#Super Delta

[nocternalrandomness]

Thunderbirds and Blue Angels in the Super Delta over El Centro during their 5th annual joint training

[ottosbigtop]

I think they should be. Super divorced.

[rad-hound]

So, fellas, how are we feeling about 4K, 1080p, 60fps Major Zero and Para-Medic?

[pokemon-cards-hourly]

[firey-the-blaze]

HEY BIOSHOCK TUMBLR‼️‼️

SUPER IMPORTANT QUESTION,

Guys please it's for science

[happy-yetstrange-collector]

 the opening of Super Street Fighter II Turbo Revival.

[azure--gunslinger]

"You can't just mix top gun, transformers, star trek and Jpop idols together!"

The creators of Macross: The fuck we can't!

[lailuhhh]

Okay okay so I had this AU idea but it’s not something I could pull off so I’m here going to yell about it because I can’t stop thinking about it. And maybe because I think you’d write it so well

What if Mac didn’t want to join the army? What if Harry or James forced him too? And he’s been banned from coming home(for a specific period of time). Is it because Harry’s sick and dying and doesn’t want his grandson to see him like this? Is it James for a more sinister specific reason?

So Mac doesn’t want to be there. He wants to go home. He’s had basically bad experiences with most of the people he’s interacted with(I’m a sucker for Mac’s previous overwatches being awful to him) and Peña was the exception but he’s gone and now he’s stuck with Dalton and he’s got so much time left here still and Dalton gets to go home soon.

They still don’t get along but Mac still saves Jack and he’s shocked when Jack stays because he gets to go home and choose to stay. Ahh it would be so interesting.

✨✨✨✨✨✨BESTIE✨✨✨✨✨✨

Okay what if Mac’s considered a troubled child? He has a record of everything that he’s done and really the only big thing was exploding the football field. He’s the weird kid but is still the Mac we know and love

Assuming everything is still pretty much the same, Harry and James still talk and James gets updates on everything Mac does and that was like the decision of him going to the army. Harry opposes it because he knows the horrors of it but doesn’t really have the final say in anything because while he’s technically Mac’s guardian, James is— unfortunately— still his father

Let’s assume Mac got a scholarship, but it’s really James setting his plan into place and through the magic of television, through signing all the paperwork and everything and getting the scholarship settled, Mac said he’d join the army when he turned 18

So Mac more or less gets literally escorted out of his dorm and shoved onto an army bus and taken away to basic, all while calling Harry trying to figure out what’s happening but Harry just tells him he signed a contract. Mac even calls the Bozers to try to help out because they actually care and don’t want him sent into a battlefield

Training and everything passes, old overwatches come and go, Peña is the only person who says the whole situation is fucked up and tells Mac he’ll look into it because legally the contract Mac signed was null and void because he signed as a minor without his guardian present so he really shouldn’t be there. James gets word of it because that’s just a big problem so he had a plan to keen him from finding anything out, but Peña ends up dying from the Ghost’s bomb and James doesn’t have to Deal With Him™️

At that point, Mac is pretty much cut off from everyone because he didn’t want to be there and the only person that seemed to care and believe him died. Then he gets transferred and the whole interaction with Jack happens and the scene where we see Mac disarm the IED with a battery and gum, how they’re kinda warming up to each other, Mac is still completely closed off because he just hates it there so much, even though Jack is trying to be a decent guy

And then when Mac goes off on his own—

“Now, we need to get on the same page, kid, and I mean right now. That is, if you want to keep breathing. Next time you wait for me to take my position before you go scampering off like that, you hear me?���

“Whatever. Not like it would’ve mattered.”

Which leads to a blowout of Mac yelling how much he hates it there and that he was basically kidnapped from college because he knew that, while he didn’t read the full contract, any agreements would’ve been void like Peña said because he was a minor and he didn’t have the power to consent to actually joining the army

When Mac saves Jack, it’s more of a if it was just me I wouldn’t really care but I’m not going to let you die just because my life sucks and Jack can see Mac going in a downward spiral and knows that if he doesn’t stay then Mac won’t make it out of the sandbox

The last few days is basically how they first met, but Jack’s making an effort to actually be the guy we know and love but Mac doesn’t want anything to do with it because Jack’s leaving and what’s the point of trying to be friends with someone you’ll never see again

So when Jack actually pops into the side of the humvee

“Why’d you come back? You had the opportunity to go home.”

“My home will still be there. I told ya before that I get all my bomb nerds home and yer no exception. You were dealt a real shitty hand and it’s fucked that no one will help ya get to the bottom of it. So I’m gonna stay here, make sure ya get home so you can stick it to those that fucked ya over”

So Mac’s tour gets finished, and since Jack actually holds power, they leave and Jack gets on contact with his buddies up the ladder to help get to the bottom of it and it takes a while but they eventually get the documents Mac signed and then consent forms signed by James and that just starts a whole whirlwind of the true James Hate we deserved

**Bonus points for if Harry died while Mac was deployed but they didn’t let him go home because James knew he would go AWOL so all his free days and leave had to be on base, also Mac assumed that Harry was the one that consented to him joining so he pretty much hated him until he found out the truth

All assuming Mac signed the scholarship forms when he was like 16 because you can legally sign up for the army when you’re 17

[devilat-thedoor]

can’t stop thinking about a Jake costume change…….how he’s gonna go from pirate/viking jake to sparkly/flashy guitar god jake…….what’s his Mirador stage fit gonna look like?……..how big are his pirate hoops gonna be?????……..is he- will he have different makeup?????….more eyeliner?……is he gonna have a new gvf stage fit?……how many more extended solos are we gonna get?……..someone help. i need to be put down.

[nocternalrandomness]

USAF Thunderbirds and USN Blue Angels perform the "Super Delta" at NAF El Centro, California

[drborf]

I made a jester themed phone wallpaper and widgets, y’all can have everything I drew for it

[sidoopa]

ah sweet! eldritch horrors beyond my comprehension

[racequeenparadise]

Airi Yoshimura and Hitomi Aoyama, Delta Queens

[melodyofthevoid]

Bodies are Business and Business is Good

Tw: blood, torture, amputation, etc. (It’s Heather) 

Word Count: 3,326

There were fewer things more satisfying, Heather thought, than the slight hiss of the gas lamp in her work office.

A frankly wonderful modern invention, much more controlled than simple wax candles and less likely to blow out at a moment’s notice when she had her back turned or was in the middle of delicate work. Natural light wasn’t exactly an option, not here. And her clients tended to demand their money’s worth.

Plus, it was so nice to listen to the small intake of breath when her victims realized she was there. And the narrowing of their eyes as she became fully visible.

She turned the key and struck a match, blinking as her own eyes adjusted to the light, bouncing off of the thick carved stone and cast iron tools lining the walls. The vials and jars just waiting to be filled. And, shining off of the few exposed scales of the exhausted mer panting and strapped to her operation table.

As expected, they flinched when she descended the stairs, pulling at the restraints with all of their might. Clearly not enough, but a valiant effort.

“Apologies for the delay, but since you so stubbornly held onto your disguise, it put a damper on my evening plans the other day. I’m sure you must be thirsty.”

The angel fish snarled, flaring their bright yellow tail and thrashing harder, their scales– iridescent– bright blues, yellows and greens that would make for excellent amulets or accessories.

She made a note to get more leather and wire for the necklaces. Accessories sold well. Not as well as her other products, but well enough. A status symbol to those who were in the know.

“Fuck off- you- you-”

“Bitch? Monster? I’m sure I’ve heard it before. Believe me, I have.”

A well in the back, hidden by a few boxes, caught her victim’s eye as she walked over to it, grabbing a nearby bucket and pumping it full. Saltwater smell filled the air, overpowering the metallic tang of Heather’s tools.

The mer eyed the bucket, thrashing less as she approached. Ah, good. Maybe this one would be cooperative. Or somewhat more cooperative.

“Actually… Before we get started, and I let you have this, I have a simple question for you. Do you happen to know the location of any other mermaid colonies? You don’t have to tell me all of them, just one or two.”

Any relief that the mer–oh what was their name again? It didn’t really matter, the mer’s relief vanished, eyes narrowing to slits and their fins flaring out.

“Tell you- no. Fuck you. You and your dog won’t get your hands on any more mer- not if I can help it.”

“Well, you’re right about one thing, he is something of a dog, look at you.”

She ran a hand along their tail, ghosting over the gashes that lined it. Wounds that’d barely scabbed over during transport. Other bruises and scratches marred their skin and fins. Heather scowled. Charles was new, but that didn’t excuse abject incompetence.

This would put something of a dent in what she could sell. Charles would be compensated accordingly.

“I told him minimal damage, and yet here you are. Can’t even follow basic directions right. But I digress. If you won’t offer what I need, there’s no sense in dragging this out.”

Heather mulled over where to start, eyeing her knives and branding rods. Carving took longer, but risked too much thrashing for a clean cut. Fins, for all of their use, tore rather easily if not handled properly.

Morro —ah, right that was their name— looked to be healthy enough that draining them first wouldn’t end in them bleeding out entirely.

The needle it was then.

“Now where did I put it… ah, here it is.”

She hummed under her breath, pulling out three glass jars, and her needle, cleaning off the point of it and eyeing Morro’s exposed forearms. A good thing that they were tense already. That certainly made things easier.

A particularly exposed vein on their right arm made for the perfect target and Heather couldn’t help the shiver that went down her spine as the metal slid into the skin, flesh giving way to the needle’s piercing point. So satisfying.

Immediately crimson blood filled the glass tank of the gun, flowing down to the tube and filling up the first jar. The lifeblood of her operation, so to speak. So many customers, all vying for that most viscous and vital of her products. And who was she to deny them when she was living testimony of its efficacy?

Of course she’d never give away all her trade secrets for her longevity. She wasn’t born yesterday.

Or even within the last half century.

In any case, the blood flowed easily, and already one jar gleamed with it. Full to the brim. Switching one out for the other, Heather placed it off on a table, taking a moment to admire the flicker of the gas lamp light against the glass and crimson. Perhaps one day she’d find some other substance, a gemstone, a resin, something that could capture the beauty of her craft.

She doubted it though.

With a second jar nearly filled, Morro’s skin showed the effects. Ashy, almost clammy in places. Their gaze unfocused and any attempts at thrashing much weaker than before. Reaching the limits of what they could give today.

Heather switched out the jars one last time, watching the stream slowly taper off as their breathing slowed down and body relaxed against their will. For their trouble, she poured some of the sea water in the bucket over them, giving them a pat on the shoulder as she extracted the needle from their vein and bandaged the wound. Some blood sluggishly seeping through the gauze.

“You,” Morro slurred, “you’ll pay for this. Indra will hunt you for the rest of your days.”

“Mmm, is that so? Tell me, how long do you think I’ve done this work?”

Her captive didn’t respond. Only glaring with bared fangs.

“Believe me, if your goddess really gave a damn, I’d think she’d have taken notice by now. I’m not going anywhere, and for the time being? Neither are you.”

“The debt will be paid- MHMPH!”

Heather tied the gag tighter, rolling her eyes.

“That’s enough out of you. I’ll spare myself the usual theatrics. Feel free to still scream though, I don’t mind. You’ll give me what I want either way.”

Finally, Heather could get to the real work.

Choosing the right knife to start with always proved to be the most taxing part of the work. She’d tried typical fish scalers in the past, but those were better suited for the fishmongers and fresh markets. The scales she worked with required more work than that. But on the other hand, using the back of the wrong knife chipped and damaged the scales, and no one wanted to buy half a scale.

Heather’s fingers danced along the different blades, intermittently picking one up, twirling it, feeling the heft and then setting it back down, moving on to the next one. Eventually she settled on her favorite, a long curving blade, sturdy and sharp. Tempered steel reflecting her own dark gaze back at her.

Starting from the base of the tail, as she’d done a thousand times before, she wedged the back end of it underneath the first line of scales, and pushed upwards.

The previously limp mermaid jerked up, a muffled yelp coming from beneath the gag. Of course, Morro barely possessed the strength to so much as twitch. Too tired to fully put up a fight, but Heather tightened the straps on their tail anyway. With that secure, she continued pushing up, the shining iridescent angelfish scales now tinted red at the base as they fell to the floor below. They’d be cleaned and polished later.

Despite the gag, Heather winced as the mer tried to shriek, to throw her off through the only means they had left. Admirable if it weren’t so annoying. She took a step back and stood back up, towering over her prey. Cooing with a voice as sickly sweet as she could make it.

“Oh relax, this isn’t even the worst part. But we can get to that if you want. It might make this seem pleasant in comparison. How does that sound?”

Morro shook their head, but she’d already flipped her blade around and dug it into the membrane of the main tail fin, slicing through with no resistance. The bright yellow would make for a lovely trophy for the right buyer.

It was a little too bright for her tastes though. It clashed with the decor.

Hitching breaths came from above, strained and hissing through clenched teeth. The poor thing was trying to keep themself calm even with the gag. She laughed, cutting through the dorsal and pectoral fins next, setting them aside to dry.

Muffled moans and cries left Morro and Heather checked their cheeks to see if there were tears. A frustratingly rare commodity. Not that they did anything but clients always wanted them. By all means she could just sell some sea water, but she had standards.

She clicked her tongue to see that there were no tears. A shame.

With the last of the fins removed, Heather spun her knife back around and continued peeling away the scales, with far less reaction this time, which was also in and of itself a shame. She liked the fight so long as she could still do her job. Heather’d done Morro a mercy if anything. After an amputation, pulling a few scales probably felt like nothing. Like pulling nails off of a hand freshly devoid of a few fingers.

Sometimes though, the sudden lack of fight signaled an end to that night’s session. Ignoring her subjects too much could be costly.  Brushing the last few whole scales into a second bucket, Heather stood back up, examining her work.

Morro was slumped over, exhausted from the strain and blood loss. Wiping any excess off of her knife on her apron, Heather did her usual checks, pulse, reflex, breathing, etc. They were still alive, which meant that she’d get at least a few more pints out of them by the time they eventually kicked the bucket. It’d be such a waste if she only got one day’s worth.

They’d hold out longer than that, she’d make sure of it.

With a sigh, she got out her needle and thread, stitching up the gashes Charles left and cleaning out the wounds. Bandaging up the stump near the tail. No infections, and no potential loss. The blood was no good from a dead mer.

As much as she liked the final processing steps, she still had other orders to fulfill, and going out of her way to catch another prospect? A waste of her time and resources. Nothing wasted, not if she could help it. 

Her hairnet came off, as did the gloves and apron, all placed in their proper places far enough away that any nearby officers couldn’t smell the fresh blood on her. She needed to replace the shirt though. Again. The price she paid for wearing white.

Ah well, no skin off her back. She disposed of any evidence once or twice a year. Fireplaces served a variety of uses.  

A quick shower and a change of clothes left Heather feeling far more accomplished and relaxed now that the euphoria of her work had passed. There was a certain… thrill to it, to the slice of flesh under her knife. But getting lost in that feeling led to less than precise work. In less vials of blood and damage to the organs she needed to sell later. So, for the sake of her own work, she had to take breaks. Balance was key, and experience taught her well.

Maybe for the evening she could fully unwind with some luxury time. She’d just have to find that bottle of wine and those chocolates she’d been saving.

The glasses were in the cabinet of her office, so here was hoping that there weren’t any last minute visitors. She’d had enough business for the day.

Though as she entered the room from the back, she sighed. No such luck.  

A certain red-haired captain stood in the main lobby, smoking a cigar. Blowing rings of smoke into the air with his usual air of disinterest. Odd, he’d delivered her fresh supply not even a year and a half ago. Confusion outweighed her irritation at the intrusion. For now.

“To what do I owe this visit, Captain?”

Fachnan exhaled, tapping the stray ash onto the floor. Sullying it.

Asshole.

“Ah, Heather. I was hoping you’d stay in that dungeon for a little while longer. I find it’s easier to take in your trophies without you drooling all over them. We were stopping here for a short time and well, I figured I’d drop by.”

“Mhm…sure.”

The twitch in Fachnan’s hand and dart of his eyes didn’t exactly scream “casual chat”.

“Why’re you really here, and make it quick. You’re getting ash all over my perfectly good carpet. I do try to keep an air of respectability here.”

“My apologies, your majesty, I’ll be sure to clean your lair to a shine.”

Heather’s jaw tensed, teeth close to grinding. Unnecessary stress meant unnecessary aging, deep breaths in, deep breaths out. She forced herself to relax, schooling her expression into neutral disdain.

“False deference doesn’t suit you, Captain. I’d get your nose off of the floor before I lose my patience.”

“Fine, fine. Since you’re in a hurry I’ll make it quick.”

Fachnan gestured wide, splaying himself across the couch in her office with all the grace and respect she’d come to expect. Letting out a sigh, Heather grabbed the first open bottle of wine she could find and poured some out. Counting down the minutes until he left.

“The reason for my visit is simple, I want to do you a favor.”

She arched her brow, sipping at her glass.

“You’ve just been a source of income for me, Lady of the Sea. Owe at least some of my success to you. I’ve got a tip you might be interested in, for a small price, of course. Can’t just give this sort of thing to any ametuer.”

Actively sending Charles out on another hunt before she could properly chastise him for damaging this merchandise? She’d pass.

Besides, she paid Fachnan for tangible work. If she threw her fortune any idiot who walked in promising a lead, she’d have exhausted her coiffers long ago. Her decades of experience were worth far more than what one measly captain thought he knew.

“Charming, but I’m not looking to take on another project or search for one at the moment. Frankly, I don't like drawing more attention to myself than necessary. You know how these new officers get, all bright eyed and full of belief in ‘law and order’. The guard’s changed in the past few years, and I’m not exactly looking to make any waves at present. The fewer bodies, the better.”

She sipped at her wine once more, mulling over the best way to politely but firmly tell Fachnan to fuck off. Alone time was calling her name like the sirens she cut to ribbons.

“Well that’s a shame. Here I thought you were interested in a shark mer. Guess not then.”

With an inhale, the wine went down her throat and Heather choked and coughed. It burned all the way up to her sinuses, but nothing compared to the spark of interest. Still catching her breath, she unlatched a compartment in the desk behind her, pulling out a sharpened knife and setting it on the wood beside her.

He could lie or take out his sword if he wanted, but her reputation spoke for itself. There’d be one winner here.

“I see I have your attention then,” he smirked, “I’ll admit, the gold was a bluff. This one’s on the house.”

“Bullshit. What do you want?”

“Fine, this mer in question is something of… a thorn in my side. You taking care of her would be doing me a service, Madame Butcher. She appears to be a hybrid, if that sweetens the deal.”

It did. Quite a bit in fact.

“And you’re sure about this?”

“Dead certain. Last saw her face off the coast of Paign. Goes by the name of Delta. About seven feet tall, blue fins, blue coat, she’s fairly hard to miss. Has a whole crew of mer from what I could tell.”

A whole crew… she let out a breath.

“No shit. Typically I don’t get in the middle of feuds, or do bounty work for that matter, but just this once? I think I can agree with that. In fact…”

Heather stood up, walking over to a mahogany cabinet, carved with intricate flowers and vines. An inherited piece, and not even a forced one. They’d handed it over after the funeral, which was well and good. Natural causes were less messy to deal with generally speaking. She pressed the central-most flower’s petals and the compartment toward the bottom opened up, shining vials revealed within it.

“A gift, to a valuable partner. For your health.”

She held out a crimson vial. Heart blood.

“I’d like to keep my more reliable freelancer at sea for a few more years.”

Seconds ticked by, and Fachnan shook his head, “No, like I said. This one’s free. I just want her gone.”

Pirates and their honor codes. She rolled her eyes and set the vial back into its case.

Although speaking of…

“By the way, how’s that associate of yours doing? Changed his tune yet? I know he’s got quite the reputation for finding what he’s looking for. I’d like to use his expertise.”

Deep lines set into Fachnan’s face as he glanced away. Shoulders lowered. His bravado evaporated leaving behind only bitter salt.

“He and I won’t be seeing each other any time soon, gods willing. My only hope is it was quick.”

Ah. So it was like that then.

“I see, I apologize. I’ve been rather busy as of late, haven’t kept up with the times. My condolences for your loss.”

He grit his teeth, expression darkening further.

“It was his decision. We parted ways some time ago. He knew the risks of going soft, and look where it got him.”

“Well, that is how it is sometimes. Connections come and connections go. Time stops for a lucky few.”

The dots weren’t hard to connect, as hard as Fachnan fought to keep his aloof persona intact. Whatever drama or series of events led to this, frankly she didn’t care. What mattered was her prize. He could mourn his lost flame all he wanted on his own time.

With the last of his cigar fully gone, Fachnan stared at the embers before standing up from the couch, lifting his chin to look down at her. She met his gaze with a smile every bit as sharp as her tools.

“I’ll be heading off then. Send word when you need my services again.”

“Oh I will, don’t you worry. Thank you for stopping by, your help is much appreciated.”

He didn’t respond, only turning for the door and leaving Heather alone with her wine and her thoughts. Her smile stretched wider across her face and she let out a laugh, growing in intensity as euphoria set in.

A shark. A shark hybrid.

Looked like she’d have to clear her schedule to ensure that this… Delta could get all the attention that Heather could offer. Get the care and quality work that she deserved as the future crown jewel of her collection.

Morro could be rest assured that their suffering would be brief. She had preparations to make.

[xbuster]