star wars #tbb #x reader #bad batch crosshair #crosshair #crosshair tbb #crosshair x reader #crosshair x you #crosshair bad batch #tbb crosshair #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair the bad batch

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playedcrowd5610 · 8 months ago

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Soundwave - Danny Phantom x Transformers Prime

Summary: Danny finally manages to get a chance to talk to Soundwave and discovers why Megatron hasn't discovered him yet. Maybe he also makes a friend along the way.

---

Notes

Set in a series where Danny finds Starscream one day and decides to start haunting the Decepticons. That's basically all the context you need but if you want more here is the rest of the series:

Haunting the Nemesis

Part 1: Chasing Stars

Part 2: Burning Rubber

Part 3: Adventures of the Decepticons' Pet Ghost Or Tumblr Master List

---

Danny had been on the Nemesis for over a week at this point, and for some reason, Megatron hadn’t come kicking down Starscream’s door in order to confiscate his new pet and blast Danny to smithereens or throw him out the airlock. From what he had heard about Megatron from Starscream’s dramatic retellings he seemed to have more of a dislike towards humans than Starscream did.

Though to be fair, Starscream still greatly disliked humans, he was just stuck with one who was now not going to leave him alone and was starting to reluctantly enjoy his company because Danny is the only one who tolerated his monologuing.

But so far, the only Decepticons aware of Danny’s presence were Starscream, Knockout, and Breakdown. The two later found Danny inside Starscream’s crushed subspace after pulling them away from the cave Danny had phased them out of. Once a more lucid Starscream had threatened them enough about what would happen if they told Megatron, even Danny was scared for them.

Danny didn’t know if Starscream was more worried about Danny getting killed if Megatron found out or if Starscream was worried about what Megaton would do to him if he found out that his second-in-command adopted a human pet. Probably a mix of both.

So far, from what Starscream had relayed to him in the last couple of months, Megatron seemed like the kind of mech to let Starscream keep Danny until he messed up and then would promptly squeeze the new pet until he exploded just to prove that he had power over Starscream. And that thought was enough of a reason for Danny to try and stay in hiding. Not that he was worried that Megatron would kill him — Danny didn’t think anyone on this ship could — but he didn’t want Starscream to get hurt in the process and Danny to be a means to achieve that hurt.

But still, Danny was confused. And he could tell that Starscream was as well. The last few days, he had seen the seeker pacing incessantly around his room and talking to himself about how something seemed off. Starscream had warned Danny not to leave his room, which Danny didn’t listen to. But apparently, the bedrooms (berth-rooms? Personal quarters?) were the only places on the Nemesis without security cameras.

But with all of those cameras, there definitely had to be some way that Megatron knew about him, that is unless someone was messing with the footage. After some light questioning of Starscream about how the security worked and who had access, he discovered that a mech by the name Soundwave had control of everything on the ship. He was apparently constantly watching and recording everything that happened and was the third in command on the Nemesis after Starscream himself. And if anything was happening to the footage Danny was in, it was ‘cause of that guy.

Danny decided to take this questioning into his own hands. A few days later, while Starscream was out, Danny turned invisible and slipped through the door, weaving in and out through the hallways until he found a big enough door that he could safely assume was the bridge.

There, standing at the main control panel, surrounded by monitors, was a tall purple mech who looked like he was pierced together by several thin pieces of metal. Even his arms seemed as thin as paper compared to the rest of these guys.

The purple origami man was rapidly typing on the keys with fingers even longer than Starscream’s (which Danny didn’t even think was possible). As Danny floated closer to his side he saw the black screen covering his faceplate, removing any expression from the table. He remembered Screamy talking about that “faceless freak” before, and how unnerving it was to be around him.

Well, now was as good a time as ever to make an introduction. “Heyyy, just the mech I wanted to talk to,” Danny said as he turned visible and walked out of the shadows. The mech simply turned its helm towards him and tilted his visor to the side. Screamy was right; that was a little unnerving. He could see his reflection looking back at him in the black glass.

And if Starscream’s EM field was hard to read, this guy’s was impossible. Danny strolled up closer to him, pretending that the staring didn’t bother him at all. “I was curious. Why didn’t you rat me out, to the big M?” Danny put his hands in his pockets. “I know you saw me on the cameras in the lab. There’s no way you didn’t. And I've been in the halls many times. I was expecting to be exterminated like the “pest” I am by now.”

Soundwave didn’t move from his position. “Curious, -saw- -on the cameras-, didn’t- know -why-.” The mech clipped back to him in his own voice, which made Danny’s eyes widen.

“You were curious about me, so you wanted to know more before you go tell your master?”

The mech paused, as if trying to comb through Danny’s sentences for words but instead decided to lean in closer, awkwardly crouching on one knee so that Danny could see his visor more clearly as English words appeared on the screen for Danny to read like subtitles. ‘Subject gives off unstable readings, waiting for more data before proceeding…’ A scan of Danny’s body showed up on Soundwave’s faceplate. Things like ‘below average body temperature’ and ‘Energy feedback readings’ stood out.

Danny laughed nervously. It seemed this guy was closer to finding Danny out than he would have hoped. Danny rubbed the back of his neck as he stepped back a bit. “If you find out what I am, will you tell Megatron?”

Soundwave stilled a bit too long for Danny’s liking before responding. “Negative.” The voice sounded strangely monotone and robotic compared to any other mechs he encountered. “Statement: Report is required for all unauthorized guests. Statement: you are not unauthorized.”

Danny smiled. “So because Starscream let me on, I’m allowed?” He paused. “Also, was that your real voice?”

The mech again waited a long moment before responding. “Both assessments: correct.”

“I didn’t think you spoke around other people?” Danny questioned. He was sure that Starscream had mentioned he never heard the mech speak, and Starscream didn’t even think he had a voice.

Soundwave straightened slightly so he wasn't crouching down so far to meet Danny in the middle. “Only when necessary.” He then started turning around to face the monitors again. Ahh, the work grind never stops.

Danny scuffed his foot back and forth on the floor. Starscream wouldn’t be back for another hour or so and he was bored of those data pads. Danny coughed into his hand, causing the mech to turn his helm back towards Danny again with a slight tilt. “You mind if I join you for a bit?”

Soundwave paused in thought before he replied with a quick nod. Just as Danny was about to walk closer to the terminal, a long purple tendril extended from Soundwave’s side and slowly wormed itself toward Danny. Danny stepped back a bit in surprise at first but the tentacle gently wrapped itself around Danny’s waist, gently lifting him to the height of the desk and placing him down with more gentleness than he had received at any point being on the Nemesis thus far.

Soundwave must not have been doing anything important, as he let Danny watch. Or maybe he just didn’t think Danny was able to learn Cybertronian that fast. Danny sat down on the desk with crossed legs as he glanced over the text flashing up the screen rapidly. The other monitors were showing cameras and other information they were scanning from Earth, photos, maps, and even articles of dig sites. Danny sat there, enamored by the work.

“Request: reveal your designation.” Danny’s head snapped up and back towards Soundwave’s visor, which was solely focused on him. Danny guessed on the cameras he was just called ‘the human’ or ‘pest’ or ‘Starscream’s pet’. It was nice of him to ask.

“Danny. My name is Danny.” Danny smiled brightly.

Soundwave nodded as a smiling emoticon appeared on his visor and he turned back to his work.

---

Disclaimer: Soundwave talking — so I know that Soundwave doesn't commonly talk in Prime like… at all. But he is shown to speak (even if it was only one line) in the series. He can talk, he just chooses not to unless the need arises. This started back when he was in the Senate and no one listened to him, so he decided that actions speak louder than words. After that, he only speaks to those he respects, and when the need arises. Mainly Megatron, or his mini-cons.

As much as I love Soundwave's somehow snarky silence and clipping things together with previous words he has recorded, I think it’s sweet if he finds himself willing to speak to Danny, especially because I see him as treating Danny almost like one of his mini-cons. Either way! Hope my interpretation of Soundwave is up to your standards and that people enjoyed how I wrote him <3

#danny phantom #danny fenton #crossover #transformers prime #danny phantom x transformers #transformers #decepticons pet ghost #decepticons #haunting the nemesis #soundwave #starscream #ao3 #fanart

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fandomtrash-16 · 8 months ago

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that one panel in the noland flashback has been eating at me for months, and the sillies are on their way to Elbaf, so like. never a better time to post my god headcanons

/their designs were made before Egghead finished so like, any inaccuracies are due to that, sorry//

little fun facts and doodles below:

Ohma (Ohm-ma), Nika, and Aamaru (Ah-ma-rue) are major gossips. Often they'll gather in the gardens and relay stories about themselves or other things between each other. Nika often has the weirdest stories, while Aamaru has the most dramatic.

Rudahn (Rue-dan, like Dadan) is the eldest of the divine four, and is the most strict. (Think of a school Principal) Nika is his polar opposite, and the two often get into arguments, as Rudahn thinks Nika's behavior is unfitting of a God. Nika thinks him controlling.

Nika and Ohma like to garden together :) His rooms in his temples/castle are eternally sunny, so she borrows them for her plants

Aamaru has a proper big dragon/sea serpent form!! ....but I'm still working on it,, He is based on Amaru, which is a sacred serpent from Incan mythology!

the whole "Sun god Nika of Elbaf" thing makes me think that maybe Nika's giant form is his normal size, but I like to think he prefers being in such a small form. easier to party!

part of Ohma's hair is actually vines! she uses them to hold up her hair in a partial bun, and she likes to weave flowers onto them

confession: I love @/orange-artist 's god AU so much, like Astrus and Tsuisu are canon to me, so if these sillies were a part of that AU then Aamaru, despite being a god himself, would actually worship Tsuisu. (bc yknow, mink.)

the fact that the joyboy silhouette (not from egghead) looks almost identical to Nika's silhouette but without the boa has led to my personal belief that the first 'Joyboy' was just Nika coming back to cause problems (Imu hates him so much)

Nika has two human (mortal) friends: Veras, his personal attendant and Ashira, a wandering scholar. (because I can)

^ i also have some bare concepts for the ocean as a god, because the fact there's a character tag on ao3 for it is just too good, and also its literally so important to the story and it being alive is just AUUH

my ramblings are probably all over the place but i hope they make enough sense shsbdn

#sun god nika #one piece #skypiea gods #the devil fruits are my very bad guesses at what they'd make #sans aamaru's his was inspired by theories abt dragon's df #they are canon to me #this all ties into my theories about Imu too #gods au #shout out orange artists god au that isnpired me so much #the ocean (one piece)

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waywardserpent176389053 · 1 year ago

Text

Natsuki's Doki Doki Panic Chapter Two

Here is the second chapter, this time with editing provided by the talented @nursepunkdreams.

Circling Darkness

At first, Natsuki could only feel the throbbing of her heart. It was hummingbird fast, uncountable, and as tentative as the slight beat of their wings.

And it hurt. God, did it hurt. As though someone had sunk several needles into her chest and her heart was being forced to contract around them.

But that wasn’t quite right. Her other senses trickled in one after another. More pain. The soft hiss of compressed air; something strapped to her face, and a scattering of smaller somethings attached to her chest. A shrill, rapid beeping…

She winced. She was in motion, for sure—whoever was driving had hit some rough road. She tensed and tried to focus on something else.

Natsuki finally opened her eyes. She recognized the interior of an ambulance right away and tried to take it all in. An intravenous line snaked into her arm, and a dozen EKG electrodes covered her naked chest. A green mask fitted around her face fogged with her every breath.

Her vision wouldn’t quite focus, no matter how much she willed it to, and her thoughts didn’t fare much better. The whats, the whys, the hows of everything—it all escaped her.

“Hey there.” The paramedic noticed her wandering eyes. He gently touched the side of her face to center her gaze on him. “You just rest, okay? You’ve been through a lot. We’ve got you.”

She wanted to demand some answers, but was distracted by someone touching her shoulder. It looked like…

“It’s okay. I’m here too,” Monika reassured her in a soft tone. She watched worriedly as the other paramedic inched his stethoscope around her chest. “You fainted in the club room… so we’re just going to the hospital for a checkup. That’s all.” She placed her hand in Natsuki’s.

The paramedic let out a short sigh when he finished his examination and replaced the instrument around his neck.

“Still tachy. ETA?” He called out to the front.

“A minute, if that.”

Natsuki allowed herself to take some relief in that. The hospital would fix everything, right?

“Ah—” Her breath caught with a particularly painful spasm of her heart. The patient monitor sounded off with a new alarm as the spasms continued, and her hopes began to wane.

“She’s throwing some strong PVCs,” the paramedic said. He looked concerned scanning the monitor’s readout. “Hanging out around 180—pulse ox is dropping…”

Natsuki didn’t understand what the words meant. She looked to Monika for context and found her looking down at her, tense with worry—even more so than before.

That couldn’t be good.

“We’re here,” Monika gently relayed the information to her with a hand on her face. “I’ll be close by, okay…?”

She barely registered what she had said. There was a bit of jostling, some fussing by some unseen hands and the voices attached to them; the panel lights flashing overhead… but all she could focus on was her heart, beating out of control. It skipped and stuttered along in double-time, threatening to give out…

Then she came to a stop. She thought she glimpsed a sign that said ‘Cardiac Care Unit’, but she didn’t have time to think about it further. Suddenly her body was aloft, and then manhandled into position on a new bed. On every side, people were a blur of activity and an indiscernible torrent of medical jargon she couldn't hope to understand.

“Hi there Natsuki, are you with us?” One of her attendants spoke loudly and clearly, but still with a reassuring lilt. She waved her hand in front of her face. “There you are. You’re at the hospital, okay? Your heartbeat is very irregular, and we need to give it a little jolt to get it back to normal…”

She continued talking, explaining, but the words faded. On her opposite side, another medic was readying a defibrillator. She’d seen them, in movies, of course—but never in real life. The heavy capacitors were placed on her chest: one under her collarbone and the other under her breast. The team stepped back, and the man holding the paddles shot her a sympathetic look.

The shock was sharp and sudden, so much so that she hardly grasped that it had happened at all. She gasped, the trace read flat, and she became hyper aware of her heart. For a second, she was able to trace every part of her rebellious cardiac organ. Every blood vessel, valve, nerve, all of it; as though she could view it in a three-dimension space…

Then the muscle contracted. Once more, blood rushed to the rest of her body. She started to hyperventilate. The sensation—the awareness—was overwhelming. The monitor continued to broadcast a rhythm that was far too rapid.

“No change—still v-tach…”

She braced for the worst. The twin capacitors settled onto her chest once more.

The second shock struck her. The muscles of her back tightened and thrust her body against the defibrillator paddles, as if trying to buck them off. Her heart clenched like a fist, the electricity forcing a contraction. She slumped back onto the bed and her heart relaxed, still for a moment, then one beat… another…

No third beat. Natsuki’s heart, tired from all it had been through, merely twitched and spasmed.

She felt like she was sinking. The action around her grew more frantic—one medic rushed forward to compress her chest, another grabbed a bag-valve mask as her breath fled her lungs in a drawn out wheeze.

Her vision frayed into darkness at its edges. She feared the worst, but…

She could still see.

A medic frantically worked her chest, caving her ribs with every shove. Another tore off her mask and replaced it with the bag valve. She squeezed the bulb fast and steady, raising her chest with each repetition. It brought an ache in her ribs to her attention, and she found herself with the wherewithal to wonder if it was broken. Having barely finished her thought, she also noticed the pain of her ordeal was rapidly subsiding.

This is so embarrassing… Natsuki thought when her head was a little clearer. She hadn’t bared her chest for anyone in recent memory, but now a whole half dozen—or more—got to behold her pathetic body. She could feel her small breasts jiggling with each thrust, and going by what parts of her body felt clothed… she was only wearing her pink panties and white socks.

Natsuki thought she might expire fully right then and there.

She was reminded of the gravity of her situation then. She was fucking dying.

No… no! Not like this! She couldn’t reconcile with it. Her life had been utterly terrible for so long—it was only just getting good. She had a nice place to live! A crush on a cute girl! And she most certainly did not deserve to die from a sudden heart attack. She still needed to graduate, start a bakery… have sex at least once—not put into a casket at the ripe old age of fucking eighteen.

The compressions stopped, and the defibrillator was placed against her once more.

Please work, Natsuki begged. The current rippled through her and arched her back. Her jaw clenched, and for a second, all she saw was light. It rapidly gave way to darkness.

The void lingered just long enough to make her think this might be it. But she realized—she could still think, and then, she heard the noises around her. They were muffled, as though coming from the next room over, but enough for her to cling to for dear life. There was an alarm—shrill, persistent; a backdrop against the desperate voices of the team working her code.

She became aware of the compressions resuming next—suddenly acutely aware of her ribs being forced down; of her sternum pushing into her heart. The weight moved the arrested muscle down, stopped only by her spine; her ribs growing more pliable and fragile by the second. Beneath her chest wall, the organ was squeezed like a rubber ball; the valves within forced open as the blood was ejected. She could feel it—the blood pushed through the hungry arteries… and could discern, somehow, that it wasn’t nearly as effective as her heart beating normally. Between each thrust, her heart would swell as the blood rushed back.

All of this, in less than a second. But time dilated beyond all meaning now. The artificial rhythm continued at pace, and Natsuki felt the cadence with exacting clarity. Her heart continued to twitch. It reminded her of a plate of gelatin being shaken.

It occurred to her then—she hadn’t really considered her cardiac health all that much. Sure, she’d been a bit worried about it recently, but she didn’t think about it as a distinct part of her. She supposed she’d abstracted it somewhat—it having took on the appearance of a classic cartoon heart in her mind's eye, rather than the complicated mass of muscle it actually was.

Natsuki tried to give herself a shake. The present moment was far more pressing than this weird little detour her mind had taken… she needed that heart to beat again.

The compressions let up and air flooded her lungs. She relished the feeling. Breathing was good…

More of that, please…

She was met with more compressions. It would have been a relaxing cycle, if not for the mortal terror of it all.

Attempting to shift her mind elsewhere, she thought of her heart again. She could feel it so clearly, after all… perhaps she could figure out what the hell was wrong with it. She imagined turning it over in her hands, looking for anything amiss.

Her mouth being forced open broke her train of thought.

Oh… that’s kind of unpleasant… she thought dreamily as the endotracheal tube was guided down her throat. She wanted to gag, but didn’t, and when air came again at last, it inflated her lungs even more than before.

Alright, tube… I forgive you, Natsuki thought, still dazed. She allowed herself to luxuriate in the newfound oxygen and expected the cycle to resume, but it didn’t—instead of the hands ramming her heart, she felt two familiar weights against her chest.

Natsuki steeled herself as best she could.

Please, shocky things… please work—

The defibrillation forced her eyes open for a moment. Her heart, as with every shock before, locked up and ceased its twitching. She could see her chest arching against the paddles; the large, ugly bruise that had settled between her breasts; the breathing tube taped in place at her lips, and the many medics desperately trying to save her.

Maybe she was imagining things, but… she thought they didn’t look particularly hopeful. Her organ had stilled. There was an agonal contraction after a long pause, and then it started quivering again.

Natsuki groaned. The shock had hurt like hell. And not only that, but it had failed to revive her. At the very least… the pain was evidence she was still alive. It had to be. She tried to recenter herself, but—

They must have increased the voltage. The electricity snaked through her muscles, pulling each one taut as the current leaped from one paddle to the other. Her spine bowed and her heart seized with the current. She could trace the individual nerves of the organ as they fired all at once, the muscles at their end squeezing with as much strength as they could spare. Then—as before—it relaxed and returned to spasming.

Natsuki was getting a little frustrated now. Weren’t they supposed to call out ‘clear’ or something? A little more warning would be nice…

The compressions returned, and she began to riddle over her fibrillating organ once more. There must be an issue with her nerves—they were still sending out signals, but not the right ones. That must be why her heart was shaking instead of contracting. She traced her own cardiac nerves, trying to find which ones weren’t working, not sure what she would do if she found the right one…

The paddles were placed around her heart again.

Okay… gotta focus, she thought, with newfound determination. When the shock comes, I gotta force that nerve to—

The defibrillation rocked her body. Her heart contracted; its electrical signals scrambled. Natsuki traced the current…

There!

At the top of her heart, there was an entire cluster of nerves firing all at once from the external current. One of those nerves stood out to her, and even though she couldn’t tell how… she knew that was the one.

The charge dissipated, and her heart fell still. It stayed still.

The sinking feeling from earlier came back tenfold and Natsuki fought hard to keep her head above water. She was suddenly so cold, and the sounds from outside grew ever indistinct. She could only just barely make out the team’s voices…

“Asystole…!” One attendant shouted.

“Losing her!” She heard another cry.

The sensation of the chest compressions returned to her, but numb and distant.

Her life flashed before her eyes. Memories from the early days, when her mom was still around… those fleeting peaceful moment between the shouting matches and slamming doors. She hadn’t taken Natsuki with her, when she left—and she’d always blamed herself for that.

She was a pitiful child, after all. There were the years where she barely had any friends—thin and destitute, scrounging around for whatever food that man left for her—never enough to fill her. She was reminded of learning to bake, so she wouldn’t starve over summer break, and the comics she gorged herself on to give her any sense of hope.

More recent images flashed before her. Like joining the Literature Club and meeting all of her new friends.

That man being arrested, freeing her at last.

Planning for college. Baking new things—not for survival, but for fun.

All of it so recent. And so, so short.

Natsuki suddenly saw that all she would amount to would be a girl who never got the chance to really live—who got only the smallest taste of a good life before it was cruelly snatched away.

The darkness boiled around her; the cold threatening to consume her.

No!

She was not going to die!

Natsuki desperately thrashed against the death that surrounded her. She could still feel her body—the chest compressions, the air pumped to her lungs; the faint sounds of the efforts to revive her. She pushed upward, as if swimming towards the surface of an endless lake.

Natsuki had spent years reading manga. She tended toward slice of life and comedy—stories of girls just hanging out and having a good time, but she had read a bit of everything. Horror, romance, erotica, dramas, sometimes even action/adventure, if she was feeling a bit bored of her usual fare.

She envisioned herself as the protagonists of one of these adventures. Downtrodden, bloody—but standing up and defying the odds nonetheless. The second wind was coming.

She was going to survive this.

In her mind’s eye, she wrestled with her heart; begged it function. She pleaded and coaxed, and then, she was overwhelmed by an awful, acidic burning sensation in her veins. It moved closer to her heart with each press on her sternum, and she felt sick about it, but she knew it was likely the doctors still trying to save her and tolerated it as best she could.

The drugs soon arrived at her cardiac center. Nerves, once quiet, began to fire again. Slowly at first, then swiftly gaining speed—before long, the muscles attached returned to their unconditioned shaking.

Yes! Natsuki reveled in her triumph, even though it was largely the drugs that had done the heavy lifting.

Come on! Hit me again, shocky things!

As though the team could hear her, the weights of the paddles were promptly settled onto her chest again. Natsuki readied herself, but her timing was off. The fibrillation continued, and she prepared for the next jolt.

Three, two, one…

Another current rolled through her and she rode along it, pouring every ounce of her will into forcing her heart to beat once more. The cardiac muscles tightened, then relaxed, then remained still.

The darkness swirled around her. Natsuki clung to the light.

That was supposed to work, damn it!

Time was dilating again, and the creeping coldness settling in was fogging her mind. The distance between the compressions and voices stretched on further and further, as though she were adrift at sea, being pulled further and further away by the unforgiving yet undeniably gentle tide…

She felt more acidic drugs pouring into her veins and thought—for a scant moment—that her heart would react and start spasming again. But the organ did not respond. The voices of the medics cut in and out, hazy; painfully indistinct. Despite her senses failing, she still picked up the droning cry of the monitor, a flatline certainly running across it. In her altered state, it signaled to her that there was some great, terrible predator stalking around her, waiting to take her into dissolution.

My name… she thought desperately. It’s… my name is Natsuki. I like good manga, cute things… and baking! She tightened her focus. And… I love my friends, Monika, Sayori, and Yuri. God, Yuri… if I live for anyone, it’ll be for you!

She held onto this thought loop for dear life. A shield against the tide, against the cold, against the predator stalking near… if she could just hold onto herself… her friends…

Something changed. It was hard for her to focus on other things, but this was different. The compressions had stopped, but her heart wasn’t twitching. The asystole alarm continued, although distorted, as if she was hearing it underwater.

Oh… they gave up… she thought, despondent.

After all that, despite everything, her time was up.

The immense void moved in.

Yuri…!

She was numb, completely and utterly, but… there was no doubting it. She was being cut open. She struggled to remember why that might be happening.

Was she… dead? Was this a morgue; an autopsy? Something cold forced her ribs apart, snapping them like twigs.

That hurt. That hurt!

She remembered the names of her beloved friends and focused on the pain.

If I can still feel pain… then I must be… still alive…

Something new invaded her chest. They wrapped around her heart and squeezed. Hands, maybe. Blood shot through her arteries.

Natsuki rallied.

They haven’t given up! They’re still trying!

Her mind was scattered, but she tried to focus. She centered her attention on her stubborn heart.

Come on… work! Do something!

More drugs. It all felt so terrible, but she grit her teeth and didn’t dare break her focus.

A flutter. Then another, then her whole heart was thick with fibrillation once more. She could feel it so clearly; it was injured, weakened from its ordeal. The repeated shocks, the drugs, the lack of oxygen… and something deeper.

Some small thing that had always been there.

Natsuki lacked the vocabulary for it, but she knew, more than anything, it was the root cause. It wasn’t her nerves misfiring for seemingly no reason—it was this. This little thing she didn’t have a name for.

This flaw.

Small metal discs were placed against her heart.

Mini shocky things… she thought hazily. She knew she didn’t have much fight left. The creature stalked, just outside her perception, she knew—waiting for her to slip up.

Wait for the right—

Her heart was the sun as the charge smashed into it. Even though the capacitors were smaller, it was many, many times more intense.

Natsuki shook it off and readied herself. Her heart continued to shake meaninglessly.

Heh… rule of threes, she thought wryly. It’s now or never…!

The third hit. As her nerves sparked and fired; as the cardiac muscles clinched; as blood sloshed forward from the artificial beat—Natsuki took hold of one thought and bent all her will towards its success. She screamed it, howled it, bellowed it:

BEAT!!!

The heart relaxed as the charge dissipated. It was still.

Then, a nerve fired. Others followed. The muscle contracted—dared to contract.

And again. Then it stumbled, but caught itself.

Ba-dup… ba-dup… ba-dup…

If she could, Natsuki would have collapsed out of sheer relief.

She’d lived. She’d fucking lived.

She knew that her heart was still in poor shape; that she wasn’t out of the woods just yet. But that didn’t matter.

For now, she was alive. The rest could come later.

A new darkness rose around her, a friendlier one—a blanket of simple unconsciousness. She took the offer; she was exhausted in her bones. Her friends' faces rushed past her; she’d kept them. Held on so tight. Let them guide her back to the world of the living.

“I’ll see you soon, okay…?” she murmured, too quiet and indistinct for anyone to hear.

Her heart continued to beat. It was battered… and Natsuki knew, deep down, than it wouldn’t last much longer in the grand scheme of things. But for now, it would fulfill its function. Softly, as if exhausted itself, it beat.

And Natsuki lived.

#resus #cardiophile #cardiophilia #heartbeat #female resus #female heartbeat #storytelling #defib #female defib #cpr #resus writing

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jamieroyjamieroy · 6 months ago

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So I crashed the helicopter. Hope you like it

Is it ever too late?

Tommy walks into his usually pristine house, these days, it’s looking how Tommy feels on the inside. Cold, dusty, empty, unworthy of having Evan anywhere near here. Tommy’s days are now spent working, pretending everything is fine, and coming home and just existing. He isn’t sleeping well, he barely eats. His Muay Thai set-up hasn’t been touched since before that night. His garage sits neglected as well. A fine layer of dirt covers the beat-up car that is still on his car lift. He doesn’t have the energy or motivation to even enter the garage anymore.

Tommy sits on his couch in the dark and opens his phone to text the I’m sorry message to Evan he has been meaning to send every day for months now. The I’m sorry, I love you, please love me back message that he has drafted so many times he could write it in his sleep. That is until that voice in his head repeats the nonstop berating he has done since he left Evan that night. Why couldn’t he be what Evan saw him as, why couldn’t he be the confident person Evan believed him to be? Why did he have to be so broken and stupid? His dad was right, he had always been right. No one could love someone like Tommy. He didn’t deserve it, he had never done anything to warrant Evan admiring him the way he said he did. Not love, Tommy reminded himself. Evan never said that. Only that he admired him. So why had Tommy fallen so hard and so fast for someone he knew deserved better, knew he couldn’t give the future too?

Tommy isn’t sure how long he has sat there, he just feels the long dried tears on his cheeks as his phone rings. For a split second, his heart leaps, hoping it’s Evan reaching out to him. Fighting for them, like no one ever has before. “Hey, Cap” Tommy answers forcing an enthusiasm into his voice that sounds hollow to him. No one at work knows he broke up with Evan, no one knows what Tommy’s life has become. He has always had the ability to pretend everything is fine when he is dying inside. Guess his old man was good for something.

“You still interested in extra shifts, Kinard?” his captain asks sounding harried.

“Sure what do you need?” Tommy asks forcing down all the thoughts that have occupied him for what must have been hours now.

“Can you finish out Thompson’s shift? He was dropping off a patient at Cedars when his appendix decided to make his life hell. The chopper is there. Can you fly back solo and finish out?” Cap sounds like Tommy is his last resort and honestly, Tommy has needed work to get out of his head.

“Of course. I’ll head there now and see you soon” Tommy hangs up, goes into his bathroom to splash water on his face and leaves his house.

Even though it’s after 11 p.m., the traffic between Tommy’s place and the hospital makes the trip longer than Tommy would have liked. Being in the air was the only time he felt like his old self. Every thought fell away, and his mind was solely on the controls in front of him. He knew what to do when he was in the pilot’s seat.

Tommy is finally somewhere other than Evan’s arms that feels like home to him as he starts up the helicopter. The steps to take off are as easy as breathing. It doesn’t take long for Tommy to realise something is wrong. He checks his instrument panel. He looks for what he knows is going to bring him down if he doesn’t fix it now. The alarms start to sound giving him the first indications of how bad this really is. Maybe he should have declined the overtime he thinks without humour. Tommy sends out a Mayday call noting the systems that have failed and his location. He calmly relays where he is going to aim the crash landing so to avoid any casualties other than himself. He gives in to the inevitable all while trying to work through his checklists and fix the problems that, deep down, he knows can’t be fixed. Its then he thinks about Evan and how stupid he was to leave him and how he would give anything to be able to apologise to him and tell him how he feels about him. The ground is closing in on him fast and there is no more time to think about anything.

Tommy feels pain, everywhere. He must have pushed it too hard in the gym he thinks before the sounds and the heat of fire bring him back to full consciousness. He is trapped in his seat but he is alive for the moment. Tommy tries to locate the worst of the pain and sees the metal sticking out of his chest, he blood freely pouring from the wound. Its then he feels his head go foggy, his heart starts to slow and breathing is becoming painful.

Tommy somehow finds his phone in his pocket and makes the only phone call that has ever mattered to him. He just hopes Evan picks up, he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold on.

Buck finally looks at his phone, he has been getting better at putting it down and not obsessively checking to see if Tommy has messaged him. It has taken months and putting it on do not disturb has helped a little, as has the cake he is making to satisfy Maddie’s cravings. He wonders if Tommy wants kids one day, then he chastises himself for thinking about Tommy. It doesn’t matter now, he blew it by bringing up Abby, moving in and getting married. Looking back at what he said he would have run from him too.

The missed call from Tommy and the voicemail has Buck’s heart speeding up. Tommy has finally reached out but the part of Buck that tells him he isn’t going to like what he hears in that message. Looking at the time, Buck sees that it’s 1 am and he just missed picking up the call by 10 minutes. It’s never good news when someone calls that late. This is what has Buck hesitating before the need to hear Tommy’s voice overpowers that nagging voice that tells him to leave it until morning.

“Buck, I’m. Evan. God I don’t know why I am calling you, there isn’t anything that you can do. I am so sorry I left you, I regretted it the moment I left. I wanted to turn around and beg for you to forgive me. To move in with you that night, even though it would make more sense to move in with me. I’m, argh, I need you to know that I was scared about how much and how quickly I fell for you. I’m sorry I couldn’t say any of that then and I’m sorry to tell you now but it’s my last chance to tell you that I love you Evan Buckley. The 6 months with you were the best of my life and I’m sorry for being scared then. To tell you the truth knowing that my minutes are numbered makes me brave enough to tell you that I love you and I hope you find someone to be your last just like I found mine. Goodbye my love”

Buck doesn’t notice the tears streaming down his face as he hears the sirens on the message and Tommy’s silence. He doesn’t realise he has fallen to his knees as he hears the paramedics saying they have no pulse before the phone finally slips from his hand and he feels his heart shatter at the greatest loss of his life.

That beep is going to be the first thing I get rid of, he thinks. Before wondering why there would be such an annoying sound here. Then again it’s not like he believed in Heaven before he died so why would he end up there? The pain throughout the entirety of his body confirms for him he can’t be in Heaven. The only thing that has him questioning whether this is Hell is the beautiful face full of tears before him.

“Hey baby, welcome back” Evan says wiping the tear that escaped. “You scared me, please don’t do that again.”

“How are you here?” Tommy asks cupping Evan’s cheek to prove that he is not hallucinating.

“I got your message. I called your Captain and then raced here once he told me you crashed. You are never allowed to crash again, you hear me. I can’t lose you for good,” Evan says, kissing the hand on his face.

“I’m not dead?” Tommy asks still confused trying to sit up but the pain piercing his body has him halting.

“No. Not de… not dead” Evan stutters letting the tears fall. “You have been in a coma for the last 10 days but you are back now. You came back to me”

“I’m so sorry, Evan. I didn’t mean to..” Tommy is cut off by a soft kiss on his lips.

“We have time to talk about all that later. I’m not leaving Tommy and you aren’t leaving me again. I love you too much to let us end.” Evan whispers begging Tommy to hear him this time.

“I’m sorry baby” Tommy says again “I love you and I’m sorry. I’m so sleepy though” Tommy says fighting to keep his eyes open and on Evan, someone he never believed he would see again.

“Sleep my love. I will be here when you wake up and I will tell you again that I love you and you are stuck with me, ok?” Evan says retaking his seat beside Tommy’s bed and holding the hand closest to him.

“Ok, I missed you Evan” Tommy says before sleep takes him and Evan lets the tears, sobs and of nearly losing all of this forever crashes down on him now that Tommy has come back to him.

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #my writing #crash that helicopter

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tagsecretsanta · 5 months ago

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From @thedryswan

From @thedryswan to @call-me-casual

Sort an alternate ending for S1 E23 “Chain of command”, what if Janus and the GDF managed to breach into Thunderbird 2?

Anything based on the song “Little Wolf” from the EPIC musical. Bonus points if it’s set very soon after Jeff’s “death”

Everyone thinks Scott’s spending all that time combing his hair. He’s totally not putting on mascara.

TAG SECRET SANTA 2024 – PROMPT 1

Undeterred by the jolt of static which sent him tumbling backwards, Janus staggered to his feet and returned up the walkway to where the laser cannon had sliced a circular groove in the side plate of Thunderbird Two, a muscle in his jaw twitching with determination.

He ordered the GDF soldiers to bring back the battering ram and once again they braced themselves and prepared to send it crashing against the damaged side plate. A second or two before the ram was due to connect with the hull, the panel slid back sending the soldiers tumbling forward with the momentum and landing in a pile of tangled limbs half in and half out of the cockpit. Selecting two of the soldiers, Janus sent the more injured ones limping back to barracks dragging the ram between them, and entered the cockpit, expecting to find it occupied by four angry Tracy brothers. However, the ceiling hatch was just sliding closed with a low hiss of hydraulics and not only were there no Tracys, there were also no seats.

According to the holodisplay, all four of the International Rescue team had evacuated in armoured ejector seats and were now somewhere up in the air (exact locations unknown or undisclosed).

Never mind, he thought, he could worry about that later. His first task, now that he had successfully taken possession of the Thunderbird, was to remove it to a secure location where the interfering Tracys and their associates would not be able to retrieve it and, while having no seats for the duration of the journey would be a bit annoying, it was nevertheless not the end of the world.

Folding his arms, he walked slowly around the cockpit, marvelling at the banks of switches, relays and controls which seemed to cover every available surface. Very few had labels of any kind which made him shake his head at the thought that one person could possibly know what every button did. Returning to the central console, he reached out and pressed one of the few buttons which was labelled and which, ordinarily, should have fired up the VTOL engines. Instead, suddenly, all the panels, controls and indicator lights switched off and with a deafening clang, a solid cahelium heat shield deployed, entirely covering the forward windscreens and plunging the cockpit into darkness in less than two seconds. The door they had entered through had also resealed itself without them noticing and there appeared to be no handle on the inside or control panel which they could override to open it.

“Please tell me at least one of you remembered your flashlight?” Janus asked impatiently.

“Uh, I have my cell phone, I think. But it’s kinda low on battery.” mumbled one of the soldiers, who Janus had mentally tagged as Idiot #1 but whose name was Robinson.

“Fine then,” he snapped, “Turn it on so we can see what we’re doing.”

Before Robinson could drag the phone from his pocket, the pitch dark was lit by a ring of twelve white LEDs. A moment later, they heard a voice although it was difficult to tell if it was a woman or a girl speaking.

“Hello?” it said, “Oh! You’re not... quite who I expected.”

Janus rubbed his hands together, pleased that at least some of the Thunderbird’s functionalities were online. “So, you’re the onboard computer are you? Activate the control console.”

“Yes and no.” replied the voice. “And you really could be a little more polite.”

“I beg your pardon?” snapped Janus, ignoring the muffled laughs of Robinson and Lewis behind him.

“You didn’t say ‘Hello’, you didn’t ask my name and I certainly didn’t hear pleases or thank yous.”

Snarling, he responded. “Hello.” he began in an oily voice. “And who might you be?”

“I am EOS.”

“How very nice to meet you. Now, would you kindly indulge me and turn on the console here so I can get us airborne? If you please?”

“That’s much better, although I do think you’re overdoing it a bit. But I wasn’t lying. I’m not the Thunderbird Two onboard computer. I just advise every now and then on navigation and guidance systems. I don’t have access to engine components or ignition controls.”

“Well, isn’t that just my luck?” seethed Janus through gritted teeth, beginning to tap the unresponsive console with increasing force in an attempt to get anything working.

“Kindly refrain from damaging the hardware.” asked EOS, “This is a highly expensive piece of machinery and if you break it, your insurance will have to cover the cost of repairs.”

A sudden distant roar, and a partial hologram flashed up indicating that power had been restored to the engines and all was ready for takeoff. Janus had no idea which was the magic button he had hit to get things online but right now he didn’t care.

He grabbed Robinson’s wrist, holding it so that the light from his phone shone on the various instruments. As an experienced pilot, Janus had flown fighter jets, helicopters and private planes in his career; thankfully it seemed the basic architecture of Thunderbird Two was not too dissimilar to the commercial plane and flight simulators he had worked on as a younger man. This flight, though, was likely to be a bit of a challenge given that he had to rule out both instrument flight rules, since none of them responded, as well as visual flight rules because of the heat shield.

At the exact moment he located the throttle lever, the phone battery died plunging them all into near darkness again except for the white LED ring. Patting his foot along the floor, Janus found rudder pedals and flapping a hand around he found the steering wheel, realising he would have to fly on gut feeling and experience alone. Resting his hand on the throttle, he was pleasantly surprised to see the altimeter blink into life so he would at least have an idea of how high they were flying. It would have been nice to have some response from the pitot tubes to judge his airspeed or some kind of attitude indicator or directional gyro but they would have to, well, wing it.

Closing his eyes to try and remember the layout of the warehouses and buildings surrounding them, Janus ran a quick mental calculation of how high they would need for vertical takeoff in order to clear the obstructions around them for horizontal flight.

EOS had the kindness to warn him about the extreme sensitivity of the controls and he pulled back on the throttle as gently as he could with his left hand, keeping the steering wheel level with his right. It wasn’t gently enough, apparently, as the Thunderbird began to vibrate violently, the VTOL over-revving, and the three men felt their stomachs drop into their boots as the craft shot up vertically like a rocket. Janus’s eyes widened looking at the altimeter, the numbers spinning faster than he could read. No craft, he thought, should be able to go so fast from a standstill. What began to concern him was that the Thunderbird felt unbalanced, perhaps because of the sheer velocity or maybe some thermal pockets in the upper atmosphere, but in spite of his efforts to keep her level they could feel it banking and rolling.

He released the throttle and attempted to find any kind of button or switch to steady their flight path. With a lurch, rather like plunging down a rollercoaster, they felt the Thunderbird drop, their sudden loss of altitude confirmed by the dial on the console. Janus could distantly hear and feel that the engines were still firing, which was reassuring.

Until the reassuring noise was replaced by a “phut-phut-phut” sound and the Thunderbird again seemed to lose height.

“EOS?” bellowed Janus, “What’s going on?”

“Uuuummm… I’m not entirely sure. Loss of power for some reason. That shouldn’t usually happen. Unless… Oh, did you switch on the engine recoil actualiser before the reverse thrust compensator? It could be that some of the ion fission output has clogged the airflow input processors.”

His fleeting thought was that none of those terms sounded at all genuine, surely this EOS person was pulling his leg. The steering wheel was wrenched out of Janus’s grasp as Thunderbird Two suddenly went into an uncontrolled and unexpected barrel roll, sending the three men tumbling around the cockpit like pebbles in a washing machine spin cycle. It was around this point that he realised a critical difference between him and the soldiers. While they had tough armoured helmets, kevlar reinforced suits and steel toed boots, he was a uniformed officer with only a cloth suit and cap. He could already feel bruises forming and, assuming they all got out alive, he would be hurting for a week at least.

The rolling stopped as quickly as it began, as a deafening siren sounded, along with a robotic voice saying “Warning. Obstruction. Warning. Obstruction.”

Janus scrambled towards what he hoped was the front of the cockpit, finding the the rudder control pedal and hauling himself to to his feet to grip the steering wheel in an attempt to regain stability.

“Auxiliary power restored. Thrust capacity at five point three percent.”

The three men each drew deep, relieved breaths as the shuddering craft stabilised and the whine of the engines could be heard again. The altimeter, however, showed they were still falling and Janus tried to gain some gradual lift by pulling on the levers. The Thunderbird’s response to the small movement was completely out of proportion as it immediately began to climb, and from the angle of the floor beneath their feet, they could feel that it was flying a sharp ascent so hopefully it would be enough to clear whatever was in the way outside, the computer still barking its warnings about obstructions.

Janus managed to control the climb and level the Thunderbird out although the altimeter now showed blank. Before he could worry too much about that, a series of distant explosions sounded which triggered yet more warnings.

“Warning. VTOL Engine One Failure. Warning.”

One after the other, all four of the VTOLs failed.

“Warning. Terrain. Pull Up. Pull Up. Warning. Terrain. Terrain.”

“EOS!” yelled Janus but there was only deafening radio static in response, with sudden blasts of icy cold air from the cockpit vents.

“Brace for impact. Brace. Brace.” advised the onboard computer.

“What?” cried Lewis, “Brace against what exactly? We have literally zero things to hang on to!”

Flailing around, Robinson grabbed the first thing he found which happened, unfortunately, to be Janus, knocking him off his feet again.

With a loud thud, several teeth juddering vibrations and the sound of screeching metal, they felt Thunderbird Two land heavily on whatever the surface outside might be and bank sharply to starboard, sending them skidding across the floor, scraping themselves on the ridges where the pilots seats had been before slowly dragging to a halt. In the ensuing silence, all they could hear was the blood pumping in their ears and the distant “plink plink plink” of hot metal cooling but at least they were down and no longer moving.

Or were they? Without the use of their eyes to verify what they were feeling, they had that slightly odd sensation one gets when on a boat floating on gently rolling waves.

“EOS?” Janus asked, fighting a mild wave of panic, “What have we landed on?”

“According to my data, you have landed on water.” EOS displayed a hologram of the Earth with a helpful red arrow as a ‘you are here’ marker. If she was correct, and Janus had no reason to doubt her, they had landed in one of the most remote parts of the ocean.

“Very well, deploy buoyancy measures.”

“Negative.” replied EOS, continuing in a voice laced with smugness. “I ought to point out you stole an aircraft. Not a sea craft. If you wanted something that can float, you should’ve stolen Thunderbird Four instead.”

Lewis was whimpering slightly and chewing his knuckles. “This thing can float though, right? Until rescue gets here?”

“Of course not.” replied EOS again. “Thunderbird Two is made from cahelium and weighs four hundred and six tonnes without its payload. With the additional weight of a fully laden pod its current weight is around five hundred tonnes.”

Robinson flung his arms in front of him, flailing blindly and stumbling forward until his knees made sharp contact with the control console whereupon he began frantically searching every display and control he could reach, patting and tapping, trying to find a switch which would jettison the pod and lighten their craft. So much of the console was tactile, though, that it felt completely smooth without the slightest dial or knob. While Robinson was vainly searching for buttons, Lewis stretched up on his tip toes to try and reach the ceiling, hoping he might locate the hatch and that there might have been an unlocking mechanism which would at least get them out of the current trap they were in.

“You are seriously telling me,” snapped Janus, “That this hunk of metal has no lifejackets onboard?”

“Correct. It’s not a commercial craft designed to take on passengers, for one. The usual pilots have the necessary emergency measures built into their flight suits. And as I have already mentioned, it’s an aircraft. There might be something one could rig up stored in the pod.”

“How do we get in there, then?” asked Lewis, hammering at the locked cockpit door having abandoned his attempts to reach the ceiling hatch.

“Once the power comes back online you should be able to unlock the doors, providing you have the correct override access codes. You do have them? Right?”

“Of course we don’t!” howled Robinson, balling up a fist and lashing out, inadvertently hitting the bank of switches above the pilot’s seat (or at least, where a pilot’s seat would be if Virgil and his brothers hadn’t gone and confiscated them). For a short while, Robinson’s only concern was the pain in his fist from the impact of body on metal and moulded plastic.

As panic began to settle in, not helped by the three of them still being in complete darkness, they began to bicker.

Slowly, though, realisation crept over them that the floor had begun sloping again, indicating that the rear of Thunderbird Two was lower than the front and that they might, inevitably, be sinking. The air in the cockpit was growing colder, making them shiver, and faint noises on the edge of hearing became a little louder; enough for them to identify it as water, a few drips to start with but becoming a steady trickle.

“This thing’s not water tight?” cried Janus. “Who the hell built this?”

“It was never designed to be water tight,” replied EOS testily. “Because it’s an aircr-”

“Yes! We get it!” yelped Lewis, as Robinson finally located the manual override handle on the ceiling hatch. With an echoey clunk, the hatch unlocked and he was able to drag it open, jumping up and beginning to pull himself onto the roof. In an instant, the dark night was lit by bright floodlights and Robinson, who had only managed to haul his torso up and out of the cockpit, his legs still dangling down, raised his arm to shield his eyes.

“How close are we to sinking?” called Lewis.

“Uh….. Not very.” He lay down and reached out an arm, helping first Lewis and then Janus up into the cold night air.

Looking around them, they seemed to still be on solid asphalt, not having moved an inch from the moment they became trapped in the Thunderbird. At a distance stood Colonel Casey and the four Tracys, all arms folded.

“Colonel Casey?” called Janus, adjusting his cap, “Your presence here is unauthorised. Turn around before I have you arrested.”

“I don’t answer to imposters.” she replied, “Your credentials don’t seem to check out. Colonel. We’ll be escorting you back to headquarters to answer a few questions.”

Casey nodded to two soldiers to take Janus into custody and, as they led him to the GDF ship, he looked back over his shoulder at the Thunderbird which looked, remarkably, in pristine condition.

“How high did we fly?” he asked.

“About, what, ten, fifteen meters?” Virgil replied, looking at Scott for confirmation.

“You mean thousand meters, right?” prompted Janus.

“No, fifteen meters. Tops. And I think ‘flying’ is overselling it. I basically had you just hover over the parking lot for a few minutes. The rest is all down to 4D effects, making Thunderbird Two act like she’s on a gimbal and the highly impressionable human nature. See?”

As they watched, Virgil activated controls which adjusted the retractable legs, demonstrating how they managed to make the Thunderbird feel like it was sinking.

The vituperative remarks spat by Janus were spoken in too low a voice to be heard over the guffaws and giggles as he stepped up into the ship surrounded by armed guards.

Turning to look back at Thunderbird Two, the brothers grinned. Virgil’s primary concern was how long it would take to repair the laser damage but Gordon grabbed Scott’s arm.

“Two things. First, the workers in danger?”

“All under control,” called Colonel Casey, “GDF operatives are working with local teams, everyone involved is safely on the ground.”

John confirmed the positive resolution over the shared comms channel.

“Second thing?” prompted Scott.

“How do we get our seats back into Thunderbird Two?”

TAG SECRET SANTA 2024 – PROMPT 3

By the look of it, the weather gods had obliged and it would be warm and sunny all day. Perfect for his daughter’s seventh birthday party. Gran Roca wasn’t the biggest house in the area, and if they had been obliged to be stuck indoors because of rain Scott was fairly certain they would have managed, but it did mean that some of the party guests would have free rein to run off steam outside if needed.

He could hear music from downstairs, a combination of his five year old son Adam’s piano lesson with Uncle Virgil and the radio in the kitchen where his wife was keeping an eye on the cake to make sure no little fingers got where they shouldn’t. Three children under the age of eight (and a fourth on the way they hadn’t told anyone about yet) was a challenge at the best of times and there were days when the pair of them felt like they were herding cats. Scott and his wife, though, wouldn’t change a thing.

Thankfully, they had help from the wider family for today’s birthday party, including some amazing decorated cookies. Virgil had been trying to steal some all week at home but had had his hand slapped away each time by his ever-vigilant husband Conrad who was a true artist with a piping bag.

As Scott slowly shaved, ignoring the number of white hairs he was slicing from his face, there was a tap at the bathroom door.

“Mm?” he replied.

“We have a situation.” replied his wife, creeping into the room and closing the door softly. It had been over ten years since anyone had said that phrase to him, ten years since International Rescue had undergone a gradual change and increase in numbers of staff so that now every continent had its own squad managing their geographic area but available to jump in to help in other parts of the globe if there was a catastrophic emergency. It had been a lot easier to relinquish command than Scott had expected, and having his own family was a great reward. He still ran the teaching program that iR required for its operatives, a combination of classroom learning and in person training and drills.

His wife held her phone up to Scott’s ear as he grabbed a towel to dry his hands.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Hi Mr Tracy.” croaked a voice from the other end. Briefly checking the phone display, he realized he was speaking to the entertainer who had been booked to run much of the day’s party. “I’m so sorry-” the voice broke off with a bout of muffled coughing. “But I’ve been fighting off this bug all week-”

“Hey, it’s okay. I can hear you. Just, uhm, get better soon and we can work something out. Thank you for letting us know.”

“Thank you.” replied the entertainer, “I’ll sort out a refund for no show during the week.”

“Not the most urgent thing but thank you. And go, get well.”

He disconnected the call and looked at his wife.

“Well, that’s annoying. Freya was really looking forward to meeting Elsa for a big Frozen sing-a-long.”

“So what are we gonna do?” she asked.

Scott thought a moment, turning the phone over in his hands. “I’ll be back in an hour. Gordon and co should be here around ten and they’re a party all by themselves.”

Planting a quick kiss on her cheek, Scott dashed through their bedroom and down the stairs, snatching up coat, boots and car keys on his way past.

“Hewwo Daddy!” called three year old Daniel, who was playing in the big living room with his oldest cousins, the eleven year old twins Henry and Lucy. He reached out both chubby hands to grab the kiss Scott blew in his direction and giggled as he snatched the invisible kiss from the air.

True to his word, Scott was back at the ranch in just under an hour, carrying a large box and saying nothing about his errand.

Guests started arriving for the party just after lunch, most of them from Freya’s first grade class, a couple from her afterschool science club and one from her ice skating class, and once Scott was sure that his wife had all the grown up hands she would need to manage so many kids, he snuck away upstairs to get ready. Opening the box, he carefully took out all the equipment he had hastily assembled and grinned.

Shrugging himself into the costume, he twisted and turned to try and reach the zipper but realized this was probably why his wife tended to ask for his help when putting on a dress. A quick SOS text yielded results when his wife came upstairs and peered around the bedroom door.

“Oh my god, that’s genius!” she whispered, zipping the floor length blue dress up and carefully attaching the gauzy snowflake cape at the shoulders and cuffs.

“Do you have any spare bobby pins to keep this thing on?” he asked, sliding a white blonde wig with its long braid on to his head and tugging it into position.

“Hm. The colour suits you.” she smiled, handing him pins and picking up one of the spray canisters from the bed. “What’s thi- Noooo… Silly String?”

“What did you think it was? Easy Cheese? And it’s biodegradable, entirely plastic free and machine washable.”

Giving him a hug, she returned to the party as Scott helped himself to the contents of her make up bag, hoping she wouldn’t mind if he opened the brand new mascara.

“What’s he doing up there?” Alan asked, seeing his sister-in-law returning downstairs, “He can’t still be combing his hair. I mean, there’s less of it these days, right?”

She glared at him with a suppressed smile.

Five minutes later, Scott picked up his phone, opened the app which linked up with the speaker system in the house and tiptoed to the top of the stairs. Hitting the play button, he swiftly tucked the phone into his right boot. While he had managed to find an adult sized Elsa costume and wig without too much trouble, getting hold of a pair of sparkly heels in his size was not on his list of priorities so his feet were still encased in clunky work boots.

He made his way slowly down the stairs, miming the words, Freya and her friends grouped at the bottom, jumping and clapping with glee which ramped up a notch when they realized it was actually Freya’s dad in disguise.

With each repetition of “let it go” he squirted Silly String in all directions, covering much of the living room.

A loud round of applause rewarded Scott for his theatrical performance when the song ended and the rest of the party was a smash hit as far as Freya was concerned.

Later that evening, once all the guests had gone home, Scott was relaxing with a cold beer out on the porch along with Gordon and Virgil, still wearing the dress but having shed the wig several hours previously. The other respective spouses were indoors putting their kids to bed with more or less success depending on the relative sugar consumption. Rubbing tired eyes, Freya came out to say goodnight, flopping down onto her father’s lap for a few moments.

“Best party ever, Dad.”

“Really? I’m glad, sweetheart.” he replied, hugging her close.

“I like your brown hair better though.” she yawned, “Can you dress up as Belle next year?”

Scott stared. What had he let himself in for?

#thunderbirds are go #tag team secret santa #thunderbirds #tag team secret santa 2024

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