#technical task squad

[tsc-ooc]

[justjensenanddean]

Countdown article on the upcoming edition of TV Guide.

With a title like Countdown, Jensen Ackles' incredibly welcome return to series TV had better be packing the explosive twists. "You will get them," promises showrunner Derek Haas. "And by the time we get to the climax, it gets even more literal."

That's saying a lot given that Prime Video's new thriller-a pulse- pounding, guns-blazing homage to '80s hit films such as Lethal Weapon, Die Hard and Tango & Cash about a covert task force racing to save L.A. from catastrophe is surprising from the get-go. Within the first 10 minutes we get a big-name cameo, an OMG! ground-chase sequence that ends tragically for a Homeland Security officer and a wisecracking Ackles in prison garb. It's clear this show is here for a good time, not a grim time.

"The last 20 years of television- not in a bad way-[has embraced] the sort of dark sensibility where if you have a detective, it's like they're so haunted by the job, they drink and all of these things," assesses Haas, who, among other credits, cocreated Chicago Fire and codeveloped Chicago P.D. and Chicago Med. This new series, he says, is the opposite: a classic popcorn entertainment with cheeky heroes, smart dialogue and practical stunts galore. "I just like the fun vibe of those old movies."

Luckily, he had a kindred spirit in Ackles. The actor was quick to sign on as nonchalant LAPD homicide officer Mark Meachum after hearing how Countdown's adrenalized action and smart-ass heroics were embedded in his own DNA by 15 seasons as Supernatural's demon hunting Dean Winchester.

Haas' charter was to "create this character around Ackles, who'd have fit perfectly in the world of Die Hard. He's such a great actor; you can't match his energy, and he's genuinely hilarious." "I certainly knew Derek's pedigree," admits Ackles, adding that the two "hit it off right away" after realizing they'd both grown up in north Texas. "Then I got a clear sense of what he wanted to do. I was like, 'Oh, this is not only in my old wheelhouse, it's the stuff I grew up being attracted to."

"And it's not just Ackles' Meachum saving the day. In the series opener, he's teamed with a colorful cadre handpicked by an old pal, Special Agent Nathan Blythe (Euphoria's Eric Dane). Among them: FBI-ers Evan Shepherd (Violett Beane) and Keyonte Bell (Elliot Knight), DEA pro Amber Oliveras (Jessica Camacho) and narcotics transfer Lucas Finau (Uli Latukefu). The idea for this off-the-books Avengers-like team capable of witty banter and badassery, Haas confesses, was inspired by a technical adviser on Chicago P.D. who had told him that the government often recruits experts from various branches for task forces.

"I thought this whole world was really interesting, the idea that they're all-stars, that you could have these rebel personalities in each department put into a squad led by somebody who is very good at his job," Haas says. So while the team mission is life-or-death, their methods are lightened by gallows humor. And, this being TV, plenty of character development.

"You really get a sense of who these people are," agrees Ackles. "Not just together as the team, but individually. That lets the audience invest in the characters and not just the story."

There was a similar investment off camera. Haas brought in two consultants and the cast went through gun training. Camacho spoke to "many different law-enforcement agents and officers," went on a ride-along and sat in with a task force. "Every day they're facing high stakes and have to be on high alert," she marvels. "It creates this deep embedded sense of camaraderie between them and their partners." Much like the ties that formed during Countdown's long days and many night shoots in L.A., apparently. "There was a disgusting amount of chemistry that was formed very quickly off set that lends itself to on-set chemistry," says Ackles.

"The cast members and Derek watched the first three episodes," recalls Camacho of a key bonding moment. "We were screaming with joy. It was so exciting. We're like, 'Oh my God, Derek, this is a ride!'  Will viewers be just as clocked in to Countdown? "I think they're going to be shocked a few times through the course of 13 episodes," teases Haas. "They're not going to be happy with me several times." But mostly, they'll be getting hours of pleasure.

Countdown premieres Wednesday June 25 on Prime Video.

credits for the scan: cloexbrosluvr

[my-my-my]

Hi! I love your stories!!

Can i request a fic with Aizen and female s/o being together the last night before Aizen betrays everyone? It can be sfw or nsfw, whatever you like

Ahhh thank you for your kind words!!

Your request got me thinking about when it should take place, because his betrayal is technically in parts! When Aizen fakes his death? Or when he reveals himself after stabbing Momo? Decisions, decisions… either way, it was a fun thought exercise.

I wanted to challenge myself, so I (personally) think this is a bit different than how I usually write.

Summary: Grief can be haunting, and without closure, the mind wanders. For you, the bereaved wife of Captain Aizen Sosuke, you are left with more questions than answers. Unable to talk or ask questions about what has been happening, you turn to poetry. Like your husband once said, you always had a way with words.

TW: MDNI! Smut, angst. Use of poetry (specifically waka and renga). Use of pet names. Oral sex, female receiving.

Word count: 1953

Grief weighed heavily on your heart these past few days. You stood outside the imposing, heavily guarded walls of the Gotei 13, wandering around the perimeter aimlessly.

It had only been a few days since a soldier came to your house to tell you the passing of your husband, Captain Aizen Sosuke.

Passing – no murdered.

But you were left with more questions than answers. The death of a captain should be shocking, news breaking even. Yet they were concerned about some kind of invasion. You weren’t given anything, no piece of him, to keep for yourself, as they were still investigating what had happen.

Your grief bubbled in you like a fountain since then. From a simple task of preparing yourself tea, to interacting with neighbours, tears would run freely.

You tightened the scarf around you, his scarf. His scent still lingered on it. It provided you with some comfort.

You continued your walk around the barrier, wondering what was happening on the inside. You didn’t even know who to reach out to about his body. His lieutenant, you were told, should have provided you with more details, but you haven’t heard from her at all.

The trees swayed slightly through the breeze, as the sun set over the horizon. You didn’t even realize the time; how long have you been wandering?

You were used to a quiet, empty home, but there was always the surprise of your husband visiting you for dinner, or him staying home for a few days. Now the silence was deafening.

His calligraphy desk was clean. You sat down, pulling drawers of old poems, some of which he composed, but majority were of yours, but it was still a fraction of what you had written. He had kept the rest in his personal room and office within the Squad 5 barracks. Your words gave him solace he once said.

You stared at the wall, wondering, thinking, grieving. When was the last time you spoke to someone? You exchanged pleasantries yesterday with your neighbours, but nothing more beyond that. There was so much to say, so much to ask, so much to cry about and you couldn’t.

You felt odd and out-of-place in this blurring world.

You pulled a clean sheet of paper and slowly began to pour liquid ink into your ink well. The white sheet of paper stared at you hauntingly as you thought of moments of catching Sosuke writing. You loved his calligraphy. You loved watching him practice. You loved the smile he had once he was satisfied with a piece…

You loved him.

Tears stained the sheet of paper, shaking you out of your nostalgic haze. Sighing to yourself, you dipped your pen into the ink well, satisfied with the amount of ink on it and began to write

The sound of rain on the leaves can be heard. Still more fragile is the dew of tears on my sleeves even in springtime. Waiting, the pine tree never withers in winter. If I could use words, Like scattering flowers and falling leaves, What a bonfire my poems would make.

“You always had a way with words.” A deep, baritone voice echoed behind you. You quickly turned around to see your husband, in his uniform, tousled hair and glasses in place.

“Sosuke!” You shrieked. Panic and dread crept up your body. Was this a dream? A haunting nightmare? But before you could say or do more, his large, warm hands cupped your face.

Your body tensed at the feeling, unsure to succumb to his familiar touch, or to resist and face your grief head on. You grabbed Sosuke’s wrists, shocking yourself at how sturdy his hands were. This was real.

“You must be confused, my love.” Sosuke whispered, his lips brushing over your forehead.

“They told me you were murdered!” You cried, succumbing to his embrace. He held you close as you sobbed into his chest. You gripped his haori tightly, knuckles turning white. Were you angry with him? Or still trying to decide if he was real? Taking a deep breath, you pulled yourself away, “Sosuke, what’s going on?” 

He had a solemn expression, his eyes looked distant as he stared down on you. You knew him. The gentleness, humble persona he wore outside of the home was just for show. The cold, stern attitude is what you missed in your home.

But you also knew he tried to keep you away from his work in Seireitei. You heard from others what he was like, calm, generous, kind… words that amused you, but you took in stride. So to bait him into sharing, you did what you knew best, indulge him with a renga poem

“How forlorn a way to live – The mountains where I gather brush.”

You stared into his eyes, and saw a flash of mirth in them, but then his solemn expression remained. He cupped your face in his hands, brushing his lips against yours, but pulled away. He continued the end of poem

“‘Yet there may be hope,’” I thought, but this way of life Has come to an end.”

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” You asked, shoulder slumping.

“Yes.”

“Where are you going? Why can’t I come with you?!” You demanded. The flash of fury in your eyes amused Sosuke, but it wouldn’t sway him.

“For your safety, the less you know the better.”

“Then why are you even here!?” You shouted, “maybe it was better for me to think  you were dead.”

A pang of hurt rang through Sosuke as your anger filled the space between you. As quick as you were with your words and poetry, anger was also something came just as fast. You took a step back from him, trying to collect yourself.

“I’m here because I wanted to see you.” Sosuke murmured, taking off his glasses. His eyes were sharp as he inspected you. “I wanted to see you one last time.”

“I really thought you were dead, you know?” You sighed, closing the gap between you two once again. You reached up to kiss him, as his arms instinctively wrapped themselves around your lower body.

Soft kisses bloomed into passionate ones, as Sosuke nipped his way down your neck, nimble fingers pulling and tugging away at your clothes. “Sosuke, we have a bedroom for this.” You laughed, as he carried you to your bedroom.

He laid you on the futon, his gaze intense, as if he was trying to sear your body into his memory. You reached out and cupped his cheek, “you can do more than look, Sosuke” you teased, spreading your legs apart for him.

Sosuke smirked at you as he slipped his haori off his body, then removed his uniform. You felt hunger in his touches, rough kisses, fervor in his movements as he suckled and played with your breasts and nipples. Your moans and pants encouraged him as kissed and nipped further along your body. Savouring the taste of your skin and the sounds of your cries as his name echoed off your lips.

He lifted his head up, just before he reached your dripping pussy.

“Ah, the misery of it, Whiter now shall I turn?”

But you were too consumed by pleasure to play with his words. Sosuke lapped at your clit while using his fingers to spread your pussy, pushing one finger inside your hole. Your hand found itself entangled in his hair as you tried to push him closer to your pussy. But you could only cry and whine his name as you felt two of his fingers curl inside you.

Your vision began to blur again, but this time of stars and colours as your orgasm crept closer. You felt Sosuke tongue swipe down your slit, and then a harsh suck on your clit when you screamed his name. He pulled himself away from you, smirking down at your quivering body. You were panting, covered in a slick of sweat, with your legs shaking.

Sosuke spread your legs further as he pushed himself inside you. You felt the familiar stretch of his cock as he sighed your name. There was no movement, only the sounds of kissing and your names echoing within the room.

But it wasn’t enough for you. “Please, Sosuke,” you whined, trying to move your body against him.

“Please what?” Sosuke teased, as he gripped your hips from moving.

“I want you to fuck me, Sosuke.” You whispered, tightening your pussy. Sosuke muttered your name under his breath as his eyebrows furrowed.

And Sosuke would always indulge you, no matter how much teasing he did. His pace picked up as his hips began to slam into your body. Wanton moans escaping your lips as he angled your legs above his shoulders. He was deep inside you, his cock hitting spots inside you that your fingers and no other man could ever touch.

Sosuke knew you too well. As he dropped your legs, he rubbed your clit as his mouth found your nipple. You shrieked and bucked your hips at the onslaught of pleasure rushing through your body. But Sosuke lifted his head, groaning your name into a kiss as you felt his warm cum fill you.

His shoulders were slumped as he pulled himself out. You whined at the loss, but never one to leave you out, Sosuke pushed his leaking cum back inside your pussy with his fingers, pumping you as his thumb ran circles against your overly sensitive clit. It didn’t take long for you to thrash against the futon, chanting his name as his kissed your forehead, murmuring how good you were to him.

You closed your eyes as he pulled you towards his body. What time was it? You mused, as Sosuke warm body enveloped yours. The sound of his heartbeat, his voice calling your name, and his fingers brushing your hair, began to put you to sleep.

Your eyes felt heavy as you struggled to stay awake. You murmured into his chest,

“Parting after bliss, Resolved to was as long As life is left me.”

Before falling asleep. Sosuke looked down at you as he tucked you in. He gathered his scattered clothes, putting them on as he fixed his glasses and hair. His heart felt strange, almost heavy in his chest as he took one last look at you.

He picked up his black cloak, wearing it over his uniform, sealing his reiatsu from everyone, including you. The night sky was empty save for a stars – the moon hidden away. Sosuke maneuvered his way back to the walls of Sereitei, weaving through the throngs of Shinigami looking for the invading humans.

He unlocked the gates of Central 46 and descended the blood covered steps, the rotting bodies of its members still in their place as he traveled further down. Your words echoed through his mind, you always knew what to say to leave him speechless.

As he descended into the Great Hall, he looked up to the sight of the corpses again. He smiled, but not at the sight above him. His eyes softened thinking of your sleeping form,

“Still it lasts – what does it mean? This longing I feel for her.”

Thank you for sending in this request, I hope you enjoyed it!!

The first poem Reader writes is from Shogun Ep 8, recited by Lady Mariko.

The type of poem Reader and Aizen exchange in, is called renga, which is usually done between 2-3 people. The one I used in this request is from Three Poets of Minase which was written in 1488!! I think Aizen is the type of guy to participate in this kind of poetry (since he was a calligrapher, was well-read and had a popular column in the Seireitei Bulletin).

I had a couple of songs I was listening to set the mood/inspired me to write it this particular way:

HEALTH - GOD BOTHERER

Shit Robot feat. Nancy Whang - Take 'Em Up (Marcus Marr Remix)

Hidden Face - White Carousel

Jo Yeong-wook - 기도하는 금자

Thanks again for sending in this request and for reading!

[storiesofsvu]

One ask wasn't enough! So, how about these prompts, with Cabot?

"I can't sleep, can I stay here?" and

"Don't... I'm ticklish!"

Thank youuuu 🥰🥰

Thank YOU so much!! Here ya go!

Insomnia Strikes

Alex Cabot x reader (more implied than anything else lol) Warnings: mentions of anxiety/insomnia, I think that's about it. Just a nice little comfort one shot.

Being the natural night owl that you were, you never had any problems swapping shifts around when someone on the squad got roped into an overnight shift. You honestly didn’t mind it, you basically chilled alone, ate snacks, scrolled through your phone and answered a handful of phone calls that the desk clerk downstairs didn’t catch. It was a very rare occasion where something actually made its way to you prior to six in the morning and by then you were usually only on intake, passing it off to the day team before heading home. It was a nice little break from the chaos that the squad room and a courtroom normally were.

You spent the first few hours catching up on paperwork, finishing all the nearly late files, scrawling your signature across them before popping them into Cragen’s inbox. The squad slowly disappearing as late evening hit until only Olivia remained and you tossed a crumpled up piece of paper onto her desk, telling her to get out of there. You knew she liked to stick around as late as she could, not wanting anyone to really be trapped all alone in the building and she was quick to ask if you’d eaten dinner yet. You laughed, saying you had your breakfast before you came in and that she better get home to get some sleep. If she complained of being tired when you finally did have to call her in, you’d hold it against her. That finally got her going, giving you a warm smile as she wished you goodnight and finally left the precinct.

Once office lights began to flick off and the downstairs desk attendant clocked in things fell into a state of stillness, quiet and calm seeping through the air. Your paperwork was actually done, the most recent case you’d been working on waiting on the jury and you appeared to be free from actual work. So you started on the more mundane tasks, things that didn’t get done until you were on night shift. You started out by cleaning your desk, tossing out old receipts, crumpled up pastry bags, pencils that were so slivered down they couldn’t be used. Grabbing the collection of coffee mugs from the bull pen you headed into the break room, loading up the sink with hot soapy water to take care of the dishes in there. The cleaning crew usually came through around midnight, so you tackled the fridge, throwing out anything and everything that wasn’t labelled, had been in there for too long or seemed to be growing its own ecosystem.

After a very thorough hand wash, you wandered back to your desk, phone in your hand as you ordered some food for dinner, though maybe it was technically your lunch. Having no messages, calls or emails waiting, you pulled out your I-pad, sitting it on your desk as you settled back into your chair, pulling up your most recent binge. You were starting to get a little antsy twenty minutes in, your foot tapping against the floor over and over again. If it were day shift you’d usually caught a case or had to trek over to the DA’s office by now, but you were still just sitting there wishing you had an easier way to get your steps in. Your prayers were partially answered when the desk sergeant called up saying your food was there and you got to jog down the stairs to pay the driver before wandering back up them to your desk.

You ate a couple of slices, snagged a soda from the machine and set the box off to the side as you turned your attention back to the screen in front of you. The cleaning crew came and went, efficiently working through the space in no time, waving a friendly hello and then goodbye to you once they were finished. It wasn’t much later after that when you heard the shuffling of feet coming from the hallway and you glanced up, half expecting the desk clerk to be coming to take advantage of the vending machines. Your head tilted when instead you spotted Alex, loose leggings and a fuzzy sweater wrapped around her frame, hair messily tied back.

“Lex?” You greeted and her head lifted up, a small smile on her cheeks when she saw you. “What’re you doing here? Please don’t tell me you’re gonna have to go wake up a judge.”

“No.” She replied with a small huff, leaning over to press a kiss to your temple before pulling over a spare chair and dropping into it. “Tried your apartment first, neighbour said they saw you leaving for work late so I figured you were stuck on night shift.”

“And you thought I needed a babysitter?” You asked with a tease and she shook her head at you.

“Long day. I just wanted to make sure I got to see you at some point.” She yawned, her hands sneaking under her glasses to rub furiously at her eyes.

“You could’ve just called.”

She glanced up at you, a nervous look in her eyes as she chewed on her lip for a minute before letting out a breath, “I can’t sleep. Can I just stay here?”

“Yeah.” You smiled, reaching out to squeeze at her knee, “course you can. Did you at least try to sleep? Or were you still up on the couch pouring over case files?”

“I did.” She revealed with a sigh, “stared at the ceiling tossing and turning for almost four hours before I gave up. My brain just won’t shut up.”

“Did you take your meds?” You asked and she glanced up at you with a sheepish look on her face, softly shaking her head.

“I ran out on Monday; didn’t realize I was so low and I couldn’t get an appointment for a refill until next Tuesday. I took the anxiety one at eight and doctor’s orders say I can’t take melatonin with it, so I’m just kinda out of luck.”

“Shit.” You frowned, squeezing at her leg again, “next time we’ll make sure you always have an immediate refill on hand.”

“Thanks.” Her hand caught yours, squeezing it softly as she smiled across at you.

“You eat?”

“Wasn’t really hungry.” She shrugged, “had a granola bar.”

“How about you dig into this,” you tugged the pizza box from the other side of the desk, flipping it open in front of her and when the smell wafted over to she felt her stomach begin to grumble. “I’ll see what they have for tea in the break room.”

Leaving a kiss on the top of her head you left her to it, commenting for her to change the Netflix to whatever she wanted while you were gone. Digging through the break room you were pleasantly surprised to find a box of chamomile tea, turning on the kettle and brewing a mug exactly the way Alex liked it. When you crossed back into the bull pen she was curled up in the spare chair, your NYPD hoodie you normally stashed in the lower drawer of your desk draped over her lap as her hands played with the fraying cuffs.

A warm smile overtook your features as you placed the mug down in front of her, kissing her cheek again before reminding her to eat. With a tired sigh she finally leant forward, taking a slice of pizza, a pleased groan leaving her when she found it still warm.

She’d chosen one of your mutual favourite comfort movies, a classic rom com with no drama or terribly corny jokes set in the city you’d made your home. She ate her slice and sipped at her tea while she watched, relaxing into your side as she did so. You had to answer a couple of texts over the course of the hour but otherwise you were pleasantly occupied and comfortable. There were about five minutes left in the movie when she was fully slumped on your shoulder, you could feel her steady breathing and were certain her eyes had finally closed even if she wasn’t asleep yet. Your fingers poked gently at her side and she grumbled, flinching away from your touch without moving her head off your shoulder.

“Don’t. I’m ticklish.”

“Sorry.” You murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “lets get you to the crib, you can get some actual sleep.”

“Come with me?” She finally looked up at you with sapphire puppy dog eyes and a pout on her lips. You smiled softly, letting out a breath of a laugh.

“Okay, but only ‘til you fall asleep. I am on duty after all.”

“Fine.” She scowled, yawning, her eyes still drooping as she reluctantly stood from the chair, your hoodie still curled in her arms.

Alex shuffled away to the bunk room, letting herself in and leading you to the bunk burrowed in the corner. You grabbed a couple of extra pillows and blankets, making sure she was more than comfortable, tucked in and relaxed as she curled up on her side face you. Perched on the edge of the bed you smoothed back her hair, tucking it behind her ear as her eyes fell shut again, letting out a content sigh.

“Thank you.” She murmured; her voice muffled by the pillow.

“Anytime baby.” You whispered back, fingers trailing across her cheek before you kissed her forehead.

By the time you’d sat upright she was out like a light, soft snores echoing through the small room and a small smile crept onto your lips. Pulling out your phone you quickly set an alarm so she would have enough time to get home and get dressed properly for the day before having to return to the DA’s office and quietly made your way from the room. You knew it wasn’t much, but it really was the little things, knowing that whenever Alex was fighting a bout of insomnia she found solace and relief in you, that no matter where you were, she would eventually be lulled into comfort and thus sleep as long as you were around.

________________________

@mickey-gomez @cabotfan42 @detective-giggles @red1culous @beccabarba @imlike-so-gaydude @altsvu @svulife-rl rl @svushots @mspetey @wannabe-fic-reader @lawandorderimagines @gaylorrds @mysticfalls01 @littlegaybabe @bumblebear30 @wosoimagines @solemnnova @cerberus-spectre @emskisworld @ex-uallyactive @lawandorderuswnt @samwithnoplan @multifandomlesbianic @narvaldetierra @momlifebehard @poisonedcrowns @a-little-bit-of-this-and-that @somethingimaginative17 @alexxavicry @daddy-heather-dunbar @evilregal2002 @7thavenger @disneyfan624 @msvenablesbitch @happenstnces @onmykneesformarvel @desperate-gay @riveramorylunar @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @noahrex @temp0rary-bliss @wittygutsy @chimnlex @maximoffcarter @sapphicqueenofdonuts @ralla-ralla @chestnutninny @gamma-rae-bursts

[tashtush]

We Ask for Your Discretion (Chapter 1)

18+ Homelander/queer female reader, Madelyn/reader, Homelander/Madelyn. Pre-s1. Stalking, noncon, dubcon, mommy kink, praise kink, rough sex, voyeurism, threesome, corporate nonsense, manipulation, homophobia, trauma, sexual coercion, cunnilungus, vaginal sex (smut in future chapters)

AO3 | gif

Homelander has a new fixation. Madelyn does damage control.

Chapter 2

“I don’t think ‘The Deep’s Liquid Dreams’ is going to fly as a concept.”

You had been helping develop Vought’s new meditation and sleep app, VoughtMind, its conception a prompt response to the Flight 37 tragedy. After facilitating several distraught focus groups, it was determined that the answer to the nation’s unrest would be guided meditations performed by a roster of lesser-known supes. From calming tracks such as Moonshadow’s Nervous System Reset to Being Seen with Invisi-Lass, there would be a soothing balm for your existential dread.

“What do you mean?” Lisa asked with faux exasperation, barely containing her grin. “It would be a guided track, narrated by his truly. It’d be relaxing. We could even play marimba sounds in the background.”

Lisa was your long-time friend and coworker, and you were both on the same team: The “Shut-eye Squad” (a mandated nickname you chose to never utter outside of the office). You were responsible for the development of VoughtMind’s sleep feature.

“I don’t know, I think it’d be better suited for V-Rotic,” you laughed wearily, scribbling down the idea in your notebook. On some exceptionally dull, meeting-heavy days, you wished you could work for that team. While some might shy away from the task of developing super sex toys and erotic audio stories, you weren’t one of them.

You had been working as a UX designer for Vought for a year, honored by the opportunity to be a small cog in the massive, omnipresent, and culturally influential institution. You storyboarded features, sketched countless wireframes, and did your best to ensure seamless user interaction.

And to optimize all the ways a user could upgrade to VoughtLife Plus, of course.

While you had experience working in tech, nothing about your old offices compared to the grandeur that was Vought Tower. It was a force of nature, casting its shadow over the city like an unyielding, steel sentinel. Every day, you felt a small swell of pride and trepidation when you approached its entrance, gripping your laptop bag in an attempt to ground yourself.

What excited you most, however, was the fact that it was home to the Seven. Just knowing that they all slept on the 99th floor gave you a little thrill every time it crossed your mind. But despite your technical proximity, they might as well have been living on a different planet.

You knew that there were plenty of private corridors that separated them from the Vought commonfolk. While they dodged being pestered for selfies, you simply contented yourself with the knowledge that you were employed by the company that helped them save lives—or, if you were being honest with yourself, the company that released those stupid movies you loved to hate.

It was seven in the evening when you and Lisa finally finished preparing for a particularly stressful presentation. You tried to avoid working late at all costs, but you underestimated how challenging it would be to market a Deep-themed mental health experience. Lisa stood and stretched, her daily signal that she was done for the day, until her gaze landed on her desk.

“Shit,” she muttered, lifting her mug to grab the coffee-stained folder beneath it.

“What’s that? Someone’s birthday card you forgot to sign?” you asked, craning your neck curiously.

“No, I was supposed to deliver these documents to floor 79 today,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. She stayed in that position for a moment too long, then turned her attention back towards you.

“Could you do me a huge favor?” she asked, pressing the folder between her hands in a plea. “Could you run up and drop this off at the front desk? I’m already late for a dinner reservation and I won’t be here to do it tomorrow morning.”

“79? I’d be happy to, but I don’t have access,” you said. Lower-level employees were generally barred from visiting higher floors, but some, like Lisa, had special privileges when needing to relay confidential information.

“Here, take my key card,” she said, pulling it from her pocket. “You’ll have access now.”

“Oh, sure then,” you replied, plucking the card from her hand. You examined it, noticing that it looked nearly identical to yours, save for the smooth finish and gold-embossed “V”. Crisp. Corporate.

“Thanks, you’re the best,” she said with a winning smile, hoisting her backpack over her shoulders.

She made her exit, and you were left alone in the dark office, folder and key card in hand. You started toward the elevators in the lobby, listening to the low, steady hum of idle printers. It was kind of eerie, but in an oddly soothing way. Like standing on a beach at night, when it was usually so bright and bustling with activity.

When you arrived at the elevator doors, curiosity bubbled up inside you. How different would the higher floors be? You heard a myriad of rumors floating around the water cooler, and you realized that this could be your chance to corroborate them. Were there spa facilities amidst the large conference rooms, offering around-the-clock massages and steam room sessions? Would you be able to find one of the alleged corporate cocktail bars and make yourself a company-funded cosmo? You once even heard that they got John Legend to perform in a break room for some VP’s birthday, while the biggest surprise you ever got was a box of assorted bagels. But again, you weren’t complaining. You loved bagels.

The elevator doors opened and you stepped in, surveying the sleek grid of blue, glowing buttons. You’d never been this high up before. You’d never had a reason to be, and it almost felt like you were committing a crime when you held the card against the adjacent scanner. It only just occurred to you that there was definitely a camera pointed at you—that you could get into real trouble, and anxiety twanged in your chest when you heard the telltale beep of confirmation. You pressed “7” and “9”, doing your best to assuage your fears. It was late. No one would notice you–and if they did, they’d be too exhausted after a long day of meetings and trying to care about anyone but themselves. Security would probably be too preoccupied with trying to keep people out of the tower, rather than deal with one errant employee.

You weren’t about to miss the opportunity to find that spa.

The elevator began to ascend, and it wasn’t long before it came to a smooth halt. The doors opened, and an employee you’d never seen before quietly shuffled in to stand in front of you. She was dressed sharply, had a clearly intentional hairstyle, and was generally just more put-together than you. You stood uneasily, feeling self-conscious in your jeans and what now felt like a much-too-whimsical sweater. Before you could stew in discomfort for too long, however, the elevator stopped just moments later, and she filed out as quickly as she entered. You breathed a small sigh of relief. After a few more seconds of imperceptible ascension, you idly wondered at what floor the slacks ended and the three-piece-suits began. With a bright ding, the doors slid open once again.

You froze. He was wearing a different kind of suit.

“Hiya,” you heard him say, his voice clear, masculine, and practiced. The voice you had heard on-repeat for years, that lived in every household, movie theater, and classroom across the country. It could command a stadium, stop any criminal dead in their tracks, and apparently cause your heart to drum violently against your chest.

It was Homelander.

With his strong jaw, coiffed blonde hair, and startling blue eyes, he was even more handsome in person. That, in combination with his impeccably clean suit and perfect posture, made him emanate an aura of otherworldliness.  

He strode into the elevator, entering “99” into the console with a gloved finger. He then stood casually beside you, behaving as if this wasn’t one of the most surreal moments of your life. He wasn’t especially tall, but he might as well have been 6’5” with the sheer weight of his presence.

Should you say something? You shifted awkwardly in place, fingers gripping the folder like a lifeline. You had to say something, right? You shot him a sidelong glance, daring yourself to break the silence and not squander this once-in-a-lifetime encounter.

“Um, I’ve never pictured you taking an elevator,” you said a little too quickly, a little too quietly. What? You immediately regretted opening your mouth. You figured that this is what people meant when they said they were starstruck.

You saw the corner of his lips quirk up slightly before he turned his head toward you, his strangely unnerving eyes making contact with yours. The elevator suddenly felt very small, and the sensation of his proximity to you amplified considerably. He paused for a moment, then leaned toward you, raising his dark eyebrows in a question.

“Well… how do you usually picture me?” he asked slowly, a tinge of unmistakable amusement in his voice. His eyes flickered downward for just a fraction of a second, so quickly that you might have imagined it. You felt your heart continue to pound as he awaited your answer, painfully aware that your ability to banter was compromised.

“Flying head-first through windows?” you said, shrugging your shoulders sheepishly. “Though, I-I guess that isn’t very economical.” Your voice trailed off into an awkward silence.

He let out a huff of a chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a charming smile. The elevator came to another halt.

A few more executives filed in, and you turned away from him, trying to salvage any of your humility by playing it cool. After the elevator continued, the console’s digital display finally settled on floor 79. Relief flooded you, and you shot him a smile before hastily stepping past the open doors. You only saw his face for about a second, but it was all the time you needed to notice that his grin had fallen, his eyes staring at you as the door slid shut.

You felt like you could breathe again, as if you had suddenly emerged from being underwater for minutes. You wandered to the front desk in a haze, realizing that it would probably benefit you to listen to Mister Marathon’s latest collaboration with VoughtMind: Outrunning Panic.

—

The next day, you couldn’t keep Homelander out of your mind. Was he teasing you? Could he have actually been flirting? You replayed the encounter over and over in your head for approximately… all day, so much so that the presentation you were dreading all week was demoted to an inconvenient afterthought. What felt monumental to you was likely just a mundane second of his (larger-than) life, so you tried your best not to dwell on that possibility.

He was charming. That was his thing. It was one of the qualities that made him so damn lovable whenever you watched him speak heroic to the public. He was often very flirtatious with the female talk show hosts who effortlessly coaxed answers out of him, even the most seasoned of professionals failing to suppress their girlish giggles. You were just another inconsequential pull of his magnetism.

When you arrived in the office that morning, you immediately had to tell someone about it. Anyone. You beelined toward Ami, a copywriter on your team, and quickly recounted the night’s events. She stopped in her tracks, swiveling her desk chair to slowly land in your direction. Her jaw literally dropped.

“That’s crazy that you say that,” she said, “I actually saw him this morning while I was grabbing coffee in the cafe.”

That was strange. A whole year working here, and you hadn’t even heard of him being anywhere near your floor.

“Really? Did you talk to him?” you asked in a hushed voice, not even trying to hide your excitement. Meeting Homelander was a big deal, even for a Vought employee.

“I didn’t. He was giving extreme ‘don’t even try to talk to me’ vibes. He ignored me. Honestly, it was kind of unsettling,” she said, grimacing slightly. “It didn’t surprise me, though. I’m sure people are usually begging for his attention. It looked like he was talking to a manager or something, but I have no idea why,” she shrugged.

“He looks older in person,” she added off-handedly. “Still hot, though.”

“Hmm,” you responded absent-mindedly, fingering the key card that was still nestled in your pocket. You wondered what the odds were that Homelander would meet you in an elevator and then immediately visit your office the next morning. It was almost certainly a coincidence. He was known to dip his boots in all kinds of products, from star-spangled defense weapons to top-brand cereal boxes. You remembered seeing a meditation concept scribbled onto a whiteboard called Sounds of America, complete with a single bullet point that read “eagle sounds”. Maybe getting Homelander to do voice work was the execs’ chosen hook for getting the app off the ground. Everyone was scrambling to release an MVP in response to Flight 37, so getting him to record guided patriotism was guaranteed to draw attention.

You weren’t able to get any more answers from your circle, not even from Lisa, who blew up your texts with a full-on interrogation. You both delved into every minute detail of the encounter, analyzing everything from his body language to the tone of his voice. It was thrillingly juvenile, but you quickly ran out of material to wring from your memory.

Lisa: What did he smell like?

Me: I don’t know. Nothing?

Lisa: boring

Lisa: you know, he could probably smell you

Me: Stop. ✋

It was then that you knew it was time to put the phone down.

You had no other choice but to simply continue your workday, the annoying need to earn money competing with your racing thoughts.

—

The following Friday, you were leaving a conference room after an exhausting, four-hour workshop. Ever since the allegations about the Deep had surfaced, it was mandated that the entire company go through extensive sexual harassment training.

You woefully chewed on a granola bar as you walked down the hall, fueling yourself for another two hours of fighting the urge to fall asleep. You turned a corner, and to your bewilderment, you caught another glimpse of that damn, iconic flag cape. You promptly turned back again, and you had never felt more like a cartoon.

It was him. Again. But this time, he wasn’t alone—he was talking to a woman, and the sounds of their hushed voices carried down the hall. You felt absurd hiding behind the corner, but with your current track record, you didn’t trust yourself to remain calm. You peeked over just slightly, trying to make out who she was; maybe it was the manager that Ami had seen him talking to in the cafe. You squinted, and her features finally came into focus.

Madelyn Stillwell?

Yet another celebrity you thought you’d never meet. Again, why was the Vice President of Supe Management anywhere near you? She was much shorter than you imagined, even with heels, but she still projected refined, intimidating professionalism. They were deep in discussion, and to your horror, you realized that you needed to pass them to get to your next meeting. You took a deep breath to ground yourself, reminding yourself that you were an adult, before emerging from behind the corner. As you walked toward them with as much nonchalance as you could muster, you started to pick up a snippet of their conversation.

“–Listen, just–just don’t worry about it,” he said impatiently, waving his hand.

“We’ve discussed this,” she said firmly.

“Okay, okay. Jesus.”

They were taking up most of the walkway, so you angled your body to quickly sidle past them. You saw him glance at you for the briefest of moments in your peripheral vision, but you made it to the door before you could catch anything else.

You had never heard him speak so crassly before, which was saying a lot, considering it wasn’t all that crass. You weren’t one for piety,  but it still surprised you to hear him take the “Lord’s name in vain”. He was involved with Capes for Christ, after all. You’d only ever seen his squeaky-clean media appearances, so you shouldn’t be surprised that he had his rough, unedited moments like everyone else.

During the following weekend, you became cognizant of just how inundated you were by his face. When you went on your customary shopping run, you saw it on billboards, posters, bus benches, and on at least ten percent of the products you found in the grocery store’s aisles. You were even haunted by a statue of him while enjoying a picnic in the park, his large, stone likeness looming just feet away from your blanket.

When Monday evening came, you were walking home to your apartment when you swore you saw something—someone—flying through the sky.

It had to be the Frequency Illusion. Because Homelander was all you could think about, your mind tricked you into believing that you were seeing him everywhere.

Sometimes, you even thought that you could feel him.

It was like you were experiencing a sense memory, your body reacting the exact same way it did when he stood next to you in that elevator. It was incredibly odd, but you easily brushed the phenomenon aside. You were having too many late nights worrying about the fate of your project, and you were prone to letting your imagination run wild when you were sleep deprived.

As the days turned to weeks, however, your obsession gradually died down. Homelander once again receded into the backdrop of your life, joining the ranks of other set dressing such as street signs or Taco Bell. Life finally resumed its typical, relatively boring thrum.

You salvaged your work, got drinks with your team, and routinely melted into a puddle on your couch. Work, fun, sleep, repeat. Your run-in with Homelander was reduced to a fond memory, an escape to the time he maybe flirted with you. It was a story to be told at many parties to come, a fantasy that would keep you warm on lonely nights.

—

You came into the office early one Monday morning, wanting some uninterrupted time to catch up on the work you blew off Friday. You had an unusual pep in your step, iced coffee in hand, as you approached your desk in the empty room. As you began to water your plants, you noticed a sleek, black envelope placed directly beside your keyboard. You looked around at the surrounding desks, realizing that no one else had received one.

You slid your finger to break the seal and pulled out a piece of paper, its texture expensive under your thumb. Vought’s logo was engraved in the upper right corner, signifying that this was an official correspondence. Curiosity consumed you, so you scanned the page’s contents as quickly as you could.

Please join us for our 5th annual

Gala for Crimefighting Bigotry

Saturday June 27, at seven in the evening

The Vought Palace Ballroom, 871 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY

Black tie attire

You stared at the elegant typeface, still not understanding why you were the only one invited. You flipped the paper over in the hopes of finding an answer.

As a member of the Super Spectrum Alliance, you are cordially invited to Vought’s fundraising Gala for Crimefighting Bigotry. We’ve selected you as part of an initiative to celebrate the richness of our company’s commitment to diversity.

We stand for truth, justice, and the importance of sexual identity to both our heroes and employees.

Join us for an evening of food, drinks, raffles, and a special performance by Melissa Etheridge. All proceeds will be donated to The Born This Super Foundation, which provides resources for at-risk LGBTQIA+ youth.

You looked up from the invitation and stared blankly ahead, trying to process what you had just read.

The Super Spectrum Alliance was essentially Vought’s pride club, founded by some well-meaning queer employees a few years back. You attended an SSA meeting once, but quickly abandoned it when you learned it was usurped by a suspiciously straight member of the People team. It was apparently an attempt to ensure all club activities and discussions fell in line with company values. Regardless, your name must have been included on the member roster.

The invitation read like code for “you’re one of our resident queers and we need you to look good for the cameras.” You weren’t upset, though—quite the opposite. In fact, you felt a jolt of excitement as the implications finally hit you. These things were exclusive. 

Incredibly wealthy people attended these. Supes attended these. You had seen footage of similar Vought events on the news and gossip forums alike, knowing full well that this was a deeply coveted position you were in.

As far as you knew, you were the only openly queer employee in your corner of the office, so you were certain you wouldn’t have a familiar face to cling to. That considered, you weren’t about to not go. This was an insane opportunity; if not for your career, then for the chance to enjoy an evening of the finer things (like winning something stupidly expensive in a raffle.)

What would it be like? Would you manage to mingle with the elite, camouflaging yourself with shop talk and unearned confidence? Or would you sit at the bar the entire time, scrolling through your phone to distract from your inevitable social breakdown? Probably the latter.

You spent the first half of your morning browsing photos from past galas, needing to emotionally prepare yourself by knowing what to expect. You scanned image after image of philanthropists in glamorous suits and dresses, clutching their champagne flutes with an ease that only came with money. You would also occasionally spot a supe socializing within the sea of bigwigs. You saw Queen Maeve smiling with politicians, Translucent wearing a bow tie (and nothing else), and many more heroes of varying levels of notoriety. You stopped scrolling when a photo of Homelander filled your screen. He was enchantingly mid-laugh while presenting an award to someone, and you were once again struck by how attractive he was.

You thought about him for the first time in over a week, his intense expression between the closing elevator doors flashing in your mind. Would he be there?

Also, more importantly, what the fuck were you going to wear?

[retroquarium]

I didn’t realize so many people thought that “starter Pokémon” HAD to be like, three stage fire, water, or grass. Like sure, that’s what we see in game but it’s always been special circumstances?? The Pokémon we receive are rare and powerful species that are being studied by a professor (usually). Oak chose us specifically to be trusted with his new invention to carry on his life’s work so of course he’d give us reliable partner for this task. Elm trusts us to run errands for him and probably wanted more data on the Pokémon he had, encouraging us to try the gym challenge. Birch was being attacked by a wild Pokémon and asked us to save him, but after seeing the bond we formed decided to let us keep it. Rowan mistakenly left behind his briefcase which we used to defend ourselves against wild Pokémon, leading Rowan to see potential in us with our partners. Juniper is similar to Oak, she trusted us along with our friends to fill out the Pokédex and gave us reliable partners to help with that goal as well as be a gift for helping her. Sycamore has ties to our mom and has rather similar goals to to Oak and Juniper, these are kids that he specifically chose to carry out this work. Hala was most likely holding on to this group for Hau to choose his partner, but knew that he could help out another young trainer who was new to the islands. Leon outwardly gifts us and Hop these Pokémon as he has known us our whole lives, of course he’d want to start us off on the right foot. Clavell says that it is customary for new students to the academy to have a partner, so if we do not have one he gifts us one.

All of this to say, it’s really just for gameplay mechanics but also to explain how we’re able to get these rare Pokémon you can’t find anywhere else in the game. Most other trainers in universe obtain their Pokémon through other means, usually catching what’s easily available. The professor of an area isn’t handing out Pokémon to EVERY child that comes to them. In Let’s Go Pikachu and Eevee we get a taste of what most trainers go through, encountering a wild Pokémon and it becoming our friend. Heck let’s look at Hop again, his starter is technically Wooloo, he’s had it since he was young and before Leon gave him another Pokémon

And I know in USUM the Ultra Recon Squad says that Poipole is a common starter for young trainers there but Ultra Space is also extremely unforgiving, to me it makes sense that adults would equip kids who wish to explore it with something that can defend them

I really didn’t mean for this to be this long but really there’s nothing that directly makes a “starter Pokémon,” it’s just whatever Pokémon you happen to start with, which could be literally anything

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 51. Thinking Like A Scribe

A/N: Thank you all for another follower milestone! Enjoy you're bonus part.

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Links |

Presentation Day was finally here, and I couldn’t deny I was a little nervous. I was the only Squad to not loose a first year. But that could all change today. Between the Gauntlet and walking through that meadow, anything could happen. One hesitation, one wrong move and it would all be over. Today would be the deadliest day for the first years. And I wasn’t the only one that was worried. Next to me Austin was tapping her fingers against her arm, fidgeting side to side.

”Stop it.” I tell her. “You’re making her more nervous.”

Her head snaps to mine before eyeing Aurora who stands a few cadets down, nervously eyeing her sister. First years were already nervous about today. I didn’t need Austin adding to it. It would only make it more likely that she would slip up. And I knew Austin would feel guilty about it if it happened.

”Doria Merrill. Kamryn Dyre. Arvel Pelipa.” Captain Fitzgibbons reads out, Imogen and Quinn one squad over sucking in barely audible breath from one squad over.

Interrogation training had started for us second years. Here and there names I was familiar with were slipping into the death roll. Just because we were second years, it didn’t mean we were safe from death. Only a few squads had gone through the training from what I knew, and all of them had come out looking worse for wear. A lot of them walking the halls with a new hardened look in their eyes. Hell I’d even caught one of the Squads heading into the healers when I’d had to take one of my first years there after a training accident. I’d seen how their skin was littered with bruises, blood and dirt before they’d quickly been ushered out of sight. I knew our turn was coming. The way our Professor had been talking to us during our RSC class had changed recently. And I just hoped Kai, Liz, Austin and I would get through it. Part of me hoped Bodhi wasn’t going to be thrown in with us like he had been for land nav. I don’t know how well I would be able to take watching him get tortured.

Captain Fitzgibbon closes the roll after reading the last name. “We commend their souls to Malek.” And just like that, it was Presentation Day.

”All right Squad. Unless you’re a first year or have gauntlet duty, head to class. First years, time to go meet some dragons.” I say with a smile, that seems to relax them just a little bit.

Austin rushes forward and pulls Aurora into a hug. “See you later. You’ve got this.” She tells her before rushing off to class.

She’d asked to not be on gauntlet duty today, which I completely understood. Technically only one of us had to be there unless we wanted to help with time or roll keeping. Tasks I knew had been handed to other cadets already.

”Go kick some ass!” Kai says excitedly before attempting to fist bump the first years before rushing off after Austin as Liz shakes her head at him and offers them all reassuring smiles.

The few third years we have mutter good lucks before heading off to their own classes, leaving me alone with our first years.

”Alright, into formation everyone.” I tell them, all of them quickly rushing to form two lines in front of me.

”Any tips for today?” Liam asks as I turn around, watching as First Wing starts to walk towards the path that leads up towards the gauntlet.

I think back to my Presentation Day. It was hard to believe one year ago I’d been about to climb the Gauntlet and how much had happened that day. The way Eddie had tried to get me killed in that meadow, only for his plan to back fire. Ironic that two years in a row I’d managed to get a fellow cadet killed by dragon fire. First Eddie, and now Ethan.

”Don’t hesitate. And don’t be afraid to be yourselves around the dragons. They’re good judges of character, so you all should be fine. And for gods sake, do not turn on each other in there.” I tell them over my shoulder.

”Sounds like you know from experience.” A first year called Leah states as she pokes her head around Liam.

”I do. And you all won’t have a dragon willing to stand up for you like I did.” I say bluntly before turning back around.

I hear them whisper amongst each other at my comment but choose to block them out. It’s not long before Xaden calls us all forward and we’re all falling into another formation and heading for the doorway. Being Tail Section, we’re right down the back of the formation. As we make our way into the tunnel, I can’t help but notice Dain falling back to join Violet in his Squad formation. He really wasn’t good at keeping their close friendship hidden. But maybe I was just more hyper aware of those two than the others in the Quadrant. Gradually we make our way through the tunnel, all of us filing into the clearing. Despite the nature of today, the view up here never failed to amaze me. Up here you get a perfect view of the lush green valley below. A valley that will dictate which of these cadets would bond a dragon and become a rider.

After nearly an hour we finally make it to Fourth Wing. The clearing much emptier now most of the Squads and their corresponding Squad Leaders were either up the top of the Gauntlet, or back in their classes. Off to my right I spot Dain fidgeting as his Squad is called up to start their turn.

”You know, you do a really terrible job of hiding your feelings for her.” I tell him as I walk over to him.

His head snaps towards me, eyes narrowing in a glare. “I do not.”

I raise an eyebrow as I stop next to him. “That right there just proves you’re lying.”

His head snaps towards the Gauntlet as Violet starts her ascent. I had to give it to her, she’d come a long way since she’d gotten here. Just like Aurora. And I knew if Violet could get up there, so could Aurora. Violet almost makes it look easy. Maybe what I’d said to her and watching a fellow Squad mate die had put some determination into her. Which she already had. She just needed that extra push. Something I knew Dain would not do. He was too focused on trying to coddle her or get her out of here. The amount of times I had seen him talking to Markham was ridiculous. And I knew it was to do with her.

Dain and I watch in silence as she looks up the last two ascents of the course before taking a few steps back and grabbing one of the ropes. Dain sucks in a sharp breath. “She can’t do that.” He says as he steps forward as if he can stop what she’s about to do.

”Nothing saying she can’t.” I point out as she starts to climb up the chimney. There we go Violet, using your Scribe brain like a Rider.

At the top some of her Squad mates cheer her on as she clears the obstacle. From here it’s easy to see everyone at the top watching her. I can’t see their faces but I’m sure it’s a mix of shock, amazement and fury. For a few moments Violet pauses, catching her breath as she takes in the last obstacle. From what I knew she was yet to complete the Gauntlet. And there was no rope she could use here to help her up. I watch as she pulls a dagger from her side, grasping it tightly in her hand.

”What the hell is she doing?” Dain asks out loud as we stand there and watch.

Violet charges forward, pumping her arms and legs as she runs up to obstacle before launching upwards and swinging her arm around and stabs the dagger into the wood and uses the momentum to fling her self the last few feet towards the edge. Holy shit. She did it.

”That’s cheating!” Dain exclaims as he looks at me as if he expects me to agree with him.

I just smirk and shrug my shoulders at him before looking up at Violet who gets engulfed by her Squad Mates. “If you know Violet as well as you do, you know she’s found a way to do that without cheating. Maybe you need to stop coddling her and accept the fact she could be one of the best riders if you just helped her.”

His eyes narrow at me in a glare before he turns and storms off back to the Quadrant, his shoulder bumping into me on his way past. Though unlike Violet I doubt he’d listen to my advice.

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01 @hyperfixation-train-station @lxnvmvrzx @thebreadisthetruevillian @red0202 @fangirling-galore @craftytrashprincess @taliyahvermillion @xadenswhore @fenixyrie @lagrandeourse @hellodarling1357 @iambored24601  @thegiftofacreativemind @fanfictionjunkie1112 @mysticalfuncollectorus @ohlookitsasinglepoeceofpopcorn @emoravenwolf @imheretobeinvisible @pvrkacciosan @fuckingsimp4azriel

[leethepiper]

Lower Iacon: Dock 12a

Cycle 6/20 

Solar Cycle 58 of the 72nd Stellar Cycle of the 48,196th vorn of the reign of the Lord 13th

[Roughly 7 AM, Friday, February 27, 2014]

The 5th company of the 3rd Battalion (or as they liked to call themselves: Ironhide’s Favorites) was helping load up the space transport for their next mission. They were heading to Dakar IV, a moon of the planet Jaqom, in the Marne system. During The Cybertronian Great War, Dakar IV had been an Autobot base meant to defend the energon harvesting operations on Jaqom. However, after the planet had been bombed to the pit, the moon base was left abandoned. Despite this, the place should be in good condition; the automatic defense and security systems were still active, and it would be useful in the war against the quintessons because of its strategic placement. 

The 5th company’s (and Ironhide’s) job would be to secure the base, then launch an offensive on the quintesson patrols in that area to draw them away from another planet in the Marne system: New Altihex. It was a neutral cybertronian settlement where the quintessons had attacked and enslaved hundreds. Hopefully, the 5th company would be enough of a distraction for Elita’s battalion to slip in and evacuate as many people as possible. 

Before any of that though, the transport they were using to get to Dakar IV had to be stocked and prepared for the ride.

Technically, the task could be left to the dock crew that worked there, but a little hard labor never hurt anybody, and it wasn’t like such a thing was unusual for Ironhide. Depending on the mission, he usually had either the company leaving or one (or both) of his other two companies help load up. 

Each company was a group of five squads of ten mechs each, all answering to a warrant officer, who answered to Ironhide. So, in each company, there were 51 mechs. So, that day, there should have been 51 mechs at the docks, not including the dock crew, or Ironhide himself.  

Of course, there weren’t 51 total because of a few mechs who couldn’t make it for various reasons. One was sick and had been for a while, but had asked Ironhide personally to allow her a chance to recover before she was honorably discharged; two were at pre-mission medical appointments because of health issues that shouldn’t be severe enough to be a problem, but should still get double checked; and two were skipping for a date that Ironhide was pretending not to know about since he was sick of them photovoltaic pussy-peding around each other.

Along with those five, there were two that had been late. 

Bluestreak was usually very punctual, but apparently Sunstreaker had gotten them lost on the way to the docks despite having been to them several times, having left early, and having a built-in navigation system. And Ironhide wasn’t just assuming that either. No, he knew that all of the human pilots all had nav systems, and although they weren’t as good as most cybertronian nav systems, they also weren’t nearly as bad as Sunstreaker made them seem either.

Ironhide was absolutely certain that Elita didn’t have to put up with this slag from Sideswipe.

Despite being late, Sunstreaker and Bluestreak had gotten to work right away, and had made good headway on the supply crates that needed to end up on the ship they’d be taking to the next deployment.

At some point while they were doing so, Sunstreaker had started humming. Ironhide had heard him humming before, but Sunstreaker had never struck him to be the musical type despite that. (Jazz on the other hand was more musical than even any musician that Ironhide had ever met.) 

Most Cybertronians weren’t very musical, and Ironhide was no exception to this, but even he could recognise that it was a catchy melody. 

Apparently Bluestreak had thought the same after having listened to it for a while, and asked Sunsteaker what song it was.

While normally when something like this happened, (and it had happened before, Sunstreaker tended to hum, and Bluestreak was a naturally curious mech,) Sunstreaker would answer with a song name and maybe a singer, but this time, Sunstreaker responded by singing out loud instead.

“And he don't know, Oh! 

That I dug my key into the side

Of his pretty little amped up four-wheel drive

Carved my designation into his animal-hide interior

I took a [Louisville] Slugger to both headlights

Slashed a hole in all four tires

Maybe next time, he'll think before he cheats.”

Maybe Ironhide was wrong about Sunstreaker being musically inclined, since he did have a nice voice. Despite that, not even his singing could change just how downright brutal the lyrics to the song were.

Digging a key into someone’s side, carving their designation into the interior of the victim’s altmode, taking a bat to both of their headlights, and slashing holes in someone’s tires were all horrific descriptions of what could at least be counted as assault, if not torture, and especially for the given reason. Cheating, while it was a bad thing to do to any datemate, inamorata, or even conjunx, wasn’t a reason to torture someone.

Among everyone at the docks who had heard the lyrics, most turned to look at Sunstreaker in abject horror, and those that didn’t, turned to Ironhide to make sure that he had heard. 

Bluestreak spoke first, and said what they were all thinking.

“What the frag Sunstreaker?” 

Sunstreaker hadn’t paused from what he was doing to sing, but he did now to turn to Bluestreak. He scanned the docks with his visor like he was trying to figure out what was going on. That’s probably what he was doing too, since pilots had a tendency to say concerning shit, then not realise why it was so messed up.

“What?”

Bluestreak took a vent before explaining.

“Sunny, you just sung a song about violently torturing and assaulting someone because they cheated on their partner.”

Sunstreaker didn’t move for a second, then he burst into laughter. 

“Oh, god, oh, sweet carrier [Mary], that [fucking] got me, holy [shit] Blue.” 

Sunstreaker, despite having calmed down, was still shaking slightly, and helplessly giggling too. 

“...I forgot that y’all do that transforming thing.” He chuckled, like he was explaining a real good joke. 

“WHat does that mean?” Poor Bluestreak still sounded downright alarmed about the whole situation, which just seemed to make it funnier for Sunstreaker, who burst into another fit of giggles. 

“The singer,” Sunstreaker had to pause to chuckle for a moment before continuing, “is referencing property damage, not assault.” 

Ironhide went through the lyrics again, and realized most were referencing things that humans didn’t have on themselves. They didn’t have wheels or tires, or interiors, and while they did have lights, they didn’t have headlights. So, it was likely that the song was referencing a non-sentient transport of some kind. 

Sunstreaker confirmed this a moment later.

“She’s referencing her ex’s not alive personal transport.” 

Bluestreak gave Sunstreaker a raised optical ridge in response. Sunstreaker was shaking from how hard he was laughing, and had long since set down the cargo he was carrying so as not to drop it.

Most of the others that were listening to the conversation chuckled along a bit, since it was rather ridiculous. 

Sunstreaker reset his vocalizer before responding to the look.

“Blue, I didn’t mean to skeeve you out…” 

Sunstreaker paused to pick back up his crate and then started walking into the transport again. Bluestreak followed with his own cargo. 

“…but, there are a lot of songs about murdering cheating exes,” Sunstreaker finished.

“Sunstreaker!”

Ironhide could hear Sunstreaker laughing all the way into the transport.

-----------------------------------

1300 words exactly (:

Hello! Welcome to the rambling section! I'm your host, LeeThePiper, and this is... 2006 Country Radio! (2006 was when before he cheats was released)

I'm kidding, but I will be rambling for a bit on this one, so skip if you want

First, "Solar Cycle 58 of the 72nd Stellar Cycle of the 48,196th vorn of the reign of the Lord 13th" Maths out to (roughly, really, really roughly) to the 58th day of the 4,000,340th year of Optimus' tenure as prime, which is based on the idea that their time system is based on the amount of time that the current religious leader has been in charge, and I got that idea from the fact that some nations used to do that with kings (it's been x years since __ became king) or bloodlines (the __ bloodline/dynasty has been ruling for x years)

Second, this is right before this -The monsters gone, he’s on the run, and your daddy’s here - one, so the moon base that they're on in that one is the one they're going to in this one (If you want to know literally anything about this section of the chapter, please ask me, because that was my most favorite part of this chapter despite it not being in the plans for this chapter literally at all)

Third, "photovoltaic pussy-peding" is just the Cybertronian way to say pussyfooting

Fourth, both Sunny and Sides are known for being unnaturally bad at directions (it's partially because they are bad at directions, and partially because their nav systems both got messed up in the crash onto cybertron/by the quint spacebridge)

Fifth, I personally headcanon that to Cybertronians, music isn't such a big deal as music is to humans, partially because they were in war for a long time (which destroyed a lot of instruments, killed a lot of musicians, occupied a lot of time, used a lot of control (kind of like how sedicious speech laws get tighter during war), and generally killed a lot of creativity and creatives, so less other forms of art too), and because I don't think that Cybertronians are as musical as humans regularly either

Sixth, the song is Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood, and the lyrics that I changed for the translator are "amped" instead of "souped"; "name" to "designation"; "leather" to "animal-hide"; "seats" to "interior"; and while I didn't change it, the brackets around Louisville mean that it didn't translate. Some of these are because I think that's how they'd translate, some are to make it make more sense narratively (which could also be counted as a translator error).

Seventh, "datemate, inamorata, or even conjunx" is translated to bf/gf, fiancé, and spouse

Eighth, “oh, sweet carrier [Mary]" is just "Oh, sweet Mother Mary" put through the translator.

Ninth, I did not mean to make Sunny so giggly, but I felt like it fit for this one, and I'm also still trying to figure out his characterization a bit, so

Tenth (and last but not least), @typewritingyip <3 for the Arcturus AU, and @keferon for the Mecha Pilot Jazz AU

Edit: I fixed the date (previously Jan 17)

[cursedbycain]

raindrops - Cain x Lane

tagging: @rc-catalog

synopsis: maybe a meeting in the rain has it's upsides

tw: allusions to sex, rated T

wc: 1.2k

An outdoor meeting of the squad would have been fine in any other circumstance. But standing under the ledge and looking out at the rain so heavy she can barely see a foot in front of her, Lane regrets ever putting on the metal dog tag.

She also regrets not keeping the umbrella Yan had given her. Letting a quiet sigh escape her lips, she glances down at herself with regret. So much for the eyeliner and nice way she’d done her hair.

Of course, the only reason she cared was because he hadn’t seen it yet.

Cain is probably already at the meeting, most definitely waiting for her. He had left for patrol early in the morning. She has a faint memory of his lips pressing against her forehead in her haze of sleep but it could have been a figment of her imagination. Seeing him is part of the reason she had hurried out of her room once the crackle of her transponder had quieted. In her excitement, she hadn’t checked the window.

She’s about to take a step into the rain when cold fingers gently clasp her wrist. The feeling is familiar, and she already knows who she’ll see when she turns around.

“You’re late.” Is all Cain says, a knowing smile on his face.

“Technically we’re both late.” Lane notes and he shakes his head.

“I was sent to come find you. The bet is you were getting ready.” He casts an interested gaze over her face, her hair, and her body before locking eyes with her again.

“Noah owes Lester his rations tonight.” She can’t help but smile.

“They’re wrong. I just don’t want to get wet.” She gestures to the still torrential rain. Cain is already soaked but the feeling never seemed to bother him. Perhaps it was his ability to self heat. His hair is wet and pushed back, similar to the time on the platform. Water drips off of his coat and she can’t help but feel bad. He had probably been getting soaked since he left for patrol. He shakes his wings off, water flying off them and making her frown as tiny droplets fly at her.

When they’re thoroughly dry, the one closest to her raises into a ninety degree angle above her, a wall of soft white feathers. Cain’s hand slips to her waist. He gently pulls her closer and she finally realizes what he’s doing.

It’s a makeshift umbrella.

The gesture tugs at her heartstrings a bit. When she looks up at Cain’s expression, he’s smiling warmly at her.

“Now you’ll stay dry. Come on.” He leads her to the meeting spot, where the rest of the squad is.

There’s only one umbrella, clutched in the Generals hands. It’s pathetically small, barely enough to cover him and Anna. Both of them are still soaked underneath as if the item made a recent appearance.

Everyone else is absolutely drenched.

Lane suppresses her smile as they walk over. Aside from a stray drop or two on her clothes, Cain’s large wing does a tremendous job of protecting her. It’s not unlike the time he had walked (dragged) her and Anna through the snow in Rotkov.

But this time, the gesture means something very different.

When they finally reach the squad, each member shoots Lane a jealous look. It makes her slightly nervous but Cain’s grip on her waist is oddly comforting. When she glances at his face, she notices his raised eyebrow, as if daring anyone to comment on their position.

“Now we can start.” Despite the water dripping off of him, Dmitry is still the picture of a general as he discusses the squads next move at the base, now that he knows Donovan is no longer as trustworthy as before.

She has ears everywhere, which is the reason for this outdoor meeting.

As much as the squad understands it, the shivers makes it clear this has not been Dmitry’s brightest idea.

He drones on for a while. Lane tunes most of it out. She knows her purpose, her task. There’s really not much need for her to be here. But with Cain’s hand pressed against her waist, she doesn’t have any complaints.

When Cain’s body jolts, she glances up. His face flashes with irritation but she realizes quickly it’s not directed at her. Peaking past him, she understands why.

Lester stands on the other side of him, attempting to raise his other wing to cover himself from the rain. The immortal remains unamused. He keeps his wing firmly pressed down and his free hand swats at Lester.

The soldier casts a pleading look at her, as if she will convince Cain to save him from the rain. She merely shrugs in response. Lester is well aware that she and the immortal have long since passed the line of friendship. The special treatment had been apparent for a while.

The whole squad knew of it. But they didn’t talk about it. Probably cause there wasn’t much to talk about. In the middle of the apocalypse, who slept with who was the least of their concerns.

Lester gives up his attempt to cover himself, pulling away from the two. A quiet huff of laughter escapes Lane and she can tell Cain is equally amused.

“That wasn’t very angelic of you.” She mutters under her breath, knowing he’ll hear. He looks at her with a small smirk, his eyes that familiar shade of red.

“I’m not that kind of angel.” His wing shifts slightly to block another gust of rain, and he tugs her closer. His hand slips from her waist to her hip. As Dmitry continues his talk, Cain’s thumb slips under the edge of her shirt. He gently strokes her bare skin and she has to will away the images of the night they spent together.

He was totally doing it on purpose.

Finally, Dmitry relents, and the squad scatters to take cover from the rain. Soon enough, it’s just the two of them.

“I should get back to translating.” She turns to look at him. He shifts his body to face her and his other wing moves up to keep her fully covered. Rain still slips in from the part of his head he can’t cover and she frowns. When she reaches up to brush a droplet off his cheek, he dips his head down to lean into her touch.

“You look nice today. I would hate to see it ruined.” She’s about to remark that a good way to avoid that would be to get out of the rain but then his lips are on hers.

It’s a gentle kiss at first. Not unlike the one they had in the showers. He’s slightly hesitant, as if waiting for her to pull away. But she melts into it quickly, hands reaching up to thread through the dripping blond strands.

They only pull away when their lungs begin to burn. Cain’s fingers brush against her jaw, longing in his grey-blue eyes.

“Let’s go to my room. You can help me translate.” She offers. He recalls the last time she has asked that, eyes flashing red.

“Of course.”

When they finally reach the porch and his wings return to their position at his back, there isn’t a single raindrop on her.

[tsc-ooc]

[jordosprout]

And With Thunder Comes Rain

Pairing: Wrecker x GN!Reader SFW

Can be read platonically/Mutual Pining

Dividers: @stars-n-spice

Word Count: 3,443

Warnings: Angst, Descriptions of storms, Nightmares, Sleep deprivation, Grief, Wrecker feels guilty

Summary: Wrecker comes to you looking for comfort after the events of Eriadu.

AN: Look at me all punctual when I'm the one making the due date? But nooo when someone else tells me I need to have something done at a certain time, that's just not possible /lh. Please note this is my first time really writing a fic for Wrecker! If need be I might make edits to this. Gender neutral pronouns are used at the end, other than that none are used. Please enjoy!!

It has been a standard week since the events of Eriadu and the capture of Omega that followed. 

There was so much uncertainty that puddled inside you and the squad—every day you spent tense and on edge, not knowing what the future would bring—having little to no sense of familiarity or consistency. You didn’t know how to adapt to the rapid changes around you—how to move around the physical and emotional wounds that persisted you during every task. Everything was going faster than you could process. But eventually, it became clear that you couldn’t just do nothing.

That was when the obsessive need to become a better pilot for the Batch started. It was the only thing you could think of that would make you useful right now. Flying like your life depended on it was the only thing that distracted you from the turmoil of such a detrimental loss. 

You started one of your runs after Hunter’s briefing, notifying you and Wrecker that Echo would be leaving with Rex later that day cycle. It must have been 3, no, 4 hours before you were commed by Hunter “Havoc 6, it’s time to come down. You’ve been at it long enough.”

You shook your head despite knowing he couldn’t see you, “No can do Sarge, I need to get this down.” you explained, using the nickname you started calling him when you first joined his squad. He wasn’t ever technically your sergeant, and you found it fun to pull his leg with that fact.

He said your name in a warning tone, “That’s an order.”

You groaned, you hated when he pulled that card. No, he wasn’t your sergeant, but you still followed and respected him as the leader, and he knew that. You probably shouldn’t continue to test him.

Turning the Marauder you made your return to the cliff you stationed yourselves at, camping out in a large cave on the side of it. You completed your landing sequence, exiting the shuttle begrudgingly with a displeased Hunter to greet you, a hand on his hip; Echo was beside him shaking his head. You simply responded putting both of your hands on your hips and childishly poking out your tongue at Hunter. You looked behind him, finding Wrecker sitting on an old crate. He had been more open about the hurt caused by the last mission. Often quiet, saying little to nothing. You felt your eyebrows press together in worry.

You moved past Hunter taking a seat beside Wrecker on a separate crate. You looked down at his hand resting next to his leg. You wanted nothing more than to hold it.

But instead, you rubbed his shoulder attempting to soothe the hurting giant next to you.

Echo’s departure wasn’t making the changes any easier for anybody. You all knew it was coming, that he wouldn’t be able to stay long. That his heart was in the fight. But you hoped all of you would have a few more days before Rex took him back. You enjoyed his presence, and even if they didn’t outright say it, so did the rest of the squad.

You stayed with Wrecker whilst Echo and Hunter awaited Rex’s arrival beside the Marauder. Wrecker had kept his gaze on the floor, his eyes carrying a sad gleam.

Once Rex’s shuttle arrived, Echo approached you and placed his hand on one of your shoulders.

“Make sure they stay outta trouble.” 

You nod, trying desperately to not let your emotions get to you.

“And quit drinking so much karking caf, it’s not good for you,” he said light-heartedly as he gave you a squeeze on your shoulder.

You gave a playful scoff, “No promises,” you responded causing him to roll his eyes.

“Just try, yeah?”

You look away from him and rub your head, mumbling, “Yeah yeah, I’ll work on it.”

Moving over to Wrecker, Echo gave him a reassuring squeeze on the bicep, “Everything will be fine, don’t worry.”

Wrecker only gives a faint nod in response, his eyes slightly wincing at the pain from moving his neck.

Echo gave you both one more nod goodbye before he turned around to head to Rex’s ship. Rex wrapped an arm around his shoulder and walked him up the ramp. Echo turned his head and gave you all a wave of his scomp before the doors closed, and the ship took him with it.

You all stood there, watching as Rex and Echo left the atmosphere. Even Wrecker lifted his head to watch the man he had come to care for leave. You couldn’t help the pang in your heart. You wanted nothing more than to keep your boys with you, so you could know they were safe. But you knew that what Echo was doing was important work that he needed to do for himself—for his brothers.

Once Rex’s shuttle was no longer visible, Wrecker stood, heading inside the Marauder, leaving only you and Hunter outside.

“What do we do now, Sarge?” you asked, unable to hide the waver of doubt in your voice. You hoped your leader would give you a plan you could hold yourself to.

Hunter sighed, you couldn’t ignore how tired he looked. “We keep searching. We… don’t let Tech’s sacrifice go to waste. That’s what we do.”

“But how?”

He turned to face you, “I don't know,

but we’ll figure it out. We always do. We have to, for all our sakes.”

It’s been only three days since Echo left, and Wrecker became that of a ghost. Spending the past few days in the gunner’s mount. The silence that came made the Marauder feel foreign; as if you walked onto the wrong ship. You wished he’d talk to you, to Hunter. You just wanted him to say something. You hated it when everything was so quiet. At least when he and Omega were making a ruckus, you knew they were okay. A loud crew was an alive one.

You had spent the entirety of the day helping Hunter take count of inventory. And with your final numbers, the pit in your stomach deepened. There were only two days worth of rations to split between the crew. And when you told Hunter he was, expectantly, just as concerned. You saw his heart sink, and the bags under his sleep-deprived eyes deepen. 

“I need to comm Rex,” he mumbled, running a hand down his face before heading to the cockpit and immediately attempting to make contact with Rex. He only patched through after his second attempt. The conversation wasn’t long, as Rex and Echo had a mission to pick up a clone wanting to leave the empire. But miraculously, they had someone in mind to help.

As soon as Rex gave him the information he needed, Hunter moved to the Navicomps and began mapping out the route you were to take. You offered to give him a hand, but he insisted he had it covered. So instead you left him with a cup of caf before you went to the cockpit.

You hoped Rex’s contact would be able to help as he said. That once you had a full inventory, everyone’s minds would be able to settle. That you’d be able to get on your feet to start searching for answers. 

The cloudy day transitioned into a stormy night on the planet you and the boys managed to station yourselves on; the drumming of rain becoming a hypnotic lullaby. You have a hot cup of caf in your hands. It makes sense to stay awake instead of disrupting your sleep later since you’d need to be awake in three standard hours to meet Rex’s contact. However, you couldn't help the calm, empty daze coming over you. It was pleasant to have an empty mind, to say the least, even if it was only for a moment—even if it was hard to maintain when the ship's silence matched that of your head.

It felt wrong trying to enjoy the calm after losing so much—after losing everything. As if, you weren't allowed to have it.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, cursing yourself for not enjoying the moment. Who knew when you’d have one like this again?

You grumbled inaudibly to yourself, finishing the last of your caf as you stared out the transparisteel. When you were about to get up to refill your cup, you could almost feel Echo’s disapproving gaze. 

So you decided that maybe one would be enough.

You rubbed your hands together, it was freezing in the Marauder. You wanted nothing more than to turn on the heating systems, but Hunter told you against it earlier; he wanted to conserve energy when possible. You tucked the old Republic-issued blanket on your lap, the thin fabric doing little to keep you warm.

“When have we ever followed orders?”

“No!”

“Tech!”

Wrecker’s body shoots up, banging his head, thunder challenging him as it crashes loudly in the distance. His body is ridden with shivers, unable to regain control as he takes in his surroundings—frantically looking for Lula. A relieved sigh escapes him once he sees her arm poking out from behind him. Wrecker immediately went to lift her to his face. The soft and familiar fabric was a nice contrast to his sweat-covered skin. He moved to sit crisscrossed, resting the tooka doll in his lap. Tears fell as he fiddled with the ears of the doll Tech had made him when they were cadets.

Nightmares have been pursuing Wrecker as their prey since they got back from their failed mission. And while Lula used to chase them away, she wasn’t able to this time. Because the nightmares were real.

They happened, they weren’t a reality he could run from.

He had always thought that he would have been the one to call out Plan 99—to go down for his vods. But here he was. Still here, still alive, while one of them wasn’t. Because he wasn’t able to reach him fast enough. 

Because he failed.

Wrecker wiped away the tears before they fell, his lip pulling to a frown as he refrained from letting out a sob. 

He was convinced that this was supposed to be easier. The Kaminoans made it seem like it would be. They all went through so much conditioning in case a vod was lost. Yet, despite that. Despite what he was told, he sat there, unable to grasp the idea of losing one of them, for as much as he knew, forever. 

He gulped hard, he needed to be around someone. He shifted in the gunner’s mount and made his way down, beloved Lula still in hand.

He looked to his side at the Navicomps, finding Hunter asleep. He hesitated in waking up his vod and decided to see if someone else was awake instead.

The silence was suddenly broken when footsteps began to thud throughout the shuttle, and you immediately recognized them as Wrecker. There was a momentary quiet before the door to the cockpit wooshed open. Wrecker, or who you assumed to be Wrecker, stood quietly at the entrance.

“Y’ up?” He finally asked, attempting to be quiet in case you weren't. His voice was more graveled than usual from the lack of use. 

“Yeah, I'm awake.” You responded, turning your seat to face him. He still had his neck brace, and had Lula in one of his hands. 

He stayed where he stood, shifting his weight again with a hand on the back of his head while the other continued to hold Lula.

“S’ okay uh… if I sit in here?”

You nodded, offering a gentle smile. He made his way to the copilot seat before easing himself down. He leaned back into the chair, eyes fixed on the sky in front of you.

“What’s Hunter up to?” you asked casually, attempting to make light conversation.

“He fell asleep at the Navi. I didn’t wanna wake 'em up.” He told you, rubbing one of Lula's arms between his pointer and thumb. 

You hummed, not surprised. You’ve found Hunter like that a few times yourself recently; only sleeping in short bursts before he was working again. And while you’ve insisted on him simply sleeping on a rack instead, he couldn’t bring himself to. The idea of not doing anything made him restless. That was clear. But some sleep is always better than no sleep.

You both stared up at the water droplets coming and going. Lightning expertly streaked the clouds like they were a canvas and it was a master painter; thunder shaking the sky above not long after. Wrecker was almost completely silent beside you. After a few moments of shared quiet, you glanced at him, his form silhouetted in darkness, the glow of navigation screens illuminating the edges of his face. You cleared your throat.

“So…How’re ya holdin’ up?” you finally prompted. You already knew that answer. But you wanted him to know you were here for him. 

Wrecker continued to face the windshield as he glanced at you with glassy eyes. He cleared his throat before he looked back to the glass as his lips tightened into a line. Only then did you notice the shake in his hands. How long have they been doing that?

“Wreck?” you called for him softly, but he didn’t give you a response. He merely put his head into his right hand, the flesh of his thumb and pointer finger covering his eyes. You shifted in your seat and leaned in, grabbing his left hand into yours. It continued to shake as his shoulders began to follow suit; Lula being left in his lap. You squeezed, and his calloused hand squeezed back. “Wrecker…” you gently pleaded.

He breathed in through his nose sharply before the thoughts that plagued him fell like an avalanche.

“I miss em’. I miss Omega I miss Crosshair- I-” he swallowed hard, before trembling out, “I miss Tech. I should’ve been able to reach him- he was right there but I couldn’t,” his lips tightened “I’m sorry I couldn’t-” was all he could get out before a sob interrupted him

You grabbed his cheek, “Wrecker, look at me…” you asked, silently begging him to oblige.

He lifted his head from his hand, looking at you with guilt-ridden eyes. You tilted your head to get a better look at him, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Wrecker you need to understand that it’s not your fault. There was nothing you or anyone could have done. Tech… did what he knew would give us the best chance to get out. If there was another solution, he would have seen it,” you explained, tears pricking your own eyes. “There was no time left.”

He leaned into the palm of your hand as it became wet with his tears.

“What if- what if he’s still out there? And we just left him behind?” Wrecker questioned, causing you to stiffen at the suggestion. You paused to think about what to say as he searched your eyes for answers. You haven't been able to accept such a permanent loss yourself. Instead, you had convinced yourself that he was out there. That you wouldn't allow yourself to admit to him being dead unless you had unshakeable proof. That's what kept you going. At Least for now. 

“Tech is a smart and strong man Wrecker. If he survived that fall… he’d find a way to get back to us- to contact us. But we can’t risk going back, Wrecker. Not yet. Not when we have so few hands. Not when we're so low on everything. But… if he’s out there… we’ll find him.” 

Wrecker nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. He had a hand on top of yours now, inaudibly pleading for touch. You leaned forward to press your forehead against his.

“M’ so scared. I don't know what I'd do- you, Hunter, and Echo are all I have left I-” 

“We know Omega and Crosshair are still out there Wrecker. We’ll find them, we’ll bring them home,” you assured, wiping away his stray tears as you spoke.

“What if-” he choked, not needing to finish his unspoken suggestion. You moved your hand from his cheek to the back of his head, holding it to your own.

“No ifs, Wrecker. There are a lot of unknowns right now, and honestly, I’m scared too. But we can’t lose hope. We will search the ends of every galaxy if we have to. If it means our family will be together again. No matter how long that takes, we'll do it together,” you promised.

He gave you a quiet ‘okay’, tears continuing to fall down his cheeks. Not a moment later you felt him leaning his body forward before pulling you into a desperate hug. You didn’t hesitate to hug him back. His body racked with bone-deep shivers as he held onto you. As if you'd vanish if he didn't anchor you down. 

You stayed there like that for a few moments. And part of it was admittedly for yourself just as much as it was for him. The hardships you've all experienced in just the past two weeks alone weighed on the depths of your soul. And now you felt you could finally permit yourself to feel them. You both needed to take a moment to cry it out. And that was easiest to do when you had Wrecker wrapped around you like this. The weight of his grip reminds you that he's real and that he's here. That you're here. 

“I’m… happy you’re with us,” he said, his voice muffled against your shoulder as he gave you another squeeze. 

You sniffled and gave a small lighthearted laugh in an attempt to ease him, “‘Course I’m still here. Who else’ll keep you boys outta trouble when Echo’s away?”

He sniffled before giving you a short chuckle at the comment. You grinned to yourself, happy that you were able to get something out of him with that.

“But in all seriousness, everything will be okay. We’ll get em’ back. Nonna’ us are giving up on them, I promise.” 

He pulled away to look at you before wiping his eyes and smiling at you, wiping your tears off your cheeks when he saw them. “Yeah…you’re probably right,” he agreed sheepishly.

You shivered when the front of your body met the cold air, earning a concerned look from Wrecker.

“You okay?”

You looked up at him confused until you realized what he was referring to.

“Oh- yeah I’m just cold,” you explained, leaning back in your seat, wishing you had a nice hot cup of caf in your hands.

Wrecker stared at the floor of the cockpit in thought before having an idea.

“C’mere,” he offered, patting his lap.

You raised an eyebrow at him, “Ya sure?”

He nodded, placing his arms on the rests to give you more room to get onto his lap. You hesitantly accepted his offer, climbing onto him and disregarding your blanket. Immediately you were met with his warmth, it only increasing when he wrapped his arms around your middle. Lula ended up between you and his arms. Wrecker placed his head on top of yours, ignoring the momentary pain in his neck.

The clouds dissipated over the next hour, the rain softening in turn. You remained with him, both of you sinking into the co-pilot seat. You found yourselves admiring the constellations of this planet together, attempting to lock away the image of them into your memory. You don't remember the moments that came before sleep cradled you both. All you could remember was the feathery kiss that was placed on your head.

Hunter awoke with a crick in his neck from the odd position he had slept in. He attempted to rub out the discomfort with a groan before giving up and meekly accepting it to be his companion for the day. He could feel the rising sun, his senses easily picking up on the wavelengths it emitted. 

He knew that if the sun was rising, that meant the time to leave and meet their contact was approaching. He stood up, rolling his shoulders before heading to the cockpit. He figured that was where you and Wrecker would be, picking up on your distinct scents.

And he was right. There you both were, sharing the copilot seat as you both slept; your hearts beating in time with one another. Wrecker held onto you like you were his Tooka doll, and you slept there comfortably. Though to Hunter's surprise, Wrecker moved his head to face him.

“Shh, they’re sleepin’,” he scolded in a loud whisper.

[dcdreamblog]

How exactly did Supervillains in the 40s avoid being arrested as enemy agents or forced into some wartime version of Task Force X when the All Star Squadron was officially part of the US military structure

I know civilians and soldiers could get into fights and it's not like the civilian would "disappear" but that was for one off things. I can't imagine if some guy who wasn't in the military for some reason decided to go around beating up soldiers repeatedly and intentionally that the court cases would go well for him

Just a polite reminder to folks that I don't delete relevant asks, but I DO have a system in place to make sure everyone takes a turn before I do an ask from the same people. So if you've sent an ask, just be assured I saw it, I'm working on it and that I will post it when its your next turn. Just so no one gets anxious or thinks I'm ignoring anything.

Because I've already answered this in general I'm going to zero in on something I feel needs pointing out. This idea that a WWII version of the infamous "Suicide Squad" was somehow an inevitable idea SOMEONE must have thought of and therefore is an idea that must be explained away as not happening before it did. Let's get one thing straight: Task Force X's basic underpinnings, legal, moral and basically functional are fucking ridiculous and far from being an inevitable idea. The fact that the idea ever got off the ground at ALL is a mind boggling pile up of governmental corruption and incompetence.

(A "perp lineup" of the Squad's original membership, leaked when the team was first dragged into the light)

Firstly, legal. Like it or not criminals have rights. PRISONERS have rights. To conduct invasive surgery without their knowledge and hold their lives at stake so they can complete already illegal missions for an unaccountable black box of the US military is SO far beyond the line in so many different ways that the list of crimes brought up against Task Force X when it was originally sued out of existence is 47 items long. In reference to each 'member'. Individually. Without factoring the counts of each crime. That picture above, not counting their military handler represents 423 military crimes and rights violations by EXISTING.

99% of military men and women in history would have looked at this idea and thrown it out in the shredder because even BREATHING something like this was liable to get you court martialed in a sane world. The United States doesn't have any history or legal basis for penal battalions and even if they HAD it would have run smack dab into... Secondly, Moral. The All Star Squadron was TECHNICALLY made up of conscripts. And I truly cannot tell you how large I need that TECHNICALLY to be in your head. Every member of the Squadron wanted to be there, served at their own pleasure alongside men and women they trusted to fight the good fight. Had any attempt been made to introduce supervillains, much less supervillains UNDER DURESS into the Squadron's membership it would have kicked up the kind of shitstorm most politicians don't want to dream about. It, at minimum, would have meant the immediate end of the All Star Squadron as a functioning body in ANY worthwhile contact with the United States government or Allied military command. At maximum it would have created a high stakes legal crisis as the Squadron puts the coerced villains under their protection from the forces of the United States. Meaning you would be risking sparking a conflict between the Squadron and US Military Law Enforcement DURING THE MIDDLE OF THE WAR. The original Creatures Commandos were less than a half dozen otherwise unremarkable soldiers who had entire STABLES of intelligence personnel dedicated to making sure no word of their existence made it back to a single active mystery man lest they kick in the door and start demanding answers. Once you have supervillains start going missing in an era where there were only about 2 dozen notable supervillains you are going to trip the alarm bells before you get your pants on.

Thirdly, basic function. Let me make this clear. Task Force X doesn't work. Every single time the team has been reassembled under a new legal smokescreen it has lasted a couple of months MAX before something goes lethally wrong. One or more members goes violently rogue. The Squad is co-opted by a 3rd party with nefarious goals or some combination of all of the above.

Even if it did work as advertised, what it's advertised to do isn't good! It's taking thieves, murderers, assassins and maniacs. Slapping bombs in the back of their heads and putting them at the behest of the parts of the US Government everybody hates! At BEST it exists to prop up the interests of the American empire at its most cynical, toppling unfriendly governments and conducting assassinations on foreign soil. At worst it is an uncontrolled stew of the worst, controlled by the worst OF the worst for their own vision of what their military authority entails. The only other justification is using it as some kind of trump card in an undeclared cold war against the superhero community by parts of the government who hate superheroes because superheroes target them for being corrupt monsters who do shit like this! Conclusion: My point is. Supervillains were, and are, criminals. They are arrested, charged for the crimes they commit, convicted by a jury of their peers and then they go to prison for an allotted time period. This system sucks but boy oh boy is it better than whatever system Task Force X represents. You know the SECOND they thought they could get away with it they would be finding any reason to arrest young metahumans and then "drafting" them into the Squad, you KNOW they would. There was no WWII era version of Task Force X because Task Force X is a really dumb idea that no one besides the profoundly stupid would even entertain.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Some interesting facts about Harry's settlement (in my opinion) -

1. The NGN apology - If you read the NGN statement released after the case settled, you realise that it's a very unapologetic apology. They apologize for hiring investigators, who then went on to do unethical things. They lay the blame squarely on the hiring of these investigators and no blame on The Sun, which is the face of NGN for this court case. Infact they say that now The Sun can finally move on and carry on with its exemplary reporting (lol).

They make it very clear in the statement that journalists or executives at The Sun are not responsible in any way for the hacking, it was the private investigators. So technically speaking Harry can't blame any individual journalist here. Any one single person has not been held accountable.

They basically apologize for whatever they previously admitted and make it clear that whatever Harry was suing in this case has not been proved, that they were ready to disprove him with facts and evidence, that they do not admit to it not do they apologize for it. It reads like they agreed to pay him because he was the only claimants remaining that had not been paid.

They were also ready with this long ass statement immediately after the case was over and released it via Reuters. Which means they were prepared for a settlement statement and knew beforehand what was going to happen and had a statement prepared incase Harry settles.

It's only logical to assume that NGN had offered a settlement some time back. They were fully prepared to go to trial on the day. Harry only accepted the offered, after two requests for postponement, that was already on the table.

2. The other claimant, Lord Watson, was very late for the hearing. Harry was AWOL. This delayed the days proceedings considerably (I think till 2pm). By the time the case was over, settlement reached and statements read, the US was waking up to a new day. The delaying tactics may have been timed with the news cycles beginning Monday morning for the US audience. The coverage has been considerable and the pr machinary was ready with the talking points from Harry's side. (This obviously, is just my take on the situation because I'm looktat it from a pr pov for Harry)

Noone is mentioning Harry's previous statements about how he will never settle, how he is willing to go ahead despite the considerable financial burden, how he criticised William for settling a few years back and called it a covert arrangement between the palace and NGN. It's a victory for Harry but proof of evil for William (the hypocrisy!)

3. Charles Spencer has weighed in and posted about Harry's "victory" on his ig. He calls it a victory and invokes Diana, saying she would be proud of Harry taking the newspaper to task over this. I don't understand why he had to chime in, why he ignores that other claimants had long settled, ie., reached the same conclusion, over this case, that other claimants have not only been at the recieving end of much worse treatment but also were likely paid more as settlement.

This leads me to believe that Harry is in touch with Charles Spencer and has him his side. This does not matter much in the grand scheme of things. But it does establish the Spencer+Diana connection and that's the only family endorsement that Harry's pr cares about. (To be clear, I think Charles Spencer is a ridiculous man and the fact that he is Harry's only UK family connection says a lot about Harry ie., Harry is a scheming fool)

4. Some members of Sussex squad were already trying to spin the narrative that Harry entering settlement negotiations was unprecedented and a victory for him. This narrative started building by the end of the previous day, before the court date. Which means someone somewhere did have an idea that settlemywas now on the cards. The media and larger public was not talking about a settlement before the court started and Harry's lawyers asked for an extension. The larger public had taken Harry's word and believed he will never settle. I'm assuming Harry's team was already prepping the PR narrative for this development.

5. Meghan, in an article a few months ago, had said how she doesn't support Harry's court cases because they are a drain on their finances and she thinks it's futile. She had already distanced herself from the cases. The palaces had also, via sources, said that The King was not meeting Harry and wouldn't meet him because of his court cases. He did not want anything he said to his his to look like he was influencing the judiciary and asking for special treatment for his son. With these two incidences, it was clear Harry has no support for this decision and he would likely fold and settle his cases soon. Especially since Meghan disapproved.

6. The narrative can now shift from HnM's distster tourism to Harry's dragon slaying and how he is a messiah against media oppression. So I wonder whether this decision was also influenced by Meghan's panicking and their PR advisors. (I do however think that this was the smartest move on Harry's part because going on stand would not have served him well).

7. Some of the earliest tweets and media reports from that day, from court, said that the amount offered was somewhere between 1 mil (which William allegedly got) and 2 mil (which Hugh grant got). The figured circulating was 1.7mil. Harry's lawyers fee figures were allegedly 7mil (from the earliest speculative reports). Not to mention that there were two remaining claimants, Harry and lord Watson. It's more likely that the 10mil now being reported is divided between Harry and Watson.

NGN has gone on record and told BBC news that they were "surprised by the serious approach by Prince Harry for settlement in recent days." Which kind of means that Harry approached them a few days back but did not confirm tillthey were all in court on that day.

(From late January; this is about Harry’s lawsuit settling)

Thanks for sharing!

I think the new alliance for Harry right now is Charles Spencer since he’s the only one that seems to be speaking to Harry with any kind of regularity. I do wonder if Charles is doing that because maybe the royals asked him to maintain the connection (ie, remember how William asked Charles to intervene in Harry’s relationship with Meghan in the early days) or if it’s for personal motivation (eg for Charles to continue feeding off Diana’s memory, he needs one of her boys).

Anyway. Something to think about.

There was gossip last week that Harry stays at Althorp whenever he’s in the UK now (sure, Jan). I must admit, when I did see that, I thought it was Harry making a play to try and claim Althorp as his ancestral home to try and take it from Cousin Louis when the time comes. (According to himself, Harry doesn’t know about things like this.)

[siilvan]

bloodsport – interlude

prologue | one | two | three | four | next

characters: vladimir makarov

summary: while waiting for your answer, makarov ponders on your unusual relationship and his yet-unknown motivations.

genre: angst, slowburn, enemies to ?, fem!reader (callsign: petra)

warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, canon-typical violence, descriptions of blood/injuries, makarov’s pov, he’s a bit fucked up mentally, light obsession?, couple mentions of sex, it's like a character study idk

word count: 2.4k

note: shit's officially hitting the fan in the next chapter, so... enjoy this sorta-kinda character study? dive into makarov's very odd "romantic" side? idk what to call it. hope you like it! (￣▽￣)

"i suppose i could protect you."

"i'm not joining your side, even for this."

vladimir makarov has never been a patient man. when he wants something, he takes it. strength, respect, power— he's razed cities and ended lives for less than that.

but, he's learned patience. his time in the military proved fruitful in this endeavor; being a captain forces a person to wait for things, to work smartly and plan for the future. ever since he left those days behind, he's continued to learn, and now proudly declares himself a master of self-control.

few things can break the restraint that he's put on himself. few people can.

makarov examines the board tacked up on the wall across from him. he leans back in his arm chair and reaches for the tumbler at his side, the whiskey in the glass sloshing against the sides as he lifts it to his lips. he furrows his brow, his attention flitting between the images on the board.

the one-four-one. the task force he technically has to thank for his ascension to the top of the ultranationalists - well, he mainly has his own efforts over the years to thank for that, but he won't deny that the group made things easier by eliminating zakhaev's incompetent heir back in verdansk.

pictures of the members of the squad - and, a handful of allies - stare back at him. his longtime enemy, captain price, ghost, soap, gaz, "nikolai," commander karim...

and, yourself. lieutenant petra. your real name briefly flashes through his mind as he shifts in his seat, his focus now solely on you.

his eyes linger on the photo of you pinned alongside your teammates' portraits. he's well aware that his personal vendetta against price causes him to act irrationally, but you... for whatever reason, makarov is easily influenced by you. he'll die before admitting it aloud, but he's become somewhat enamored with you.

why?

makarov sets the glass aside once more and stands, crossing the small space and stopping in front of the board. he all but ignores any information not pertaining to you. his eyes find you in group photos, he relentlessly scans dossiers and files of information on your professional and personal lives, he reads through your messages with each other and replays the conversations you've shared...

his mind drifts back to your first meeting, just two weeks ago.

⋆⋆⋆

the al-mazrah sun is violent overhead, beating down on him and his men. makarov's grown accustomed to the heat, but the few mumbled complaints that he overhears from his soldiers threaten to make him snap.

he would, if not for the good news overriding the frustration being imposed on him right now. everything has been going to plan— the few bumps in the road have ultimately done little to deter him from reaching his goals. the only worry is the task force in the city; shadow company is an annoyance, but the one-four-one is a true threat to makarov's plans.

when he comes across the scene of destruction, it's almost as if his prayers for the team's elimination are answered. three members of it are in the area; the two men - sergeants gaz and soap, he recognizes fairly quickly - lay pinned under rubble or incapacitated, while the third member stares at him in a daze from a spot closer by.

makarov fights back a twisted grin when he notices the fear gloss over your disoriented expression. you can hardly stay conscious, much less put up a fight, and as one of your teammates frantically shouts for you, he realizes he may have an opportunity here.

you're already fading in and out of consciousness when he orders his men to remove any of the wreckage covering you and, by the time makarov crouches down to gather your mangled body in his arms, you're out cold. the only resistance he faces are weak protests from the sergeants.

in his benevolence, makarov decides to spare the two. they'll dig themselves out of this or succumb to their injuries - either way, it's not his concern.

you, however, take in shallow, ragged breaths in his arms, and he knows that you require care if he intends to keep you alive. the squad accompanying him are soldiers, not doctors— they can do nothing to help, but he can stabilize you in the meantime. that's what he tells himself as he orders his men to evacuate, clutching you close to his chest until the transport plane arrives. he lays you across a section of the seats, barking at one of the soldiers to grab the medical supplies, and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows with a heavy sigh.

he's no medic himself - quite the opposite, in fact - but makarov knows enough from his years in the field.

he ushers his men away from you once the supplies are delivered, forcing them to huddle up at the opposite end of the plane as he works. your injuries are severe, but still remarkably mild compared to what they could have been. it's a small miracle that every limb of yours is still intact.

you don't stir at all, even as he peels your gear off and carelessly discards it on the floor, before dragging your shirt up to your chest and examining the sizeable gash running down your side. steady hands clean and disinfect the dirt-stained wound and stitch it closed before his focus shifts to the burns starting to bloom on your skin.

it's a nasty sight, but it hardly fazes him. makarov rolls your sleeves above the afflicted areas on your arms and loosely wraps them in gauze, making a mental note to put you in something with shorter sleeves once you arrive at the prison. he's hurried in wrapping the burns covering your back; not because he is impatient, but because he can sense the prying eyes desperately trying to peer at your partially uncovered form after he removes your shirt.

if they weren't still flying above contested territory, he'd punish his men for their lack of diligence.

makarov carries you into the prison and to the small office that the doctor was permitted after finally arriving. tarkovsky sends him a curious look when he sets you down, already pulling on a pair of sterile gloves and preparing his equipment.

"i trust that you will give her the best care, doctor," makarov utters, stepping back from the operating table. "i will accept nothing less."

tarkovsky hums in acknowledgement as he carefully cuts your uniform open and looks over the freshly completed work. "you've never brought me a prisoner in a condition like this," he replies, referencing the dressings that he starts to unravel. "is she a special target, commander?"

"one-four-one." he says, curt. the doctor seems to understand and nods in response, already beginning to tend to your wounds.

"she will receive nothing but the best, commander makarov."

it barely takes a day for you to awaken, a fact that surprises even makarov himself. he personally handled delivering you to your cell, not trusting any of the depraved prison guards with such a task, and occupied himself with other matters until he received the news that you were awake.

you were as spirited as he expected from someone of your caliber. stubborn, confident, and competent in what you do. it took you over a week to finally kill one of his men, and the one you did kill...

he was pleased with your performance, and he did not spare the rod with the guards assigned to your surveillance.

makarov had been in the middle of dealing with one of the general's men that managed to slip under his radar. he was attacked after a private meeting with his council, earning several cuts from the man's blade before he successfully disarmed and pinned the agent to the floor, beating him into submission. his fists were bruised and smeared red from the force behind each swing, perhaps a bit excessive, but he didn't pay it any mind.

until another man came sprinting down the hall, briefly pausing at the sight of his commander standing over an "ally" beaten to a bloody pulp, only snapping out of his shock after makarov turns to face him. the soldier opened his mouth and practically vomited out his words, something about "the prisoner attacking the doctor."

the sight that he was greeted with upon arriving at your cell could only be described as stimulating.

you, the ever-disciplined lieutenant, disheveled and staring back at him with a wild look in your eyes, refusing to falter even as you're outnumbered and backed into a corner with guns drawn and pointed at you. makarov tore his gaze from you and allowed it to fall to the man lying dead in a heap - the younger, less experienced doctor that tarkovsky insisted on keeping around despite knowing that his commander wanted to wring the brat's neck.

needless to say, he wasn't disappointed with your choice of victim.

⋆⋆⋆

"i'm assuming you're not here to share the fun story behind those obvious self-defense wounds?"

if he didn't know better, makarov could almost mistake the question as coming from a place of concern rather than contempt. you have no reason to feel anything but hatred for him, though - nor does he have a reason to feel anything but the same for you.

still, he steps back from the board and reaches for his drink again, beginning to pace around the room as the interaction plays in his head. your sarcasm and attitude only serve to wear out his carefully-crafted patience— but, the way you responded when faced with almost certain death, the blood smeared across your skin, the proficiency that you maintained despite your condition...

he stops in the center of the room, fingers clenching and unclenching around the glass.

fuck, you were beautiful.

his jaw tenses, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows down the unfamiliar sense of desire that sits thick in his throat.

it's not like makarov is unacquainted with this side of himself. he's bedded a fair number of women in the past, he is far from a virginal saint. he seldom spends nights with company, however. it's just more convenient to deal with his needs alone and get on with his work; he's never wanted anything more.

but then, there's you.

you make his blood boil and frustrate him like no other. not even the captain, his sworn enemy, can rile him up as easily as you do. he's fascinated with you and the rage that you seem to awaken from somewhere deep inside of him. he feels nothing but anger towards you— even as he sits alone in his quarters, bringing himself to his peak, imagining you before him, under him, pleading for more.

a sudden pain in his hand distracts him from his thoughts, roughly yanking him back to reality. makarov looks down and blinks at the sight of blood pouring from his palm, unceremoniously dripping onto the floor below. the tumbler that was nestled comfortably in his grasp now clatters to the ground in pieces, leaving behind a small collection of shards embedded in his skin.

the amber whiskey mixes with the crimson that slowly pools at his feet, a sickening color combination that brings a smile to his lips.

this is your fault. he flexes his fingers, brow twitching from the pain that shoots through the area, and revels in the misery that you've indirectly caused. he wants more of it.

you are loyal to your team, loyal to your cause— on one hand, he admires it. on the other, it only tempts him to see how far you're willing to go, how far he can push you before you break. everyone has their weakness, even you. all he has to do is find it.

he could see the hesitation in your eyes the last time you spoke - in a collapsed building in the middle of a war zone, with enemies and allies both scattered in the streets, surrounding your location. you were covered in a layer of dust and ash, having narrowly escaped the collapse with your life, and all he wanted to do after coming face-to-face with you on the battlefield was push you to your limit.

as always, though, he restrained himself. you won't give in like this. makarov has to play his cards right and take his time with you. he's unsure of the role you'll play in his grand plans, but there is one thing that he knows for certain: you'll be his greatest accomplishment yet.

you're already wavering, standing over the edge and staring into the abyss. all he has to do is convince you to take the leap.

he clenches his hand into a tight fist, savoring the pain that binds him to you. every matter is easier said than done, he reminds himself. you may teeter over the edge, but it's clear where your allegiances lie - with the captain, not him.

for a reason that he can't quite place, that angers him. it's to be expected— no amount of information given in good faith can make up for the fact that he's your enemy. even so, he feels like he deserves your fealty, your skills, your attention; the lack of it makes his skin crawl. it's a thought that refuses to leave his head, a pit that settles deep in his stomach and twists like a poison-tipped knife whenever he's reminded of it.

vladimir makarov does not chase. he does not ask for what he wants. nothing will change that, not even you. he'll find a way to make you seek him out. he doesn't care what it costs, both in funds and lives, it's all the same to him. it's only a matter of time.

a buzzing from his phone on his desk catches his attention. makarov approaches it in a lazy saunter and picks it up - with his uninjured hand - and reads off the name on the caller id. your real name flashes across the screen, staring back at him. a low chuckle escapes him before he answers the call and lifts the phone up to his ear.

"i'm surprised you've called so quickly." makarov concedes with an amused huff. "have you come to a decision?" he asks, cruel satisfaction swiftly displacing any of his prior emotions.

you inhale and exhale deeply, audible over the phone. he can imagine how you look— eyes held tightly shut, hand clenched into a fist at your side, your thoughts entirely consumed with him.

after a long moment of silence, finally, you speak.

"i have."

taglist: @sofasoap, @roosterr, @rohansregret, @lonesome-doves, @thorrsexual, @miss-nob0dy, @woodeelf, @fbs-fc-ur-mommy, @soap-mactavish, @itsyellow, @johfaam0, @cumbermovels, @chxe-zdechnac, @imagineswritersblog, @emorgz33, @sparda-ly, @ponyboys-sunsets, @frazie99, @chensipstea, @thriving-n-jiving, @preciouslittlecreature, @infinitewhore, @jade-jax

⋆ feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist! (18+ only please <3)

[i-willstealyourtoes]

Delta Day 6: 'Afternoon'

I KNOW I'M LATE GUYS I'M SORRY- I realised I haven't really wrote for the Advisor (I can do that, right?) at all before, so here's something for Addy !!! Genuinely have no clue what to do for this prompt so bare with me :')

O also I've never wrote something on him either, so think of this like a test run? Maybe?

Tags: @deltasquadweek @orangez3st

Afternoons were always a busy time for Advisor. Well, every moment of every day was full of things to do, but this specific time of day was the worst. Whether he was on duty or shore-leave, Addy almost never caught a break long enough to do more than take a quick breather during the afternoon. At least in the morning or night he'd have (at most) an hour to rest.

But while a lot of people - most likely nat-borns who likely hadn't been given a duty and purpose upon being born - might have crumbled in his position, Addy thrived on it. Maybe it was something the Kaminoans 'coded' into him, but sifting through each task and meticulously carrying out each one was more of a natural state of mind than other things like hobbies or interests.

So when he found himself with more free-time than he's used to dealing with, Addy found himself stuck. Not stuck in the way he's used to - like when an objective has to be changed or discarded when things eventually go awry - but in a way that left him sitting in at a break room on base wondering what the hell he was going to do for a whole afternoon.

He'd never had enough time on his hands to find something not war-related to do, or make many long lasting relationships, except with Delta Squad. But technically, they weren't really on a friendly basis; except the occasional quips about work they'd exchange.

He was at a loss; but he wasn't going to exactly spend the whole afternoon staring at a wall.

"...Scorch. Are you... on base?"

It felt weird to comm someone for reasons other than work, but Addy reckoned the best person to ask about this would be Mr. Clown himself.

"Huh? Addy, please don't tell me you've got work for me, I just got back from-"

"No. No work. Just... I have an empty shift right now and-"

"Ohh... So you thought you'd ask me to show you where the fun is?"

"Well-"

"I'll be there in 5! Just you wait, this is gonna be fun."

...what is he getting himself into...?

[skellymom]

Hey Skelly

You're taking requests? Oh I'd love to ask for one.

Could you please do a one-shot involving a reader and Hunter after Omega gets seriously injured on a mission (Bad enough to wind up in a Bacta Pod) and the reader has to comfort and reassure Hunter that Omega will be OK?

tysm, GenericFicer Hugs

@genericficerblog NICE! Another ASK!!! Thank you!

"THE INCIDENT"

The Bad Batch Hunter x Reader One Shot

Per more information (not included on this particular message):

So the reader is a male battle medic. It's all platonic The reader was a medic on Kamino. He had taken care of Omega after particularly bad tests (She has the scars to prove it) and he's protective of Omega because of her past with the Kaminoans

Word Count: 2.1K

Warning: Star Wars canon violence, angst, swearing, explosion, physical injuries, coma, mention of human experimentation by the Kaminoans.

I was tasked to hang back with Omega and Tech on board the Marauder. Hunter EXPRESSLY ordered us to stay put. His thinking was to only bring the members necessary for the job: Hunter at the head of the group, Echo next to him and to share logistics on comm with Tech, Wrecker as the “heavy”, and Crosshair as lookout/cover fire. 

The job was technically low risk...but Hunter started having those “feelings” of his just before landing at our target.  

Omega protested when he told her to stay on the ship. She had been looking forward to going on a mission for awhile. Many a time she stayed behind on Pabu with Shep and Lyana. Since her rescue from Tantiss, Hunter was dead set against her going on any dangerous missions. 

Hunter’s words were “You’ll have plenty of time to fight with the Rebellion in the future. Won’t stay young forever.” 

She bristled at those words. Then forgave him immediately after. 

They LOVE each other so much! 

But ever the doting dad, Hunter relented this time. She had eventually wore him down. 

Oh...getting ahead of myself...who am I? 

Hello. I’m Y/N. The Squad Formerly Known as Clone Force 99’s Medic/Backup Heavy/Or Whatever They Need Me For. I can patch up just about ANYTHING with the bare minimum of supplies. Sometimes my methods are unorthodox, per Tech’s opinion, but effective.  It’s saved our butts a few times. So, they let me come along on every mission. 

Plus, having known and taken care of Omega while on Kamino helped. 

And the fact that Crosshair took a liking to me immediately sealed the deal. We both speak fluent sarcasm. 

But...back to the mission... 

“What’s taking SO LONG?” Omega fidgeted in her seat. 

“My guess it is due to Hunter detecting an anomaly, they are taking their time.”  

Tech and I were attempting to play a few rounds of Sebacc. I’m HORRIBLE at it. He thinks he can help me improve my game. I’m struggling currently. 

“Safety first. No need to rush into trouble...especially since we seem to find it easily enough.” I threw down my cards. 

Tech glanced at them and frowned.  

“I totally messed up that hand too, huh?” 

“Well, it’s not a strategy I would have used...” Tech trailed off. 

“You’re being too nice.” 

“Shall I explain in detail the best plan of action for this hand?” 

“Can’t stop you. Just infodump me anyways. Maybe I’ll retain SOMETHING this time.” I LOVE to tease Tech. It was difficult in the beginning. Most of it just went over his head. 

This time, he just grinned at my cheekiness and launched into it. 

Omega continued to fidget in her seat behind us. 

“...and THAT is why you should have held onto those cards until the end.” Tech finally finished his tutorial. 

“I... THINK I got all that? My brain hurts now. How ‘bout I switch with Omega.” 

“That will be sufficient.” Tech looks up and glances behind me. 

Then his face froze. 

I quickly swung around to see Omega missing from her seat. 

“OMEGA???” I called through the ship.  

Nothing. 

“Oh SHIT!” 

“INDEED!” Tech immediately radioed Hunter that Omega slipped out of the Marauder and is probably enroute to them. 

I grabbed my med pack and ran out of the Marauder before he could stop me. 

Omega used to sneak away A LOT on our previous missions. Probably one of many reasons why he wanted to keep her back on Pabu until she matured a bit more. Of course, he feels guilty...the Kaminoan’s keeping her locked up in their home world. He didn’t want to clip her wings.  

“TOLD YOU to stay on the ship!” Hunter’s voice fills my ear comm. 

“I can’t just assume that Omega finds you somehow and is safe.” 

“Don’t need ANOTHER person in danger. Go back to the ship.” 

“Well...is Omega with you?” 

“...no.” 

“She SHOULD have been by now...AND I’m NOT going back.” 

Hunter’s tired sigh. “Well, then... 

He never finished his sentence. 

A flash of intense light... 

I awoke thirty feet away from where I was standing. On my back. 

My head hurts...all I can hear is high pitched whine in both ears. 

Sit up dazed and look around at EVERYTHING obliterated and on fire. 

Torn remains of whatever was left of the trees and outbuilding I was near... 

...two small legs sticking out from under smoldering wreckage. 

I lurch up to my feet and limp over. Grab the unidentifiable thing crushing Omega and try to pull it off her. 

It’s not budging. I frantically keep trying. There's NOTHING else in this world except me and this huge THING on top of her that I cannot seem to move. 

Sweating, my hands are raw, my eyes are wet, there is blood dripping down my face... 

Is it lacerated? Could it be my eardrums are ruptured? I don’t know.  

I just know I HAVE TO GET THIS THING OFF OF HER! 

Push, pull, kick... 

Then the wreckage flew off her like it weighed nothing at all. 

Wrecker is next to me. He freed Omega and put a hand on my shoulder. Hunter grabs her up. Echo is trying to speak to me. 

But I can’t hear anything at all. Just that damned whining in my ears.  

I can lip read though... 

He’s telling me to get back to the ship. 

Echo runs ahead with Hunter.  

Crosshair grabs my arm, dragging me along. He looks extremely worried. 

Whatever happened or if we even achieved our objective, I don’t know. 

Hunter sets Omega down on a bunk. He’s beside himself emotionally.  

I can feel the Marauder take off world.  

My hearing is still impaired, but the whining is less pronounced. 

I gently nudge Hunter aside and open my med kit. Pull out the bacta...but it won’t be enough... 

...she needs a tank. Her burns and lacerations are too numerous and severe. Still breathing and regular heartbeat, but unconscious.  

I am doing the best I can with what supplies are on hand. Putting her prognosis out of my head for the time being. 

We make a pit stop at a Rebel Base on a hidden moon. One with an extensive medical facility.  

Echo radioed ahead. As soon as Tech lands, the staff enters the ship and whisks Omega away. Hunter and Wrecker run after them. Echo runs in another direction...I’m assuming to report his intel to the Rebels. 

I stand at the bottom of the gangplank and watch them leave.  

Tech stares at me strangely.  

I shrug...and a horrible twinge of pain erupts from my upper back. My face feels sore too. 

Crosshair mumbles something. 

“WHAT???” I must be screaming but can’t hear anything. 

He mouths “your back” and points.  

I try to reach behind me to feel it.  

Tech grabs my hand and nods “no”. 

They both immediately took me to medbay. 

I’m treated for multiple facial lacerations, on top of first-degree burns. Missing some of my eyebrows. And, like I guessed bilaterial ruptured eardrums. 

Oh...and the kicker: A 12-inch piece of metal sticking out of my back. Had NO idea it was there.  

Adrenaline is a HELL of a hormone. 

Tech left to confer with Echo over intel and our next move. 

Crosshair stayed with me during the surgical removal of the metal. I demanded to be awake and requested a mirror to watch the whole procedure. 

The doctors were horrified but complied with my request. 

Crosshair held the mirror. He also asked to keep the metal once removed...to frame and hang up back on Pabu. 

“You're NOT like the other kids.” I quip. 

“Neither are you.” he winks. 

They won’t let me walk out of medbay. It’s the sedatives and painkillers, of course. I wouldn’t let me walk, either.  

Crosshair pushes me in a hover chair. We head over to the bacta tanks to check on Omega. 

She’s stripped down to a medical binder and med panties. Tubes to feed, breath, and eliminate. Floating in the tank, the extent of her injuries is very apparent: Second degree burns, multiple lacerations, a broken arm, a few broken ribs, and a head injury. Her hair had been clippered off entirely for cleanliness and most of it was charred.  

Omega was also put in a medically induced coma to aide her recovery. 

Hunter, sitting in a chair, has his arms around the bacta tank. He’s basically hugging it with his forehead resting snugly against the glass. 

“I shouldn’t have let her go. Blame myself.” He mumbles. 

Wrecker puts a hand on his back for comfort. “She’ll be ok Hunter. They said we got her here in time.”   

Then he looks shocked when he sees my face. 

“OH MY MAKER! Where are your EYEBROWS?” 

Still can’t hear very well, but I can DEFINITELY lip-read Wrecker. 

“Look what medical pulled out of him!” Crosshair proudly dangles a clear plastic bag containing the metal shard. 

Wrecker is transfixed. 

Hunter is devastated. “I MISSED that??? Didn’t even register you were injured...looked right at you...” 

Like a man lost and questioning EVERYTHING. His focus had been solely on Omega. 

“Aw...they couldn’t kill me. Don’t think I’ll be attracting any ladies with my perpetually surprised look though.” Trying to lighten the mood. 

“You can’t hear ANYTHING, can you?” Crosshair looks me in the eye. 

“Barely...why?” 

“You’re so LOUD.”  

“You should talk, Wrecker.” Crosshair sneered. 

“That’s how I know!” Wrecker rolled his eyes at his brother. 

Hunter looked even more guilty, hanging his head. 

“Hey guys...” 

Wrecker and Crosshair stopped whinging at each other. 

“Can I have some time alone with Hunter?” 

They both nodded and wandered off to find Echo and Tech. 

I nudge the chair over closer to Hunter and look at Omega through the glass. 

She’s so tiny in that big tank. So beat up and bruised. The lighting in the tank leaves NOTHING hidden. Even the old scars from her time on Kamino. The “experiments” according to the Kaminoans. Things they did to her before her brothers took her away.  

Things she never really spoke about with even Hunter. 

Things I only know about since working so closely at the facility on Kamino. A little girl who needed someone to comfort her. This was before her brothers were ever aware of her presence. 

“Her prognosis is very good, yes?” I broke the ice. 

“The docs say she’ll have to spend close to the next month in this tank.” Hunter’s voice cracked. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

“I knew better! Why is it SO HARD for me to say no to her???” 

“Because you love her. You know she’s strong. You also know she’s still a child. If it makes you feel better, she snuck out ALL the time on Kamino. The Kaminoan’s would ask me to go look for her constantly.” 

“More of an argument to have left her on Pabu.” 

“You REALLY want to be at fault, huh?” 

“I’m responsible for...” 

I cut him off. 

“YOU CAN’T CONTROL EVERYTHING, HUNTER!” I winced. Moving too much with my exasperation. The sutures on my back were straining...and wet. 

Hunter stood up, glancing at my back. He could smell it. 

“Strike through?” I asked. 

“Yeah...just a little blood. You need to lie down and rest.” 

“That’s gonna be hard. Not supposed to lay on my back...and my face isn’t going to feel great against the pillow. How about I just stay sitting in this chair with you?” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. I know you don’t want to leave her alone while she’s in this tube.” 

"Thank you. Honestly...I should say that more often. Y/N...you've really saved our butts a lot of times...I'm grateful to have you in our squad...family." Hunter cracked a small smile.

"Of course! Man...you are MY PEOPLE!" I beamed back. They really are. I'd go to the ends of the universe for every one of them!!!

Hunter's smile was so warm and genuine. But it lasted very briefly. His face became pensive again.

He was silent for a while...thinking. 

“Technically she’s asleep? Is that what a coma is like?” Hunter asked. 

“Kind of. The doctors are monitoring ALL her vitals constantly. And if anything is off, they can immediately see to her needs. Besides, the coma is just for the next 24-48 hours due to her head injury.”  

“I see.” 

“She’ll come through this. You clones were made to withstand a LOT of physical trauma. Stuff that would kill a regular human.” I added. 

“It’s not necessarily the physical stuff I’m worried about.” Hunter motions to the faint old scars on Omega’s body. “When she does wake up...she told me she has fears about being in a tube like an experiment.” 

“Tell her she has nothing to fear.” 

Hunter looks at me strangely. 

“People in a coma can still hear. Talk to her, Hunter.” 

He nods. Then directs his voice to the speaker on the bacta tube. 

I sit back and relax in the chair, watching this man...a brother, a parental figure speak to his child. 

He’s doing the best he can with what he has. 

We are all doing the best we can... 

...hanging on with HOPE. 

It’s the only thing holding the galaxy together right now... 

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