#Closed Starter: Mission intelligence

[moriaarts]

Lieutenant Deets and Medic Duo

And finally the aloof lt and dr chaos. Completing the char sheets for the 343rd. As always, text is below c: 👇

Lieutenant Deets

CT-3335 - Previously known to her batchmates as Koor or Koor 33. Koor which is Mando'a for Deal, was the name that she and her batchmates gave each other to distinguish themselves as a unit and as a promise to one another to stay alive. Unfortunately, that promise would be broken as each member of Koor squad died. So she changed her name to be that which everyone else called her. Three-Three and then later DT when she made a self deprecating joke about how she was a defective clone, (a to be decommissioning clone, DT-3335) It stuck, and later evolved into Deets when she joined the 343rd and her ability to relay a wide variety of detail for missions and about drama about the base.

Krells ship isn't a place that nurtured kindness or kept those that didn’t pay attention to the little things. It’s not that any clone was complacent but it’s a different kind of twist on the mind when you’re made to feel observed, to constantly think that little bit further than the terror in front of you. Deets initially as she worked for intelligence and supplied crucial intel while she worked under Pong Krell. She would specialise in field work, setting up temporary HQs and intel points on hostile planets. That is until she fell victim to a clanker airdrop, where a battalion of B2s found the camp and laid waste. Severely injuring them all and killing two. She claims that’s the day 33 died. Half a b2 was still active and shot her in the groin for starters, would have killed her if back up hadn't shown up and she'd had a blood transfusion in the LA-AT.

She finds though that, she doesn't mind so much. Okay, so her testosterone plumates to zero and its bad for a time being, she loses a lot of weight and muscle mass as the medics try to solve one problem after the other. It’s after an undetermined amount of time she's lucid enough to wake up. Sometimes though, she wishes she hadn’t. It turns out she wasn't saved by back up. They were bate. And the clones that survived? abandoned to die, bar from two. Deets was saved because she discovered further information on the whereabouts of a drone factory and they were attacked before she could disclose what she learnt. The other clone rescued was used to keep her alive.

It’s almost out of her control, she gives the information without even fighting, choked by guilt and shame to have been the one spared for noticing a small detail. The medic onboard takes pity on her and gets her back in one piece, or whats left of her. What follows are as a result of the worst cycle of her short and sad life. The drop in T is noticeable, and she's not mad about it, she keeps up with the standard fitness expected by all clones once her levels are fixed. Starts looking more feminine. Its nice in her opinion, she like the way she looks. Leans into it. Until what few forces left under Krells command after his wickedness had been revealed are cleaned up. Quietly existing in surveillance, the medics of their battalion have been covering for her, clearing her for action but not putting her on the field. She doesn’t know who did it, but when she’s alerted that she will be decommissioned, she finds herself not back on Kamino but on Naboo.

Bonus: Deets is Ace, low testosterone will do that to you. She's not really titillated by anything anymore. But she does like Kiss, more than she’s like anyone since her batchmates. Her and kiss grow close and have a fledgling relationship where Deets is only soft and herself with Kiss. And Kiss is tender and heartfelt with her. They are, in their own ways, the moms of their company.

Bonus 2: DT is a sheltered character, quiet and observant, tending towards the depressive disastrasiation, morbid assumptions and dry humour to pad her sharp edges. It’s why she gets on best with Jaig who is also depressed and bitter. Her armour seeks to embrace her shape. The shoulder pads were originally equipped to make her shoulders seem broader than they were. But now its a sign of her experience and expertise. She has a b2 on hr left thigh as a joke, but also as a reminder that if it hadn’t hit her other leg she wouldn’t be who she is today.

Medic Duo

aka Dr Do-over, dudu one time Ro was sky high on painkillers. The twins were in stitches literally and figuratively.

Duo is the 343rd CMO, or just their medic as the 343rd are such a small unit his only other medical support is Pax. Who they call Nurse, affectionately. They're a soft touch under cover of a mad scientist telling her vode all the details of how badly they kriffed up. Saying things like:

I had a twin in the tube and i ate them / I had tea with the Chancellor after my heroic efforts on Geonosis / i'm the closest clone to Prime

mainly things that cant be proven or disproven but they are normally saved for shinies and younger clones that won't question the validity of these claims. And more importantly to distract from whatever they are going through. But it's more an example of how hairbrained they are in regard to their methods of getting the troops what they need. And he will get them whatever they need so long as it keeps them sane and healthy.

Despite gratuitous explanations on what happens to a liver with extended access to engineerings supernova moonshine, thats all she cares about, seeing them all through to the end. Duo, Kiss and Ro have known each other the longest. Duo is the reason why Kiss was able to keep Mooch as her service dog. The reason Ro has all her limbs, and why Jaig is able to get replacement optics when the cheap cybernetics they send give out.

Most important Duo is the reason why most of the trans clones were able to transition. Starting with Kiss. Kiss plays it down, but Duo will tell anyone trying to hide their pain how miserable she had been before, how all she talked about was ancient Nabooen culture. Duo doesn't tell them how reluctant she would be to attend physicals, or the little ways that went unnoticed by untrained eyes that she would neglect her health. Similar to Ro when she joined them. Choosing self flagellation over the admittance of unseen pain. So they took it upon themselves to provide Kiss with options. Then Ro and by the time Deets came alone toward the end of the war he was already equipped to deal with her baggage with tall tails and prescription should the patient require further medical support.

bonus: Duo, Lash and Leki were delighted to meet one another. They are the powerhouse of the trans collection they have going on at the 343rd, Lash is their researcher, Leki the supplier and Duo the mastermind and manipulator of GAR funds.

bonus2: Duo is gender fluid. A fact that only became apparent after Kiss transitioned. Their gender fluxuates, and Duo like the check in it allows with oneself when assessing where they are at on a given day. Duo also particularly like making strangers squirm when they says today it's she/them and what them puzzle over what today means.

For the rest of Kiss & company: Kiss // Jaig // Leki // Ro // Pax // Lash // Deets // Duo

[s-ephiroth]

snow yearnings

Sephgeal Week, Day 2: Snowfall

Sephiroth longs only for that which he's not really allowed to pursue.

(Angeal longs for him.)

-

Banora had a tropical climate.

This meant there wasn't enough cold for snow to fall in winter. Hell, it shouldn't even be cold enough for dumbapples to grow, but those seemed to follow their own rules, completely divorced from whatever plans nature had for the land; somewhat smart at that, despite their name.

It also meant Angeal had never experienced snow until he left town.

The very first time, it was on a simulation.

(There was no way Shinra was about to send the young SOLDIER members to harsh weather environments without any sort of training first. Or rather, he liked to imagine that to be the case, hopeful as he had been about that whole thing.)

A simple mission it was; he just needed to sneak into a base, for starters. The enemy guards weren't programmed to be so intelligent as they looked threatening. The issue was more having to do it alone, rather than anything else, really.

Once inside, he would be assigned a computerized ally for the remainder of it.

They didn't tell him he could be assigned Sephiroth.

Just like the simulated snow outside, he emanated a feeling of something missing. Almost like having a snowflake on the palm of his hand that couldn't really melt in a way that mattered, couldn't leave behind any kind of wetness, any sort of imperfection.

Through a hole in the ceiling, fake snow fell on VR Sephiroth. He raised a hand to catch some of it, with yearning on his face that felt almost real for a moment or two, before the moment’s magic was lost.

Angeal decided that day that, if he ever ran across the actual Sephiroth, he would try his best in befriending him.

-

The second time he had experienced snow, it was on an actual mission, during the war.

Sephiroth’s hair had grown long enough to be put up in a ponytail, swinging from side to side as he moved with the grace of a white wolf in its native habitat.

Genesis confessed to Angeal, in a hushed tone, that he really wanted to toss a snowball at Sephiroth to break all that ice, to get him to do something.

The ball of snow hit its red mark before Genesis could even plan anything.

Mischief looked a little too nice on Sephiroth’s face; they were all too painfully young for any of that conflict, and his aim was too good even when just having a little fun. Masamune forever close to him even if they weren't in active combat.

Angeal shielded himself from the onslaught of snow, preferring to observe more than to demolish the two of them too much at it. Heh.

From time to time, Sephiroth’s hands trembled a little bit with the fragility of the moment.

-

He had lost Genesis at some point through the party and had been searching for him, in vain, when he spotted a lonely Sephiroth on the balcony; long silver hair caged in a braid, just as the rest of him was caged by responsibility.

Shinra had forced him to attend, making the whole thing less of an invitation and more of a mission of sorts.

The first snow of the season had just started to fall, some of it gathering on top of Sephiroth's head. Angeal stood by his side for a moment, in silence, merely keeping him the sort of company who wouldn't ask for sordid details for the magazines, for PR.

Snow in Midgar never fell a pure white; it was more of a polluted silver than anything else, much different from snow during missions in places far from there.

Sephiroth didn't talk about his yearning for any of the snow. He pondered, instead, about the need for himself at that crowded, noisy party.

“I’m supposed to be on the battlefield,” he said, “this war is dragging on unnecessarily long, otherwise.”

And after it, what are you gonna do? Angeal wanted to ask, but refrained from doing so, for the question it posed to himself, as well. If there wouldn't be a war anymore in the far future, what would be Shinra’s need for all of them, really?

“I know,” he offered instead, “but if anything, we get to have a break before going back there. Rest a little bit.”

“Does it count as resting if they keep pulling us into these parties?”

“Depends… do you wanna sneak out to enjoy the snow?”

Is this allowed? Those green eyes, suddenly staring at him, wanted to ask.

The smile on Sephiroth’s lips said yes, instead.

-

Sitting on the very top of the Shinra Headquarters, he tends to the wounds Genesis left behind, absentmindedly enough that he doesn't really notice Sephiroth’s approach until a shadow looms over him. The bigger of his two wings deflates a little.

Over the years, he had come to associate Sephiroth with snow, with ice overall; fragile and easy to melt with the proper approach, yet difficult to pierce through, to dig into. Like a very tall, snowy mountain that few would dare climb. Terribly lonely, too. It doesn't help much that Sephiroth seems to enjoy the cold almost as if he’s meant to be there.

Angeal wonders sometimes if Sephiroth was born in a place forever cold, and some subconscious part of him longs for home still.

Not that it matters much when it's the middle of spring.

Regardless, Sephiroth says nothing.

“He was supposed to be my best friend,” Angeal laments instead, meaning to fill the void a little. “We grew up together, we shared everything, we had each other's backs… Now I don't even know if I know him anymore.”

That looming shadow drops down by his side, cautiously reaching out to take his hand with ungloved fingers… a rare sight. Having removed his own gloves before his arrival, Angeal can feel the way Sephiroth’s fingers are constantly cold, even more so as he casts Esuna, followed by a rather strong Curaga. The wounds close with a certain difficulty.

He feels his eyes watering at the sight, at how worn down Sephiroth looks with those dark circles under his eyes and the constant pouting of his lips. The little signs of overwork, the way Sephiroth doesn't seem to be eating well. The way he just looks miserable, as if ready to fall.

(Their current location doesn't help but he forces that line of thought away.)

Angeal blinks a few times, trying to keep the threat of tears at bay; seeing the changes in his old friend hurts him, but Sephiroth’s state hurts so much more.

“He’s changed a lot… since Hollander.”

“He did,” Sephiroth says in a raspy voice. It's not just the dark circles, Angeal notices; the edges of his eyes look reddened, as does the tip of his nose. “I don't want to believe it, but he keeps proving otherwise.”

Did you change, too? He means to ask, but the words die out in his throat. Sephiroth looks away to avoid reviving and letting them out, one hand still firmly holding onto Angeal's almost as if he could really change like that and disappear at any moment, otherwise.

Around them, it starts to snow; not by natural means, but due to an ice materia in Sephiroth’s bracer. An attempt at self comfort.

He brings the hand he’s holding close to his face, leaning a cheek against it, and closes his eyes to keep from locking gazes with Angeal, though it doesn't really work, because he can still feel those blue eyes on him.

Stray snowflakes stick to his eyelashes and linger, as he wishes he could freeze them both in time to keep the moment from ever ending; desperately wanting nothing more than to be locked into some sort of snow globe with Angeal and just be swallowed by a pile of out-of-season cold bliss.

He tries not to cry out the tiny icy touch in his eyes. Attempts to convince himself that he’s already cried enough, earlier.

“Stay,” Sephiroth nearly begs, from the way the word comes out, “stop chasing after him if he’s just chasing after you to do his bidding. I…” He bites down on his pride. “I can't do this alone anymore, and I shouldn't be burdening Zack with our issues. Stay… please.”

A blanket of snowy feathers wraps around him; brings him closer but not so much that he’s completely shielded from the soft snowfall.

He finds, when he opens his eyes again, that he’s not strong enough for what's to come.

(Hojo would yell at him, if he knew.)

“I can't,” Angeal says, “the army would kill me, and there's still the degradation if they don't. You know that.”

Sephiroth’s grip on his hand tightens.

“Ah, so you don't have any faith in me keeping you alive,” he says, deflated, “I see how it is.”

His free hand reaches out for Sephiroth's other cheek with lightning speed, almost.

Sephiroth’s eyes seem to lock on it to avoid his.

“It's just that I don't want you to see me die, that's all. Or worse… be forced to kill me, yourself. If it comes to that.”

“If you die out there, it won't spare me from the repercussions of your death any less than if you were to die by my sword. If anything, I would at least make it quick, out of mercy.”

His words cause Angeal to tilt his head in a combination of shock and confusion. He doesn't know what to feel about the fact that Sephiroth has thought about having to kill him, probably cornered into such musings after refusing to confront both him and Genesis so adamantly.

Depressed mako green dares giving him the time of the night as the elaboration comes, “I would rather not have to do that, though. We… we are supposed to be a team, Angeal. What happened to that?”

What happened to you?

“I guess Shinra happened,” Angeal offers, sheepishly.

As he leans in, Sephiroth finally blinks snowy tears out of his eyes, pretending that they're somewhere else, anywhere else; that they’ve escaped one of those stupid parties to lie down on the snow. That Genesis could appear at any moment to toss a snowball at one of them, and that they're still young enough for none of their present complications to be an issue.

It's why he calls upon snow to begin with; it reminds him of little moments he’s technically not allowed to have.

The floor he ends up being pressed against has a cold bite to it, but it only serves to make Angeal’s lips feel even warmer.

-

Nibelheim’s weather is so much different from what Banora’s used to be like, he thinks.

Not cold enough for snow to fall just yet, but cold enough that if it weren't for the mako, any outsider would be justified in trembling.

Angeal whisks one of the infantryman accompanying them — probably the tiniest cadet he’s ever seen in his whole career — into conversation somehow, even as the guy seems to be definitely anxious about… something. He doesn't press him about it, listening to tales about merciless winters and the monstrous wolves that live up in the mountain range. Of dragons.

Zack finds those very cool, even if they're likely the ones causing enough rampage in the reactor’s proximity that Shinra sends out three Firsts— Or rather, Sephiroth and Zack, that is. Angeal’s just with the group due to Sephiroth's insistence and paranoia.

Being left once did a number on him, just as the possibility of Shinra still being out for Angeal’s head does. Or the looming threat of degradation.

Angeal must be kept close, sometimes so much so that Sephiroth’s pulse feels like it’s his own.

By the town’s gate, Zack finds himself rambling to the poor guy about Gongaga and how with Nibelheim, at least, it seems easier to find one’s way around even when not knowing the place.

“Wait till we get to the mountains,” the infantryman promises him, “you’ll be singing a different tune.

Sephiroth… stops. Looks at the mountains in the distance with a longing so intense that Angeal almost feels jealous, even if there's no logical way a mountain could take Sephiroth away, sweep him off his feet.

A little sigh escapes Sephiroth. Oh. The sight entranced him so much that, for a moment, he may have forgotten how to breathe.

Angeal's mind is filled by Sephiroth’s words to him, from the night before the mission, “I’m considering deserting… I don't think we’re going to find a cure otherwise, and I don't like the way Hojo looks at you.”

The thought falls as if it’s snow; countless pieces of it yet to process. Gazing at Sephiroth doesn't help much with it. If anything, it just gives a vague sensation that Sephiroth could maybe melt with whatever he perceives from the overall sights and then disappear into his own yearning, nowhere to be found.

As if Angeal would allow such a thing. Degradation be damned.

Zack brings his hands together with a clap that almost has both of the distracted lovers jumping out of their skins. Well, Sephiroth a little less so.

“So,” the puppy offers, “should we get some rooms?”

[mercurygray]

First One In

The 100th's first mission - the submarine pens at Bremen. First for the crews in the air - and the crews on the ground.

**Warning for non-graphic depiction of a civilian air accident.

June 25, 1943

The view from the tower was the best of everything.

Cord took a deep breath and let the wind ruffle her hair, listening to the birds and the soft whine of the weather equipment on the roof. This was the best part of her job - the wind and the quiet, and the green fields, and the view.

Downstairs was a hive of activity - the weather monitors on the floor below, taking their measurements, and the intelligence section below them, the huge blackboards mapping out the whole wing, squadron by squadron and plane by plane, the telex and the typewriters. But up here she was in her element, earth and sky in equal measure. It wasn’t flying - but damn if it wasn’t close.

She was glad they’d been some of the first crew here on base, and that the pilots had come later. It had given them time to settle in and really make the place theirs - and she didn’t mean the pictures Mae and the others had put up in their hut, or the curtains, or the flowers on the windowsills. She’d watched the laborers putting down the new tarmac, and watched the engineers putting in the new huts and barracks, and smelled the paint drying in the enlisted men’s mess halls and the Aero Club. This was her tower now, her radio and her field. She’d bicycled it and driven it and charted its wind patterns and read its weather reports and knew it now just about as well as it was possible to know a place.

But aren’t you scared, Cord? The question had been asked, more than once, before she packed herself off to Iowa for basic training. There’s so much you don’t know.

Well, sure, Cord had allowed. I don’t know heavy bombers, or England, or what to do in an air raid. But I know airfields. I know the Army, as much as they’ll let me know. And I know me, what I can do. I can learn everything else.

A true statement - the truest there was. She’d needed to learn a lot - how to drill and march in formation and shine shoes and salute, but once she’d gotten here, and been shown the tower, and how the radio worked, there wasn’t a thing she needed after that except the airplanes she’d be directing in, and the men to fly them. And the man who was going to lead them through it, of course.

She hadn’t known what she’d find, stepping into his office for the first time. Colonel Harold Huglin was something of an enigma. Had he worked with women before? Would he care? Captain Brennan didn’t know his name, and she’d been in longer than any of them, and Cord could tell, just by watching the older woman, that these were questions they would have to ask, and whether they liked the answers or not they’d have to live with them regardless.

She remembered thinking that his desk was exceptionally neat. It was something to focus on for a moment while she collected herself - the man had a face like a hawk, and as she’d saluted and sat down in the wooden chair opposite his desk she’d had the feeling of being prey. “You have quite the list of credentials, Lieutenant Callaway. There’s any number of things you could be doing - ferrying squadron work, for starters. Why apply for overseas duty?”

It had been a strange way to start an interview. Cord had shifted in her chair and taken a breath. Would it have been better if she’d lied, or worse? No, sir, I’ve never seen an airplane in my life, I don’t hold a pilot’s license, and I’ve never won prize money in an air race. I didn’t grow up on an airfield and I don’t know the first thing about the Army Air Corps. But her father hadn’t raised her to be a liar. “I’ve spent my whole life at Wright-Patterson, sir. I just wanted to do my bit, same as everyone else.” When you’re almost one of the boys and then all the boys start going overseas, it starts to wear a girl down a little.

“And you didn’t think ‘your bit’ was training new pilots? You’ve got more flight hours than some of the men who’ll be coming through here.”

Well, it helps if you start when you’re about fifteen or so and you’re a good student and the flying officers like you. “With respect, sir, I’m not a teacher. But I’m calm, and level-headed, and I know how to handle a plane, and that makes me just the sort of person you’d want on your tower. Flight control is just as important as any other job - and sometimes more. If a guy’s engine is on fire, he’s going to want to hear someone who can talk him out of it, if he needs.”

And then the man had smiled - actually smiled - and leaned back in his chair a little, obviously satisfied with her answer. “You can relax, Lieutenant. This isn’t an interview - you already have the job. A good commanding officer likes to know his crew before he gets started somewhere. And we’ll hope no one needs to be talked out of engine fires.”

But someone always will, sir. That’s the nature of airplanes. How many crashes had she seen at Wright - or even at the air shows? She knew all too well what a burning engine smelled like, a flamed out cowling. She hadn’t said that, of course - she knew when to keep her mouth shut. Witness Lieutenant - what was his name now? Brady, that was him, belly-landing his fort straight in from Greenland because he’d had some electrical failure and his landing gear wouldn’t engage.

They would hope there wouldn’t be any of that today - Lemmons already had something of a sour look after a noisy (and successful) campaign to rename that plane Brady’s Crash Wagon. Pilots thought they were funny, doing things like that, but crew chiefs could be superstitious about names.

Someone cleared her throat next to her. “You thinking of turning into a bird? You’ve got this look on your face like you’d like to launch off the balcony.”

Cord had to laugh. “Just admiring the view, Mae.” A jeep carrying a familiar bi-colored flight jacket came rolling around the corner, its owner whistling loudly. “Well, most of it.”

Mae laughed. “He’s the air exec, Cord. You can’t exactly get rid of him.”

“But I don’t have to be friendly, either.”

Her friend rolled her eyes. “One of these days you’re going to tell me exactly what he did to piss you off so bad.”

Where would I even start? “If it were exactly one thing I’d tell you, Mae. It’s more his entire state of being.”

“Lieutenant, you’re gonna want to come back inside.” Becky Holbrook was outside the glasshouse, binoculars in hand. “It looks like someone’s coming back early.”

Cord and Mae followed the Sergeant back inside the glass-walled observation room, and Cord took the binoculars and her position next to Anita Young on the radio, focusing on the plane on the horizon so she could try to read the numbers and assess condition. “That’s Major Veal’s plane. Looks like he’s on three engines.”

“Green flare,” Mae reported, though everyone with eyes could see it, arcing into the sky. “No need to send out the fire squad or the ambulance.” On the ground below, they saw a jeep peel out from one of the hardstands, three men clinging to their seats. “Looks like Lemmons is already on his way out.”

Another jeep joined them - the one that had only just parked at the tower. “And there goes Major Egan,” Cord said, sourly. “What the hell is he going to do?”

“Anything he can, Lieutenant.”

Cord immediately put down her binoculars and saluted, feeling foolish. “Major Bowman. There’s been nothing on the radio, sir. It looks from here like it’s just engine one that’s out.”

“As it should be,” Bowman said with approval. The intelligence officer wasn’t a physically imposing person, but Cord had spent enough time with him to know that he knew his business, and the slightly fading red hair that had given him his nickname was covering a first-rate brain. “Germans monitor all our radio traffic - Major Veal knows that. It’s different procedure here, compared to an airfield back in the states. They won’t radio in for landing instructions.” Cord looked down at her service shoes, feeling foolish. “But you’ve got a good eye about that engine, Lieutenant,” Bowman added, a gentle compliment to cover up her mistake.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Our first returned plane!” Becky said with a grin, nudging Anita and Mae. “We’re in it now!”

Beside her, she heard Bowman breathe sharply through his teeth. “We’ll get a report from him and the crew about when he turned back, and Egan will need an update on that plane’s operations status,” the intelligence officer stated, hands on his hips as he watched the plane touch down and turn down the taxiway. “Make sure no one stands down - fire teams, ambulances. We’re still waiting on the rest of the group.”

“Of course, sir.”

Bowman paused, turning away from the front of the glasshouse and stepping to the side, motioning for Cord to follow him. “You ever seen an airplane crash, Lieutenant Callaway? Apart from Lieutenant Brady’s ...unorthodox landing the other day?” He pursed his lips. “Colonel Huglin mentioned you grew up near Wright-Patterson. I want to know - if you know what we might be expecting back.”

Cord looked at him, really looked, and realized what he was asking. You mean do I know what’s waiting for the ambulances, sir? Or what a burning plane smells like? I watched a woman pancake on a pylon at Bendix, once. Took the turn too quick. Wasn’t anything to bury afterwards - just a burning wreck. I’ve seen pilots miss landings and I’ve seen gunnery practice go bad. Maybe I haven’t been in the war just yet but I know what a plane can do to a body. “Pretty frequently, sir.”

Bowman nodded. “This one was easy. The rest of it won’t be - you understand me? They may radio in to let you know what’s coming.” Manage the others was the last unspoken command. The rest won’t be pretty.

Cord fixed her eye on his and nodded, feeling the weight of his expectations and his stare. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” When the others come back, then we can say we’re in the war. But not before.

“Calm and steady, Callaway.”

“Always, sir.”

“And we’ll be grateful then that Major Egan’s doing everything he can, all right? Because we’re all doing everything we can, always.”

Cord swallowed the knot in her throat, knowing that at the heart of it he was right. Even she couldn’t say that Major Egan didn’t care about his airmen - and he was always doing everything he could, even if it sometimes made him a nuisance. “Right, sir.”

He nodded, and stepped back outside the glasshouse so he could go back downstairs. Cord took a deep breath, and returned to the radio, and the view out the front window. “Make a note of the time, Mae, will you? Captain Brennan will need that for the daily report.”

One plane back - nineteen more to go. She surveyed the airfield, wondering just how it would look in an hour, or two, or how the siren to call out the ambulance would sound behind the glass, and her hands tightened on her binoculars. I know airfields. I know planes. And by the end of today, I’ll know something else, too - something about war.

And aren’t you scared about it? She thought about that burning plane at Bendix again, the sound of the announcer’s voice, the collective gasp from the stands as the plane burst into flames and the flyer behind only just swerved to avoid it.

Well, my father didn’t raise a liar - so I’ll tell you: I’m damn terrified.

Read more of Cord here at her masterlist.

[wiinestories]

closed starter for @isles-of-man 💕

Paris, 1942. The city was shrouded in tension, a beautiful place turned into a battlefield of secrecy and betrayal. Europe was in the throes of war, and every corner of Paris felt the weight of conflict. Viviana Coppola, a woman of many faces and even more secrets, now moved as Dominique Delacroix, a fabricated identity that had allowed her to infiltrate the elite circles of Paris. Under the guise of a glamorous French actress, Viviana mingled with the wealthy and powerful, slipping unnoticed into the lives of Nazi officers, her true purpose hidden behind her charm. Her French accent was flawless, her elegance unmatched, and no one suspected that beneath her refined exterior was a mind calculating every move. She had mastered the art of illusion—her smile disarming, her wit sharp, but her mission unwavering: to gather critical intelligence for the Allied forces, risking her life at every turn.

The phone call was brief but essential. On the other end, a German officer, none the wiser to her true allegiance, provided her with a crucial piece of information. She listened intently, her heart steady, even as her mind raced, piecing together the puzzle that could turn the tide of the war. “Danke,” she said softly, her voice smooth and composed as she thanked him in his own language, the German words slipping from her lips with practised ease. She hung up the phone, her expression never betraying the turmoil within. Each conversation, each encounter, was a step closer to her goal—but also a step closer to danger. She knew that one wrong move could lead her to death, and the failure of her goal to set the La Résistance as the winners would be tragic, and even her goal was aligned with setting her homeland, Italy, free from Mussolini.

In the chaos of war, Viviana had found something unexpected. Amidst the layers of deception and the constant danger, she had found him. Oscar, a British Lieutenant Colonel with his own burdens, shared her life of secrecy and duty. He wasn’t just another piece in her elaborate game of survival and espionage—he was the one person she returned to, the one constant in a world that threatened to swallow them both. Oscar, sharp-eyed and quick-witted, was no stranger to the deadly weight of responsibility. They’d met under the most unlikely circumstances, a chance encounter in the dimly lit backrooms of a Parisian café, both of them using false identities to navigate through a web of lies. But from that moment, something unspoken tied them together.

Viviana stepped into her small, unassuming apartment, the dim light casting shadows across the sparse furnishings. It was a hideaway, tucked within the heart of Paris, where she kept her clothes, a few personal belongings, and the tools of her trade. The space was modest, the kind of place that drew no attention—perfect for someone living under an assumed identity. She lit a cigarette, drawing the smoke deep into her lungs, savouring the brief moment of solitude as it curled into the air. From where she stood, she could see the lights of the Eiffel Tower, its golden glow piercing through the night like a beacon of defiance amidst the occupied city. The sight of it stirred something in her—a reminder of the world that had existed before the war, of what she was fighting for. Paris, even under the heavy hand of the Germans, still retained its elegance, its heartbeat. Her eyes flickered toward the door at the sound of footsteps. In a world where trust was scarce, every noise could mean danger, but she was always ready. Turning swiftly, her posture relaxed only when she saw him. Oscar’s familiar figure approached, his presence instantly soothing the tension that always lingered at the edges of her nerves.

“Mon amour,” she greeted him softly, her voice carrying the warmth she reserved for him alone. The French rolled off her tongue effortlessly, her lips curving into a smile as she regarded him. He was the one person in her life she could let her guard down with, even if just for a moment. The cigarette between her fingers smouldered as she exhaled the smoke slowly, watching him come closer. “I’ve managed to obtain more information about the Germans and their next movements here,” she continued, switching easily to English, her fluency in both languages a necessity for survival. She leaned against the small wooden table, her smile lingering as her chocolate hues fixed on her beloved. “I think you’ll find it important, especially for your countrymen.”

[reddawnmultimuse]

. closed starter for @bladedhunter || Uchiha Sasuke

It was dawn and Deidara was walking to the Tsuchikage's Mansion on orders from the Fourth Tsuchikage a.k.a Kurotsuchi, his favourite cousin--for an urgent and important mission.

Sure, an urgent and important mission. Likely a mission no one else wanted like saving a cat out of a tree or walking an old woman home; the missions Deidara had to do because he was trusted to do nothing else despite being a member of the Explosive Corps and "rehabilitated". No, even that got him no respect, be it from his own family or other shinobi. No, no one respected him and never would nor trusted him despite it being over a decade since his "employment" in the Akatsuki.

So, he wasn't expecting much as he entered the Tsuchikage's office. Akatsuchi was there, since he was advisor to the Tsuchikage, and glared at Deidara before whispering something to Kurotsuchi before leaving, purposely bumping into Deidara on his way out. Deidara said nothing nor reacted as he calmly walked over to his cousin's desk. Kurotsuchi supplied him a friendly smile but it fell when not only did the blonde man not acknowledge it but upon looking him over. He looked...not good. He never did this days. But, she said nothing because she knew Deidara knew that so she'd be preaching to the choir.

"Hello, Deidara-nii."

"What's the mission, hn?" Deidara huffed at her, having no patience for pleasantries nor small talk, especially not with her.

Understanding this, Kurotsuchi decided to just get into it. "I have an upmost urgent mission for you. Iwa is under threat--not just Iwa but all nations. We got intelligence from Konoha that there is a new terrorist organization threatening the era of peace. Not just that, but they've adopted the Akatsuki name and may have infiltrated Ame since there's been no government there since the Fourth War."

Deidara snorted crudely and spat. "So?"

Kurotsuchi frowned, a little irked by her cousin's rudeness but did her best to have patience with him--someone has too. "So, there's a possibility they had access to all the Akatsuki's secrets since the old organization's defeat. It could cause a Fifth War."

"Fun. Maybe I'll join them, hn."

Kurotsuchi sighed. "I--we--need you to go in and investigate but also eliminate this new 'Akatsuki'. We believe in good faith that the organization is in its infancy and only has a few members. However, they're S-rank criminals just like the Akatsuki before it," She could already anticipate Deidara rejecting the mission and leaving so she had prepared a back-up plan. "If you go on this mission and are successful, I'll decrease your restitution." As she thought, Deidara perked up at this news.

She knew their grandfather had crippled him with restitution to pay for his destruction of Iwa when he first left the village and to all the victims from the explosions; a quittance he'd never be able to pay back in his natural life. Hell, he could live for a millennium and still be paying. Whilst she couldn't cancel it outright due to their grandfather now being an Elder and would likely veto her decision, she could decrease the payment, if just a little bit.

Despite the tantalizing offer, Deidara milled over it from a moment before deciding to accept it. Afterall, maybe he'd finally be able to save up enough money to eat more than twice a week--or a male uniform. "Fine. I'll go to Ame and off these Akatsuki wannabe's, hn." He begrudgingly said.

"Good. You both are to leave immediately,"

Deidara piqued an eyebrow with a frown. "Both?"

Kurotsuchi gifted him a sheepish smile and gestured at someone in the background. When he turned to look, he expected her to be pointing to Akatsuchi, which wasn't ideal. However, who he saw was much, much worse as his blood instantly ran ice cold.

"No!"

[dingoat]

❛ i’m not ready to lose you yet. ❜ from the sentence starters!

[Soft angst, set immediately before KotFE chapter 2: Outlander, with a long suffering Ahuska trying to avoid direct involvement with the war, and a Crow who hasn't been able to keep himself out of it. I haven't fleshed out a lot of how things went down for those 'left behind' during the carbonite years, so this was a fun little time period to consider.]

---

His hands were broad and firm, even stronger than she remembered. But their pressure was warm and welcome, and she closed her eyes as she turned her face against his palm and let it envelope her cheek.

How long had it taken, to no longer tremble at the touch of human hands?

To learn to trust again? Hidden away, to heal, to overcome, while the galaxy burned and shattered from end to end?

“Ahuska,” Crow’s voice was so gentle. His fingers brushed back her hair, tucked loose strands behind her ear in a gesture so familiar it hurt.

“Why?” she countered, before he even had the chance to say it. “Why do you have to go out there? Why can’t you let somebody else take the risks for once…?”

“Ahuska,” he repeated, pulling her in tight. “You know I’m their best chance. You know if anyone’s going to fly in and out in one piece, it’s me.” “You don’t even know if they’re actually in there.” Her voice was muffled against his chest, and it only grew moreso as she pressed against it as though hoping to simply vanish into him. “We don’t even know if they’re still alive.”

She felt the tiny shudder in his fingertips as they dug into her hair. “They are.”

The question had plagued them for the last five years, since Marr’s ship had rammed into Zakuul’s fleet with both Five and Thirteen aboard. Crow had sensed them both lingering for a time; Ahuska, worlds away, only knew when Thirteen’s presence vanished, startling her with a sharp pain and sense of loss. It was not the same as the severance of a bond, the likes of which had more than once in her life left her reeling and disoriented, scarcely able to breathe. Nor did it feel the same as a death; there was none of the peace and finality of feeling a soul rejoin the living Force.

They were simply… absent, somehow.

Out of reach.

But not for lack of trying. Ahuska had scoured the Force, flung herself far and wide in sleep, in dreams and meditations, running, soaring, howling wildly into the boiling black abyss in hope of an echoing call. There were times when she’d glimpsed a grey-brown wasteland, glassy mountains, a shadowed version of Kaas City, and thought she’d felt something flicker that passed as swiftly as a scent on the breeze.

She’d dreamed of Thirteen a few times, standing, staring out into nowhere, but he never saw her, never reached for her, never turned to her cries.

Pining after dreams had torn her apart before. She’d never told Crow about them.

“You’re up against impossible odds,” she said softly, her ears low. “You know that. You know as well  as I do what’s out there. There’s too many of them.”

“I like impossible,” he said, with a soft laugh, the sincerity of which was tainted by the hollow doubt he truly felt. The enemy fleet was unlike anything they’d faced before. The skytroopers were easy enough to put down, but they were endless. Wave after wave, and it would only take a single stray blaster bolt…

“Don’t go,” she whispered, pulling back so that she could meet his eyes. Yellow and green light flickered across his face with the movement of the brilliant little luminescent beetles that called the woods of Odessen home. For a moment his hair seemed to glow, framed in a flare of gold. The planet had become her sanctuary, a beautiful place hidden from the raging war and known only to a trusted few.

She would welcome Thirteen here with open arms, if Crow’s intelligence was correct, if the mission to retrieve him was successful.

But Five…

Crow kissed her forehead as though to soothe the tension in her before it could take proper form, and again her eyes fluttered shut. The galaxy had taken so much from her, and her tone became pleading at the thought of still more being stolen away. “I’m not ready to lose you yet.”

He wanted to promise her that she wasn’t going to. He wanted to promise her that he would defy the odds. But even the best damn pilot in the whole damn galaxy wasn’t invincible, even with the Force at his side. All he knew was that there was nobody he trusted more with Five and Thirteen’s lives than himself. That if the mission failed, and he hadn’t been there, he couldn’t live with himself anyway.

“Keep me here, then,” he offered gently, pressing a hand over her heart, knowing full well that she already did.

“Crow…”

But he shook his head as he pulled away, and they both knew nothing would convince him otherwise.

[shoshanews]

Apply Rand Water x19 Senior Engineer Technologist 2024 Rand Water x19 Senior Engineer Technologist 2024 Rand Water, a leading bulk potable water supplier, is hiring 19 Senior Engineer Technologists for a 24-month fixed-term contract. This role reports to the Programme Manager in the Capital Execution Department. The incumbent will lead and support the SAM division’s projects, ensuring that objectives related to schedule, budget, and quality are met. With a strong emphasis on compliance with Rand Water’s Project Execution guidelines, this role ensures the delivery of engineering solutions aligned with the organization’s mission of providing sustainable bulk water supply. - Closing Date: December 3, 2024 - Reference Number: RAN241120-2 - Location: Glenvista, Gauteng, South Africa (Rietvlei Site) - Portfolio: Strategy Key Responsibilities As a Senior Engineer Technologist, your primary duties will include: - Ensuring adherence to Rand Water’s Project Management Standards throughout construction phases. - Overseeing and approving project designs, plans, and specifications. - Supervising construction projects to meet approved technical, safety, and quality benchmarks. - Advising Project Managers on technical issues and applying optimal engineering techniques. - Collaborating with contractors, quality assurance specialists, and financial experts for seamless project execution. - Leading technical project meetings and managing progress reporting. - Assigning, coordinating, and supervising multidisciplinary teams, including contractors. - Ensuring compliance with contractual, legislative, and industry-specific requirements. Minimum Requirements To qualify for this exciting opportunity, candidates must possess: - A BEng/BSc/BTech degree in an engineering discipline. - Professional registration as a Technologist/Technician/Engineer (PrEng/PrTech with ECSA is advantageous). - A Project Management Diploma or Certificate (preferred). - 5–10 years of experience in construction site supervision, project administration, and contract management. - Proven expertise in managing large, multidisciplinary projects within the water industry. - Strong communication, influencing, and stakeholder management skills. Essential Knowledge Areas Candidates should demonstrate knowledge in the following: - Engineering and Technology: Practical application of engineering principles, techniques, and equipment. - Design Expertise: Technical design skills, including blueprints, models, and production precision plans. - Building and Construction: In-depth understanding of materials, methods, and tools related to water pipelines and infrastructure development. Required Skills - Advanced computer proficiency. - Analytical thinking with the ability to troubleshoot. - Blueprint and technical diagram interpretation. - Strong communication (oral and written). - Decision-making capabilities. - Emotional intelligence and self-motivation. Ideal Candidate Attitudes - Customer Service Orientation: Commitment to service excellence. - Performance-Driven: Ability to meet deadlines and deliver results. - Integrity: Upholding honesty and professional ethics. - Initiative: Self-starter mindset with the ability to work independently. SEE ALSO: Firefighter is Hiring x3 Junior Firefighters 2024 How to Apply? Click Here to Apply Read the full article

[albwreckt]

House Riegan has long benefitted from holding lands and seas alike blessed with plenty and its manufacturers and traders are the cream of the crop when it comes to the Alliance. Its only weakness lies in its lack of mineral resources but no more! Recent sightings unearth a mine never before excavated. Quickly, the duchy moves to investigate it for if there might be anything of worth to fully cement it as unbeatable compared to all the other Alliance territories. However, it proves to be in a dangerous spot, leaving all curious onlookers to be unable to even get close as the company in charge of searching it blocks off all parties not hired for the mission. Perhaps the promise of something new and exciting tantalizes you to try and sneak past them anyhow, or could it be that you are concerned for the miners’ sakes? Could this sudden mine be too good to be true? Only one way to find out… [Grants Axe +1]

They’ve arrived, after what feels like an age of walking. The air is crisp, and the dusk sun a blaze over the clouds that roll overhead. Balthus inhales. He savors the feeling of being in Leicester territory, of how his wild life had brought him here many a time before. Only, he hasn’t been in a while. It’s nice to be back. 

“Looks like we’re here,” he declares, turning his attention to his employer, “and man, take a gander at that security! If any of the noble houses around here had this many guards, heh, well I might have starved!” 

Rust eyes are colored with shock, but Balthus finds a way to wear a smile all the same. He is also grateful, after all, that patrols had been light enough to let him mooch. But back to the mission, it takes all of five seconds staring at the mouth of the mine for him to formulate his next thought. This does not speak to any kind of intelligence.

“And as promised, I have a plan. See these?” He holds his equipped Vajra-Mushti up to Nasir’s face, waving them around like they’re a pair of kid’s toys, “We’re going to pretend they’re mining instruments. Then we just walk in like we came back from our break, and the goons will be all ‘get back to work!’” 

He beams. He’s being completely serious. Nevermind that they lack uniforms or a pickaxe for Nasir, or the required knowledge for how any of this operation is meant to work–which they will almost surely be quizzed on. 

There are at least a dozen units stationed at their posts, with a small handful running rounds to a place behind the mine–and no telling how many are inside. Yet the Wolf, with all his maverick genius, offers no contingency plan should any be alerted. He nudges his aide on his side. 

“Just remember: confidence is key!” 

//starter for @yukyunotabibito

✢⁎. sneak increased to -100

[unscrxpted]

Closed Starter: Mission Intelligence (Tayen S'Chn T'Gai/Lily Scott)

Tayen leaned over the terminal, trying to think. She needed a map of the ship. But she couldn't access the computers without setting off alarms.

She stood and looked around. What could she do? There wouldn't be any maps anywhere on the ship that wasn't in a computer.

The doors opened. Tayen instinctively reached for her phaser, but stopped as logical reasoning kicked in. She couldn't just shoot a random person on this ship. It would blow her cover. Then she turned and faced the newcomer, blinking.

"Lily?"

@beamusoutkids

[photogirl894]

Headcannons for tech as a dad and/or a pregnant SO👉🏻👈🏻

This is adorable!! 🥰🥰

If Tech had a pregnant S/O...

For starters, he probably wouldn't be surprised when you tell him you're pregnant because, knowing him, he would've been keeping a close eye on you since the last time you were intimate and watching for any signs of pregnancy. At the earliest signs, it was obvious to him, of course. Nevertheless, he is happy and pleased at the thought of a little one

He predicts that the child, no matter the gender, will be born with his exceptional mind, but they will definitely have your eyes and your smile (even though genetics are a tricky subject that he knows about, but he pushes that aside, especially when he knows those predictions make you smile)

The first time you feel the baby kick, you invite him to feel it and he doesn't quite understand why, but you make him do it anyway. He feels the kick...and he is smitten immediately!

He looks up all sorts of different birthing methods, exercises, care treatments, etc, to ensure the next 9 months go smoothly

When the time comes for you to give birth, this is him waiting outside your room...

When the child comes, he is transformed! He goes from his usual slightly standoffish, always occupied with his datapad self and is enamored with the beautiful little baby the two of you created together

I can see him being a dad to a little girl (I'm probably slightly biased after seeing how he interacts with Omega) but just imagine: him teaching a little girl who's just as intelligent and brilliant as he is and just beaming with pride at his little darling (he would definitely call his daughter "darling", I'm calling it now!)

He would show her everything! How to fix the ship, how to fly it, how to hack into computer and security systems, how to fire a blaster, etc, promising her that she can come with Daddy on a mission when she's older

I'm gonna stop here before I get carried away, cuz man, thinking of Tech as a dad is just too damn cute!! 🥰

Reblog if you're hella bored and wouldn't mind some curious anons

[queenharumiura]

Closed starter for @ubiquitarian​ Verse: Varia!Au

Haru stared at the young teen in front of her skeptically. Narrowing her eyes, she looked him up and down before she realized what she was looking at. “I’m not the shortest anymore.” Mammon, never counted as an outlier, so she’s always been the shortest of the bunch. She had her priorities straight.

"Anyways, so they said your name is Fran? You’re replacing Mammon?” She looks at the young teen again. So another young genius in the mix, hm? “Well, it’s nice to meet you. The name’s Haru. I work alongside the intelligence officers on reconnaissance missions.” In essence, she makes sure that they stay alive and if things start getting dicey, that’s when you get rid of everyone on your tail.

Obviously, that wasn’t very ideal, but sometimes you had to make a flashy or explosive exist. 

[bladedwoe]

( Astrid ; closed starter )

      𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬, her eyes peering over the rim of her glass at every attendee. Unlike usual jobs, this particular one wasn’t intended to end in bloodshed. There was no ex-lover, no cheating spouse, or a shady merchant she had to make a deal with. Instead, she was looking out for the right time to strike and coax a man none of these things away from the liveliness of the party. Rather a source of hers name-dropped an important name within the Patriot cause, and when there was a mention of a certain Patriot officer attending a Tory party, it was all too apparent Astrid wouldn’t be the only one with a persona.

      The man was Benjamin Tallmadge. A Major, but a supposed Spymaster. He was the Head of Intelligence and it wasn’t only the British that had their own spies to hide in the chaos of war. She spotted him in the crowd and she wondered if he took the same lengthy steps she took to secure an invite. While her source could’ve easily forged an invitation, that wouldn’t be enough to secure her place. If he was truly on a spying mission, she had the assumption that he would be watchful of all of the guests, and one that never surrounded herself with a friend might arouse suspicion. So, she took upon the act of a wealthy heiress, it didn’t take much to embody the high-class persona her mother wished to ingrain in Astrid in hope that she would be able to secure a wealthier man’s hand in marriage, bringing in fortune for their family. This same act Astrid grew up with and used as a second shell upon one of the guests, the daughter of the host, a woman still unsure of what suitor to choose from and frankly, naive to the world, still rosy-cheeked with youth. She was a bundle of anxiety and Astrid’s reassurance and improvised stories of her own time dealing with suitors and similar experiences were enough to gain her trust. 

      The daughter has now been pulled to the attention of one of the suitors she couldn’t choose from. It was both Mr. Mason and Mr. Thompson that made her heart sing with joy and for her face to become flushed, but with an estate tied to her name, her father had a heavy say in her choosing.

      Astrid’s eyes peeled away from the sight of the young woman and now she set her sights on Mr. Bolton. She passed her empty glass off to a tray in a well-dressed man’s hands and crossed the floor to get a chance to speak with the so-called John Bolton now that he was away from anyone seeking his attention.

      She remained calm and collected as she stood next to him, peering out the corner of her eye, she waited patiently for him to turn and regard her presence. As he shifted on his feet, she finally gained his attention and started the conversation.

       ❝ Are you a friend of the host? I haven’t seen you at one of these gatherings before. ❞ Astrid’s voice remained soft, even, and friendly, an innocent curiosity to her words.

@honorhearted​

[more-than-a-princess]

@tvstarkuma​ asked:  🌷 I offer a flirty boy

Emoji starter meme - Still accepting one more of these!

send  🌷  for  a  soft  starter .

It had been ages, Sonia realized, since she'd visited somewhere so quiet.

Not that the town of Inaba was dead silent by any means: no, it seemed to have its residential and commercial neighborhoods, a train station that she'd barely seen the inside of before being ushered into a hired car, and all the other necessities required to make a community run. But after going from the bustle of Novoselic Castle, to In Utero High School, and finally Hope's Peak just over a year ago, she'd been thrust from schedule to schedule, metropolis to metropolis, that Inaba reminded her of something she hadn't experienced in some time: home.

Not Novoselic Castle by any means, or even the capital of her nation itself where she spent the most of her time whilst there. No, Inaba reminded her far more of the countryside villages and towns in Novoselic: the ones that great manor homes and luxurious ski chalets supported. Japan's system was different: there was no aristocratic family that, technically, owned the land the town was built on but it resembled the country-wide tours she'd accompany her family on in other ways: everyone knew everyone else, everyone could share some of the illustrious history of the town (in Inaba's case, it was mining: something she was told to read in the weighty manual she'd had to peruse on the train from Towa City but also something she was informed of, less than two minutes after settling in the back of the hired car that took her to the nicest inn her team could reserve), and there was a conspicuous absence of otherness. Perhaps even a lack of diversity, Sonia thought as she stepped through the automatic doors of the grandest shop in town, but not in a close-minded way.

Instead, Inaba was far more like those small towns in Novoselic: a preserved relic of the past, of tradition and a simpler way of life that cities (and royal families, if she were to be honest), couldn't provide anymore. As much as her own family, her own birthright, prioritized honoring traditions, they still needed to keep up with the times. Something lost in Inaba, Sonia thought, though it was hardly unsettling. No, in fact it amused her greatly that, no matter where she looked in the department store, there was no sign of import or international goods. Everything seemed locally made, or at least native to Japan.

And since Sonia Nevermind, Hope's Peak Academy's Ultimate Princess and the Princess of Novoselic had some time to kill before her appointed dinner with the Mayor of Inaba and several town council officials, she'd convinced her accompanying staff members that her time would be best spent absorbing as much as she could of the town. Of the normal life, the successes and struggles that composed an Inaba resident's day so, as she sat and listened to their pitch regarding bringing a bit of a real European monarchy to the town (and vice-versa), she might have something intelligent to say in commentary.

In the meantime, though, she'd busied herself first in the grocery department of Junes. Fascinated by cube-shaped watermelons and bottles of mayonnaise packaged in the shape of infant children, she then found her way through housewares, the electronics department (pausing for a good five minutes to watch the anime program that played on the sample televisions), and finally...the toy department. She had an actual mission here: to find something her younger cousins might enjoy. And while they liked sports and planes and martial arts action heroes, Sonia's attention had been diverted from the action figures aisle to, of all things, a display of stuffed animals. Primarily bears, but they'd been posed in a miniature replica of Inaba's main shopping center, taking part in all the activities their human counterparts would.

Sonia smiled warmly at it: the residents truly loved their home and all that made it unique. With a determined nod, she glanced around for anyone in a uniform or apron that would designate them as an employee. After spotting a boy, likely close to her in age with hair nearly as blonde and pale as her own, she approached him, waving gently to get his attention. She wished she'd been allowed to wear her Hope's Peak uniform that day: she would've looked far more normal, like she fit in at some distant school as a foreign student but a student nevertheless. Instead, her deep green dress, with its full skirt and matching cropped jacket and modest heels, made her look far more polished, and dignified, than the average high school student. Her pearl and diamond earrings likely didn't help matters: high school girls hardly ever wore anything but costume jewelry, if Hope's Peak was any proof.

"Excuse me," She asked, her Japanese heavily accented with her native Novosonian tongue, "But those stuffed animals, the bears, are they available for purchase? And are they local to Inaba? I simply find the shop display so charming and would like to purchase a few toys as gifts."

[mercurygray]

Hi Merc! How do you feel about prompt nr 16 (daybreak) for my Clubmobile girls? Doesn't have to be anything romantic if you're not vibing with it, just the girls

Thank you 💜

- your Fred Friend

I hope this works for you, Fred Friend!

Technically, it was Mary's fault.

Mission days were always early starts - 3:00 a.m. to roll out of bed in the old, crumbling mansion the Red Cross was renting for them, and pull the truck out from the shed to be on the road and catch the end of the 5:30 am run on the equipment shed with hot coffee and a mix of yesterday's leftovers and today's starter batch, usually too doughy as the oil came up to temperature.

It was cold out before the sun came up, and they kept the windows of the truck closed while they started the oil and heated the urns for coffee, the small space cramped but warm enough, with the four of them and the fryers going. Moods were infectious, in a small space like this, and Tatty seemed to have slept on the wrong side of the bed the way she was banging pans and slamming doors and grumbling about how she'd like to shoot the man who invented early mornings and gas stoves that wouldn't light.

Anyway, she was a little ridiculous, like early mornings had only just been invented and they hadn't been doing this for months on end, and Mary had started humming, and then Helen was doing it too, and by the time the tune got to Fred it had harmony and a rhythm section with the tongs and a measuring cup until Tatty turned around, blazing, and Fred could only grin.

"Oh, she kicked out my windshield," she started, still drumming along with the tongs, and the rest picked up, "And she hit me over the head She cussed and cried and said I lied And she wished that I was dead! Oh, lay that pistol down, babe, lay that pistol down Pistol packing mama, lay that pistol down."

The coin could have fallen on either side, but Tatty, it seemed, had complained enough for one morning. She rolled her eyes and declared she was going to let the mess hall know they were here, leaving the three of them to open the windows, still laughing about their improvised jam session.

It seemed they already had a customer - or an audience. Captain Brennan was waiting in the half-light of dawn with a cup of coffee already in hand and a clipboard under her arm, uniform beautiful and crisp. (She was always well dressed, whether by habit or practice - all the girls said so. Not too many women could make the green and pinks look chic, but by god, would Marion Brennan try.)

"You're all very chipper this morning," the intelligence officer observed, waiting a respectful distance away as they rolled up the windows and started putting out the doughnut racks.

"Sorry, ma'am," Helen offered quietly. (Brennan intimidated her, for reasons Fred couldn't ever quite understand - but then, perhaps she was a little intimidating, with her beautiful hair and her rank and her surety about her station. And how many other women were walking around air bases with captain's bars and the complete trust of the C.O.? Brennan's word was law and her good opinion gold.)

Brennan chuckled, her smile rare and warm. "Why are you apologizing? It's good to see smiles this early."

"Get you a fresh cup, Captain?" Mary asked, gesturing with the pot she was holding.

"You may, Mary, thank you." Brennan shook the remnants out of her cup and onto the grass, and offered Mary the now-empty mug. "If we're being honest, I like your coffee more than I do the mess hall's."

"Isn't it a little early for you, ma'am?" Fred asked, leaning over the window holding the sugar shaker so the Captain could help herself. It was only the flight officers in the earliest briefings, pilots and bombardiers and navigators, and Brennan certainly wasn't one of them. (Any minute now they'd all be done suiting up, and those doors would open and the whole lot of them would begin the hike out to the trucks that would take them out to the hardstands.)

"You know what they say about early birds and worms. I need to review today's run with Major Bowman, after they've sent them all out so I can brief my team. And we have photos from yesterday's run to review and send on to wing."

"Those worms won't know what hit them," Fred replied with a smile. Another smile from Brennan.

"What worms now?" Colonel Harding appeared from the direction of the briefing hut, hat tucked under his arm, Jack Kidd following close behind him.

"The worms the group's going to bomb today, sir," Mary offered, holding out a fresh mug. "Coffee for you? Major Kidd, some coffee?"

"Thank you, Mary. Mighty kind." Harding took it and drank deeply before anyone could offer powdered milk or sugar, watching as Kidd stepped away to speak with Brennan.

The song was still stuck in Fred's head as she continued setting the mugs and doughnuts out for service, glancing up to see Harding's face in the dim of daybreak, watching the conversation between his XO and his intelligence captain with an expression that Fred thought she would call pride, and, in another space and a different light, perhaps something like love.

Oh, lay that pistol down, babe, lay that pistol down Pistol packing mama, lay that pistol down.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Pancakes

A/N: Here is my entry to @pit-and-the-pen ‘s writing challenge! Thank you for letting me take part and congratulations again on 100 followers!! Though I’m sure you’ve got more than 100 followers now! I apologise for it taking so long! I do enjoy writing Remus. This does get a little steamy, so please read the warnings before reading the fic. It is just a load of fluff though, too. I’ve set this through the first wizarding war but before James and Lily because I like happiness. 

Summary: “Is... is that my shirt?” Remus questions from the doorway.

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: it gets a little steamy, but nothing graphic - making out and all that jazz. mentions of food.

Word count: 1.2k

Something tickling your face wakes you from your dreams. Rubbing your eyes, you see that it’s Remus’ hair tickling your nose. His head is on your chest with a leg thrown over yours. You want to laugh; he’s effectively pinning you to the bed. You run a finger down the length of his nose, enjoying the way he scrunches it up in his sleep. He murmurs incoherently before settling back into his dream.

You manoeuvre your way out from underneath the love of your life. You take a moment to watch him sleep; Remus looks so young in sleep – the worries that plague him in his daily life disappear when he sleeps, and he looks his age. Old, silver scars cover his nose, his cheekbones. He’s most insecure about these so you made it your mission when you fell in love with him that if you are to kiss his face, you would kiss him on those scars. He may not like them, but to you, they’re just as much a part of him as his intelligence or his lycanthropy.

Looking around the bedroom, you bite your lip at the mess. Clothes thrown in a hurry, landing on different pieces of furniture – you don’t miss the grey scraps of your t-shirt, remembering how Remus tore it from your torso. You turn to check the time but find the alarm clock smashed to pieces on the floor… where you had kicked it.  

You grab a shirt from the floor, pushing your arms through the sleeves, knowing immediately that it’s Remus’ from the size and smell. The hem of the shirt skims the middle of your thighs as you tiptoe downstairs to the kitchen, ravenous after last night’s activities.

The sun is barely rising as you enter the kitchen. The rays painting the room a pale pink. You watch the early morning sun begin to rise from the window, enjoying the start of the day in peaceful silence. Today, would be a long one, with family arriving for Remus’ birthday.

You sigh, rubbing your arms at the slight chill in the kitchen, suddenly wishing you had found some sweatpants on the floor.

Your mental to-do list is getting longer and longer by the minute, but it’s pushed to the side momentarily as your stomach begins to growl, desperate for some sort of breakfast.

You gather the ingredients for pancakes before turning on the radio; needing background music as you prepare breakfast for both yourself and the sleeping man upstairs. He needed the sleep; the lunar cycle combined with the missions from the Order, he had barely slept all month. He needed the sleep, for if Sirius plans were to happen, he would not be getting any sleep for his birthday.

You had fully intended on letting him relax all night, but then he looked at you in a way that showed his love and affection for you. He had pulled you down onto the bed beside him, pressing kiss after kiss to your lips, to your neck, to your chest and before you knew it, you were lost in each other. The idea of sleep was the furthest thing from your mind when Remus’ mouth landed in the right spot.

“Is… is that my shirt?” Remus questions from the doorway, startling you from your reminiscing of the night previous.

You turn from mixing the pancake batter, smiling at him, eyes running across his bare chest, “You scared me! I didn’t know you were up.”

He smiles, “Your side of the bed was empty. I woke to investigate. Are you wearing my shirt?”

“It’s the first thing I could find in our mess of a room, and I think you may have ripped mine last night, trying to get it off me.”

Remus chuckles, his eyes running up and down your body, taking notice of your bare legs, “I can’t say I’m sorry about that. We really did make a mess, didn’t we?”

You laugh with him, “Did you see the state of the alarm clock?”

He rubs the back of his neck; eyes shining with mirth, “I did, I don’t suppose I did that?”

“Nope, that was all me.” You state, somewhat proudly, “I want to say it happened somewhere between rounds two and three but honestly, who knows?”

“What are you making?”

“Pancakes,” You answer, “I thought we’d have a nice breakfast before Sirius and the gang start to arrive for your birthday.”

“What did I do to deserve pancakes?”

“Well, for starters, I don’t know about you, but after last night, I am starving. And who doesn’t deserve pancakes on their birthday?”

You continue to mix the ingredients as Remus watches you for one moment more from his place in the doorway. At some point before he came downstairs, you had put the radio on low and now you in the lull of your conversation, you were swinging your hips to the sound of Rick Springfield. Remus watches you utterly immersed into the sog; singing along to the lyrics quietly and he wonders just how on earth he got so lucky to have someone like you fall in love with someone like him.

He had gone through his entire education without truly loving someone or feeling like he could be loved himself. Then he met you at the first meeting of the order; a witch talented in Potions and mission strategy. He had fallen from the moment you said hello; he didn’t know until a lot later than you had fallen for him at the exact same time.

You grab the chocolate chips from the cupboard as Remus makes his way into the kitchen, leaning on the counter. You grasp his chin, pressing a light kiss to his lips, whispering, “Happy Birthday,” against them.

He smiles against your mouth before pulling away enough to whisper, “Thank you, my love.”

Remus wraps his arms around your waist as you add chocolate chips to the pancake batter.

He runs his nose along the expanse of your neck, inhaling as he does so. “You smell so good,” He groans.

You laugh, “I don’t see how. We didn’t exactly have time to shower last night.”

“No, we didn’t. I suppose we’ll have time to shower and to eat later.”

Remus spins you in his arms before you can question what he means, crashing his lips to yours in a messy kiss.

His hands travel to the top of your thighs, tapping twice, signalling you to jump. You do, wrapping your legs around his waist as he sets you gently on the kitchen counter. His hands now wander along your body; tracing light patterns on your thighs raising goosebumps in his wake. You moan into his mouth at feel of his hands so close to where you need him.

You pull away, not far but far enough to whisper, “Don’t play, Remus.”

“Oh no?” He smirks, dropping his head to press butterfly kisses to your neck, kissing over the hickeys already bruising there.

You groan as he nips at your skin; your hands settle in his hair, pulling slightly. “Remus,” You murmur.

He hums, continuing his onslaught of kisses. His hands have left your thighs now; they’re opening the buttons to his shirt so slow you’re sure it’s torture, his fingers barely graze your bare skin. His touch close to driving you towards insanity.

“Remus, breakfast.” You remind him.

Remus chuckles; one of his hands moving to a place that has you gasping against him. He grins wickedly, “I’m already having it, dear.”

You let yourself surrender into his touch. Pancakes can wait until later… a lot later.

***************

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen​ @obsessedwithrandomthings​ @harrypotter289​ @dreamer821​ @kalimagik​ @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @the-hufflefluffwriter​ @figlia--della--luna​ @bforbroadway​ @idont-knowrn​ @summer-writes​ @big-galaxy-chaos​

[dawntrailing]

PART TWO —

Sentence starters inspired by the Gridania Main Scenario Quests. Lines have been altered slightly for roleplaying purposes.

I think you may be of use to me.

With your help, I am hopeful we will shed light upon this mystery.

Lay your suspicions to rest.

Oh dear. Is that a sword in the stump? Bad idea. Really bad idea...

Venturing there without proper caution is tantamount to suicide.

By your tireless efforts, you have proven yourself a friend.

There is a disturbance here as well, and newly manifested at that.

Say that you will lend us your aid, and I shall proceed with the briefing.

You never tell me what's really going on!

And this sort of thing happens!

I count you among my staunchest allies.

I see you are eager to lend a hand.

You have my gratitude.

It's a wonder you damn fool didn't lose your boots... Ahem.

I fear something is afoot...

Even so, it is best to halt any new outbreaks before they occur.

Time is of the essence, so listen well.

Such an embarrassing turn of events.

If you value your life, stay close!

I'm trying, I'm trying!

I believe you can be trusted with sensitive intelligence.

Stay vigilant.

Your worth as a person is measured by your dedication to the cause.

There's more! Be careful!

The need for secrecy prevents me from disclosing details.

Our quarry is proving to be exceedingly elusive.

I am convinced of your innocence. But if this isn't your doing, whose is it?

I would assign you a mission of considerable import.

Bah! You'd like that, wouldn't you!?

It seems we have little choice...

Is this our dark stranger?

Where whole units have failed, you may yet succeed.

Well done! We're almost there!

Here is where we part ways. Till next time, take care!

What purpose could have driven you to take such a risk?

I will attempt to instill some backbone into you.

These egg sacs are not destined for the dinner table!

Ready for inspection are we? Right, then! Eyes forward! Back straight!

Now, I have other business to attend to.

Our exchanges are baffling, but never once have you given me cause to doubt you.

You may as well be strolling around in your nameday suit.

I am relieved to find you none the worse for the experience.

Be forewarned: I cannot offer you support.

Darkness risen up in its stead, presaging an end to life.

I pray you will continue to serve me in whatever capacity you are able.

A light there once was that shone throughout this realm... yet it had since grown dim.

As if such a poor showing weren't bad enough.

Go and introduce yourself, and find out if there is anything you can do to help.

If we are to survive these troubled times, we must reacquaint ourselves with our surroundings.

I beseech you: deliver me from this fate.

Fear and anxiety are beginning to take their toll.

This is not how you treat requests from me!

I sent you on a surveying expedition only for you craven to turn tail and flee at the first sign of trouble.

I cannot in good conscience send you there until I have established that you are equal to the task.

Do you want to get eaten!? Hit them harder!

Your timely assistance is most appreciated.

It is good to see you.