#Inbound Call Tracking

[smoothtallk]

Are you tracking your customer calls effectively? 🤔

Inbound vs. Outbound Call Tracking might sound technical—but it’s crucial if you want to grow smarter.

This blog breaks it down in simple terms and explains: ➡️ What each method means ➡️ Why they matter for your business ➡️ How to use them to drive better results

[teldrip0]

Improve Marketing Attribution with Inbound Call Tracking Software

Inbound Call Tracking Software connects phone calls to marketing campaigns, helping businesses identify which channels drive the most calls and conversions, leading to better marketing decisions and higher ROI.

[call-atlas]

Transform your marketing strategy and maximize your return on investment with Call Atlas, the comprehensive inbound call tracking software designed to provide businesses with actionable insights and drive conversions.

[mutualcall]

Understanding Pay Per Call: A Guide for Affiliates and Advertisers!

Pay Per Call (PPCall) is a growing marketing model that allows advertisers to connect directly with potential customers through phone calls. This approach has become increasingly popular, especially in industries where personal interaction is crucial for converting leads into sales.

What is Pay Per Call?

Pay Per Call (PPCall) is a performance-based marketing model where advertisers pay affiliates to generate phone calls to their business. Unlike traditional affiliate marketing, which typically involves driving traffic to a website for clicks or purchases, Pay Per Call focuses on driving direct phone interactions. This model is particularly effective in industries where personal communication is crucial for sales, such as healthcare, insurance, home services, and Travel. Legal and Mass Tort, Finance etc.

How Does Pay Per Call Work?

Understanding how Pay Per Call operates is key to leveraging it effectively. Here’s a step-by-step breakdown of the process:

1. Affiliate Partnership: The first step involves establishing a partnership between advertisers and affiliates. Advertisers look for affiliates who can promote their products or services and drive calls to their business. Affiliates, on the other hand, seek out offers that align with their audience and marketing strategies.

2. Unique Tracking Numbers: Each affiliate receives a unique tracking number from the advertiser or the Pay Per Call network. This number allows the advertiser to monitor which calls come from which affiliate. Tracking numbers can be local or toll-free, depending on the target audience.

3. Marketing Promotion: Affiliates use various marketing channels to promote the tracking number. This can include online Google ads, social media ads, Bing ads, SEO, GMB, Yelp campaigns, and even traditional advertising methods like radio or print. The goal is to attract potential customers who will call the tracking number.

4. Call Routing: When a customer dials the tracking number, the call is routed to the advertiser’s business. This seamless connection ensures that the advertiser can engage with the caller directly.

5. Call Qualification and Payment: Not all calls are treated equally. Advertisers often set criteria for what constitutes a qualified call. This may include factors like call duration, caller location, or specific questions the caller must answer. Once a call meets these criteria, the advertiser pays the affiliate a predetermined fee for that call.

Who Chooses Pay Per Call Networks?

Affiliates

Affiliates who thrive in PPC networks typically:

Have experience in driving high-quality leads and calls.

Focus on industries where phone interactions are vital for conversions.

Use various marketing strategies to reach potential customers.

Advertisers

Advertisers who opt for Pay Per Call networks generally:

Seek to increase customer engagement and conversion rates.

Operate in sectors where personal communication significantly impacts sales.

Value performance-based models that ensure they only pay for qualified leads.

Benefits for Affiliates and Advertisers

Benefits for Affiliates

Higher Earnings Potential: Affiliates can earn more per call compared to traditional click-based models, especially if they target high-value industries.

Quality Leads: Since calls often indicate a higher level of interest, affiliates can focus on delivering more qualified leads to advertisers.

Flexibility: Affiliates have the freedom to promote offers in various ways, using different marketing channels that best suit their audience.

Performance-Based Compensation: Affiliates are compensated based on results, which can be more motivating than a flat-rate commission model.

Benefits for Advertisers

Direct Customer Engagement: Pay Per Call allows advertisers to connect with customers personally, fostering better relationships and increasing the likelihood of conversion.

Cost-Effective Marketing: Advertisers pay only for qualified calls, which means they can better allocate their marketing budget.

Increased Conversion Rates: The personal touch of a phone call often results in higher conversion rates compared to other marketing methods.

Detailed Analytics: Pay Per Call networks typically provide detailed analytics and reporting, allowing advertisers to track the performance of their campaigns effectively.

Reliable Pay Per Call Networks: MutualCall is known for its user-friendly platform and robust support system. We offer valuable resources to help affiliates succeed in driving calls.

Adding Value to Networks

To enhance the value of Pay Per Call networks for both advertisers and affiliates, consider the following strategies:

1. Provide Educational Resources: Offering guides, webinars, and training sessions can help affiliates and advertisers improve their strategies and understand the intricacies of Pay Per Call marketing.

2. Implement Advanced Tracking Tools: Investing in advanced tracking and analytics tools allows both parties to monitor performance closely and make data-driven decisions.

3. Foster Communication: Encouraging open lines of communication between affiliates and advertisers can lead to better collaboration and improved results.

Which Pay Per Call Network is Best?

The best Pay Per Call network varies based on individual needs. However, some key factors to consider when selecting a network include:

User Experience: Look for networks that offer intuitive interfaces and seamless onboarding processes.

Support Services: Reliable customer support can make a significant difference, especially for those new to Pay Per Call.

Tracking and Analytics: Ensure the network provides comprehensive tracking tools to monitor performance effectively.

Reputation: Research reviews and testimonials to gauge the experiences of other affiliates and advertisers.

Why Choose Pay Per Call Over Traditional Affiliate Marketing?

1. Higher Engagement: Pay Per Call marketing facilitates direct conversations with potential customers, leading to higher engagement levels compared to traditional affiliate marketing, which often relies on clicks and online interactions.

2. Improved Conversion Rates: Phone calls typically indicate a higher level of interest from customers. This personal touch often results in better conversion rates, making PPC a more effective strategy for many businesses.

3. Real-Time Feedback: With Pay Per Call, advertisers can receive immediate feedback through direct interactions. This allows for quick adjustments to marketing strategies based on customer responses.

4. Enhanced Customer Relationships: Building relationships through phone conversations can lead to increased customer loyalty and repeat business, which is often harder to achieve through online interactions alone.

MutualCall: is a premium pay per call affiliate network

1. Advanced Call Tracking: MutualCall offers advanced call tracking capabilities similar to platforms like Ringba. Their technology allows advertisers to monitor the effectiveness of their campaigns in real-time.

2. Staying Updated with Industry Trends: MutualCall is committed to keeping its affiliates and advertisers informed about the latest industry trends. This knowledge can provide a competitive edge and help optimize marketing efforts.

3. Educational Resources: MutualCall provides a wealth of educational resources, including guides and best practices for both affiliates and advertisers. This support helps users maximize their potential in the Pay Per Call space.

4. Start Your Pay Per Call Journey: If you’re ready to dive into Pay Per Call marketing, contacting MutualCall can be a great starting point. We offer excellent opportunities for businesses to boost your visibility and revenue effectively.

Conclusion

Pay Per Call marketing presents a unique opportunity for both affiliates and advertisers to thrive in a competitive landscape. With direct phone interactions, higher engagement rates, and the potential for increased conversions, it’s no wonder that many businesses are turning to this model. By choosing a reliable network like MutualCall and leveraging the benefits of Pay Per Call, you can streamline your marketing efforts and achieve substantial results.

[aticalltracking]

Auto Technologies Inc.

Marketing Agency

Marketing Agency

Address- 7500 College Blvd., Overland Park, KS, USA 66210

Phone-   +1 866-673-5476

Email-   info@andalign.com

Website- https://aticalltracking.com

Unlock the power of data-driven decision-making with our comprehensive Call and Advertising Tracking Services. Elevate your marketing strategies by gaining unparalleled insights into customer interactions and campaign performance.

Key Features:

1. In-Depth Analytics: Track and analyze every customer call to understand the effectiveness of your advertising efforts. Gain valuable insights into caller demographics, preferences, and behavior.

2. ROI Measurement: Quantify the return on investment for your advertising campaigns with precision. Our services provide detailed metrics on the success of your marketing initiatives, enabling you to allocate resources effectively.

3. Dynamic Number Insertion: Implement dynamic number insertion to seamlessly track calls originating from various advertising channels. Know exactly which ads are driving customer engagement and conversions.

4. Keyword-Level Tracking: Pinpoint the keywords that generate phone calls. Optimize your advertising strategy by focusing on high-performing keywords and eliminating those that don't contribute to call volume.

5. Real-Time Monitoring: Stay informed in real-time with live monitoring of incoming calls. React promptly to campaign performance and make adjustments on the fly for maximum impact.

6. Multichannel Visibility: Whether it's online or offline advertising, our services provide a unified platform for tracking calls across multiple channels. Understand the holistic impact of your marketing efforts.

7. Call Recording: Enhance customer service and training by recording and analyzing customer calls. Gain insights into customer feedback, identify pain points, and refine your advertising approach accordingly.

8. Location-Based Tracking: Understand the geographical reach of your advertising campaigns. Identify regions where your ads are most effective and tailor your strategy to target specific locations.

Empower your business with a comprehensive solution that bridges the gap between advertising and customer engagement. Our Call and Advertising Tracking Services revolutionize the way you measure, analyze, and optimize your marketing efforts, ensuring every call contributes to the growth and success of your business.

Business Hours- Mon - Fri: 9AM - 5PM

Payment Methods- All forms of payment accepted CC, Amex, Discover, Paypal, Venmo, Check, Wire

Year Est- 2002

Owner Name- Roberta Long

Follow On:

Facebook-   https://www.facebook.com/autotechnologies

Twitter-       https://twitter.com/autotechnologie

LinkedIn-    https://www.linkedin.com/in/autotechnologies/

[buckyseternaldoll]

Stitched Into Forever

⤷ Part 1 | Part 2

Bucky Barnes x Fate-Weaver!Reader | Soulmate AU

Summary: The dream becomes real. Souls entwine, fates anchor, and in the quiet aftermath of war, Bucky finally learns the truth behind the golden thread that’s pulled him toward her all his life.

Disclaimer: 18+ content (mdni!), soft smut, emotional climax, metaphysical exploration, shared dreams, spiritual intimacy, post-conflict vulnerability, heavy aftercare, contains consensual intimacy, dream-based power use, and a strong emotional resolution to a lifelong soul-bond. Sets during and after the events of Captain America: Civil War, but follows a largely canon-divergent path

Word Count: 6,052

Author's Note: Maybe I should focus on Bucky x civilian!Reader only, from now on 🙂‍↔️ this was challenging!

One Year Later

You and Bucky had become something solid. Sacred. Official.

Everyone knew.

There was no hiding it anymore.

Not with the way he stood behind you during mission briefings, chin hooked lazily over your shoulder, metal hand spread over your stomach like a claim—casual but impossible to ignore. Not with the way you sat in his lap during long debriefs, legs curled under you, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the lines on his flesh hand while his thumb circled the soft bend of your knee.

Wanda had teased you both once, calling it “emotional osmosis.”

“You’re worse than Vision and I ever were,” she said, sipping tea like it wasn’t a warning.

Sam had begged—more than once—for you two to either soundproof your damn room or move out of the shared safehouse.

“I don’t need to wake up to surround-sound porn rattling the goddamn vents,” he muttered once over breakfast. “This is a war bunker, not a brothel.”

You and Bucky had just shared a knowing look. Then smiled. Then did it again—just to be petty.

But it wasn’t just the walls that gave you away.

It was the battlefield.

Because even now—especially now—Bucky never stopped hovering.

You could be mid-mission, half-shifted into the In-Between, guiding a thread with eyes glazed and voice low, and he’d still be there.

Always there.

Even though you’d trained to remain physically functional while weaving—able to run, shoot, speak—Bucky couldn’t shake the urge to guard you. To orbit your body like a satellite. His metal arm would block stray bullets without thinking. He’d slide in front of you to intercept danger before you even noticed it.

Once, during a blackout operation in Latvia, you’d dropped into the In-Between mid-fight—reading a splintering thread of fate that could’ve saved a hostage. Bucky had tracked your body through the chaos like a shadow, taking down six men without ever straying more than ten feet from your side.

You didn’t remember the bullet that nearly grazed your cheek.

But he did.

“I’m not taking chances,” he’d muttered later, kneeling between your thighs to check you for wounds. “Not with you.”

So it became a ritual.

Whenever you fate-wove in battle, he watched you like a fixed star—never interfering, never questioning, just anchoring. Your reality-check in a world where time bent sideways.

Because no matter how strong you became, no matter how precise your weaving was—

He refused to leave your body unguarded.

And now?

Now you had the whole damn safehouse to yourselves.

Steve and Sam were off-grid on a recon mission. Clint had gone home for a while. Wanda had politely not offered to stay.

Just you. And him.

No schedules. No alarms. No earpieces chirping about protocols or enemies inbound.

Just a wide, empty bed you didn’t have to be quiet in.

—

You were already waiting when he stepped out of the bathroom.

Hair damp, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, towel slung over his shoulder—he froze.

And the sight of you hit him like a landmine.

Not in one of his shirts.

Not wrapped in a blanket.

Not sweet and sleepy.

No.

You were standing by the foot of the bed like a vision torn from every single dream he ever had.

In navy silk.

Dark as midnight.

Shimmering in the faint spill of moonlight, clinging to your curves like a second skin.

The bodice hugged your waist and dipped at your cleavage—framed so perfectly he swore his mouth watered. The lace cutouts kissed your hips and dipped just high enough to tease him with the line of your thighs. Sheer fabric caressed the top of your legs, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. A sliver of garter strap peeked at the edge of your thigh.

And around your neck?

That choker.

Dark blue.

Snug.

With the silver ribbon pendant—gleaming like a sigil above the starburst birthmark he now considered sacred.

He sucked in a breath.

“Jesus,” he rasped.

You smiled softly.

Tilted your head slightly.

Didn’t say a word.

You didn’t need to.

His mouth parted.

Eyes darkened, slow and hungry.

Something inside him—tight and reverent—snapped.

“You tryin’ to kill me?” he asked, voice low with reverence.

“No,” you murmured, stepping closer. “Just wanted to give you something nice to look at.”

Your hips swayed.

Silk whispered with your every step.

The pendant at your throat swayed like it had a pulse of its own.

“Sweetheart…” he breathed, eyes trailing down your body like a man in prayer. “If you weren’t already mine—I’d be on my knees begging for you.”

You stopped in front of him.

Lifted your hands.

Ran them down his chest, slow.

Fingertips grazing damp skin.

Your nails caught lightly on the ridges of his abs and he shuddered beneath your touch.

You felt the heat pour off him.

Felt the tension under your hands.

Felt the ache rolling off him in waves.

“You’ve begged before,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “But not while you were wearing this.”

He reached for your hips, groaning softly when your silk-clad body met his bare chest.

His hands found your waist like they belonged there.

One slid to your lower back, the other resting on your hip, possessive but patient.

“You wore this for me?” he asked, voice thick.

You leaned in.

Breath warm near his ear.

“I wore this…”

Your lips grazed the shell of his ear.

“…to wreck you.”

He cursed under his breath.

His hands tightened.

He stepped toward you like gravity didn’t matter—like your body was the only thing pulling him through time and space.

Because the lingerie had wrecked him.

But it wasn’t just the silk or the lace or the ribbon at your throat.

It was the look in your eyes.

That soft command.

That unshaken calm.

The way you didn’t ask for him—you summoned him.

And he stood there, jaw slack, chest rising like he’d just run a mile, mouth parted like he didn’t know whether to moan or pray.

You placed your hand over his chest.

Slow.

Soft.

Sure.

And he exhaled like your touch was oxygen.

Like he’d been drowning until you grounded him.

“Sit,” you said, voice like silk wrapping around his ribs.

He blinked once.

Then obeyed.

Dropped to the edge of the bed, legs apart, bracing himself with hands on his thighs.

A perfect soldier waiting for orders.

But his eyes?

They burned.

They devoured you.

And you stood between his knees like a goddess sculpted by starlight.

Palms on his shoulders.

Thumb brushing over the metal collarbone on his left.

“Touch me,” you said softly.

“Only where I ask.”

He groaned.

Head tilted back, neck arched, breath stuttering like he couldn’t believe he was alive in this moment.

“Fuck,” he said, voice wrecked. “Okay���yeah—anything. Just tell me what you need, baby. I got you.”

You felt it.

How he meant it.

Felt it in the tremble in his breath, the way his body vibrated beneath your hands.

He was yours—every inch.

Ready to be guided.

Worshiped you for leading.

Your heart stuttered.

Your thighs clenched.

A slow throb built deep inside you.

Because this wasn’t just sex.

This was a promise.

—

You reached for his wrists first.

Guided his hands, slow and deliberate, until his palms met your hips.

The moment he touched you—his fingers curled in tight.

Gripping the silk like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

Like if he let go, he’d float straight to hell or heaven—he didn’t care which, as long as you were with him.

The pads of his fingers flexed once, then again.

Like he couldn’t believe how soft you felt under his hands.

Like he was afraid he’d ruin it if he gripped too hard.

You leaned forward slightly, letting your breath fan over his cheek, and whispered:

“Now kiss my neck.”

He didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t question.

He leaned in like he needed to. Like his lungs only worked when his mouth was on you.

His lips were hot.

Breath shaky.

He started just beneath your jaw—a reverent brush of heat—and then he trailed lower.

Open-mouthed kisses, one after another, slow and worshipful. Each one sent tiny sparks zipping through your skin.

He kissed down the line of your throat, tongue grazing lightly where your pulse fluttered fast.

Then he reached the choker.

He paused.

And you felt him smile against your skin.

He bit it—softly. A teasing pressure.

Your breath caught.

Your stomach flipped.

Your thighs tensed, trembling just slightly around his.

“Good,” you murmured, voice velvet. “Again.”

He obeyed instantly.

Bit it again—this time harder, just enough for you to feel your skin prickle in response.

Then his tongue flicked beneath the silver charm, slow and sinful, like he was tasting something sacred.

He dragged his mouth downward, tracing a path over your collarbone with open kisses, pausing only to groan into your skin.

“You taste better than I remembered,” he rasped, voice ragged. “Fuck, you’re—”

“Shhh,” you hushed, one hand sliding into his damp hair, the other cupping his jaw.

You tilted his face up toward you, thumb brushing just beneath his eye.

“You’ll talk when I let you.”

His head fell back with a wrecked sound in his throat.

He looked half-possessed.

Chest heaving.

Neck arched.

Like a sinner about to beg at your altar.

And you?

You climbed into his lap.

Slow.

Steady.

Knees sliding against the mattress, silk rustling faintly.

The friction between your thighs and his sweatpants was torture.

Your core already aching.

You straddled him like you were claiming your throne.

And then you rocked down.

Once.

The pressure was perfect.

Hot.

Blinding.

His hips jerked beneath you, a guttural moan catching in his throat.

“Can I taste you?” he asked, voice trembling. “Please?”

You kissed the corner of his mouth—just a tease, just a brush.

“Later.”

His breath stuttered.

His head fell back again.

“Fuck—okay.”

You moved his hands up, slowly.

Guided them from your waist to your ribs—over silk and lace and bare skin.

His palms slid reverently up your torso, until they brushed beneath the curve of your breasts.

“Touch here,” you told him, voice low and firm.

He cupped you like you were something precious.

Fingers trembling.

Thumbnails grazing the edge of the fabric.

His thumbs traced slow, worshipful circles over the hard peaks beneath the lace.

He was breathing hard now.

So were you.

You felt every pulse of heat between your thighs.

Felt your body clench with anticipation.

And then his head dipped.

His mouth pressed to your breast—right over the fabric.

His tongue flicked once, quick and teasing.

Then again.

Then he sucked lightly, silk dampening between his lips, heat radiating through the lace straight to your core.

He groaned—deep and low.

Like you were ruining him.

“You drive me insane,” he muttered, mouth still full of you.

“You like it,” you whispered.

He looked up at you, pupils blown, lips parted, flushed with pure need.

“I fucking love it.”

—

You shifted against him again.

Slow. Controlled.

Your hips rolled down, deliberately this time—grinding against the rigid length of him trapped beneath your center.

His cock, hard and flushed, pressed snug between your folds and the silk of your lingerie.

Even through the barrier, the heat of him seared into your skin.

You rocked once—just enough to feel the full weight of him, to remind him what you were giving.

Bucky gasped into your throat.

His breath hitched hard. His fingers flexed against your waist like he was trying not to lose control.

You cupped his jaw with both hands.

Held his face in your palms, your thumbs brushing over the stubble that lined his cheeks.

“Look at me,” you whispered.

And he did.

Eyes blown wide.

Lips parted.

Wrecked.

Like a man watching his entire world kneel into his lap.

“Do you want to take control now?” you asked softly.

His pupils were gone—swallowed in that stormy steel-blue haze.

But his focus never faltered.

Not from you.

“Only if you want me to,” he rasped, voice hoarse.

The gentleness in his tone undid you.

You leaned in.

Kissed him like you already knew—deep, slow, tongue sliding past his lips to taste the heat of him, the ache he’d held for you for decades.

You kissed him like you’d already memorized the rhythm of him moving inside you.

Then you whispered against his mouth:

“Then take me. Now.”

And though your voice stayed calm, your body betrayed you.

You were trembling.

Your breath shivered in your lungs.

Your core ached with anticipation.

And Bucky—

He didn’t rush.

Didn’t growl.

Didn’t flip you over or tear the lace.

He just breathed.

Like you’d handed him something sacred.

Like the weight of your trust broke something open in him.

Then he moved.

Both arms slid around you—one warm, one cool.

Flesh and metal, cradling you like you were made of starfire.

He pulled you in close, pressed his forehead against yours.

Your noses brushed. Your lips hovered. Your hearts beat in sync.

“I’m gonna make love to you,” he whispered.

“Slow.”

“Like we’ve got forever.”

And he meant it.

He laid you down like you were holy.

Spine against the mattress. Legs spreading instinctively to welcome him in.

The silk beneath you cooled your fevered skin, but his body—God, his body—was molten.

He kissed your jaw first.

Then your cheek.

Then your throat, his lips barely brushing—like a prayer in motion.

He hooked a finger beneath the strap of your lingerie and pulled it down, inch by inch, exposing your shoulder with reverence.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

Not like a compliment.

Like a truth.

Like he’d found a lost work of art and couldn’t believe it was his.

You touched his face, fingertips trailing along the edge of his cheekbone.

“Only when you look at me like that.”

His eyes met yours—and stayed.

Even as he shifted lower.

Even as he kissed between the valley of your breasts, his breath warm through the lace.

Even as he rolled your panties down slow and kissed the inside of your thigh, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh with aching restraint.

His gaze never faltered.

You were panting now, soft and needy.

His lips pressed just above your knee. Then mid-thigh. Then the tender spot that always made you twitch.

And when his mouth ghosted over your birthmark—the star-shaped bloom on your nape, your shoulder, or wherever you placed it in canon—he pressed his lips to it like a vow.

“Mine,” he whispered.

Like he’d been waiting a lifetime just to say it.

—

He didn’t move fast.

Didn’t even breathe at first.

Just hovered—forehead to forehead—his cock nestled against your slick folds, the warmth of him making you twitch from sheer anticipation.

His chest rose and fell in deep, measured exhales, like he was trying to ground himself—because you? You were everything. Right here. Right now. And he didn’t want to miss a single second.

The tip of him slid along your entrance—slow, deliberate. Up. Down. Parting your folds, catching ever so slightly at your clit—and your hips jerked reflexively.

Your breath hitched.

“Shit,” he whispered. “You’re so warm already…”

His gaze dropped between you, and he groaned—soft and reverent—at the sight of how wet you were for him. Slick and swollen, your body already aching to take him in.

“That all for me?” he rasped, the words spoken like a prayer.

You leaned up—kissed him, slow and molten—and whispered against his lips, “Always.”

He moaned—low, broken—and finally, finally… he pushed in.

Inches.

Slow.

The stretch was instant. Maddening. Your walls fluttered around him in hungry waves, trying to pull him in faster—but Bucky held still halfway through, shaking from the restraint, forehead pressed to the crook of your neck.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah… it’s just—fuck, you’re big.”

That pulled a husky chuckle from him, rough and ruined.

“Didn’t mean to ruin you already.”

“Then stop teasing.”

He kissed you again—tender and slow—and thrust deeper, hips pressing forward until he was buried inside you. Every inch. Every heartbeat.

Your back arched. Your fingers clutched the sheets.

You gasped.

And he groaned, long and guttural.

His hands braced on either side of your head—his right, soft and calloused, cradled your jaw; his left, metal and unyielding, anchored into the mattress like he’d collapse otherwise.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You feel so—so good… so fuckin’ good…”

He didn’t move at first. Just stayed there.

Heavy. Deep. Rooted.

Like he wanted to feel every heartbeat with his body pressed inside yours.

“Look at me,” he whispered, voice thick. “I want your eyes on mine when I make love to you.”

And you did.

Your eyes met his—and in that moment, the rest of the world disappeared.

Because in his gaze, you saw everything.

Need. Reverence. Relief.

That trembling, sacred kind of love that ached to be poured into every thrust, every breath.

And then—he moved.

Slow.

Measured.

The drag of him pulling out just enough to make you whimper, only to roll his hips back in, deep and smooth.

Your toes curled. Your head fell back—but he caught it gently with his palm, guiding you to keep your eyes locked with his.

“Stay with me,” he whispered.

You moaned—quiet, breathy, desperate. Your thighs clenched around his waist.

“F-Fuck, Bucky…”

“You’re squeezin’ me like you never wanna let go…”

His strokes deepened—still slow, still worshipful—but now edged with hunger. The kind of hunger only love could feed.

He kissed you again. Longer this time. Mouth slanted over yours, tongue claiming, savoring—like he was trying to brand himself into your soul.

You could barely think.

Only feel.

Feel his cock dragging against your walls with perfect, devastating pressure. Feel his groans against your lips. Feel the worship in every whisper:

“You’re mine…”

“Fuck, I dreamed of this for decades…”

“You were always real to me…”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, legs tight around his hips, your body trembling with every thrust. He was buried so deep inside you, it felt like you were made for this—for him.

Your voice broke on a whimper. “Don’t stop…”

He didn’t.

“I’m not gonna, baby,” he panted. “Not ever…”

And as he dropped his head to your shoulder, his body rocked into yours with a rhythm that made the universe feel small.

“You were made for me,” he murmured, breath shaky. “I knew it the first time I dreamed of you…”

You cupped his cheeks, pulling his face back up, locking eyes once more.

Because yes.

You knew it too.

You were made for him.

And now—finally—he was yours.

—

The rhythm picked up—not frantic, not rough, but desperate in its need.

Bucky’s hips rocked into you with aching precision, every thrust dragging him along your soaked walls in that maddening sweet spot. The air around you was heavy with heat, sweat, and the faint burn of want that hadn’t been touched in days.

Your bodies met again and again—hips colliding, slick skin slapping, your breasts bouncing gently with every movement.

His pelvis brushed your clit just right with each roll of his hips, that perfect angle making your breath stutter, your hands clutch at the sheets.

Your thighs quivered, legs tightening around his waist.

He felt it.

His head snapped up, eyes locked to yours, feral and aching.

“You close, baby?” he rasped, voice cracking on the last word.

You nodded, helpless.

Whimpered.

Tried to answer but couldn’t find the air.

“Say it,” he whispered, his forehead pressed to yours. “Let me hear you. C’mon, sweetheart.”

“I—I’m so close, Bucky—please—”

“That’s it,” he breathed. “That’s my girl.”

His right hand slid down between your slick bodies, fingers finding your clit with that soldier’s precision. He circled it slowly at first—just enough to tease.

You bucked against him with a cry.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re shaking.”

He picked up pace—not wild, still steady—but now his hips hit deeper, his strokes more desperate. Like he wanted to burn the memory of your body into his bones. Your body clenched around him, gripping him so tight he groaned.

“God—just like that—don’t stop, baby—fuck, I’m right there with you—”

His lips found your jaw, then your mouth. You kissed him like you needed air, like he was the only thing keeping your soul from spilling out.

Sweat slicked your skin.

The sheets were damp beneath you.

Your moans echoed off the walls, rising with every thrust. Wet. Raw. Real.

And then—

You shattered.

You came hard—harder than you thought possible. Your thighs locked around him, back arching into the air as pleasure ripped through your spine like lightning. Your mouth dropped open in a silent cry before his name tore from your throat.

“Bucky—!”

Your walls fluttered violently around his cock.

And he broke.

He cried out—hoarse and guttural—your name like it was the only word he’d ever known.

His hips stuttered once, twice, then buried himself deep with a final, shaking thrust as he came—thick and hot inside you. You felt it—every pulse of him, every tremble of his thighs as he held himself there, spilling into you with a low, desperate moan pressed into your neck.

His hands clung to your hips, fingers bruising. One palm splayed across your belly. The other slid beneath your back like he needed to hold you closer than physically possible.

He didn’t pull out.

Didn’t roll away.

He stayed—pressed to the hilt, his chest heaving against yours, skin hot and slick.

His nose nudged your neck, inhaling like your scent might anchor him.

Your arms wrapped around him lazily, fingers drawing slow, grounding circles on his shoulder blades.

“You okay?” you whispered, voice half-gone, shaky.

He nodded—slow, eyes closed, forehead resting to yours.

“You feel like… safety.”

Your chest clenched, breath catching in your throat.

“So do you.”

You ran your hand through his damp hair, your other tracing the line of his spine. You could still feel him twitching inside you—small aftershocks of pleasure rolling through both your bodies.

He let out a breathless laugh, still trembling.

“You fuckin’ wrecked me.”

You smiled, brushing your nose against his.

“You wrecked me, Barnes.”

His lips brushed your cheek. Your jaw. Your throat. Soft and slow—kisses of gratitude, not lust. The kind of kisses meant to make a home of your skin.

“Still with me?” he murmured, thumb stroking your side.

“Mmhm.”

“Next time…” he mumbled, trailing his lips to your ear, “I want you on top.”

You laughed quietly, breathless. “Yeah?”

“Wanna see you take me slow,” he whispered. “Wanna watch your face when you sink down on me. I wanna see it all.”

You bit your lip, still flushed. Your heart thudded against his.

“We’ve got time.”

He lifted his head just enough to look at you. Blue eyes, molten and soft, still dark from afterglow.

“We’ve got forever.”

—

The room was quiet.

The kind of quiet that doesn’t need words.

Only breath. Only skin.

You were spooned against him, the blanket pulled halfway over your legs, both of you still sticky with sweat and each other.

His arm wrapped snug across your waist—the vibranium one, cool and steady, heavier than it looked, the gleam of its plating softened by the tenderness in his touch. There was strength in that hold, yes—but more than that, there was restraint. Reverence. Like he knew exactly how easy it would be to break things—and had never wanted less to do so.

His other hand—flesh and warm—was cupped beneath your chest, palm resting between the swell of your breasts like he couldn’t stand to be anywhere else. As if your heartbeat beneath his skin grounded him more than air ever could.

Your back pressed into the heat of him.

Your thighs tangled lazily.

And his breath—slow, steady—rose behind you like waves lapping a shore.

Then—

He kissed your shoulder.

Then again.

Then your neck.

Small, fluttering things. Feather-soft reminders that you were real. That he was real. That this—this stillness, this warmth, this peace—wasn’t some fleeting echo of a dream.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice rough and scratchy from afterglow.

“Mmhm.” You shifted slightly, tugging his arm tighter around you. “Perfect.”

He smiled into your skin.

“Good. ‘Cause I’m not lettin’ go.”

A beat passed.

Then another.

And just when you thought maybe the quiet would settle again, Bucky spoke—so soft, so low, it barely stirred the air between you.

“You know what’s crazy?”

His thumb brushed over your skin.

“I can’t tell the difference anymore.”

You blinked, your brow creasing faintly.

He didn’t wait for you to ask. He kept going. Like the words had been resting behind his teeth for decades, just waiting for the right moment to be let out.

“For years, I only had you in dreams. And not the kind where I watched from the outside. You were… there. Touching me. Talking to me. Holding me when I couldn’t hold myself together.”

He swallowed.

“And it felt real. Every time. Too real.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I used to wake up thinking maybe I was losing my mind,” he said, voice barely audible. “Because how could someone like you exist? Someone who knew how to hold me right. Who said my name like it meant something. Who stayed, even when everything else was stripped from me.”

He paused.

You reached for his hand over your chest, laced your fingers with his.

He held you tighter. Tucked his face into your shoulder like it was home.

“But now you’re here,” he whispered. “And I don’t feel like I’ve woken up. I don’t feel different. That’s the part that gets me.”

You turned your face slightly. Just enough to brush your lips to his forehead.

“Because this is the dream,” he murmured. “The real one. Not the ones Hydra tried to erase. Not the ones where I lost you every time the light came back.”

You could feel his heartbeat now—faint against your spine. Steady. Anchored.

“You’re real. You’re here. And for the first time since they took me, the nightmares don’t reach me anymore.”

You closed your eyes.

Tears welled silently.

His metal arm squeezed your waist just slightly. Not possessively—never that. Just a little tighter. Like he needed to feel your shape against his. Your body. Your presence.

“You saved me,” he whispered.

You turned in his arms slowly, gently, until your chest was pressed to his. You cupped his cheek—metal fingers brushing your waist, flesh ones slipping to your back.

And you kissed him.

Long. Deep. Soft.

When you pulled back, you whispered against his lips:

“I didn’t save you, Bucky. You found me.”

His eyes fluttered shut.

He smiled.

And in that quiet, breath-steeped dark, he whispered back:

“Same thing, doll. Same thing.”

—

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy.

It was full.

Like something sacred had been spoken into the room and now the world had nothing left to say.

You lay there, breathing together.

His chest rose against yours in rhythm, your fingers still laced over your belly beneath the covers. Every shared inhale, every small exhale, felt like a vow repeated—not aloud, not deliberately. But felt. Deep in your bones.

Warm.

Bare.

Still intertwined.

Your skin hummed where he touched you—where his stubble grazed your temple, where his vibranium arm rested securely at your waist, where his thigh slid snugly between yours. You could still feel the echo of him inside you. Not just physically. But cosmically. Like his soul had marked something in you—and you had marked something in him in return.

Outside the window, the darkness softened to blue.

That liminal hour.

Not night. Not morning.

The sacred edge of time where dreams slip through the cracks of the world and fate presses its thumbprint into your ribs.

It was the moment between.

Between sleep and waking.

Between past and future.

Between the life you had and the one waiting just ahead.

You could feel it. So could he.

Bucky’s hand found yours again under the blanket. His fingers threaded between yours—rough, warm, steady. His knuckles brushed softly over your lower belly like he was memorizing the shape of your existence. Grounding himself in it.

You tilted your head back slightly, just enough to brush your lips over his.

“Sleep,” you whispered.

He nodded against your skin. But he didn’t let go.

His nose nuzzled at the curve of your shoulder.

His leg curled tighter around yours.

And his breath—warm, rhythmic—settled at the nape of your neck.

A beat passed.

Then—barely a murmur, voice wrapped in reverence—he whispered:

“You were always worth the wait.”

Your heart clenched.

He hadn’t said it to be romantic.

He hadn’t said it to make you cry.

He’d said it because it was true. Because he meant it.

Because for nearly a century, he had waited.

In cryo.

In silence.

In chaos.

In darkness.

And now here you were.

In his arms.

In his bed.

In the same timeline.

Real. Tangible. Breathing the same air he was.

He pressed a final kiss to your shoulder.

And then—finally—

The world exhaled.

—

A Few Nights Later…

The safehouse had gone still.

No assignments. No alarms. Just the hush of late hours, and the soft rhythm of your breaths tangled with his beneath shared blankets.

You and Bucky had fallen asleep curled together, his vibranium arm wrapped around your waist, his heartbeat slow and steady against your back.

And that night, as your eyes slipped shut, you didn’t enter the dream alone.

You brought him with you.

Not by accident.

Not because your bond flickered open.

You chose it.

Because you wanted to show him something new.

—

Bucky’s consciousness blinked into existence beside you with a slight jolt. Like his body hadn’t realized it had left the waking world.

He looked around.

You were both standing in the cockpit of a sleek, futuristic jet—chrome and curved glass, console lights glowing faintly, stars sprawling beyond the windshield.

Bucky glanced down at himself—black tactical shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, dream-hair perfectly tousled. He looked damn good.

He turned to you, stunned and smiling.

“You did this?” he asked, voice low with wonder.

You nodded, already slipping into the pilot seat. “Figured you’d like it.”

His grin cracked wide as he eased down into the co-pilot chair beside you, his hand sliding easily into yours on the console.

“You dream of space often?”

You smirked. “Only when I want to impress someone.”

The jet hummed to life beneath your hands—silent, smooth—and lifted effortlessly. Earth fell away beneath you in a swirl of blue and green, and starlight wrapped around the hull like a second skin.

You leaned your head on his shoulder as the ship soared forward, coasting past Saturn’s rings and through glittering nebulae like petals scattered in the dark.

No missions.

No Hydra.

No gunfire.

Just him.

And stars.

“I didn’t know I could dream this soft,” Bucky murmured.

You smiled against his arm.

“Maybe you just needed someone to guide you there.”

He looked at you—gaze full of something that reached deeper than just affection. It was recognition. And awe.

“I didn’t know I could have this,” he whispered.

You laced your fingers with his.

“You do now.”

—

The cockpit dissolved.

Starlight stretched around you and pulled inward—shaping something vast and sacred.

The In-Between welcomed you both with open arms.

Bucky stood still beside you. Silent. Reverent.

You felt him reach for your hand. His touch trembled.

“What is this…?” he whispered, voice hushed like he was in a cathedral.

“This is where I go,” you said. “When I weave fate. When I need to feel the shape of someone’s soul.”

You walked forward together through the glowing lattice of threads—blue, silver, white… and gold. Each line shimmered faintly, some taut, others loose. All alive.

“I wasn’t sure I could ever bring someone here,” you confessed. “But after months with Wanda and Strange… I learned how.”

Wanda had anchored you.

Taught you to center your mind.

To breathe through chaos.

Strange had carved paths through your logic.

Taught you laws. Boundaries.

And then how to break them.

From both, you learned how to keep your soul tethered—even in battle.

Even in grief.

Even here.

You glanced at Bucky—his awe written in every line of his face.

“I used to think this place was too dangerous to share,” you murmured. “But when you’re beside me, I don’t drift as far. You ground me.”

He didn’t speak.

So you showed him.

Your hand rose.

Two threads shimmered into view before you—distinct, yet inseparable.

Yours.

And his.

Gold.

Twisting, coiling, folded over each other so many times they no longer looked like separate lives. They looked like one.

Bucky’s breath caught.

“That’s us?”

You nodded.

“I didn’t know who owned the golden thread. Not until I found your dream. I just… kept seeing it. For years.”

He reached out. Touched it.

The glow flared faintly beneath his fingers.

“All the dreams. The ones I couldn’t explain…”

“They weren’t just dreams,” you said. “They were echoes. Premonitions. Warnings. Promises.”

He stared, overwhelmed.

“You’re telling me… we’ve been tied like this before you were even born.”

“The threads existed long before us. They just… found shape in us.”

You guided his hand to yours. Let him feel the pulse in both.

“This isn’t something I control,” you whispered. “It’s not a spell or a curse or a story I wrote.”

“It just is.”

He stepped closer. Leaned in.

And when his lips touched yours, it wasn’t hungry.

It wasn’t desperate.

It was grateful.

A kiss that said: Thank you for waiting.

For finding him.

For guiding him home.

—

When you woke, the sun was just beginning to stretch across the floorboards.

Golden light spilled through the sheer curtains, soft and warm against your bare shoulder. The scent of morning clung to the sheets—cotton, skin, a faint trace of lavender from your pillow. Your body was still tangled with his—limbs entwined, breath shared, your leg draped easily over his hip.

No sweat.

No ache.

Just the hush of morning and the quiet thrum of something whole.

Bucky stirred beside you. His chest rose beneath your cheek. His lashes fluttered once, then again. His brow—usually tense, furrowed, always half-braced for pain—remained relaxed. Like peace had finally touched even the deepest part of his sleep.

He blinked slowly. Turned his head toward you.

And then he smiled.

Soft. Disbelieving. Like he hadn’t stopped dreaming even with his eyes open.

“You showed me your world,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

“And you believed it.”

His gaze searched yours for a long, quiet beat.

“Baby,” he said, thumb brushing the back of your hand, “I felt it.”

The way he said it—like truth, like reverence—made your chest ache.

You leaned in, and he met you halfway.

The kiss was slow. Gentle. No tongue, no pressure. Just lips pressed to lips like a thank-you. Like a sunrise. Like a prayer answered after years of silence.

When you pulled back, he didn’t let go.

Not even when you both sank back into the mattress. Not even when the morning light warmed to gold and painted sunstripes over your bodies like fate herself was etching you into the moment.

His thumb traced lazy circles into your palm.

You dragged the tip of your finger slowly across his chest—mapping out constellations between the ridges of his muscles. Dotting stars over the scar near his clavicle. Drawing soft spirals where your soul still buzzed from the dream.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice husky, lips brushing your hairline, “next time you travel through space-time…”

You glanced up.

“Yeah?”

“…Bring me a souvenir.”

You huffed a laugh, eyes crinkling.

“You already have me.”

He smiled—wide and quiet, the kind that curved all the way up into his eyes. He turned his face into your hair, breathed you in like you were the last safe place in the world.

“I know,” he whispered. “And that’s the part that still feels unreal.”

Your hand slipped around his waist.

His arm curled tighter around you.

And the silence that followed wasn’t empty.

It was full.

Full of the stars you carried between your ribs.

Full of his heart beating against your spine like a vow.

Full of fate, finally aligned.

No nightmares.

No desperate yesterdays.

Just you.

And him.

Two souls, finally home.

[aanoia]

Orphic (pt.1)

pairing; Ao'nung x Sully!reader Orphic; (adj.) mysterious and entrancing; beyond ordinary understanding words; 3,719 warnings; injury, mentions of death Pt. 2; Pt. 3 Important note; this is sort of a continuation of a previous story that can be found on my Wattpad. It's not required to read that story, in fact it was written years ago (now it's very poorly written, but then it was my best writing). It will give backstory on your parents. Speaking of your parents, you were born to Tsu'tey and Y/n. Tsu'tey died the same death as in the movie, and Y/n died during childbirth. Jake and Neytiri took you in and named you after your mother. You're basically twins with Neteyam :) Bold is English :) the normal text is Na'vi

Decided to stray from my Marauders era for the time being, as I rewatched the Avatar movies and that phase is coming back. This is mostly a trial to see if I want to post this series on Tumblr, or just on Wattpad. The format will probably change a bit as time goes on :)

The ground beneath her rushes past as her ikran races through the air, following closely behind the group of older warriors. She stays steady on her ikran, completely in tune with her surroundings as her sharp eyes scan across the moving terrain. The unpleasant hum of the skywalker machines fill her ears, and her lip subconsciously curls into a sneer. Into view comes a train upon its foreign tracks, two helicopter-like vehicles hovering above it. 

“Ground team, move.” Her father’s voice instructs in her ear. The track explodes, sending the front of the train flying and causing the aircrafts to veer off track. The experienced warriors dive, and she aches to follow suit, but she refrains. Only two others stay high in the sky, her brothers, Neteyam and Lo’ak. She knows they crave the same thing she does, to go down and fight with the others. However, their father’s orders echo in their minds. The group of Na’vi work swiftly, bringing down the aircrafts and searching through the various cargo bins.

“Yo, we have got to get down there,” Lo’ak says, looking at his elder siblings with an excited look on his face.

“No way! Dad will skin us!” Neteyam protests.

  “Come on, don’t be a wuss!” Lo’ak half shrugs, and his ikran changes directions, beginning to dive.

Y/n sighs, glancing at Neteyam, “Come on, little brother, we can’t let him have all the fun.” She grins, and flies after Lo’ak.

“Lo’ak! Y/n! Get back here- argh!” Neteyam groans, before reluctantly going along with them. The trio land, and Y/n gracefully dismounts her ikran, swinging her bow across her shoulder. Once again, she’s scanning her surroundings, taking note of any possible dangers, anything that could hurt her brothers.

“Come on, let’s go!” Lo’ak urges, already running into action.

“Lo’ak!” Neteyam growls, running after the boy. 

Said boy runs to a supply crate, where a warrior hands him a gun. “Go boy, take it.” Lo’ak happily takes the firearm, ululating proudly. Y/n and Neteyam walk towards him, the latter rather pissed off. 

“You don’t even know how to use it.” He sneers, glancing distastefully at the gun in his hand.

Lo’ak successfully loads the gun, a smug grin on his face, “Dad taught me.” He raises the gun in the air, pretending to aim at something. “I bet you can’t aim.”

Y/n rolls her eyes, “Lo’ak, you can’t either.”

“Yeah- but I bet he’s worse than I am.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Neteyam mutters. A warrior calls out, and once again their father’s voice fills the air.

“Gunship’s inbound! Fall back!” He yells, and the three kids immediately take off to their ikrans. Neteyam urges the two others to run faster, and they all push. However, their efforts are in vain as an explosive goes off behind them, sending the three flying in the air. Y/n yelps, landing on a jagged piece of metal. She hisses at the pain searing through her back. She sits up, reaching behind her to find her fingers coated in a wet substance.

“Shit, dad is gonna kill me.” She mutters to herself, pushing herself to her feet. “Neteyam!? Lo’ak!?” She spots her father, turning over a blue body. She rushes over, dread filling her body. “Dad- is that-”

Neteyam groans, his face scrunched in pain, “Dad?”

Jake takes Neteyam by the back of his neck, lifting him up to check his back for any injuries. Upon seeing none, he growls at the boy. “What are you doing here, boy? What the hell were you thinking?” He glances at Y/n. “And you- are you alright?”

She bites her tongue and nods, “Yes, I’m sorry, sir.”

“I’m- sor-sorry,” Neteyam grunts out, pain lacing his words as Jake lifts him over his shoulders.

“Go, Y/n. Now.” She nods upon her fathers demand, and rushes back to her ikran. She quietly calms its worried squawks, and takes off in flight. She follows the group through the mountains, trying to ignore the stinging in her back as she hangs her head low, afraid to meet her father’s stern gaze.

A loud horn blows as they make it home, and many Na’vi cheer and whoop upon their arrival. Y/n lands on the rock with a solemn face, and she winces softly as she dismounts, not so graceful as last time. She pets her ikran’s face gently, cooing.

“You did good, girl, thank you.” She whispers, restings her forehead against her ikran’s.

“Fall in.” Her father commands and she sucks in a breath. She pulls away from her ikran, following her father’s orders. He looks at the three children with an irritated look, and Y/n can’t help but notice the hints of worry mixed in. “You’re supposed to spotters. You spot bogeys, and you call ‘em in. From a distance.” He growls, looking back and forth between the children. “Does any of this sound familiar? Get here!” He commands Lo’ak, and the boy steps forward, joining the line. “Jesus, I let you three geniuses fly a mission, and you disobey direct orders.” In a softer voice he adds, “Kiri, can you go help your grandmother with the wounded? Please?” Y/n hisses softly as her mothers hands gently caress the skin around her wound. 

Kiri glances at her father, “My brother is wounded.” She says in an obvious tone.

“It’s fine.” Neteyam reassures.

“Baby girl, please.” Jake pleads as Tuk gazes curiously at the scene. “Tuk, go with her, go!”

“Dad- sir, I take full responsibility.” Neteyam tries as Kiri and Tuk sigh and join their grandmother.

“What- no, he doesn’t.” Y/n butts in, glaring slightly at Neteyam.

“You do. That’s right. ‘Cause you’re the older brother, you gotta act like it.” Y/n looks at him with a distasteful look. She’s the eldest. She was born many moments before Neteyam was. She looks at her feet, a dull ache in her chest.

“MaJake.” Neytiri says softly, a nice change in tone. “Your son, and your daughter, are actually bleeding.”

Jake looks between the two, and his gaze settles on Y/n. “You said you weren’t hurt.”

“I’m fine, sir.” She says quickly.

He stares at her for a moment, before sighing, “Just go and get patched up. Both of you. Go on, dismissed.” She hesitates for a second, but with her mother’s urging hand on her lower back, she walks, leaving Lo’ak alone to deal with their father. 

Neteyam grunts in pain, hissing slightly. Y/n watches quietly from the corner of the room, having already gone through this. Lo’ak laughs, arms crossed as he taunts his brother. Their grandmother, the Tsahik, shakes her head at his antics as Tuk hands Neteyam a bowl and gently instructs him to drink.

“I would use yalna bark.” Kiri says out loud, standing to walk to her grandmother. 

“Oh, you would? And who is Tsahik?” Her grandmother asks, continuing with patching her grandson. 

“You are grand- move!” She shoves Lo’ak over. “You are, Grandmother. But yalna bark is better.” Neteyam hisses in pain. “Stings less.”

“Mighty warrior.” Lo’ak teases, earning himself a slap to his leg from his grandmother.

Y/n tunes the group out, zoning in on a spot on the floor. Her hands clasp tightly around her beaded necklace, one that belonged to her birth father. She wonders if he would have let her go down and join the rest, or if he would also have her be just lookout. Would he be angry at her, the way Jake seems to always be? She’s heard many stories about him. He was a great warrior. The People trusted him to bring them to victory against the sky people, and he died attempting to do so. He was mighty, and she feels like anything but. Her thoughts shift to her mother, Jake’s best friend. She was kind, and fierce. People would always speak of her fondly. She had to end her father’s suffering, breaking her own heart in the process. And then, once Y/n was born, she died. All Y/n has left of her is her name.

She will forever be thankful to Jake and Neytiri, who have filled the position of her mother and father. But she can’t help but wonder how her life would be different if her birth parents were alive. She feels a presence beside her and sighs softly, glancing over. 

“Hey, sis, you alright?” Neteyam asks softly, looking over at her.

She nods a little, “Lo’ak got grounded.” She says quietly as said boy leaves with Kiri.

He hums, “I heard. No flying for a month.” He sucks in a breath, thankful he somehow avoided the punishment. Y/n nods and Neteyam studies her for moment. He notices the way she protectively holds onto her necklace. “Are you thinking about Tsu’tey again?”

“I always am.” She responds, back to looking at the floor. “I miss him, and I don’t even know him.”

He scoots a bit closer, nodding. “It’s alright, sis. He’s with Eywa, and he’s watching over you. I’m sure he’s proud of you.”

She makes a face, “Yeah, maybe.” She glances up as Neytiri and Jake walk into the tent. She makes brief eye contact with her father, but quickly looks away. His sad gaze lingers on the girl, but upon Tuk’s begs to be picked up, he looks away.

Neteyam sighs softly, wrapping his arm around his sister’s shoulders, “Either way, you have me, big sister.”

Y/n glances at him, a ghost of a smile on her face. She holds out her pinky, “Little brother.”

He grins, locking his finger with hers, “Big sister.”

“No matter how old we get.” She finishes softly, shaking his pinky like a handshake. “Thank you, Neteyam.”

He half shrugs nonchalantly, “It’s no biggie.” He pulls his hand away, and ruffles the top of her head. “I'll leave you to ponder, I need to speak to father.”

She smiles, “Try to keep your head.”

He stands, “I'll do my best.” And he walks towards their parents. 

Y/n uses this chance to sneak off unnoticed. She silently slips out of the tent, and once she's a good distance away, she calls for her ikran. She takes a deep breath, and jumps from the edge, landing seamlessly on her ikran. The two immediately take off, and she ululates loudly as they go. Once his wings meet a steady rhythm, she spreads her arms out, basking in the final moments of sunlight. The warmth of the rays brings comfort to her skin, and she sighs deeply. The built up stress slowly fades away and her muscles relax. 

Moments like these, completely alone and serene, not a worry in the world, are her favorite. It’s the only time she can truly relax. However, she doesn’t get many. The tight leash her father holds her on seems to be suffocating. She can never leave without notifying someone - and even then she can never leave by herself. Her father’s fear of something happening took over her life. So, whenever she gets the chance, she slips away, giving herself a moment of freedom. 

Her ikran perches on the side of a cliff, and Y/n carefully climbs onto the small landing. She rests against a rock, looking up at the night sky. Her ikran purrs softly and curls up beside her, resting his head on her lap. She gently pets him, caught up in her own world.

Her serenity was interrupted by the hum of vehicles below her. She furrows her brows as her ikrans head perks up. She peers over the edge of the landing, her eyes searching for the noise. A seemingly rogue amp suit trudges through the forest, gun at the ready. She glances at her ikran, and in only a moment she’s on his back, stealthily gliding down. The sun slowly falls behind the trees, and the world gets darker, but she doesn’t turn for home. The pair land in the trees, and she silently instructs her ikran to stay back. 

She runs through the trees, tracking the noises of the amp suit. The bow slung across her shoulder gently hits her thigh, and her ears perk up at every sound. She eventually catches up with the suit, and watches intently from the trees. A young man occupies the suit, and she notes his particular ugliness. Her stomach settles uncomfortably, and she swallows thickly. 

“Mule, do you read?” Her dad’s irritated voice fills her ears, and she freezes. The sound catches her off guard, and she falls short of the branch she was reaching for. She yelps as she loses her balance on the tree. She shrieks, flailing her arms as she falls. She hits the ground with a thud and a groan, and the amp suit already has his gun pointed at her.

“Well, what do we have here?” He sneers, a nasty look on his features. She grunts, pushing herself to her feet despite the ache in her ankle. She doesn’t answer, instead slowly inching her hands to her bow. “Don’t you touch that thing.” 

“Mule, I asked, "Do you read?””

“It’s getting dark out, did mommy and daddy not tell you to be home before the light dies?” He takes a step closer to the girl, and she bites her cheek, glancing around.

“I do not speak English, dipshit.” She sneers, glaring up at him. 

“What was that? Speak English, beast.” A squawk fills the air, and the man's attention is drawn. Y/n takes this moment to dart between the robot's legs, pulling her bow off her shoulders. She swiftly climbs on top of the tree, pointing the arrow at the man. He points his gun, and fires aimlessly. The arrow leaves her bow, and strikes beside his head. She loads another arrow, and a searing pain shoots up her thigh. But she holds steady, and releases this arrow. The suit slumps, and falls to the ground. 

Y/n glances down at her thigh and a pained look crosses her face, she lifts her hand to her throat. “Devil dog, I read.” She grunts out.

The answer is immediate, “Where’s your playground?”

She stumbles down the tree, calling for her ikran before answering, “By the mountain-” She hisses. “South side.”

There’s a pause, “Are you hurt?”

She sighs deeply, her ikran landing beside her. “Yes. I’m coming home.”

“No, stay where you are.” She takes off. “Mule, do you read?” No answer. “Goddamnit, Y/n.” She makes it home quickly, and her siblings immediately crowd her. 

“Y/n- what were you thinking?” Neteyam rushes out, pushing past his siblings.

She grunts, feeling slightly dizzy from her bleeding bullet wound, “My leg.” She mutters, afraid to look down at it. 

“My daughter!” Her mother shrieks, shoving the growing crowd. “My child- what has happened?”

“Mama-” She slides off of her ikran into her arms. Her leg gives out and she screws her eyes shut.

“Y/n!” It’s her father this time, who also shoves through the crowd. “Shit, Y/n- move! Everyone move!” Neytiri picks up the girl and follows after her mate, her face etched in worry. 

“I’m sorry-” She whispers to her parents.

“Shh, save your energy, child.” Neytiri instructs softly as she sets her down on a fur blanket in their tent. Mo’at rushes in, gently pushing Jake aside to assess the wound. She makes quick work of setting up her supplies, a deep frown on her face.

“Y/n!” Neteyam rushes inside, despite his father’s protests. He slides next to Y/n, taking her hand tightly.

“We must remove the bullet. It will hurt, grandchild.” Mo’at says calmly. “Are you ready?” Y/n swallows thickly and nods.

“Okay,” She whispers, dreading the next few seconds. Her fear proved to be justified, as the pain of large makeshift tweezers digging through her thigh is unbearable. She tries to stay quiet, but a few whimpers and cries manage to escape. She relaxes once the bullet is removed, and sighs. “Ouch.” She mutters, sniffling softly.

Neytiri frowns at her daughter, “What were you doing out there so late?” Jake watches from the front of the tent, a hard look in his eyes.

“I just wanted-” She hisses. “To be alone, for a moment. I lost track of time.”

“And the sky people?”

“Came out of nowhere… he was alone. I was watching him, and then dad called for me, and I fell.” She doesn’t make eye contact with anyone, shame filling her body.

“Where is this man?”

“Dead.” She replies grimly, slightly relieved as Mo’at wraps her thigh. 

“You killed him?” Neteyam asks quietly, wonder in his eyes. Y/n nods solemnly. “Woah, cool.”

“Not cool.” Their father butts in, stepping forward. His hard gaze sets on his eldest. “I’m disappointed in you. You defied multiple rules. Don’t go anywhere alone. Don’t go out when it’s getting dark. Don’t interact with the sky people.” His arms are crossed, and his jaw clenched. “You could've died, do you realize that?”

Y/n’s gaze lowers, and she nods. “Yes, sir.”

Neytiri gives her mate a pointed look, “She could have died, so be thankful she didn’t. She has already received the punishment of her mistakes. All you must do is comfort her.”

“A shot to the leg isn’t enough- she should be grounded.”

“MaJake.” The heat in her eyes successfully quiets the man, and he sighs, shaking his head and storming out of the tent. Y/n frowns, sitting up slowly.

“I’m tired.” She mumbles.

“You cannot walk on your own, granddaughter. Your leg requires healing, and you must give it time to do so.” Mo’at says, a rare gentle tone in her voice. “I shall have a healer bring you crutches.”

Y/n nods, “Thank you, grandmother.” Mo’at nods and collects her things. She exchanges a few words with her daughter, before walking out. Her presence was replaced by a crying Tuk. She runs in and jumps into Y/n’s arms. “Woah- Tuk?”

“Are you dying?” Tuk asks, her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, no, no, Tuk. I’m alright. I’m not dying, silly.” She says softly, kissing Tuk’s forehead.

“Is your leg going to be cut off?” Lo’ak questions, much too excited about the idea, as he walks in.

“You wish.” She grins. Her siblings can always cheer her up, even if they aren’t trying to do so.

“I think you’re an idiot.” Kiri mentions.

“I think father agrees with you.” Y/n shrugs, still holding tightly onto Tuk. “Is my ikran okay?”

Kiri nods, “You’re ikran is just fine.”

She smiles gratefully, “Thank you. Now, let me sleep. I require slumber.”

Y/n sits, gently humming to herself as she makes a necklace. It’s only been a few days since she was injured, and she’s spent her down time making things for the people she’s loved. She’s already finished the things for her siblings, her mother, and her grandmother. All that’s left is her father. She must admit that she contemplated even making him one, but he really does mean the world to her. She’s determined to make this necklace perfect for him. 

She glances up at the sound of ikrans landing, and her family is there. She hides the necklace quickly, and lifts herself up. She uses her crutches to step outside of the tent, a questioning look on her face.

“What’s going on?” She asks, and meets Lo’ak’s eyes. The boys gaze drifts to the ground and her brows furrow.

“All of you, go. I need to speak with your mother.” Jake demands and no one protests. The group of them go around the tent, and instead of giving them space, they eavesdrop on the conversation. The adults manage to get a few private words exchanged before the children listen in, “This thing. This Quaritch.” Y/n’s ears perk at the name. The villain of her parents’ stories. “Whatever he is- he walked right in here. He can walk right under Eywa’s nose.”

“This is our family! This is our home!” Neytiri defends.

“This is about our family! This is about our little ones.”

“I cannot. You cannot ask this.” Her mother steps past Jake. “I cannot leave my People. I will not.”

“He’s hunting us. He’s targeting our family.”

“You cannot ask this!” Neytiri snaps. “The children. Everything they’ve ever known. The forest. This is our home!” She yells, her voice urgent. 

“He had our children. He had ‘em under his knife!” There’s a moment of silence before Neytiri let’s out a shaky breath. 

“My father gave me this bow as he lay dying.” It wasn’t difficult for Y/n to know which bow she was speaking of. “And he said “Protect the People.” You’re Toruk Makto!”

“This will protect the People!” Jake yells.  “Quaritch has Spider.” Y/n gasps softly, looking at Kiri with sad eyes. “And that kid knows everything. He knows our whole operation, and he can lead them right in here.” The eldest kids share a look. “If the People harbor us, they will die. Do you understand?” They’re silent for a moment. “Look, I got nothing. I got no plan. But I can protect this family. That I can do.” Neytiri gasps softly, her face twisting in pain. “But I know one thing.” Her father whispers. “Wherever we go, this family is our fortress.”

Neytiri sighs, and embraces her mate tearily. Jake sighs softly, his heart heavy. Y/n glances between her siblings.

“You guys need to tell me what happened. Now.”

Y/n waits patiently on her ikran for the ceremony to end. She cannot walk well, so she doesn’t attempt to stand with her family as the new Olo’eyktan to “kill” her father. She keeps her bag close to her hip, her creations kept safely stored inside. She frowns as her family walks towards her, her mother cries silently. 

Not a word is spoken as they begin their journey to the islands. Y/n glances behind her at the forest for the last time, and she can’t help but feel as if she’s leaving behind a vital part of her. She’s leaving behind her birth parents. Their memories. She sighs and looks forward, holding tightly onto her necklace. 

A father protects. It’s what gives him meaning. One life ends. Another begins.

my masterlist

If you'd like to be added to my main taglist comment or DM me!

[crowdedimagines]

Risk it All - Bradley Bradshaw

bradley bradshaw x reader 2.4k :)

“Each one of you is the best of the best. This is a very specific mission.” My dad’s voice loudly bellows through the hauntingly quiet room before announcing the foxtrot teams and his wingman.

“This seems like a conflict of interest or something.” Hangman mumbles loud enough for the group to hear. It’s just been announced who would be flying the mission that we’ve spent weeks training for. My father loudly announced that Fanboy and I would be flying with him and Rooster would be leading Phoenix and Bob. I don’t miss the connection he has to the selected team.

I shove off Jake’s shoulder before leaving the room to clear my head. This mission doesn’t have room for ego and that’s lost on him. I’ve flown lots of missions, that's why I was called back to Top Gun in the first place. But never have I flown one this dangerous with my father and boyfriend in the mix.

“You ok?” I turn to see which one was feeling brave enough to follow me out.

Rooster.

“I think so.” I answer honestly, I lean against his chest when he pulls me close against it. “I’m proud of us, but god do I wish we weren’t the ones taking this risk.”

“I know.” His hand runs reassuringly up and down my back.

“I think you should speak with Mav before we leave. Clear the air before we’re in the air.” Things between my dad and boyfriend have been strained in the years that followed Mav pulling Brad’s papers. He stiffens for a second in my arms, I look up with a grin so he knows he’s caught.

“Fine.” He presses a kiss down on the top of my head, we enjoy the peace of looking out at the water for a few minutes before we get called to the top of the carrier.

I look over my aircraft going over a checklist I’ve reviewed thousands of times before hundreds of missions, somehow it’s the first time the pen shakes in my hand. I catch Bradley walk up to my dad out of the corner of my eye. His eyes look pleading but the conversation is cut short with all the commotion going on to prepare.

They disband and Maverick turns in my direction before I climb up the ladder.

“You listen to me and stay with me, okay?” He pulls me in for a tight hug. He’s both my Captain and my dad up in the sky.

“You’re the boss up there.” I grin.

“Yeah, and you’re the boss just about everywhere else.” He teases pinching my side lightly before letting go.

I climb the ladder and Fanboy gives me a thumbs up that he’s good to go. I put my helmet on and blow a kiss to Bradley who is directly to my right. All daggers call off ready before getting the clearance to take off.

We eventually dip below radar levels and get into formation for the flight. My dad leads us as the Tomahawks fly overhead. Rooster falls in behind me, and Phoenix and Bob behind him.

“First SAM sight up ahead.” Maverick announces as we curve through another bend in the mountains.

“We’ve got two minutes to target.” Fanboy informs, keeping track of the time.

“We're a few seconds behind, Rooster.” Phoenix’s voice is confident, “We need to pick up speed.”

“We’ve got two long range bandits” Comanche advises.

“Fucking hell, where did they come from?” I mutter, they also inform us the tomahawks just made contact with the airstrip meaning they know we’re coming.

“We need to increase speed.” Mav decides.

I pick up speed to follow him closely but Rooster who was already falling behind in pace lets the gap widen.

“Daggers two and four are falling behind.” They announce over the radio.

“C’mon Rooster, we have bandits inbound now that we made contact.” Phoenix pleads.

“Roo!” I call out loudly on the comms getting an idea, “Keep me in sight baby, speed up and eyes on me.”

It clicked in his brain suddenly. His fear was holding him back from what he was the most afraid of. Losing her.

“Don’t think, just do.” The mantra is said by Mav, but Rooster swears he can hear his dad.

“I’m coming, baby” He calls, picking up his speed drastically re-engaging with the mission.

“Jesus, Rooster who knew you had it in you.” Phoenix teases and I crack my first smile since we left the carrier.

“I did.”

We manage to pop up over the mountain with success and get eyes on the target in time to drop the first set of bombs with a direct hit. The strongest pull of the Gs hit as we fight to climb back out of the mountain. My arms shake as I fight for control. I can hear that Rooster has to drop blind from wherever they are behind me but all I can focus on is staying steady enough to make it to coffin corner. That’s when all hell breaks loose.

“Smoke in the air!” “Dagger one defending.” “Rooster, status?” “Break right!” “Deploy countermeasures!” “Two more on your six.” “Dagger three defending.”

“Shit, I’m out of flares.” Rooster’s voice calls out of the chaos making my heart fall flat.

“What?” I cry.

“Rooster, evade! Evade!” Maverick yells.

“I can’t shake them!”

Before my eyes Mavericks pulls up over Brad’s jet using his flares to defend from the SAMS, getting shot down in the process of saving him. An explosion of smoke bursts and we’re soaring past it in an instant at our speed.

“Dagger one is hit, I repeat dagger one is hit!” Phoenix calls out for everyone standing by. I gasp as if I was the one taking the physical hit.

“Status? What’s everyone’s status?” Cyclone asks, demanding answers and information.

“Does anyone see him?” I question only to be met with silence, “Oh my god.”

I shudder and disregard the fact that everyone can hear me struggle to catch my breath.

“We have to circle back.” Rooster commands.

Comanche recommends they leave. There’s nothing they can do with bandits in the air. Cyclone agrees and commands us not to agree.

“He’s gone?”

I can’t even process what’s being said or asked as I think of what I just witnessed. “I can’t leave him.” Rooster cries and I turn to look at him flying to my left, “I love you, baby.”

Rooster veers off and down to the left where Maverick’s plane has gone down in smoke. The tears don’t stop streaming off my face as I process the fact that he’s going back for him, against orders.

It crushes me to hear them call out ‘dagger two is hit’ not long after he left my sight. Wordlessly Phoenix leads back towards the carrier as the second plane of ours goes down in smoke today.

“This can’t be happening.” I argue, “They need assistance! Send Hangman-”

“Y/callsign-” Cyclone cuts off. “We already have seen two planes fail and bandits are closing in. Return to the carrier immediately.”

“But sir-” My voice tight.

“That’s an order Mitchell, return to the carrier.” Cyclone commands.

My vision zones out on the back of Phoenix's jet heading in the direction of the carrier. Somewhere vaguely behind us are a pair of fifth generation fighter jets that pose little option for us. We’re back over water now, likely only a few miles from the carrier at this point. The shock takes over as autopilot carries us home.

“Rooster’s signal just came back on!” Bob announces and my heart skips a beat.

“What?” I smile.

“He’s airborne, in a F-14!” Fanboy comments further.

“F-14 has Mav written all over it!” I smile even wider, they’re still alive!

“They still have bandits on them.” Comanche notifies.

“I can go back!” I yell.

“Mitchell, you have already been ordered several times to return to the carrier, until confirmed this has changed nothing.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I argue.

“You’d be outnumbered anyway. You’re ordered to return.”

My hand drums on the control wheel while I debate in my head.

“Do it.” Fanboy says, answering my thoughts I didn’t even have to voice for him to understand. I need to go back for them. I can’t just leave them behind unsure.

“We don’t have clearance.” My voice hypnotic.

“That’s not gonna stop you. We both know that.” He reaches a comforting hand on my shoulder giving it a squeeze, “Plus you’re a Mitchell, they should know they can’t order you to do shit.”

I pull hard to turn around, suddenly blocking out the yelling in my ear and focusing on the blinking dot on my radar, clueing me in on their location. I lock in and take off getting low as they weave the terrain. Surprising the pilot from behind while he was closing in on Mav. My missile locks in and I take the shot watching it combust in front of me.

“Would you look at that!” I tease, our radio’s now connected to theirs.

“If it ain’t our angel from above.” Bradley grins looking at me in the back seat of the F-14.

“Truly, we were out of missiles and guns.” Maverick nods down at the plane they’re flying.

Their F-14 blares out a loud alarm signaling someone closing in on radar.

“Where are they?” I call out, looking for anything on the horizon while Fanboy looks behind us.

“He’s on our nose.”

Suddenly our aircraft signals warnings as well.

“Y/n, what do you have left?” My dad asks eye’s never straying from the approaching plane.

“One missile, no guns.” I clear my throat, “One round of flares.”

This doesn’t leave a lot of wiggle room for failure with this. I’m still only flying a F-18 which is lightyears behind anything fifth generation in the air. He cuts between the two of us, sending us apart.

“Y/cs, cobra! Make us an easy target!” Mav instructs and I know what he wants immediately. Nothing we’ve ever practiced of course, but a risky move he invented and I mastered.

We fall into formation, Mav flying behind me as a barrier while the enemy plane circles back. I watch and wait for him to lock in on them, closing in on his target before pulling up and back as hard as I can. It sent us propelling backward and behind the enemy plane giving me a brief window to get a lock on him.

The familiar chime rings out letting me know I’ve won. I fire and take down the threat to both of the men in my life. I cheer a sigh of relief pulling up next to them again as we continue towards the carrier. The flight tower cheers as we’ve all made it home.

“That’s my girl.” Both men say in unison. Mav turning around in his seat as best he could to glare at Bradley.

I roll my eyes and pull ahead so I can land first. They lost their landing gear at some point in their escape so they need a little assistance with their landing. I stand at the front of my plane while I wait for them to climb out. The cheers of the crew is deafening as they pull us in for hugs and handshakes. I weave my way through people as I make my way up to them.

“Man, what would you boys do without me?” I tease.

“We’d be somewhere in the Pacific right now.” Dad grins, pulling me in for a tight hug before Rooster can. Rooster just smiles looking at me over his shoulder.

“Thank you, baby.” Rooster cuts in for his own hug and kissing the top of my head. He squeezes me a little tighter before letting go.

“Yeah, you better thank me now. I’m a dead girl walking, but it was so worth it.”

Bradley pulls back a little so he can see my face and so I’ll clue him in on what I’m talking about.

“They didn’t give me clearance to turn back.” I admit, “I had to disobey orders in order to save you guys.”

“What?” Bradley asks shocked.

“So worth it!” I reach up so I can pull Bradley down for a real kiss.

“Lieutenant Mitchell.” Cyclone’s voice bellows. I quickly pull away and straighten my posture.

“Listen she-” my dad attempts to defend me but Cyclone holds up a hand to cut him off.

“What you did was disrespectful, disobedient, and unreliable. You put another pilot at risk by what you did. It was selfish to Fanboy to go back. With that said, I’m grateful your skill proved me wrong and brought these two men back home.”

I clear my throat to swallow, unable to find the words to respond. How should I take that? He reaches out a hand to shake mine and I meet it with a tight grip. He nods and walks off, the second he does the celebration begins again.

“Hey, I’ve been told worse!” Maverick teases, pulling me in for another hug.

“Yeah, like father like daughter apparently.” I laugh.

It takes a couple days for us to return to land, but it feels like a breeze now that we don’t have the mission hanging over our heads anymore. It’s also been amazing to brag to Hangman that I officially have more air combat kills than him.

“Whatever, you were a legacy anyway.” He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, a legacy with double the air combat kills you have!” The competitive nature definitely runs in the family.

Rooster grins at his girl loving how she defends herself and how badass she is. She did save his life which is not lost on him.

“What’re you thinking about?” I ask, pulling Roo from whatever thoughts had him staring out on the horizon with such focus. I curl my hands through his hair and he closes his eyes in bliss for a few seconds before responding.

“How scary this week was. How grateful I am for you. You risked it all for me. And your dad. Even though you know both of us would’ve been crushed if anything had happened to you.”

“I know.” I press a kiss to his cheek, “I think you owe me a drink at the Hard Deck.”

He rolls his eyes, knowing he buys nearly all of them anyway.

“Yeah, I think I can manage that.”

“I like this!” I continue to tease, “How long can I hang this over your head?”

“Forever sounds alright to me”

y'all it's literally been so long so be forgiving lol i just needed to write something because i miss it dearly! love you guys

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Where Heroes Flew

When Florelia had gone to work today she had expected it to be a day like any other. She’d man her post in orbital control, direct cargo traffic from the spaceport on the surface of the planet to the orbital lanes in the upper atmosphere, and then head to her quarters for the night and binge some trans-system entertainment. She was hoping to catch some of the Dorgan Finals being played out on the surface. The matches had drawn in close to a billion offworlders to the event and was the largest gathering seen on Zenbara in decades.

She was just about to get up for her designated lunch break when she noticed something odd on her tracking monitor. One of the inbound ships was bypassing the waiting que for reentry and was attempting to skip ahead of the waiting ships for reentry.

Putting her headset back on, Florelia flipped through the communication channels until she had the channel for the marked ship.

“Inbound vessel DCN4, return to your position in que.” She transmitted.

No response.

“Inbound vessel DCN4, this is orbital control; return to your position in que immediately.”

Florelia wondered if the ships communicator was broken, but before she could call up an engineer to confirm the inbound vessel suddenly increased speed and began blowing past the que of waiting ships.

“DCN4 cut engines and respond immediately, this is your final warning.”

“You were given many warnings,” a strange voice came back, “and now we are the culmination of all your sins. We are the children of Nu’n and in his name we shall punish the nonbelievers and cleanse them from this universe.”

As the voice continued delivering their speech Florelia ran a scan of DCN4 to confirm its cargo. When the scan came back her eyes went wide and she slammed her fist into the panic button built into her console. Sirens began blaring as her supervisor came over as Florelia opened a direct line to orbital security.

“Security, apprehend ship DCN4 now!” Florelia shouted into her transmitter.

“What’s wrong?” her supervisor asked as he came up to her finally. Florelia turned to let him see her screen.

“I believe DCN4 is under the control of terrorist elements and is loaded with over 900 thousand tons of Genthi explosives.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth did her supervisor tap his com piece in his ear and shout, “Security move your asses now! Grab DCN4 and bring it to a halt.”

Entering in his command codes he then addressed the entire line of waiting ships still in que.

“Attention all vessels, evacuate the area immediately. Divert courses away from lane 71-93; repeat, all vessels evacuate the area immediately!”

Florelia watched on her scanner as the security ships left the station. She watched as they pushed their engines to the max to catch up to the rogue vessel but even at max speed they wouldn’t be able to catch it in time. Calculating the trajectory, the computer predicted that the terrorists were steering themselves directly towards the Dorgan Finals stadium on the planet below.

“Should we issue an evacuation for the stadium?” she asked her supervisor. To her surprise he shook his head.

“It wouldn’t matter. With that much explosives it’ll turn everything within a 500km radius into the world’s largest crater.”

Florelia couldn’t speak as the horror of the situation set in. The devastation about to unfold would be the worst terrorist attack in the known universe.

A sudden beep from her console made Florelia look back and see that while many of the other civilian vessels were scattering one ship had begun moving towards the terrorist ship.

“What in the niv’nar….”

Florelia brought up the information about the secondary contact and saw it was a human mining ship designated the “Jackdaw”.

“Orbital control to human vessel Jackdaw, what are you doing?” Florelia asked as she realigned the transmitter to communicate to the human ship. “You have been instructed to evacuate the area.”

“I thought about it,” A young cheerful voice came back over the radio, “but my pappy taught me that when a robber comes at you you don’t show them the door; you show them your arm.”

Not understanding what the human was talking about she looked up to see the live camera feeds being displayed on the main monitors. DCN4 was long and narrow, while the human Jackdaw was bulky and looked as if it had been welded together with scrap metal.

It looked as if the Jackdaw was going to block DCN4 but as soon as the cargo ship drew close the mining ship ignited its engines and lazily drifted above the cargo vessel as it blew by. As it passed underneath the mining ship Florelia watch as a dozen compartments opened up on the mining ship and grappling arms the size corvettes shot out and latched on to DCN4.

The arms soon went taut and the Jackdaw ignited its engines to full in a dazzlingly bright display of light.

Like a fisherman wrangling a mighty sea creature, the Jackdaw tried to pull the terrorist ship back into orbit and give the security ships a chance to disable the vessel before it could carry out its task. Every set of eyes in the control room was locked to the main monitor as the DCN4 engines burned brighter and the ship veered left and right to try and shake off the Jackdaw.

The security ships had almost made it to DCN4 when several of the grappling arms tore away chunks of DCN4’s hull. Each of the security ships swung to avoid the debris but were struck by the whiplash of the grappling arms and exploded in a cloud of burnt metal. To the horror of orbital control one of the grappling arms swung back and damaged a few of the Jackdaw’s engines as well.

With renewed fervor the terrorist ship began plunging once more into the atmosphere with the Jackdaw still holding on with what few grappling arms remained. Though it refused to let go of the terrorist ship, it was a struggle it could not win.

“Orbital control to Jackdaw, you’ve done everything you can; disengage and get out of there.” Florelia transmitted to the Jackdaw.

“Not everything,” came the reply over the radio, “I got one last trick up my sleeve.”  

Florelia was going to ask what they meant when the Jackdaw began retracting the grappling arms while they still held on to DCN4. Slowly the arms pulled the two vessels closer and closer together as new energy warning sirens started off.

“That crazy bastard’s going to make a jump.” Florelia heard her supervisor say in disbelief.

“Jackdaw, if you attempt to make a jump in orbit-“ Florelia began but the human captain cut her off.

“It’s the last trick I got to play lassie.” They said in their chipper tone.

“There’s no guarantee you’ll make it out of the jump intact.” She persisted. “No ship has ever withstood a jump while in a gravity well.”

“First time for everything I suppose.”

The two ships were nearly touching hulls as the Jackdaw’s jump drive neared full power.

“Why are you doing this? You don’t know this world or these people; why give your life for them?”

To her surprise the human captain laughed over the coms.

“When someone’s in trouble you don’t stop to ask for details, you just help them.”

With that the two ships hulls finally touched and the Jackdaw ignited its jump drive. For a moment both ships blurred in and out of the atmosphere as DCN4 desperately tried to free itself from the mining ship’s grasp.

In a final bright flash the two ships made the jump out of the atmosphere, leaving behind a trail of scrap metal that slowly burned away as it fell to the planet below. To the public below it looked as if a series of elaborate fireworks were going off to celebrate the day’s events while those in orbit held a silent vigil for the unknown human captain who had just saved billions of lives.

For all the barbarity the human race has been known for it was easy to forget that there were still those amongst their people who would lay down their lives for strangers without ever needing a word of thanks.  

[usafphantom2]

As told by Paul F Crickmore in his book Lockheed SR-71 Operations in Europe and the Middle East was rare for SR-71 crews to spot their pursuers during Barents/Baltic Seas operations, for a fully functioning ‘Habu’ would remain out of reach of any NATO or Soviet interceptor. However, a jet with technical issues (or the onset of freak weather conditions) could bring the SR-71 back to within reach of chasing fighters. This happened to Majs ‘Stormy’ Boudreaux and RSO Ted Ross, who departed Mildenhall in 64-17980 at 1010 hrs on Jun. 3, 1986 on yet another flight Boudreaux find himself flying formation in almost blinding conditions, with the SR-71’s cockpit instruments obscured in the dark shadow of the dashboard below the windscreen. He was forced to arrange his tiltable car-like sun-visor to shield against the high contrast conditions.

Surrounded by ‘sea, sky or whatever’

That effort proved of little value, for while in the contact position ‘on the boom’, the tanker’s reference points for formation flying were flashing in such extreme contrast that, according to Boudreaux, they appeared to be surrounded by ‘sea, sky or whatever’.

A strong sensation of vertigo overtook Boudreaux, leaving him with a false sense of diving and climbing (and with the even more powerful sensation of flying inverted while refuelling). An interphone call to his RSO, Maj Ross, assured Boudreaux that he was not upside-down. He was then able to continue filling 64-17980’s tanks while fighting his sense of flying ‘straight up or straight down’.

After clearing the tanker, and his senses, Boudreaux climbed through 60,000 ft, where he noted through his periscope that 64-17980 was still pulling contrails, which should have stopped above that altitude. Another check at 70,000 ft revealed that he was ‘still conning’, which he hoped would surely stop before they approached the target area. Upon entering the Barents Sea zone, the aircraft began a programmed left turn to the northeast and then reversed in a large sweeping right turn to roll out on a westerly heading, which would take the SR-71 on the ‘collection run’ and back across the entry point. When established on the westerly heading north ,the crew noted that they were still ‘conning’, which was most abnormal at high altitudes. To add to their dismay, Boudreaux spotted three other contrails ahead of them and off to the left, but turning to converge in what might be an intercept. Another southerly glance revealed more ‘cons’ closing from the left, but at a lower altitude.

Six Soviet fighters trying to intercept an SR-71

These six Soviet fighters, each separated by approximately 15 miles, were executing what appeared to be a well-rehearsed turning intercept manoeuvre to pop up somewhere in the vicinity of the fast-moving ‘Habu’ and potentially fire off sophisticated air-to-air missiles. The Soviet lighter pilots had executed an in-place turn, which would have positioned them perfectly for a head-on attack had 64-17980’s track penetrated Soviet airspace. As Ross monitored the fighters’ electronic activities, Boudreaux increased speed and altitude.

Suddenly, a contrail shot by just beneath the nose of the SR-71, leaving both crewmembers waiting for a missile or another aircraft to appear which might have ‘spoiled their whole day’. It was with great relief that Boudreaux realised that they were now paralleling their inbound contrail — they had laid it while turning northeast prior to heading west! For a few moments their hearts missed several beats as they contemplated the thought of having unwanted high-Mach company 15 miles above the cold Arctic seas.

Boudreaux settled the SR-71 back into a routine high-Mach cruise, the autopilot completing a long ‘lazy turn’ around the north shore of Norway before the pilot started his descent toward another refuelling. To complete the mission, the crew made an easy high altitude dash into the Baltic corridor and down through West Germany, before heading home to Mildenhall.

@Habubrats71 via X

[unhingedangstaddict]

Working on my sugaring AU, amending the events of S2E14 when Chimney calls Tommy to fly a water bomber over the Doheny park fire, and as I watch the episode makes no sense???

Here's the facts:

- The 118 is in contact with Dispatch via the radio system. As they are (or at least should be) in radio contact with all the stations in LA.

- Bobby radios in to dispatch, Josh says they're trying to find additional resources to help the 118. Dispatch has all the stations/resources mapped out with magnets on a whiteboard(s).

- Chimney calls Tommy he asks if Tommy is still with the 217 (as in Los Angeles Fire Department station 217).

- When the water bomber is approaching, Bobby says the 217 is inbound. Implying it's LAFD's water bomber operated by the 217 and not Cal-Fire.

- Tim Minear confirmed it was Tommy flying the water bomber in the episode.

- Afterwards, the news anchor says the super-tanker was Cal-Fire's.

So was it the 217 or Cal-Fire? Because they are definitely NOT the same thing.

Assuming it was actually the 217 (maybe the news anchor was wrong???) why the hell did Chimney (off duty, at home recovering from being stabbed, who just so happened to be watching the news) have to personally call Tommy's personal cell phone to get the 217 to help with the Doheny Park fire? Could dispatch not have done essentially the same thing but over the radio and probably a little faster???

Did Dispatch forget they had a whole fire station and not just any station but one with helicopters and apparently water bombers?? If that was the case, was the 217 just completely unaware of what was happening thinking it was the World's Slowest Shift?

Was Tommy off-duty and just happened to be close enough to get to the station fast enough and took a water-bomber without proper approval? (Honestly, it is likely given his track record but not the point!)

And wouldn't Tommy have radioed Dispatch to notify them of what he was doing? (So that dispatch could've warned the 118 that the 217 was inbound rather than Bobby noticing the water bomber coming and having to scramble to get everyone under the trucks?)

If it was Cal-Fire, how the hell was Tommy flying it? How'd he get to wherever they keep their tanker so fast? Why would they let a random guy they don't know fly their equipment when they haven't even formally been asked for assistance? (They wouldn't.)

Don't get me wrong I'm so glad at this little inclusion of Tommy (bucktommy red string truthers rise up). But having rewatched these scenes about a million times now, I'm so confused. Make it make sense.

[notgonnaedit]

Healer's Care

Plan 99

Summary: Eight months after the destruction of Tipoca City, and the Bad Batch are starting to question where they truly belong

Pairing: Bad Batch x Teen!OFC (clones being good brothers/dads)

Chapter summary: Everything that could have possibly gone wrong did.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, heights, canon character death, blood, crying, gagging, hostages, kidnapping (If I miss a tag LMK)

Masterlist

Tags: @hugmekenobi @nottwonerdy777

@dreamsight73 @delicioustacocollector

@covert1ntrovert @clonethirstingisreal

"This is not ideal," Tech stated as they looked out the door at the abyss below.

"At least we're not hanging under the car," Wrecker suggested.

Omega grimaced. "This isn't much better."

Blaster shots halted their speak. Another railcar full of stuck stormtroopers were were firing at them.

Althea fired a few shots before ducking back inside. She repeated this with the others.

"Echo, get this car moving," Hunter ordered.

"The explosions must've knocked out power to the rail line," the ARC grunted.

"I can try to reboot the system," Tech stated, "but I will need to plug directly into one of the terminals on the track."

Hunter nodded. "You four, give us cover. Tech, up top with me."

Althea continued her fire with the others, covering for Hunter and Tech. It wasn't long before the tracker rejoined them from the upper level.

"I am plugged in. Stand by," Tech announced.

Wrecker took down another trooper before their troubles started.

"We've got three ships inbound," Hunter warned.

Althea squinted into the fog. "Where? I can't see them."

Then, through the clouds, they appeared. Three Y-Wings that were ready to destroy them flying right to them.

"Tech, we need power!" Hunter panicked.

The ships blasted and the railcar jolted.

"Echo, now!" Tech cried.

The ARC scomped in immediately. "We're online."

The railcar whirred to life, but the ships blasted the track. Hunter managed to take down two, but the other was still firing.

Althea gasped as the car jerked. "Tech's still out there." She moved towards the door as it jerked again.

"Althea!" Hunter yelled, but she ignored him.

The medic went until she found her brother hanging over the fog, a grapple wire attached to his belt. She could only watch him through the grate.

Wrecker came over and looked past her. "Come on, Tech! Hurry!"

"I am climbing as fast as I can," the pilot grunted.

The railcar rumbled and it was yanked down another few feet. Wrecker pushed Althea back from the edge. Tech's line was jerked down.

"Tech!" Omega called.

"Why aren't we moving??" Hunter growled.

"The car's being ripped from the track," Echo told him.

Another jerk, this time with Hunter shouting, "Wrecker, get him on board!"

The demo man took a tentative step forward, but the railcar jolted down.

"Don't!" Tech cried. "Any shift in weight could send both of these cars over."

The roar of more ships found Althea's ears. Another blast and the railcar fell more. Wrecked gripped the connector. He was the only thing keeping Tech from falling.

The pilot looked around, weighing his options, but there was only one.

"You must sever the connection hinge. Now!" He ordered.

"Not until you're up here," Wrecker grunted.

Panic settled in Althea's bones as the railcar screeched angrily at them, demanding to succumb to gravity. Hunter was still firing at the ships and the other car, desperately trying to keep them safe.

Then, over the din of battle, Tech's voice crackled through the comms.

"There is no time, Wrecker. Plan 99."

A startled choke escaped the medic. 

No. No, no, no, no!!

Wrecker grunted softly. "Don't you do it, Tech!"

Althea watched as her older brother pulled out his blaster. Even over the raging noise, she could hear his soft sigh. He raised his blaster and squinted his eyes for a moment before saying, "When have we ever followed orders?"

One shot. One shot rang out through the clatter. It was the shot severing Tech's cable, sending him into the abyss.

"No!!!!!!" Wrecker and Althea screamed.

"Tech!!!!" Omega cried.

Then, suddenly, the railcar moved at lighting speed. Althea was yanked back, tears in her eyes.

"Girls!" Hunter called.

"Go back! Go back!" The younger demanded. The older simply held her fists to her side and clenched her teeth.

"The car's going too fast," Hunter said as the mountain grew ever closer.

Echo reinserted his scomp several times. "The system's fried. I can't stop it!" 

The last thing Althea saw was Wrecker grabbing her before the railcar collided with the mountain.

                      •°•°•°•°•°•

Everything was a blur. Althea couldn't hear anything except ringing. Her head hurt badly. She felt something warm on her lip and touched it. Even with fuzzy vision, she knew what blood looked like.

"Omega! Althea!" The medic could faintly hear Hunter calling for them.

She felt a hand on her back and turned slowly to see Hunter beside her. "I've got you, kiddo."

She turned back to see Wrecker holding Omega. She was limp in his arms.

No, not her too.

Blaster fire shook the ground. "Incoming!" Echo yelled. "Get to the Marauder."

Before she knew it, Althea was running to the ship. Hunter is as with her, blaster in one hand and Omega's bow in the other.

"Come on! Come on!" Echo growled as he powered up the ship.

Althea turned and watched Wrecker set Omega down. Her medic instincts took over as her shell shock wore off. Althea crouched near the girl and examined her. She had no broken bones, but her breathing wasn't steady.

"Head to Ord Mantell," Althea ordered. "AZI can help her."

"Hurry!" Hunter added, panicked.

                   •°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

A breath escaped Althea as she secured the bandage around Hunter's middle. He had sustained several injuries, broken ribs being the worst of them. 

Wrecker sat in Cid's office with Omega. The demo man had broken his neck and sprained his shoulder, while Omega had a concussion.

Echo stayed in the ship, his only injuries consisting of damage to his mechanical legs. Usually he was helped by... No, it was still to fresh.

Althea herself had a deep cut on her lower lip that only just stopped bleeding. Around her head was a bandage wrap. Despite Wrecker's best efforts, the medic's head had collided with the side of the railcar and cut a decent gash below her hairline.

"That should hold," Althea muttered as Hunter nodded. 

The medic put the bandages back in her bag, but with her shaking hands they dropped to the floor.

"Althea..." Hunter started.

"No, I have to go check on Omega." The medic tried to move away from him.

Hunter stopped her, grabbing her by the shoulders. Althea forced herself to look at him. There were cuts and bruises everywhere on his tan complexion, but all the pain was held in his eyes. Everything that they had lost was there.

Althea broke right there.

She cried as Hunter held her close. She didn't want to let go. He was the only thing real, the only thing grounding her through what just happened. He was the only thing reminding her that Tech dying was real.

Yet he was also injured, and she was a medic. Althea let go slightly to pull away, but Hunter pulled her back tighter. He cradled her head close to him. His shoulders shook but no sound left him.

When their embrace finally ended, Althea could see him clearly. His eyes were red and tear stains ran down his face. She was sure she looked the same.

When Hunter finally spoke, his voice was rough. "I'm...I'm gonna go check on Wrecker and Omega, okay?" He held her face in his hands.

The medic nodded, just barely.

Hunter moved away, walking back to the office. He was only gone for a minute, maybe two, but Althea couldn't handle it. She didn't want to be alone. They were all injured and if she wasn't there–

Althea was at the door before she could register what was happening. She opened it, and found Hunter and Wrecker in serious conversation.

Hunter was sitting by Omega's side while Wrecker stood. Even him, the immovable giant seemed smaller after the day's events.

"Good evening, Volunteer Trooper Aaun." AZI flew up to her. "You will be pleased to know that everyone will make a swift recovery. However, after further analysis, it has come to my attention that your lip will most likely scar over."

"That's great, AZI." Althea walked past him, unable to handle his cheery demeanor.

Wrecker turned and walked towards her, patting her head before walking out. Althea sighed and took a seat next to Hunter.

"How's she doing?"

"AZI said she'll make it, but..." Hunter stopped short. "She might not wake up."

"No."

The tracker turned to look at her, a mix of hope and trepidation in his expression. Then it shifted to something akin to empathy. Hunter knew how much she had lost, but he never knew what it felt like. Not until today.

He had seen her mourn, but he never had to himself. Now that he had experienced it, knew how much it actually hurt, he just wanted to hold her tight and never let go. Maybe it was selfish, but he never wanted to her to leave his side. He couldn't lose her.

"Althea," he started, "Me and Wrecker have been talking about what to do and...." He sighed. "We think that Pabu is our best option."

"But I thought we were soldiers," the medic asked.

Hunter swallowed. "Yeah, well we were. I should have put that behind us a long time ago. Now, it's time for us to have a new life, but only if you want that too."

Althea's golden gaze flicked away for a moment, then she looked back at him and nodded.

"C'mere," Hunter said softly. He pulled her to his side and she melted into his touch. They sat there for a few moments, Hunter gently rubbing her shoulder. She was tall for her age, yet she seemed so small.

"What now?" She asked softly.

They had just discussed staying on Pabu permanently, starting their life there, yet there seemed to be nothing in their future.

Especially with the one who always knew gone.

"I.... don't know, kiddo," Hunter breathed. He wanted to tell her everything would be okay, but he didn't even believe that himself.

                   •°•°•°•°•°•°•

"Hunter?"

The tracker's eyes snapped up to see Omega stirring. Her baby brown eyes were hazy looking at him.

Relief coursed through him. "Hiya, kid." He brushed his hand through her curls.

She groaned softly. "W-What happened?"

Before he could answer, AZI flew in and scanned her. "Hello, Omega. I am relieved you are awake. You each sustained multiple injuries. However, you all will make a full recovery with proper treatment and rest."

Then, Wrecker and Althea came into the room.

"You're... You're okay." Wrecker gave her a gentle hug and sighed. "Don't scare us like that again."

Althea took a canteen and handed it to the girl. "How do you feel?"

Hunter could see her instincts taking over again as he helped Omega sit up.

The blonde frowned. "I don't know." Her voice was dry and unsteady. "The last thing that I remember, we were in the railcar when..." She gasped and her eyes widened. "Where's Tech?"

Hunter looked away, he couldn't meet her gaze. "Omega... Tech didn't make it."

"We have to go back!" The girl cried. "What if he's hurt? He... He needs us. Tell him, Wrecker." She begged. "Thea, please. We can't just leave him!"

Hunter reached for her. "Omega..."

She swatted his hand away. "No! Tech's not gone! He... He can't be!" She broke down.

Hunter rested his hand on her shoulder, moving closer and wrapping his arm around her. She leaned into him, sobbing quietly. "I... I know, kid."

He looked up at his brother and Althea. They were fighting tears as they left the room.

"Why did Tech do that?" Omega sniffed. "He didn't let us save him."

This poor, sweet little girl.

Hunter pulled away so he could look her in the eye. "He knew we were out of time. Tech put the squad ahead of himself. He made a sacrifice, Omega, and we're not gonna waste it."

"What does that mean?" She asked tearfully.

Hunter looked at her. "The galaxy has changed, and so have we. It's time to put being soldiers behind us for good. Wrecker and I think Pabu could be a good place to make a new life for ourselves. And the rest of it, well, we can figure out along the way. Omega," he said when she didn't look at him, "is that something you want?" 

She pursed her lips before nodded softly.

Hunter ran his hand through her hair, resting it on the back of her head. "Then that's what we'll do."

Meanwhile, Wrecker and Althea sat at the bar solemnly. Cid –where she had been previously, Althea didn't know or care– poured Wrecker a drink. "Here. This one's on the house."

The demo man pushed it away. "It won't help."

The Trandoshan sighed. "I'm sorry about Goggles. I always liked him."

Althea stared at the bar. "Yeah. Us too."

                  •°•°•°•°•°•

Echo sat in the co-pilot's seat. He was no stranger to loss, but it didn't make it any easier. A sigh escaped him as his gaze drifted to the pilot's seat. 

The ARC had so many disputes with the one who sat there the most. At the time they were annoying and irritating, but he would give anything to have them back again.

Suddenly, Gonky honked. The droid droid had been silent for a long time, maybe mourning as well.

Echo turned in his seat. "What is it?"

Gonky honked again, and the ARC went to the door. He looked up to see a Star Destroyer in the atmosphere, and several shuttles flying from it.

He commed his team. "Hunter, the Empire's here."

Static.

"Hunter, do you copy?" He tried again. "Wrecker? Thea?"

He grunted in frustration and headed back to the controls. "They're jamming our comms."

Gonky honked as Echo grabbed his helmet.

"No, stay here," the ARC ordered. "I'll find them."

                 •°•°•°•°•°•°•

Althea looked up from the bar to see Cid tapping her claws nervously. Wrecker noticed it too.

"What's with you?" He asked.

"You know, I tried to look out for you boys," she started. "But you got too much heat on you. And you brought it here to my place of business." She looked away. "I had to make the best of a bad situation."

Rage boiled in Althea's body. "What did you do?!"

"Sorry, Bright Eyes."

The door burst open with several commandos and their blasters. They fired.

Hunter looked behind him to see several commandos coming through. He grabbed his blaster and shot the door, sealing it shut.

"What's happening?" Omega asked.

"It's the Empire." Hunter opened the back door and moved the crates out of it. "Take the mining tunnels to the spaceport and find Echo. I'll get Wrecker and Althea."

"But you're injured," the girl pointed out. "You can't fight them alone."

Hunter handed her the bow and kneeled to her level. "Omega, you and AZI need to go. That's an order!"

Omega frowned, a worry crease forming in her brow as she climbed down the ladder. The last thing she saw was Hunter closing the hatch.

She climbed down a few rungs before stopping.

"Omega?" AZI asked. "We must keep moving."

The light from his eyes shone on her face. "I can't do it, AZI," she sighed. "I already lost Tech. I'm not gonna lose them too. Come on."

                   •°•°•°•°•°•°•

Hunter blew the door, killing the commandos there. He ran out, blaster ready, into the main room.

He was greeted with even more commandos surrounding Wrecker and Althea. The two were cuffed and on their knees. The medic was gagged, most likely because she lipped off to the man leading them.

Doctor Royce Hemlock.

"That's not very strategic, Hunter." His voice was soft yet sharp, like a seductive predator luring his prey to their death. "You don't need to use your enhanced senses to know you're outnumbered."

He had their information.

Hemlock took a case and looked to someone on his left. "The Empire thanks you for your assistance."

Cid walked out and took the case shamefully. Hunter narrowed his eyes. The only reason he didn't shoot her right there was he wouldn't risk Althea and Wrecker.

"Our business is done. Leave," Hemlock ordered.

Hunter watched as the Trandoshan left, his blood boiling the entire time. Hemlock never left his line of sight.

"Please, consider your next move very carefully." Hemlock rubbed his gloved hand. "I would hate for this to end poorly for both of you. Here is how this is going to go. You will lower your blaster and hand over Omega. And I will allow you to keep breathing."

"Omega's not going anywhere with you." Hunter's voice was dangerously low.

Something shifted in Hemlock's expression. "Oh. Well, who knew clones are so paternal?"

Hunter blinked.

"Fascinating." Hemlock reached behind him. "I was saddened to learn of your friend's demise. What was his name? Oh, yes. Tech."

How dare he speak his name. Wrecked growled, but remained still. "I'm afraid this was all I could salvage," Hemlock said as he held a familiar item. Tech's goggles, cracked and broken. The red light that had so often recorded their adventures was dead. 

"Consider it a gift." The doctor tossed them carelessly at Hunter's feet.

The tracker wanted desperately to grab them, to hold what little he had left of his brother, but he remained still. "To lose one of your own, it must weigh heavily on you as their leader," Hemlock stated. "And if you don't lower the blaster now, you will lose yet another."

A commando pressed the barrel of his blaster to Althea's skull. The girl made no noise. To anyone else, she looked strong and unwaivering. But Hunter knew her better. She was terrified.

Hunter was as well. Terrified of losing her and Wrecker. He could still sense Omega's presence, but he desperately hoped that was because he was holding her just a few minutes ago and her scent was still lingering on him.

He lowered his blaster to the ground, replacing it with Tech's goggles, taking them gingerly.

"Wise decision." Hemlock nodded to a couple commandos, who grabbed Hunter and cuffed him.

A third came from the office. "Sir, the girl's not in the office."

"She's long gone," Hunter said from where he stood by Althea. "Like I said, Omega's not going anywhere with you."

Hemlock hummed. "Hmm. We'll see."

The troopers had Wrecker and Althea stand, and with Hunter they were led outside.

They hadn't even walked a block before they were stopped by pink laser bolts. Hunter didn't know whether to be worried or proud that Omega chose to come after them.

The girl was atop a small balcony, her bow drawn and ready. The commandos readied their blasters.

"Lower your weapons," Hemlock ordered. He sighed before raising his voice. "Hello, Omega. We were just talking about you."

"Let them go!" The girl demanded.

"Omega, run!" Hunter shouted. He was grabbed by a commando, who he struggled against until he was let go.

"I won't let them take you!" Omega cried.

"How about an exchange?" Hemlock suggested.

Hunter shook his head at the girl.

"If you come with me," Hemlock continued, "your friends will live."

"I don't believe you," Omega snarled.

"I did not come here for them, Omega," Hemlock told her. "I came to return you to Nala Se. She needs your help."

"He's lying. They killed the Kaminoans," Hunter reminded her.

Hemlock shook his head. "Incorrect. Nala Se is alive and well cared for. As you will be."

Omega narrowed her eyes. "I'm not going with you."

That's when Hunter heard another person. "Omega, look out!"

But it was too late. A commando jumped her from behind and stunned her. Hunter surged forward, needing to help her, but a blaster digging into his cheek stopped him.

"Scour the city," Hemlock ordered his troops. "When you find the third clone, send them back to Eriadu. Governor Tarkin wishes to question you personally."

They walked to a gunship. Hunter had failed. He failed Omega, he failed Wrecker and Althea, he failed Tech. Crosshair was right. He was unfit to lead this squad.

"I'm so sorry, kiddo," he choked out.

The girl beside him barely glanced at him. But then suddenly, an Imperial walker went haywire and started shooting troopers.

"Echo?" Hunter asked.

Wrecker nodded. "Gotta be Echo."

Wrecker grunted as he broke his cuffs and punched the troopers guarding them. He them broke Hunter and Althea's binders and ripped off her gag.

Each of them grabbed a weapon and began to fight. Hunter ran back to get Omega, but was met with two walkers.

One began to shoot the other, and then out came Echo and AZI. "Where's Omega?" He asked as they looked for cover.

"That Imperial took her," Wrecker spat.

"It was Hemlock," Hunter said. "We've gotta stop his shuttle from leaving."

Hunter glanced up and saw a catwalk. That was his chance. He nodded to the others before making a run for it and climbing up the wall.

They followed, blasting at the Imperials as they ran across the gunship and getting thrown as it exploded.

Hunter ran faster, he was almost to Hemlock's ship. He could make it. He could–

The shuttle flew up from the port. Hunter watched in absolute devastation as the ship took off. It had Omega on it. They had his little girl.

"Hunter, we need to go!" Echo yelled.

"Get to the Marauder!" He responded. He wasn't giving up, not when there was still a chance.

They clambered down into the port and ran for their ship, looking back only to shoot. Once they made it to the Marauder, they flew into the atmosphere.

"Where is it?! Hunter cried, looking desperately for Hemlock's ship.

Echo made their jump to hyperspace. The tracker stumbled back into one of the console chairs. Wrecker sat in the other, and Althea leaned against the controls.

In her hands were Tech's goggles. Hunter didn't realize he had dropped them, but he was thankful she grabbed them.

"There was no way to track Hemlock's ship," Echo said, breaking the silence. "He could have taken Omega anywhere."

Hunter looked back at the gunner's mount. Lula sat up there, waiting to be held by her owner. Omega should be up there, marveling at the colors of hyperspace.

"We are going to get her back," Hunter decided. "And we don't stop searching until we do."

Althea looked down at Tech's goggles, narrowing her eyes. Something changed in her gaze. It turned cold and hard.                         •°•°•°•°•°• "Crosshair!" Omega gasped and ran to the only person she recognized there. He was unconscious and strapped to a table. She shook him. "Crosshair? Crosshair!"

He didn't respond.

"You must be Omega."

The girl turned to find a woman with soft brown eyes and curly brown hair pulled into a ponytail.

"What did you do to Crosshair?" Omega asked.

"He's recovering. I tried to warn him what would happen if he did not cooperate with the doctor."

"I want to talk to Nala Se," Omega demanded.

The woman hummed. "Ironic. You trust the Kaminoan, but not me."

Omega furrowed her brow. "I don't know you."

"No?" The woman removed her rose colored glasses and knelt down. "You might know me better than you think."

Her hair was dark and curly. Her eyes were gentle and intelligent. Her face was round and her voice had a familiar accent.

"We're sisters, Omega. "

End of Book 3

<- Previous

Next->

[posttexasstressdisorder]

CNN 3/29/2025

Collision warning sounds in cockpit of Delta plane due to close call with Air Force jet near Reagan National Airport

By Alexandra Skores and Aaron Cooper, CNN

Updated: 12:17 AM EDT, Sat March 29, 2025

Source: CNN

A close call between a Delta Air Lines Airbus A319 taking off from Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport and a US Air Force T-38 jet, often used by the military for training, sounded alarms in the cockpit of the passenger plane Friday.

Delta 2983 was departing Reagan Airport around 3:15 p.m. and heading to Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport for a regularly scheduled flight.

Delta did not identify the other jet involved, but a review of tracking data from FlightRadar24 shows an Air Force T-38 jet flying past the Delta plane and DCA airport going more than 350 miles per hour at 800 feet. The military jet took off and landed at Langley Air Force Base, in Hampton, Virginia.

CNN has asked the Air Force for comment.

The Delta aircraft was cleared for takeoff at around 3:15 p.m. ET, while four U.S. Air Force T-38 Talons were inbound to Arlington National Cemetery for a flyover, the FAA said in a statement.

The Delta aircraft received an onboard alert that another aircraft was nearby and air traffic controllers issued corrective instructions to both aircraft, the FAA reported.

The FAA will investigate the incident.

The close call happened just south of DCA airport, close to the spot where an American Airlines regional jet and an Army Black Hawk helicopter collided, killing 67 people, on January 29.

At a congressional hearing on Thursday Senators demanded to know why close calls between military helicopters and passenger planes went unchecked for so long at DCA.

The NTSB said investigators uncovered more than 15,000 occurrences for close proximity events between commercial airplanes and helicopters between 2021 and 2024 where aircraft were within one nautical mile and 85 cases where two aircraft were separated by only 1,500 feet vertically and 200 feet laterally.

The FAA has since closed a helicopter route by the airport and Thursday vowed to required military aircraft near DCA to fly with specific collision avoidance equipment turned on.

But that wasn’t enough to prevent today’s close call as the Delta plane was taking off.

“On that departure … was there an actual aircraft about 500 ft below us as we came off of DCA,” the Delta pilot asked air traffic controllers on audio captured by website LiveATC.net.

“Delta 2983, affirmative,” the Departure controller responds.

The pilot also noted they received a warning in the cockpit, called a “resolution advisory” from the plane’s Traffic Alert and Collision Avoidance System. The system tells a pilot what to do to avoid a collision.

“Nothing is more important than the safety of our customers and people,” said Morgan Durrant, a spokesperson for Delta Air Lines. “That’s why the flight crew followed procedures to maneuver the aircraft as instructed.”

Two pilots, three flight attendants and 131 passengers were on board the Delta aircraft.

See Full Web Article

Go to the full CNN experience

© 2025 Cable News Network. A Warner Bros. Discovery Company. All Rights Reserved.

Terms of Use | Privacy Policy | Ad Choices | Do Not Sell or Share My Personal Information

[toska-writes]

idk if u still take req, but i've been thinking purge trooper cody hunting child padawan reader who living with obi-wan in tattoine. it's like battle with himself rather than the two jedi, like yk trying to resist inhibitor chip. slight codywan will be cute

ignore this if u don't seems interested, thankuu for all u'r hardwork! i love every single of it!!

Purge trooper Cody on the brain! Did I stray a little from the prompt? Maybe-

“Dead of Night”

Could this be a follow up to this old fic (x) maybe but I’m not sure…

Summary: Cody tracked them down, spotted together were the 2 people that haunted his dreams. He was a good soldier, he had to be

Pairing: purge trooper Cody x GN!padawan reader (PLATONIC)

Warning: guilt hurt/comfort (that’s all I could find really but let me know if I missed any)

Word count: 1256 (not proof read at all)

Notes: I swear I posted this a few days ago, sorry for disappearing

This armor wasn’t his.

It sat wrong on his lean frame, heavier than the one before. Cody shook his shoulder out before slipping the dark helmet onto his head.

He missed his sunshine armor from so long ago.

If he thought ever so hard Cody could almost hear the faint laugh of once before while painting the sun burst on his armor.

These thoughts never seemed to stick around.

A blaster still hung at his hip accompanied by the unfamiliar weight of the eltro-shock staff many of the purge troopers use.

Unethical. Cody thought stomping down the halls the to docked ship waiting to take him away. The weight and feeling of said weapon made him sick.

The ship rustled under his feet during take off, so caught up in his thoughts the dread of this mission sank into his bones.

The sun never seemed more dull.

•••

Sand was everywhere. The sun radiated heat over the barren lands where a small house was situated. If you could even call it that.

Watching the twin suns set for the one-millionth time seemed always new and different. The warm colors filled your eyes and cover your skin in a honey color.

A chest plate was clutched in your lap. The names started to fade ever so slightly, but with the many times you’ve read over them the order was engraved in your memory.

As the suns took its last peak over the horizon before finally submitting to the darkness that bled into the cloudless sky, you spoke softly names names that were painted into the backside of the chest plate.

Starting with the familiar signature of your master and the commanders closely under his, ending with Trapper and the small name of Rex’s tucked into the corner.

From the front of the shelter you heard the calls from your master. The urgency in his voice made your blood run cold and to discard the piece of armor off to the side.

“Y/N” Obi-wan said once again as you stoped near his side, a comm was clutched tightly in his hand.

You nodded your head slightly in acknowledgement waiting for him to say something else.

“Comms and intel found an emperial shuttle inbound.” His tone was even and cold as it has been the entire time on this desolate planet.

“Is this worrisome?” The word master almost slipped past your teeth as you fought long and hard to break the habit for safety reasons.

With a sigh Obi-wan answered. “Not necessarily, it looks like it’s going to land near the town the check things out there.” He turned fully to you now placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“There’s nothing to worry too much about young one, but the village will be off limits until they leave.”

A weight was slightly lifted off your chest with his somewhat reassuring words. The slight shake in your hands were present while you patted your old masters arm.

This wasn’t easy on either of you. It never will be.

The brisk wind of the night rattled through your bones jolting you awake. It was new that it wasn’t a nightmare this time and for that you were thankful.

The soft shuffle of Obi-wan under a shear blanket was the only other noise you could hear besides your own breaths.

You knew he was a soft sleeper, now more than ever. But something deep within, long since been buried reignited.

A pull of something through the force while you tried to be rid of it never it truly seemed to be gone for long.

In the distance a small flicker of a light danced along the horizon. If it was a flashlight of some sorts it would imply that the holder was running.

The feeling again bubbled in your chest as you took a few steps out on the soft sand. One look over your shoulder showed your master still resting.

You couldn’t turn now. Whatever force god was watching over you wouldn’t allow it. The existence of fate was a touchy subject.

Strong winds continued to try and knock you down while you persisted through to whoever was on their way

Calls of your name was lost to the breeze in the dead of night. Oblivious of the man that followed you continued forward.

You stoped dead in your tracks while the figure approached further. The force surrounding this individual was sweet and familiar, normally lighting up your face with a smile.

Normally.

Something else, more complex and darker seemed to look around the edges but not close enough to deter you.

The man shook slightly from the spot that he watched from. You watched the twitchy movements as a hand flew too his blaster, but never touching it.

Instead another hand slowly reached for the dark helmet that masked him from you.

A ghost stood in front of you. Once you never thought you’d see again. The great maker above was clearly playing a sick twisted joke on you.

His name could barely form on you lips while taking a few steps back from the man you never thought you’d see again. The one that along with his brothers betrayed you.

You felt a shuffle to your side; the words “Drop your weapons’ rang out through the night from your master.

A blaster of his own didn’t shake. Stepping in front of you the sight of the man in front of you made your master take another look as well.

Obeying he threw the blaster that seemed to stick closer to him than any other trooper he started working with, and the foreign weapon that he didn’t want to be associated with anymore.

Dropping his helmet as well Cody fell to one of his knees, a hand came a cradled the side of his head.

Both you and your master were frozen where you stood. The cloudy eyes of yours tore through every defense that Obi-wan tried so hard to put up.

Through the wind the quiet cries blew to your ears. Your Cody was hurting; in more ways than one.

“Master” you almost begged as you both took a step forward.

Obi-wan tried so hard to keep the people in his life safe. Sabine, Anakin, Cody, and now you. Every buzzer in his mind was ringing saying this was a trap. That he should take you and run.

He was at the purge troopers side in a moment. Obi-wan’s strong embraced engulfed Cody and the weight crashed into him.

For months now this was all that he wanted.

Everything to be drowned out.

“Oh my love.” Was whispered slightly into his ear, Cody was quick to wrap his arms protectively around his general. The one that wasn’t going to get away again.

Cody’s cries became louder while another body wrapped around his shaking form. Weapons and enemies forgotten Cody let down all his walls and the floodgates opened.

“My head hurts.” Was the only thing Cody could get past his teeth and oh boy was it true. His own mind seemed to turn against him, to scream at him that he shouldn’t be doing this.

Good soldiers follow orders.

But even better ones protect those who stand besides them.

“We’ve got you now Cody.” Your voice flooded his ears, blocking out the screams of yours that haunted his every moment. “We can help you.”

Masked by the dead of night only tomorrow would they realized that another soldier went AWOL.

_____________________________________

Taglist: @arctrooper69 @thereforepizza @padawancat97 @pb-jellybeans @floffytofu @verybadatwriting @solstraalaa @ray-rook @ct-0113

[z428]

3pm and slowly on. The heat of the day, no heat of the night yet. Small office rooms in afternoon sun. Another inbound call, another unplanned odd in a lot of planned ends. Keeping track of most of them, hoping not to drop at least the more fragile ones.

#outerworld #concrete city #home office hours #where we do what we do

[davidbrianhoward]

Why Smart Startups Are Turning to David Brian Howard to Fix Their Sales Engines

In the high-stakes world of startup growth, few things stall momentum faster than a broken sales process. Founders often spend months perfecting their product—only to realize too late that they have no scalable way to get it into the hands of customers.

That’s where David Brian Howard comes in.

With over 12 years of experience in B2B sales and go-to-market execution, David Brian Howard has emerged as a trusted operator for SaaS companies and service-based startups that need more than advice—they need revenue. As the founder of Cadre Crew, a firm that builds virtual SDR teams and outbound systems, Howard has helped dozens of companies escape flatlined growth and get back on track.

His edge? He doesn’t chase hype. He builds systems.

The Problem: Startups Don’t Build Sales Engines—They Wing It

One of the most common mistakes Howard sees in early-stage companies is confusing traction with repeatability. A few warm intros and inbound leads might get you to $10–$30K MRR, but it won’t get you to scale.

“I’ve worked with so many founders who can sell the product themselves—but when it comes time to delegate sales, they have no process,” says David Brian Howard. “There’s no documented pipeline, no CRM logic, no messaging that converts cold leads.”

The result? Founder burnout, inconsistent revenue, and missed opportunities.

The David Brian Howard Playbook: Precision and Process

Unlike traditional consultants who offer generic advice, David Howard brings tactical execution to the table. He’s built and led sales teams, rebuilt broken CRMs, and launched outbound campaigns that actually generate meetings—with high-intent prospects.

At the core of his approach is a system he calls Precision Prospecting—a methodology that combines deep prospect intelligence, context-driven messaging, and automation that feels personal.

Here’s what it includes:

1. Smart Targeting

Before a single email goes out, David Brian Howard’s team maps buyer signals—funding events, tech stack changes, recent hires—and builds lead lists based on real purchase intent.

2. Relevance-First Messaging

Forget “Just checking in” or “Quick question.” Howard teaches teams how to craft outreach that speaks directly to the pain point—usually within the first two sentences.

3. Scalable Support

Through Cadre Crew, Howard supplies trained virtual assistants and SDRs who handle top-of-funnel research and outreach, freeing up closers to close.

It’s a model that delivers results quickly—without bloating headcount.

Real Results, Not Just Theories

In late 2024, a struggling SaaS company in Miami brought Howard in as interim head of growth. Revenue was stuck under $20K MRR. There was no outbound motion. The sales team was out of steam.

Within 90 days, monthly revenue tripled. Demo volume increased 218%. The founder was offloaded from daily sales for the first time since launch.

This wasn’t luck—it was a system. And it’s exactly what David Brian Howard installs for every client he works with.

Why Founders Trust David Brian Howard

Howard’s background isn’t theoretical. He’s built revenue from the ground up, sat in the sales seat, and knows what it takes to go from founder-led selling to scalable growth. His style is direct, data-driven, and built around action—not noise.

As more startups shift away from vanity metrics and toward sustainable sales, David Brian Howard is quickly becoming the go-to partner for founders who want to fix their funnel and grow with purpose.