#never noticed the LT on his mic

[dailytomlinson]

Louis’ details in New York photographed by Liam Gillin

[howyouloveyourdragon]

ᴊᴇꜱꜱɪᴇ'ꜱ ɢɪʀʟ ᴘᴛ ɪɪ

modern!au jessie's girl masterlist

warnings: talk of violence? pronouns: she/her summary: Aemond has only ever had his eye on one girl and now his brother is professing this crush in front of an entire audience and her possible boyfriend word-count: 1,560 A/N: so i wasn't planning to release this early but i finished part 2! this is mostly covering the actual song elements but there are interactions and stuff during lyrics so it's not purely song stuff :) <;3 and let me know who you want to win the competition in part 3! (and if you'd like to added in the taglist)

green's entry song black's entry song

Aemond froze, eye tracking the blurred crowd and hearing muted by the incessant whirring of his panicked mind. His eye snapped to search for you in the crowd but you merely beam up at the group completely oblivious. Not for long, He think dryly and sighs. He really wants to win this competition but as Alys’ fingers start up, Aemond is more hesitant than when he knocked on his father’s office as a boy. The first lyrics blare through Aegon’s mic and Aemond swallows, praying that neither you nor Jace understand them. “Jessie’s not a friend No, he’s never been a good friend of mine But lately something's changed that ain't hard to define Jessie's got himself a girl and I want to make her mine” Aemond hesitantly brings down his fingers to the bass in his arms. He swallows and regains composure. You’re onstage, he reminds himself, you’re onstage. His brother winks at various audience members in that clumsy suave manner that hooks them. “And she's watching him with those eyes And she's loving him with that body, I just know it Yeah, and he's holding her in his arms late, late at night.  You know, I wish that I had” Aegon always looks at you during their shows but something feels different when they soften and his smirk seems more tight than usual. “Jessie’s girl,” Aemond grits his teeth, already aware that Jace is probably seething in the wings. Of course you didn’t notice, you never noticed. Alys sends him a frustrated expression as his fingers lag slightly behind before regaining rhythm again. He shrugs, as if to say, ‘What?’ She rolls her eyes and looks back at the crowd, sliding across the stage on her knees as enough time has passed that Aegon is reaching the chorus. Aemond doesn’t have to look at his bass to recall the notes but he’s gripping tightly to it as if a sword, trying his hardest not to throttle his brother until he passes out. He blinks away the violent thoughts and looks down and finally sees your smiling face and his heart just melts as you hop your head along and throw your thumbs up at him. He has to stifle a laugh. This is probably his favourite thing about you—even if the guy you're dating is actively competing against him, you’re still there as his personal cheerleader, encouraging him all the way. A part of him wishes you would get the hint already. 

“And I'm looking in the mirror all the time,” Aemond flashes back to when you begged him to let you braid his hair and the rose tinted haze he was thrown into as he lay his head back against your thighs.  “Wonderin' what she don't see in me” The night he heard you speaking excitedly and nervously about Jace asking you on your first date. The little bite of your lip as you uttered in the quietest voice ‘is that okay?’, how he almost sped down there and begged you to tell him no, that it wasn’t okay because he had strewn together the words he could never muster without a pen and sheet music in hand. Because he swore to all the Gods he was going to do it this time and yet someone was choosing one of his nephews over him all over again. “I've been funny, I've been cool with the lines Ain't that the way love's supposed to be?” He hated it. He hated all of it. Every single second of it. Eventually the song ended and the biggest sigh of relief dropped from his mouth and Aegon smirked at him, mocking a bow as usual to each of his fellow bandmates before regaining his presence to the audience and grasping the microphone and pulling it close to his mouth. “Thank you and goodnight, dragons!” He laughed. Aemond’s mouth dropped open. That was what their eldest sister used to call their fans before her band with their mother split though Aegon didn't say it in their mother tongue Valryian, zaldrīzes. His eye flashes to the right side wings where he sees a rightfully seething Jacaerys on the verge of shouting angrily with Baela and Cregan holding him back. Aemond could only make out the words “Fucking dickheads!” before he tunes out to rush Aegon off the stage, followed by their siblings and Alys. None of them make eye contact but they can all feel the awkward tension making it feel like the scene in Alice in Wonderland where Alice grows too big. They can practically feel the ceiling pushing down their heads.

“What was that?” Aemond snaps angrily with his arms folding behind him to hold back his growing river of adrenaline and rage. Aegon shrugs with an arrogant smirk while taking a plastic bottle of water to his lips. He pulls it away and snickers. “What was what, little bro?” He asks in faux innocence, drawing his brows together. For a brief moment Aemond considers—not for the first time—punching his brother into the ground but he holds back, especially when he feels Helaena’s soft hand on his shoulder. He lets out deep breaths like she taught him but it barely helps. “I thought we were gonna do Helaena's one." Aemond snipes, words hard. Daeron shakes his head.  "Aeg changed it last minute." Daeron frowns and tilts his head. "Didn't he tell you?" Aemond glares at him.  "No." He sneers back. "No, he didn't tell me." Aegon rolls his eyes and outstretches his arms, jogging some of his water onto the side.  "I changed my mind." He responded but his teasing smirk is still very much present. Aemond clenches his jaw and takes a step back and away from Helaena's confused comfort.  "You stole it!" He snips, Aegon rolls his eyes and this time everyone else shares anxious glances.  "Oh, Aegon..." Helaena reprimanded quietly in disappointment. Alys' face screwed up.  "Dude..." She trails, the eldest out of all of them and commanding the most authority.  "That's messed up." Daeron utters. Aemond doesn't look at any of them, just keeping his eyes locked on Aegon who he can tell is already getting defensive. "Oh come on, he was never gonna tell her." He tries to justify, moving back and forth on the balls of his feet. "I just moved things along a little, she liked the song anyway." He's huffing like a spoiled child now. "That wasn't your choice to make." Aemond grinds out and as Aegon opens his mouth to say something again, the lights dim and they snap their necks to see Jacaerys taking the stage and his position on the drum set. "Good evening," Baela drawls, her long white braids swishing from side to side down her back like waves of snow. "tonight we're singing an original song for someone out there in the audience tonight." The audience hollers like expected. "Y/n, I stayed up all night helping your loverboy write this so you better you like it!" She laughs in that chirpy way which is so effortless that it makes Aemond roll his eye. Baela clears her throat and once she gives the go-ahead, her fingers slip around the microphone like they belong there. "I'm used to loving from a distance I'll give you just enough to make it seem Like I'm exposing all my secrets But I don't tell anyone anything Call it pain, call it trauma I just know that my guard's up But you're breaking my armour down" Aegon scoffs, he's pretty sure he's never heard Jace ever hold anything back before.

Jace's eyes track around the large venue until he locks eyes with you and cracks a cheeky grin at your amazed expression and flushing cheeks. He leans into the secondary mic. "So what if I let it slip, tell you that you're the only one I'm seeing? What if I lose my grip, admit that I'm terrified of you leaving? Would it push you away or would you say the same back? What if I let it slip, tell you that," He beams and breaks for a moment into a short breath of a laugh, disbelief written like a promise in his eyes. "oh my God," His voice returns to a singing melody. "I fucking love you." Aemond's face drops at the confession and all the tension drops from his body. Helaena's brows scrunch in sympathy pains and Daeron attempts to rub his shoulder but Aemond turns around quickly and storms away and out to backstage door. Your own face is contorted in shock and the vibrations of the music thumps wildly through you. Baela smiles and turns to echo Jace's lyrics instead now as he gains confidence, he's rarely sung in front of people before and especially not onstage before. When the song ends, his face shifts nervously but the audience's chorusing cheers puts him slightly more at ease while his eyes search for you, then he finally finds you and his face turns a bright pink, all previous cockiness diminishing. "Y/n, there's something I've wanted to tell you for a while now and by now I think everyone's heard it," Your friends squeal and circle around you. He shrugs bashfully. "but I love you, sweetheart." And like that, you have three Targaryens on the verge of war for your attention.

[happilychaengs]

Live Affection

-luvjane on Wattpad requested:

hii can you do :

member: Jihyo

genre:fluff

prompt: jihyo x fem twice tenth member. Reader and jihyo being cute and loving towards each other on vlive. (You can make it a group vlive or just them anyone is ok)

Please and Thank you !!<3

a/n: i haven't been feeling too creative lately but i tried. not sure if much of this made sense but i hope you enjoy!

word count: 548

jihyo x gender neutral reader

fluff

You hit the live button and lay back in your bed, waiting for your fans to join as you flailed your feet under the sheets. The enjoyment of going on live with your fans has never once faded. You've always loved going live, whether by yourself or with your fellow members; this time not being any different. As the viewers on your live increased, your smile stretched further ear to ear as you greeted them and waved.

"Hey Once! How's everyone doing? Is everyone good?"

You get a varied amount of answers, some bad, some good as you begin to go about your day, seeing that someone asked you.

"How am I? Well... not so bad." You say, wiggling your hand in a so-so fashion. "I hung out with the girls and we got to go eat at a new place in our free time. I'd say I'm doing fine."

You stuck your head out more, trying to catch a comment that caught your eye before repeating, "How are you and Jihyo?"

You laughed, "We're good! I think she should be here soon to join me as well!"

More and more comments flooded with your ship name with her and a wave of heart emojis making you smile. You and Jihyo have been practically inseparable since debut and that's always shown through different shows and promotions the group partakes in.

Though you weren't sure if fans could tell there was something more between the two of you. And it's not just some affection you show when told by the company but the kind of affection you show to your girlfriend. The hidden kisses behind the camera, the hand-holding offset, and the sneaky dates you hold away from prying eyes.

You glance away from your phone at the sound of the door creaking open, revealing the girl herself as she smiles and snakes her way into bed with you, waving at your phone.

"Hi Once!"

She nuzzles her head in your neck, mumbling sweet nothings that hopefully the mic couldn't pick up as she laid her arms across your body.

You chuckled nervously as you scrolled through the live chat, "Why do the two of you seem so close?"

"Well..." You start, but she unexpectedly kisses your cheek making you and the chat go crazy as she answers the question for you, effectively cutting you off, "We've known each other for a long time and we've been through the ups and downs together. You could say we're close because of that."

The red haze everyone could see on your cheeks made you worried as you hid under the covers, your eyes peering through. "Okay Once, I think that's it for this live..." You mumbled and waved quickly as you fumbled with your phone, not being able to press the stop button as the phone landed on your nose, a slight wince escaping from your lips.

"Oh... are you okay dear?" Jihyo cups your face in her hands as she kisses your nose, ignoring the phone that was facing her.

Though you notice quickly. "We're still live Ji."

Her eyes widen as she looks at the screen, filled with spam and random chat messages enamored with what just happened, her dropping her hands and quickly turning the phone off. "Crap."

[bluiex]

so going back to the hermit military au, i have the first half of a chapter done and surprisingly did research for this au (because im an idiot when i try to sound smart)

Mumbo would never get used to this.

The shots rang through the air, his breath hot and wet inside his mask. The rifle in his hands, hot at the tip and slick with sweat at the handle and trigger. His body crouches behind a wall as he reloads his rifle with his backpack at his side. The rain outside pattering against the window and the street shiny as the lights reflected against it. He steadied his breath and held his finger to his listening device.

“All clear on the North side.”

“Good job, Captain. Head to the South, we’ve got a helicopter ready.”  Scar’s voice crackled in his ear. He sounded strained but Mumbo didn’t question it.

“Got it, Lt.”

He took a couple seconds to himself before standing back up and heading to the South. Most buildings were caved in, old and some torn down from not being used in years. The banners hanging from ropes dripping with water and the ground shiny. The ground was always shiny. Maybe Mumbo looked at the ground too much. The old, fraying edges of his scarf wet and darkened when he crouched close to the ground. His earpiece lets out a staticy sound every now and again. Mumbo jerked his head up when a warm hand clapped him on the shoulder. Scar, Mumbo thought. Even with half of his face covered, Mumbo could still recognize the bright green eyes of his Lieutenant. The light-colored scar that ran through his eyebrow and down the side of his face. The man who was known as one of the best snipers on the team, well, besides Mumbo. The man was known for being one of the best pilots, vastly preferring helicopters over planes. He had always said they were, “Easier to steer.” But Mumbo never understood what he meant by that.

“You did good, c’mon let’s get inside!” 

Even with his mouth covered with fabric, his voice struck out against the loud whirring of the helicopter. 

Mumbo nodded and winced as he stepped a bit too hard on his heel. Scar must have noticed from the way his brows furrowed and his eyes squinted slightly. He looked over at a tall and broad-shouldered man next to the door of the helicopter. He jerked his chin towards the entrance of the helicopter before grabbing Mumbo's bicep and dragging them both inside. Scar shoved Mumbo into the passenger seat while he took his place in the pilot's seat. The tall man kneeled between the two seats. 

As the door’s closed, the noise slowly quieted and Mumbo could finally hear again. Scar sighed and put on his stereo headphones and gestured to Mumbo and the tall man to do the same.

“You’ve met Doc right, Captain? He’s gonna check you over in case anything happened out there. No one was shot or too badly injured, but we want to make sure nothing is wrong, got it?”  Scar’s voice was muffled over the noise in the helicopter but Mumbo had listened to every word.

Mumbo did remember Doc. Not many can forget the large metal arm on his right and the bright red of his eye on his left. His deep voice, thick with an accent, was always recognizable over his ear piece. Somehow, the man hasn’t been caught in over 20 years, over half of them on the field and the rest as the doctor of their team. Doc is, was, known as one of the best sharpshooters before Scar and Mumbo came into play. But the thing that really made Mumbo wonder was, who exactly was he? Doc had always been known as Doc even before he became a certified doctor in the field. 

Mumbo nodded and Doc went to work checking his arms and waist, squeezing himself as best as he could in the space between the two seats.

Scar flicked a few levers and pressed a few buttons. His left hand grabbing hold of the collective lever and his right hand on the cyclic stick. His face leveled as he shifted his grip, and the helicopter slowly lifted off the ground. He tilted his mic towards his mouth with the back of his hand before returning to the lever. He spoke into the mic, Mumbo hearing his words in his ear but not listening. Mumbo really would never get used to this.

BRO YOUR WRITING- AAAH I LOVE THIS SO MUCH OMG

[sakunyas]

i'd like to hear what you think about my husband 🎤

taps mic softly. hi. it's the man the myth the legend. the puka <3 i need some kanata story recs if you have any btw!

kanata

Sexuality Headcanon: i think he has a very open definition of love, he doesn't really care for labels,, but i think pan. surely demiromantic. but when he falls in love he falls oh so deeply &lt;;3 swaneesexual

Gender Headcanon: i would say something vague like masc aligned but not too much. i need to study my genders

A ship I have with said character: kanaswan. i also think chiakana is really really cute and wholesome! but kanaswan is the ship ever <3

A BROTP I have with said character: chiakana again because they're also friends and care for each other a lot ;; nice relationships don't have to be romantic, you know? they're here for each other <3

A NOTP I have with said character: uhhh my lack of kanaknowledge is hitting again. not one i can think of easily, i think?

A random (silly) headcanon: the little hair sprout? thing on his head changes shapes depending on his mood. when he's happy it forms a little heart but people never notice :(

General Opinion over said character: he's so interesting. on first sight he seems so silly and the kind of character that makes you go ??? but the more you dig into his character the more fascinating he gets. truly like the sea. deep and profound, not many people get him right <3

[stressedspidergirlsfandomblog]

Prequel (edited -potentially incomplete)

On board the ATLAS

Curtis holds the comm pad in his hand, looking over the softly glowing display. He’s been asked to take it directly to Captain Shirogane.

Veronica is off the bridge, sleeping, or he would have asked her. Before Takashi was Captain Shirogane, he and Curtis had sort of been feeling each other out a little. Either way it had put a total halt to things when he assumed command of the Atlas and the lieutenant became one of his underlings. The power inequality made them both a little uncomfortable, not to mention all the risks they faced. Demotion, or just being kicked out for fraternization in general. Better not to get too attached.

Palming the comm at the door, “Captain, I have something you need to see,” he says. Then waits for a response. He’s had to wake Captain Shirogane once or twice now, and usually within seconds the captain is at the door dressed and stepping out of the room ready to plunge into battle. Even if the situation doesn’t call for it. Curtis has no idea how the commander always manages to seem awake and alert at any hour of the night, but he’s thankful for it.  He can’t think of a single person more capable to lead.

“Captain, please respond,” Curtis says, palming the comm again. Odd. They know the captain is in his quarters. Holding down the button for a few seconds, he thinks he can hear something inside. For all unless Shirogane also taps the mic on his end there’s no way to hear anything but static. Pressing his ear to the door, he thinks he can hear sounds of a fight, or struggle.

His heart rate increases as he presses his palm to the lock, he has clearance to enter unless the door has been barred. Most of the paladins and a few other ranking officers among the crew have the same access in case of emergencies. Pulling a weapon as he walks in, the room is dark.

How could anyone have gotten in to attack the captain without someone noticing? They’re in space, it’s not as if it’s easy to get in or out. It takes a second or two for his eyes to adjust to the dim ‘night’ lighting. It’s never truly dark on the ship.

Blaster pointed in the direction of the noise, he lowers it almost immediately as his eyes adjust fully. 

The noise is coming from the room’s single occupant. Quickly closing the door, he assesses the situation as quickly as he can.

It’s Shiro; he’s not fighting anyone. There’s no one else … he can’t find any hint anyone else has been in the room. There’s no attack, no Haggar. Or Honerva or whatever she’s calling herself now. “Captain, wake up!” he half shouts, hoping that it isn’t some kind of mental attack from the space-witch.

Bolting awake, Shiro sits up, gasping and panting, soaked in sweat. “Lieutenant Williams? What are you doing in here?” Shiro asks, confused. Rubbing his hand over his face, he can feel sweat. His hair is matted down to his forehead and his scalp is slick with it.

“I have a report, I was told you needed it immediately. I can come back in a few minutes, sir.” Curtis wants to ask if Shiro is okay. He wants to help him out of the tangled covers, and hand him a glass of water. Deciding, at the very least, he can fetch the water without being too forward, it will give Shiro a chance to untangle himself. Picking up a cup from the desk and he heads into the small bathroom.

Filling the cup up, he takes his time, trying to give his captain some time to recover. He wouldn’t want to be seen in that condition, and he doubts the other man feels any differently about it. Either way he’ll pretend he never saw, and that none of this ever happened. It’s the only way to maintain morale on the ship, for one. And for two, the man in the other room deserves his respect and his silence. Curtis understands what it is to have nightmares that leave you gasping and waking up screaming.

He can hear rustling and some soft cursing and decides it’s probably safe to go back into Shiro’s sleeping quarters. Perfunctorily passing him both the glass and the comm pad, he waits while Shiro reads it over, surprised the man was so quick to get into uniform. He still looks sweaty, but he hasn’t had a chance to finish freshening up. His fingers are still finishing up buttoning his uniform jacket as he  sets the pad down on his desk with the water and hunches over the desk, reading. Once that’s done he picks the cup up from the side of the pad and drains it. Pinching the bridge of his nose for a second, he squeezes his eyes shut. This can’t really be happening right now.  “I will meet you on the bridge, Lieutenant.”

“Sir,” Curtis says with a salute, recognizing a dismissal when he hears it. No hint anything happened. Well, he won’t tell anyone. Half wishing he knew what to say, or how to help, he does his best to exit normally.

Shiro breathes out through his nose, hating himself. No time, he reminds himself as he ducks into the bathroom to run water over his hair and rinse the sweat off his face and neck, too.

Damp at the collar, he strides to the bridge, how long will it take for Lt. Williams to spread the news to the entire crew, he wonders. Hours? Minutes? Will he submit a report to the Garrison finding him unfit for duty? Or just petition Iverson and the other senior officers to remove him from command? Sick to his stomach with worry he heads onto the bridge wondering what will greet him.

[hcpeisms]

trigger warnings: suicide, war, violence, death, strong feelings about war in general, ptsd (if you squint), horrible things. long post!

This uniform.

That is the only thought running through his head. This uniform.

He wore this uniform for five years. The insignia on the sleeve is worn from the countless battles it had seen. The fabric is torn in places, faded with time, faded from the sun and the sand whipping around it when he dove for cover, when he crawled to help his friends, when he was trying to survive.

There are patches that he had stitched together, his fingers absentmindedly caressing the spot near his wrist, the left one, close to the old scar now covered by a tattoo. ‘Give ‘em Hell’ peeks from under the sleeve and Dane pulls it further to cover up the words. This uniform.

It still holds the heat from the battlefields, somehow pulling his conscious back to his time overseas. The sand itches, paranoia gives him an image of a scorpion crawling up his leg. He brushes the thoughts off, reminding himself where he is. The light yellow of the walls , the chatter that comes from the hall behind the curtains. The curtains; sleek and pristine, polar opposite of himself and his assemble. He doesn’t feel the heaviness of his rifle in his hands, but that weight had shifted onto his shoulders a long time ago. The tattoo threatens to peek from under his clothing again and he resolves to pull it more violently. Loose threads from the stitches catch his attention and his fidgets. This uniform. It’s falling apart. Serves it right, just like it served its wearer a long time ago.

Eight years ago he had worn the fatigues with pride. In some sense, he still did. When his eyes met the camouflage in the mirror, he swore his posture straightened and the confidence that had shone from his face withered away. This uniform. It was nothing but  bad memory now, the stitches, the tears, the faded texture, the stubborn bloodstains still clinging to it, the stains he tried so hard to wash away over and over and over again when he had been sent home. A bad memory. A reminder.

A loud voice snaps him back from his memories and a portly man approaches him from the small gap in the curtains. His fingers twitch to salute his superior, but he is no soldier anymore. A balled fist is what the man sees, and the disapproving glare that is sent his way could not be more obvious. “Second Lieutenant Moreno --” He begins and Dane wants to snap at him, hiss that he doesn’t use that title any longer. But his jaw is clenched shut and his lungs are burning for air as the General stares him down. Small, beady eyes. Looks like a rat, that’s what Dane knows for sure. The man with a condescending sneer, coals burning in his eyes as he tries not to talk down to the young LT.

“If your father---” The man begins and Dane growl. His brows crease and a wave of heat runs through his body, seizing up his muscles and throwing his stomach into a whirl. Bile rises to his mouth as he returns a warning glare at the superior officer, and he quiets down before making the biggest mistake of his life. A glare is held for a few moment more and Dane feels his jaw aching against the grit it is under. The General scoffs and pushes past Dane who in turn does nothing. Eyes set on the curtain. Inanimate. Pristine. His father would be disappointed in him, were he alive. The thoughts are overwhelming when they are brought up. His father. Dane shakes his head and tries to coax his muscles to relax -- pain is starting to set in and stars dance across his vision. And that fucking tattoo. Another yank at the sleeve covers it well enough.

His name is called.

 “Next up, give a big welcome to Second Lieutenant Daniel Patrick Moreno, a man known for --” the woman has a shrill voice and Dane steps through the curtain before she has time to continue. He doesn’t need his platoon called out, he doesn’t need her to tell them where he has been, for how long, or why. The microphone is quickly snatched from her hands and she reels, but joins the polite applause that fill the room, the noise that bounces off the walls. The noise slowly fades off into silence and Dane puts the mic back in its slot on the podium. The lights are bright enough for him to avoid seeing the eyes boring into him, the reporters impatiently clicking on their notepads, or his old friends that might’ve showed up.

The silence lasts, lasts, longer than he realizes. Anxiety isn’t something Dane experienced before, or had trouble with in the past. Not on the battlefield, not for months after he returned home. Bouts of nightmares weren’t unusual. Neither were the panicked gasps he sometimes noticed himself take when the war was on the news.

“You heard my name. I’m not going to repeat it.”

Strong start. Murmurs erupt in the hall, irritating his ears.

“You should ll know, I have not used my rank in eight years. I am not in charge of any platoons. I am not a soldier anymore.”

More murmurs, someone asks a confused ‘what’ somewhere to his left. Confusion. Perfect.

He waits for them to quiet down. He hears his own breathing in his ears. The rush of blood.

“I was invited here because my father was ranking high in our army, and I’m the closest they could get to him. So I'm taking this opportunity to clear this mess out of my head, to clear this blood out of my lungs.” For how long had he kept quiet about those days, about the hell that he went through, what all of them went through? When it was all on his shoulders. Lieutenant... What a fucking joke.

“I need to dig holes to bury the dead.” A chuckle. Pained, silent, but it echoes in the large hall.

He thinks about Jefferson, Espinoza, Miller... Toby. He thinks of his dad. He thinks of the hundreds of faces he knows but doesn’t have a name for. He thinks of the men and women he has seen on the news. He thinks of those who returned home, and those who did not. He thinks of himself. Which one is he?

“Look at all of you here.” He straightens up. The memories are bad, simmering just beneath the surface of a man whose ego is barely intact. A man who shields, deflects with arrogance. “You haven’t seen battle.” Someone to his right murmurs about reporting from a crime scene once. He wants to scoff. Grab the murmurer by the throat and smash their head against the wall until there is nothing but a bloody mess left. No, enough blood. Enough.

“I'm so fuckin' sick of everyone's lack of honor,” The mic still catches his voice. The mumbling has stopped. No one is writing. His head swirls with everything he wants to yell at these people. The ones who put words to a paper, claiming to bring justice to the horrors their soldiers face abroad.

“I'm so sick of everyone's willingness to settle,” He knows his words are coming out choppy. Hurt. Anger mingling with fear and disbelief. They brought him here to praise the press. But they aren’t pulling him back.

“Tell me, why is no one prepared to die, for anything?”  His voice rises and he hears his own words round back to him, reaching every nook and crevice in the room, the frustration dripping into his every word. Jefferson. Damn idiot, fearless and dangerous, the king of the weaponry. He could talk for hours about the guns at their disposal, spend more hours cleaning them. He died trying to shield his teammates from the bomb intended to kill all of them. He saved his squad. He was buried a hero.

“Look at yourself in the mirror and tell me what a man is without pride,” His voice trembles and he can feel his hands shaking as he places them on the edge of the podium. Espinoza. She came from a family of soldiers, the only girl in the litter of eight brothers. Told she would never become anything akin to her siblings. Bashful grin on her face as she straightened her fatigues, pointing at the name tag. ‘They said I wouldn’t make it here’. She was twenty-three when she was gunned down, the first victim in an ambush no one saw coming. It was quick, painless, but the stains her blood left on Dane’s uniform never washed away.

“Do you know what fear does? Fear eats you alive,” Dane swallows. He can’t deny he was afraid, terrified when he landed in his destination, the desert air ripping through his lungs, the heat bearing down on him. He ground beneath him felt shaky then, the sand uneven. He was greeted by his superiors. He was eager. Afraid, but eager. Miller was always scared. He wasn’t cut out to be a soldier, but he came through as a medic. Miller, meek, silent Miller. ‘Mouse’ as they called him back then, with his big eyes and nest of hair. Dane squeezes the edge of the podium, the wood digging into the scars of his palms painfully. Remind him he’s not there anymore, that he made it back. The pain grounds some, and he always thought it to be bullshit. Now, it anchors him to the hall, keeps him from seeing every bad scene he went through. Miller. God, Miller wasn’t cut out to be in the field, but neither was he to be in the war zone, patching up soldiers. Missing limbs from bombs, gunshot founds severe enough to kill, death and misery all around him. Miller shot himself five months after arriving, leaving nothing but  sealed note to his mother behind.

“You forget those who give their whole lives to serve you, so you wouldn’t have to be afraid.” Toby. He doesn’t want to think about Toby, not really. Not about how he wasn’t shaken by the death, how he kept everyone in line when Dane forgot how to, when he sat on his bunk staring at the wall of the tent flapping in the winds that broke against it from the outside. A model soldier. The first time they met, they fought, two massive ego’s lashing on the field while others either egged them on or tried to pry them away from each other’s throats. A week later they found common ground. Toby had been the one. Every soldier has the one, someone they would go through fire for, someone whose life held a higher place than your own. Toby had been the one. And then he was injured, caught by a bomb rigged to blow at the lightest nudge of the door. ‘Back to America.’ That’s what they told him after a while. ‘They say he’s not gonna make it.’ was the last he heard about him.’I’m sorry kid’ they added.

“I lost everything in the war.” Friends. Trust. Innocence. He knew he didn’t come home with the affliction many acquired after seeing the bloodshed. Trauma was a part of a soldier, and that was it. Composed, even when every mistake you ever made plays like a movie behind your eyelids when you think about it too much.

“A war we waged. A war we send innocent men and women to fight while you and the big deciders here sit on your asses making decisions that affect everyone else but yourselves. When we put our life and limb on the line so you can write shit about us in the papers. We sacrifice to keep your country safe, but when we return home you cast us aside on the slightest notion that we might be unstable. You close the doors for us and wonder why no one wants to fight for you anymore. you throw us into the fire and ask us why we’re screaming when you burn away every part of us that held humanity.” He takes a breath of air. The hall is silent.

“And you smile when a soldier returns home sane, when his eyes are bright and he hugs his family. The next day the bodies are returned home, and you don’t even count them. You focus on the man who came home. You write your story about him and how his family is doing while there are hundreds of men waiting to be buried, while their mothers and fathers lay by their caskets and wail over their lost children. You glance at wives and husbands mourning their lovers, the mothers and fathers of their children. You skim over the children who are still wondering where their mommy or daddy is. And you focus on the man that sits on his porch and recites to you a story, The story, that you want to hear.”

He feels the silence surround him. No pens scraping. No mumbles, no hushed tones. Utter silence.

No one moves.

No one speaks.

And Dane smiles briefly, triumphantly, before he walks off the stage, thumb gracing over the tattoo on his wrist.

Toby grins as he revs the makeshift tattoo machine in the middle of their desert encampment. Toothy grin, scraped hands, no plan. It stings. Desert air trapped beneath his skin with the ink that settles there. Toby chuckles and claps him on the shoulder when it’s over. He pulls Dane into a choke hold, making fun, joking. Dane holds up the tattoo to see it properly. There, messy handwriting, yet somehow pleasing, all black ink.

Give ‘em Hell       -T.

[cometladyicarus-blog]

Alliance and Hierarchy pt.1

This is a Mass effect fanfic Idea I’d been playing with and I’m actually going to post the first two parts of because I think they’re just about as good as I can make it at this time. XD

Sibling Shepards, and I freely admit to making things up to fill in the gaps that I personally don’t know, so if that mismatches the official information on the background stuff, uh... Let me know, but handwave it all away as Lady Icarus making things up. Yeah.

This Jane Shepard is in fact the same one that I’ve got a (still) incomplete work on [here], so she is not going to be The Shepard (with a capital T in the article). But she is a Spacer/Sole Survivor Shepard, so Akuze brings issues.

Part 1

Part 2

3 June 2177

Akuze Colony Approach

04:38 Local Time

22:54 4 June 2177 Earth Time

"God damn!” Must have hit another sinkhole - how did anything stay on the surface with that much air under them? Her CO was still barking at her, pay attention. “Shepard, never drive a Grizzly again. Man the gun. Toombs! How’s your driving?"

“Good enough to pass!”

Jane shrugged and did as she was told, trading places with the Corporal. "Sorry, Boss, they didn't teach driving in field-tech school. Just how to fix'em."

She earned the light hearted laughter when the Odette called in. "Odette to Away teams, you're getting close to the beacon. We don't see the ship, nor the colony, but keep an eye out for the crew and civilians, over."

"Away to Odette, we copy that." The Commander flashed a grin over his shoulder. "Use your technical skills to find the ship, colonists, or crew, Lieutenant Shepard. Sending out the orders to the rest of our poor S-O-Bs who came with us."

“Yeah, yeah, on it, boss-man.”

"Atta girl. You owe us a round when we get shipside for your shitty driv- Toombs! Watch that mountain cliff! Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, did any of you learn to drive properly? Since when were these vehicles supposed to drive vertically?"

Jane grinned and tapped a few buttons on the Grizzly's cannon. Point three-oh-four percent power increase.

"LT, I'll pass on the drink if you'll just teach me how to make a gun stated to be performing at its best even better."

She started to laugh. And then stopped. "I see the beacon. Small camp around it. Ship must have crashed into or too close to the mountains, the colony’s not supposed to be that way either."

"Which way?"

"Three-thirty for the ship, Commander. The colony should be at about eleven-thirty. Unless I got North mixed up again."

“Spacers. Can’t tell North from East, but they can make a top-performing canon even better than it’s supposed to be.”

“Shut up, Rain.” She grinned to let their medic know she wasn’t serious.

The Grizzly turned and she adjusted to line back with the beacon. Toombs had apparently left the driving to someone else.

"Wonder how many survived?"

"Three structures, broken down Mako, one badly broken Grizzly that looks like it's been here a long time. Structures likely have lavatory, kitchen, showers. Can hold up to five comfortably each, but can hold three times that. Five, three, fifteen. Forty five about highest to expect. None at lowest. Must have been set here for a couple of weeks now."

"Shepard, I don't want to know how you calculated all that for the space."

"Spacer kid, it was a game John and I would play based on the size and class of a ship."

"I just said I didn't want to know."

"Check the comms, anyone on chatter?"

Toombs called out. "No. Just the beacon."

"Alright. Rain, stop the Grizzly at the edge of camp. If anyone's there, we don't want to be seen as a threat."

"On it."

"Shepard, status."

"No movement. No lights." She waited as the vehicle slowed before setting the sights to zoom in. "Wait! I see a couple bodies. Scientists. Think I saw one move. I think. Might have been us moving."

"Let's load out and look for ourselves."

She really didn’t want to, not after improving the canon, but more people out there meat the faster they could find the missing colonists.

They left the vehicle and looked around. Jane examined the beacon for news, cursing when the beacon's VI turned out to be damaged in an odd way.  The beacon worked, but it was also running a secondary signal, and the termination sequence couldn’t be completed considering the button was missing and in fact covered by solid metal. Cheap equipment, she frowned at the thought.

The other members of their team drove up and disembarked as well to join the search.

The ground shook.

"Alright, who stayed on their bear?"

The full team sounded off as being in the camp.

Second Lieutenant Araina “Rain” Sunny pulled out her medical field kit and started checking over the bodies.

"Sir, I think this was a trap. These bodies are torn-” The ground quaked as a … giant worm thing screamed to look down on the puny mortal humans. Not a worm. The Citadel reports had these things as- “Thresher maw! Shit! Into the M29! Go, go!" The great beast spat toxic ooze over the team medic as she screamed warnings.

"Damn it, Rain!"

Jane climbed over the cannon of the vehicle and popped the top open to drop down, eyeballing for the cannon's target. "Give me a rocket!" The Maw dropped below the ground as a head count was made.

"Damn, we lost four."

"And no more-" Jane was cut off as the vehicle was thrown into the air, she looked above her and saw the Akuze surface. "Shit. Missile!"

"In, Shep."

She fired the damn-fucking rocket and blasted bullets as they fell, turret first.

"Noo!" Screams echoed into her comms as four tons landed. Her hands stretched from her face. She kicked with one leg, but the other didn't respond. Her throat was raw. Maybe the screams were hers.

"Odette!--" Toombs, he screamed as the Thresher Maw dropped back into its hole, and his voice had an echo to it.

"Shepard here. Headcount? Fire your blaster into the sky if your mic's down." Nothing.

"--ette to ground team. Come in, ground team."

She tapped her helmet. "Shepard to Odette. Beacon was a trap or something. Thresher Maw attacked. I can't move one of my legs very well. I repeat, Thresher Maw attacked. I-I don't know what happened. I can't get up, or look around very well. Working my way out."

She repeated most of the message several times as she crawled out from under the Grizzly and made her way for the jungle. Out of open space where the Maw would attack. No fucking wonder there were sinkholes everywhere.

"Shepard! Odette here. We have your signal, and we're coming in."

"Thank-" She wasn't sure she finished when she passed out.

She was all that survived of the original ground team. The bodies of a lot of her people, and the original people to be rescued, couldn't be found and the rest were declared KIA. Her claims of Akuze being a trap were dismissed by the brass.

She couldn't feel one leg. The Grizzly cut and destroyed what remained of it. It was a clean amputation, messy with the infections that left her in surgery under the levo equivalent of Quarian-strength antibiotics. They had to cut the rest of the femur out, even the joint because of the toxins, infection, and bone rot.

"Fuck."

"Lieutenant Shepard."

She almost glared until she realized it was the Odette's captain. The reflexive salute was all she could do in-protocol. "Sir, I'd stand, but..."

"No, stay seated. How do you feel?"

"Angry. I know Rain wouldn't lie. She said it was a trap, I believe what she said. The beacon was weird too."

"The top's refusing to listen, I'm sorry. I believe you. We saw the recordings. You're getting the best cybernetic leg we can find, even if it means going to the Council for it."

Jane looked at the bandage on her hip. There wasn't even much of a stump anymore, just the ball joint left that was scheduled to be removed in a few hours. "Sir, I can't afford--"

"The Alliance is paying, and for the therapy too."

She glared. "To keep my mouth shut?"

"No. To prep you for N7 training. Staff Lieutenant Jane Shepard, as the last officer in command before the last of your team was lost, you’ve been field promoted to Lieutenant Commander. Your quick reactions, even when falling upside down impressed the brass to bump you into N7."

"I'm being rewarded for failing my team?" She shook her head. "That's... Fu-Messed up. And I know messed up."

"Yeah. I can imagine how you feel."

A small suspicious part of her noticed that something was up. "What is really going on?"

"I don't know. Your recovery will be slow, but they'll be starting the book training before the physical part when you return from medical leave."

Jane closed her eyes as she felt a pair of boxes be placed in her hands. "Fuck."

"My condolences, Shepard. Commander Trapper was my friend, too."

"Thank you, sir." The doctor shooed her guest away and pushed the button to inject the sleep agent again.

“You’re a strong, brave, woman, Shepard.”

Her leg hurt where it used to be, and she didn’t do anything very brave.

Name: Jane Shepard Age: 22 [As of 4 June 2177] Current Rank and Two-Character Vocational Code: N6 [passed to be N7] Lieutenant Commander [Field promotion, sole ranked officer left surviving and in command, recording of at least on person of lower rank than she when Commander Trapper and Lieutenant Commander Heath perished] Notes: Younger sister of John Shepard and the daughter of Hannah Shepard. Born on the SSV Elizabeth. High scores on practice tests that have not been submitted, but appears to self-sabotage certain tests to avoid something. May have psychological issues regarding what she calls "the Shepard Legacy" and highly protective parents. Took up N-training, possibly to escape rumors of nepotism from other Naval officers. Was N-classed before her older brother. Updated Notes: Older brother was the Hero of Elysium. Updated Notes: Sole official survivor of a Thresher Maw attack on Akuze. Promoted to Commander and N7. Artificial leg as a result of the attack. Uncertain psychological profile changes to come. Alert appropriate Cerberus Cells to upgrade defenses in case Shepard decides to follow through with her warnings of investigating the beacon and attack. Update: Thresher Maw toxin results in a higher tolerance and requirements for achieving the effects of drugs and alcohol. Observe Jane Shepard for signs of substance abuse.

A lit cigarette was lifted to the mouth of a shadowy figure. A woman became visible, walking to him as they observed a blue giant be devoured by its denser neighboring star.

"Miranda, report." The smoking person was male.

"The Alliance is uncertain about suggesting Shepard for active duty, even with the Captain of the Odette vouching for her mental health. While he was not acting under any of Cerberus' direct suggestions, I recommend putting his proposal through."

The other sighed and lowered the cigarette. "Jane Shepard is one of many candidates for Humanity's first Spectre. We have others."

Miranda lowered her head for a moment. "Then why put the investment into her replacement leg?"

"She didn't do much of anything spectacular in order to survive the Thresher Maw."

"Then why the leg?"

"She survived. I want to see what she will do now."

"Have her put into active duty. On Earth, she under constant Alliance watch, and wary of being locked away into a mental health facility. Or she would be, based on her previous psychological profile."

"An interesting thought."

Miranda's eyebrow twitched.

The man's silhouette hinted at a smile. "It is good to see you are concerned about all of our candidates."

"Yes, the other was not showing nearly as well as Shepard siblings. On Torfun, the Butcher was not our other candidate either, but two people we had not considered. It is a shame the Akuze Rescue turned into a disaster before Shepard even arrived."

"Report received."

"Thank you." Miranda disappeared.

The man hit a few buttons. "I explicitly said not to use Akuze, doctor."

"I'm so sorry. The signal was jumbled."

"You will be punished for your failure. But not today." He ended the call before looking at the stars around him. The Thresher Maw project had some prospect survivors who might revenge. "Or the younger Shepard will."

"It is fitting that Shepard, our most scarred mentally and physically candidate, be a Spectre. Too bad she will now be unpredictable after finding the truth about Akuze. If not her, then her brother will be a Spectre. But he will also be unpredictable after learning the truth, liable to seeking revenge for what had been done to her personally or through the justice system." He lowered his hand to tap off the burnt ashes of the stick. Taking in a slow drag he spoke again. "I will need to adjust our plans regardless."

There was only a slight, but low-ranged sound, creak of machinery to respond to him.