#➵ ooc: it straight up smells like spiders in here

[hnting]

Like this for an itsy-bitsy lyric starter from Jess’ playlist!

[callsign-daydream]

A Squadron of Fools

Summary: It's April Fool's Day on base. You know this can only mean one thing for the Dagger Squadron. Inspired by this post.

Warnings: Starred out swearing, yelling, general Navy/Military inaccuracies, Dagger DummiesTM, Mav schooling these punks, general tomfoolery, just some dumb fun really with no plot in sight, OC included

Word count: 1174

A/N: This drabble includes my OC, Hallie "Daydream" A-Jones. You can read about her here. Also, this is my first time sharing any of my TGM writing so be patient if it's OOC/poorly written lol~

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April 1st, 0600 Hours

“I have cannolis!”

Hallie “Daydream” A-Jones waltzed into the briefing room, a tray of non-regulation sweets in hand. The smell of sugar wafted up into the room where a couple of her fellow pilots were already seated.

“Yeah, right,” said Coyote from his seat on a table. “Like I’d eat anything you brought in today. How’d you even get that on base?”

“Suit yourself.” Daydream ignored his question. Instead, she plucked out a cannoli and took a bite.

Coyote raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Her action drew the attention of Bob, ever the first one there. His eyes ogled the tray, looking wide enough to reach the rims of his glasses.

“I’ll take one,” the WSO said.

Daydream was only happy to oblige. The tray was placed in front of Bob, who eagerly grabbed one. Just as he brought it to his mouth, his beloved frontseater walked in. Seeing the scene, Phoenix's eyes widened to match Bob’s, stuffed full of horror like the condemned cannoli.

“Don’t eat that!”

Too late.

Bob coughed on impact. He was overpowered by the sound of both Daydream and Coyote cackling loud enough to echo around the entire room. Phoenix instantly was patting Bob on the back, shaking her head, though it wasn't clear if it was at the prank itself or Bob's willingness to believe in it.

“Mayonnaise, really, Hallie?” Bob looked up with puppy eyes.

“Come on, Bob,” Phoenix said. “You know better.”

“She ate one!”

Hallie grinned and took another bite of her own cannoli. “Made sure to make a regular one for myself.”

Coyote shook his head. “You’re bad, Daydream.”

“You might say a nightmare dressed like a daydream.”

Phoenix groaned. “Not the Taylor Swift reference.”

The four continued preparing for the day's meeting with absent-minded chatter, Phoenix and Daydream moving into discussing a certain "snack" of a man who’d been at the Hard Deck the previous night, when Payback and Fanboy strode in. Payback marched straight to Coyote and threw a plastic spider at him.

“Not funny man,” Payback complained.

“Serves you right for freezing Captain Kirk in my Tupperware.” Fanboy shoved his squad mate.

Any Payback commentary was interrupted by the stomping boots of Bradley Bradshaw.

“Alright, which one of you chuckleheads thought it was funny to hurt Sharona?!”

Everyone knew Rooster’s beloved Bronco was lovingly dubbed Sharona, and whenever he played “My Sharona” at the Hard Deck, it was an ode to the old truck. To target the vehicle for April Fool’s Day was below the belt.

“What happened?” Phoenix asked, not looking up from her notepad.

“Someone covered her in **** sticky notes! I was raining papers down the freeway!”

The group immediately began chuckling, which only led to Rooster’s mustache turning down further. The only one who seemed to remain somewhat calm was Phoenix, her smirk the exact opposite of the young Bradshaw’s.

“Surprised you missed the one on the side view mirror,” she said. “I don’t leave my art unsigned.”

“Fee, I will–”

Before Rooster could crow the rest of the threat, he was interrupted by yet another victim.

“Whoever did this is ****-ing dead!”

Any other pranks were forgotten in the wake of a red faced and blue haired Hangman. From tip to root, it looked like someone had dunked him in blue raspberry Kool Aid. The only thing louder than the color was the laughter of the rest of the squadron.

Hangman growled in reply. “You better confess now if you know what’s good for you.”

More laughing. Hangman scanned the room, instantly settling on his usual target. Hands snatched the front of Rooster’s jumpsuit. The latter seemed unaffected, tears beginning to form from his laughter. Any thought of poor Sharona’s lost dignity was forgotten for now.

“I don’t know how you got in my place, but you’ll pay for this, Rooster.”

“Lay off, Bagman.” Rooster choked out his defense between chuckles, hands raised. “I wish it was me. But it wasn’t.”

“Well it was somebody!”

“Why don’t you try Mav? Or Fee?”

“Hey!” Phoenix yelled.

“You son of a–”

A chair screeched on the floor.

“Let him go, Hangman,” said Daydream. “I think the blue looks nice on you.”

Hangman stared. Everyone stared. Rooster was released to laugh-cry to his heart’s content, and Hallie simply smiled like a Disney princess, a twinkle in her eyes.

“You?!”

“Uh oh,” Phoenix whispered to Bob. “He can’t punch his little crush.”

“Had it, Trace,” Jake said. He turned back to Hallie. “You’ll pay for this, Dreamgirl.”

“Oh please, tell me more, Bagman.”

"Alright, alright, everyone settle down.” Maverick’s entrance broke the group, though Hangman gave a look to Hallie signaling their conversation wasn’t over. Once everyone was seated, Maverick stepped to his own chair, though he paused with a smirk.

He held up a whoopie cushion. “That the best you got?”

Fanboy let out a curse.

“Let’s get to business." Maverick chucked the toy over his shoulder. "Nice hair, by the way, Hangman, though I don’t think that’s regulation.”

More laughter, and another curse from little boy blue.

“Now, we have a serious mission coming up, and I believe Admiral Simpson is here to brief us. Daydream, I’d hide that tray before he gets in here, and no, I don’t want whatever toothpaste or mayonnaise filling you put in those.”

Hallie quickly shoved the tray under her chair. Bob turned back to stick his tongue out at her, which she hastily returned.

Admiral Simpson was right on time. His face set, back straight, uniform pressed. As clean as ever, but with one exception. An exception that, as he passed each set of aviators, caused each of them to bite lips, cover mouths, and shut eyes in a fight for silence. 

The sight of the legendary Cyclone walking in, blissfully unaware of the honey and feathers covering the backend of his pants, was almost a harder test than any they’d experienced in the air. 

Even as he turned around to brief the pilots, each had to keep up the fight. Bob stared down at his paper. Fanboy chewed his pen, Phoenix inspected her nails. Rooster appeared to be actively pulling out his mustache. Payback and Coyote both appeared constipated. Daydream was about to make her lip bleed from biting it, and even Hangman uncharacteristically had no commentary that morning.

The only party that appeared unaffected was Maverick.

“I’ll take your silence as a sign you all understand the upcoming mission,” Cyclone finished. “Is that a correct assumption?”

Fanboy choked out a weak, “Yes, sir.”

Cyclone’s eyebrows twitched for a moment, but he evidently chose not to question the surprise tranquility of the typically chaotic squadron. With a nod to Maverick, he took his exit, prompting a whole other round of coughing, knuckle biting, and more. The moment the door shut, it was like the room was filled with laughing gas.

“Who did that?!”

“Dude! You’re getting discharged!”

“How?”

Maverick cleared his throat. All eight eyes turned to him, the laughter only mildly stifled.

“And that, recruits, is how it’s done.” Mav grinned. “And I made sure to get pictures of all your faces looking like they’re about to explode for my own personal file. Also, I doubt Admiral Simpson will believe you if you try to say I did it."

Jaws dropped and eyes widened. Maverick’s grin only grew as he strode out.

“Ten minutes. I’ll see you fools on the tarmac.”

[angie-long-legs-moved]

Husk can tell there's something off about Angel right now. Both sets of arms heavy and loose by his sides. All eight eyes staring into the middle distance. No sassy comments coming out his mouth - usually a good thing, but not right now.

Husk frowned and nibbled his bottom lip. What was he supposed to do in situations like this? Charlie was the one who'd done all the research into this thing called dissociation and why it happened and how you were supposed to help. What had Husk been doing? Drinking, probably. He cursed himself for not paying more attention to the Princess's ramblings.

A sudden gust of wind rippled his fur - and lit a lightbulb above his head.

Yes! That had been one of Charlie's tricks! What had she called it? A grounding exercise?

"It's windy today," he said suddenly. He paused. Then he added, "This bench has a nice texture, don't you think?"

He cringed. That phrase came straight from a textbook, and he knew it. He'd never say something like that naturally. But if it helped...

Okay, stop there for now. Don't overwhelm him.

Husk looked to Angel for a reply. His eyes were fixed on the spider demon, and his brain whirred away thinking of other suggestions he could make - smell this leaf, count all the red things you see, listen to those cannibals arguing - in case there was no reply.

(OOC: Thanks for giving me the opportunity to do this! Hope that gives you something good to work with!)

Angel hadn't been aware of the wind ruffling his hair, or the smell of oncoming rain, or the solidity of the bench he was seated on. He often came to this spot on the heels of a particularly bad day - it was secluded and quiet, for the most part, overlooking a black, oozing lake that smelt like tar and gasoline, right on the outskirts of Cannibal Town. The sun was setting, the red sky deepening into the burgundy of dried blood. The cigarette in his hand was long forgotten, a cold column of cinders yet to be discarded.

Angel noticed none of it.

The surprise of his friend sitting down next to him, here, an escape he thought only he was privy to, was muffled by his current mindset - a knock on the door of a padded room.

The bench comment was bewildering enough to knock some consciousness loose in Angel's mind - something about the texture of it? The fuck was he talking about?

With far more effort than it should have taken, Angel's head turned to acknowledge Husk's presence. He almost wondered if he really was there or if he had conjourned him up in his imagination, his brain's haywire attempt at manifesting some kind of comfort in the form of a friend he'd been getting closer to by the day.

Maybe this was a dream. It felt like a dream. Maybe he'd wake up in his bed at the hotel, or his dressing room at the studio, or back with Valentino...

He blinked uselessly, the world looking no less hazy as he gazed at his visitor.

"What're ya doin' here?" Angel managed to croak out.

[hnting]

Jess will move back on @sunbentsky with the rest of the gang to minimize blog hopping on my side. See you all there! 🏹

[hnting]

This Munday you have to look at his fluffy belly:

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me thinking about Jess moodboard

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None of this would've happened if Jess had a big scary dog

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What if I make Jess, like, 6 ft tall, huh? Who can stop me?

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I cracked the code on customizing tattoos so reply with an idea and it'll probably go on Jess 🤡

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They even gave the Judge Jess' abilities..... the disrespect...

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Sometimes I try to imagine Jess as a mother or mother figure and my brain short circuits

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what’s sexier than jess taking out a helicopter with 1 (one) well-placed arrow in the pilot’s skull? absolutely nothing <3

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I need to write out my cyberpunk verse for Jess but yall are talking monsters on the dash and I gotta say, Jess must be a werewolf. It's what she deserves and she'd genuinely be happier than as a human.

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she would be cute as jess i think 👀

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I love Jess so much. She’s so wrong about so many things, but also she’s never done anything wrong, ever. She’s my babygirl, she’s a mass murderer, she’s beyond reproach.

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The power that older Jess would have...... her greying hair, her wrinkles & scars, her strap.... unstoppable.