#Lethal firepower

[000marie198]

Do you believe that Tails would turn into a more morally dark gray character if anything bad were ever to actually happen to Sonic?

Like we all know if Sonic isn't there to be both his impulse control AND moral support he would have a nuke by now.

The thought of Tails turning more to violence or more extreme measures if or even when sonic isn't there anymore has always been so interesting

Dude probably already does have a nuke stashed somewhere.

In my personal opinion? I don't see him turning morally dark grey. I mean, of course he can go unhinged and feral but I don't think he would go down a dark path if something bad were to happen to Sonic. I believe that Tails himself is a hero just as much as Sonic is and he would live by his brother's teaching and moral advice. He would keep up the legacy and rise up to the challenges with determination and courage. With how close these two are, I doubt Tails would just not care about what Sonic would've hoped to see him grow up to be.

But he would let loose and clear all bets when it comes to the one who harmed Sonic. After the event of anything bad happening to his brother, Tails would not hold back from outright murdering the one intentionally responsible.

Also, he wouldn't become morally ambiguous but he also wouldn't be lenient with anyone anymore. He would not easily give any foe the benefit of the doubt. He would grow far less merciful than Sonic. He would become a tad but like Shadow. Not in the regard of bitterness or anything but rather becoming serious and not holding back when it comes to most villains. While before he wouldn't have killed, now he would take down the villains who don't heed his warning without reluctance. Not that he would be killing every foe but more in a 'If this guy doesn't even want to be reformed then I am not giving too many chances' manner.

[bumblingbee1]

It’s funny how I deem Ada to be my favorite mercenary to play as in RE4 Mercenaries mode, while HUNK was the one who helped me unlock two of the four maps there lmao

[srslyblvck]

the devil you know, avengers

pairing: avengers x fem!reader, bucky x fem!reader

synopsis: the avengers seem really desperate as they come to you—the person who went under their skin like no one else to help them win against hydra. while they are walking on eggshells around you, you are having fun causing chaos.

warnings: mentions of y/n (maybe), blood, violence, gore

word count: 3.1k

chapter: 1/?

series masterlist

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ THE LAST TIME YOU fought the Avengers, you didn’t just leave a mark—you left scars. They were supposed to be Earth’s mightiest heroes, but they couldn’t even handle you alone. Your power wasn’t just raw strength or fancy tech. No, you were chaos, untamed and unpredictable. You had fun, didn’t you? Watching them scramble, trying to keep up as you dismantled their team, piece by piece.

The streets of New York were your playground. Thor swung his hammer, lightning crackling in the air, but you were faster. You sidestepped, sending him crashing into a nearby building. Tony tried to come at you from the skies, a barrage of missiles raining down. With a flick of your wrist, you sent them spiraling back into his suit, and watched with a smirk as he plummeted to the ground.

Then there was Natasha, sharp, lethal, and far too clever for her own good. She tried to get close, slipping through the chaos to land a blow. You almost admired her for that. Almost. But you caught her wrist before her knife could make contact, twisting it just enough to disarm her without snapping it—because where’s the fun in ending the game too soon?

And Steve, Captain America himself. Righteous, noble, irritatingly persistent. He charged at you, shield raised, eyes burning with determination. But his resolve only made you more excited. You met him head-on, your strength colliding with his as you deflected the shield with a grin. You knew it wouldn’t last forever. You knew they’d eventually overwhelm you with numbers or some sneaky trick. But that didn’t matter. For a while, you were winning. And that’s all that mattered.

It had taken all of them, working together, to finally bring you down. And when they did, they didn't leave you in some cushy maximum-security prison. No, they put you in The Raft—the highest of high-security prisons for supervillains. They wanted to make sure you couldn’t wriggle out and wreak havoc again.

Funny thing is, you didn't mind.

You lounge in your cell at the Raft, feet kicked up, arms folded behind your head. The guards pass by occasionally, but they don’t bother with you much anymore. No point. You’re the least troublesome prisoner they’ve got here. Not exactly the model inmate, but you’ve made it clear you weren’t going anywhere. You didn’t mind the Raft—no noisy world, no chaotic battles, just peace. Besides, you always enjoyed the looks people gave you. The way they seemed unsure if you were calm or just waiting to snap.

“Psychotic,” they called you. Maybe they weren’t wrong. But if that’s what it takes to keep things interesting, then so be it.

The Avengers. Now that’s where the fun had been. Fighting them, teasing them, pushing them to their limits. Especially Stark. He hated that he could never figure you out. You’d gotten under their skin in a way no one else had. And even though you were eventually caught, dragged off to this fortress in the middle of the ocean, it didn’t feel like defeat. No, it felt more like… a vacation.

The tension in the Avengers HQ could be cut with a knife. Seated around the long, sleek table, everyone had their eyes fixed on the glowing hologram floating in the center, displaying a map riddled with flashing Hydra insignias.

“Hydra’s moving faster than we thought,” Tony Stark said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “They’ve got new tech, new firepower, and something else—something we don’t understand yet.”

Steve Rogers leaned forward, his jaw set in that familiar determined way. “We’ve taken down Hydra before. We can do it again.”

“We didn’t take them down,” Natasha Romanoff chimed in. “We knocked them back. This is different, Steve. Their intel’s better. Their strategy is… smarter.”

Steve crossed his arms, frowning deeply. “We are the Avengers. We have faced threats from beyond this world. Surely this Hydra can be beaten.”

Bruce Banner, quiet until now, shook his head. “No, Steve. This isn’t like our usual enemies. Hydra’s moving like they know every step we’re going to take before we make it. And whatever they're building—it’s got enough gamma signatures to make me nervous.”

That last statement made everyone pause. Even Clint Barton, who’d been silently fidgeting with an arrow, stilled his hands.

“Great,” Clint muttered. “So not only are they out-thinking us, they’ve got Banner-level problems in their back pocket. Awesome.”

Sam Wilson leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at the hologram. “There’s got to be a way to track them. Cut them off before they finish building… whatever that is.”

“I’ve tried,” Rhodey said, his voice exasperated. “Hydra’s cloaking this thing like it’s Fort Knox, and every time I send in recon, we come up empty-handed.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. Everyone was thinking the same thing, even if no one wanted to say it. The Avengers were backed into a corner, and they hated being in this position. Hydra had outmaneuvered them before—but never like this.

Tony leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. "There’s one option we haven’t considered."

Steve’s eyes snapped to Tony, immediately suspicious. “What’s that?”

Tony glanced around the room, hesitation clear on his face for the first time in a while. “We bring in someone who knows how to deal with these kinds of dirty tactics. Someone who’s unpredictable… dangerous.”

“Oh, no,” Natasha said, crossing her arms. “We’re not doing this.”

“What?” Clint asked, glancing between them. “What are we not doing?”

“You know exactly who he’s talking about,” Natasha replied, her voice cold.

Bucky Barnes, sitting quietly in the corner, shifted in his seat. “You mean her.”

“Yup.” Tony gave a tight smile. “her.”

“You can’t be serious, Stark,” Steve said, his tone edging into anger. “That… that psycho is locked up for a reason.”

“Yeah, well, unless you’ve got any other brilliant ideas for how to get through Hydra’s defences, I’m all ears,” Tony shot back, standing up now. “I get it, Cap. She's not exactly on our Christmas card list, but facts are facts. When we fought her, she nearly wiped the floor with us. She's good—too good.”

“That’s because she's insane,” Bucky said, his voice low, dangerous. “You think she's going to help us out of the goodness of her heart?”

“No, but she’ll help because she likes causing chaos, and right now, chaos is what we need,” Tony replied.

Bruce, still seated, raised a hand. “You’re suggesting we trust someone who has a history of, uh, not playing by the rules?”

“I’m suggesting we use someone who’s good at breaking things. We can handle the clean-up afterward,” Tony said. His tone was sharp, but there was logic behind it.

Steve stood up, crossing his arms, clearly trying to contain his frustration. “No way. We’re not that desperate.”

“We might be,” Sam said, leaning back in his chair, though his expression was skeptical. “I don’t like it either, but Tony has a point. Hydra’s not playing fair. Maybe we need someone who knows how to play dirtier.”

“I’m not working with her,” Steve said firmly. “We don’t need someone like that. We’ve beaten Hydra before.”

“Yeah, but not like this,” Clint muttered under his breath. “Not when they’ve got the upper hand.”

Rhodey, who’d been listening quietly, finally spoke up. “I hate to say it, but we’re out of options. We need something to break this deadlock. Even if it’s a wildcard.”

Steve clenched his jaw. “This is a mistake.”

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Probably. But we don’t have time to sit around and weigh the pros and cons. Every minute we waste, Hydra’s getting closer to finishing whatever nightmare they’re cooking up. We need to act.”

There was a long pause as the team exchanged glances, weighing their options. No one wanted to admit it, but they were out of ideas. And you were the only person who could help.

Steve finally exhaled, nodding once. “Fine. But if this goes sideways, it’s on you, Stark.”

Tony gave a small, triumphant smirk. “Trust me, Cap, I’ve got it handled.”

When they arrived at the Raft, the air was thick with tension. The Avengers weren’t exactly the kind of people who made house calls to criminals, and it showed on their faces as they were led down the long, sterile corridor toward your cell.

You knew they were coming long before they reached you. Hydra must have had them in knots for them to come crawling back to you. The idea was almost enough to make you laugh.

Lying on the small cot in your cell, your arms stretched behind your head, you kept your eyes closed. The hum of the Raft was soothing, a far cry from the chaos of the outside world. It was almost meditative.

Then, the cell door slid open with a sharp buzz, but you didn’t bother moving.

“Stark,” you said lazily, eyes still closed, voice dripping with amusement. “What, come to throw a going-away party?”

The Avengers stood before you, and when you opened your eyes, you didn’t miss the mix of tension and frustration on their faces.

“We need your help,” Tony said bluntly, cutting straight to the chase.

You sat up slowly, a lazy grin spreading across your face. “You must be really desperate to come to me for help.”

Tony opened his mouth to respond, but you raised a finger, cutting him off. “Let me guess. Hydra’s doing something nasty, and you’re stuck. Can’t get your shiny suits dirty, so you come to me, the wildcard.”

Steve glared at you from the back. “This isn’t a joke.”

You grinned wider. “Oh, I know it’s not, Captain. But I have to say… this is going to be fun.”

The Avengers stood there, tense, unsure. And you? You were in control, and it felt fantastic.

You strolled into the Avengers compound, a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of your lips, wrists cuffed in front of you with those annoying power-suppressing restraints. They’d made sure of that, didn’t they?

Of course, they had. The Avengers weren’t stupid. At least, not completely.

Around you, the team walked in a tight formation, like you were some kind of wild animal they needed to keep on a leash. Tony was up ahead, chatting with FRIDAY about god knows what, Steve right beside him, walking with that stiff-shouldered tension that was so him. Behind you, Natasha and Clint followed, their eyes boring holes into the back of your head. You could almost feel Bucky’s glare from across the room, like he was daring you to make a wrong move.

But you weren’t going to make a scene. Not yet.

“Gotta say,” you drawled, glancing around the compound, taking in the high-tech security, the polished floors, the holographic displays flickering along the walls. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Real homey.”

You whistled softly, admiring the upgrades. The last time you’d seen the compound—well, it hadn’t exactly been in one piece. You might’ve had something to do with that, but hey, nobody’s perfect.

“Hope you didn’t put in too much work fixing it up after our last meeting,” you added with a grin, turning toward Tony. “Wouldn’t want all that effort to go to waste.”

Tony didn’t miss a beat, glancing over his shoulder at you with a raised eyebrow. “Funny. I seem to remember you being more concerned with trying to take my head off than interior design critique.”

“Potato, po-tah-to,” you said with a shrug, as if it was all just some fun memory. You could feel the others bristling behind you, no doubt regretting this decision more with every word you spoke.

Steve’s jaw clenched, his voice low and commanding. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Easy there, Cap,” you replied, enjoying how his fists tightened just a bit more. “I’m here to help, remember? Or did you bring me back just for my sparkling personality?”

“Let’s not test that theory,” Natasha cut in, her voice cool but sharp. “You’re on a short leash here.”

You grinned wider, turning to give her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

The group led you further into the compound, and you let yourself take it all in. It was strange being back here, walking freely (well, as freely as the cuffs allowed) through their precious headquarters. Last time you were here, they’d been chasing you down, trying to stop you from doing what you did best—causing chaos. Now, they were practically welcoming you with open arms.

Funny how things changed when they needed you.

As you passed by one of the large windows, you caught a glimpse of the sprawling training grounds outside. Stark’s money had definitely gone into this place—it was a fortress. High-tech, polished, the works. But beneath all that shine, you knew what was really going on. Desperation. They wouldn’t have come to you unless they had no other choice.

“So, what’s the play?” you asked, breaking the silence as you sauntered forward, hands still shackled but your posture loose and casual. “You bring me in, throw me at Hydra, hope I don’t enjoy myself too much?”

“You’re going to do what we tell you,” Steve said firmly. “No more, no less.”

You met his gaze, that stoic, unflinching look he always gave, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Yeah, sure. That’s exactly how this is gonna go.”

Clint, ever the quick shot with a retort, piped up. “If you don’t follow orders, we’ll make sure you regret it.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch Clint’s eye, your grin widening. “You threatening me, Barton? I thought we were all friends now.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond. Behind you, you could sense Bruce watching quietly, keeping his distance but always on edge, probably ready to Hulk out the second you made a wrong move. Bucky was the same—silent, seething. Everyone in the room knew you were a threat. Everyone knew that the cuffs on your wrists were the only thing keeping you from unleashing a storm.

But what they didn’t know was that you were actually enjoying this little game. They were walking on eggshells around you, pretending they had everything under control, but you could feel the tension crackling in the air. It was palpable. Delicious.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence again as you strolled past the holographic displays, glancing at one that showed a map of Hydra’s activity. “What exactly is it you need me to do?”

“You’re not in a position to ask questions,” Steve answered, his voice firm and unyielding.

You rolled your eyes. “Still playing the Boy Scout, huh? Fine. I’ll bite. But just so you know, I’m not here for the teamwork, Captain.”

Tony let out a small chuckle at that. “We’re not exactly looking for team spirit. We need someone unpredictable. Someone who can get into Hydra without raising alarms.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I’m your guy,” you said with a wink. “Hydra and I go way back. They’ll be thrilled to see me again.”

“And that’s what worries us,” Natasha replied, eyes narrowing as she studied you. “You’ve got a history with them. We’re not letting you go in unsupervised.”

You sighed, feigning disappointment. “Always so serious, Romanoff. Fine, keep your watchdogs on me. Just don’t blame me when I get bored.”

The group finally stopped in front of one of the briefing rooms, Tony gesturing for you to enter first. You raised your cuffed hands slightly, giving them a little shake. “And these?” you asked. “Gonna make it a little hard to do anything useful.”

“They stay on until we’re sure you’re not going to turn this into a free-for-all,” Steve said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You stepped through the door with a shrug. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

As you entered the briefing room, the large screen lit up with detailed schematics of Hydra’s new operation. Bases, weapons, movements—things even you hadn’t seen before. It was impressive. Even more impressive that they were willing to trust you with this kind of information.

Then again, trust was a fragile thing here, wasn’t it?

You took a seat at the table, leaning back in the chair as best you could with your hands still cuffed, watching the Avengers file in around you. Tension filled the room like a thick fog, everyone waiting to see what you’d do next.

“Well,” you said, kicking your feet up onto the table, flashing them a cocky grin. “This should be fun.”

The briefing room hummed with energy, a silent current of tension hanging thick between you and the Avengers. Tony took his place at the head of the table, arms crossed, tapping his fingers against his bicep impatiently. Steve stood just behind him, the shield slung across his back, his posture stiff. The others filtered in, taking up their positions like chess pieces ready for a match.

You leaned back in your chair, cuffed hands resting on the table in front of you, a lazy smirk playing on your lips. “Alright,” you said, stretching your legs out. “Why don’t we cut to the chase? What’s the big Hydra mess you need me for?”

Tony glanced at Steve, who gave him a short nod, the silent agreement of reluctant allies. Tony activated a holographic display on the table, bringing up a 3D map of several cities across the globe. Red dots flickered ominously, marking Hydra's known operations.

“You already know Hydra’s been rebuilding,” Tony began, his tone sharp and focused. “But this isn’t their usual underground terrorist network anymore. They’ve got something bigger, more coordinated. And now, they’ve been making moves we can’t trace. Military-grade weapons, tech we haven’t seen before, and worst of all, something that’s throwing up red flags on our radiation sensors.”

“Gamma signatures,” Bruce chimed in, his face serious. “A lot of them.”

Your eyebrow lifted, intrigued. “Gamma, huh? That sounds like fun. They planning on making their own Hulk? Gotta say, that’s a bold move.”

“It’s worse than that,” Bruce continued, eyes darkening. “They’ve been siphoning gamma energy from somewhere, but we don’t know what it’s for yet. And if they’re storing it, they could be trying to build a weapon.”

“Something big enough to level cities,” Natasha added, her voice cold. “Or worse.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Always with the doomsday weapons. Hydra really doesn’t know how to take a break, do they?”

Clint gave you a hard look. “This isn’t a joke. If they get this thing operational, it’s game over for a lot of people. Not even you want that kind of chaos.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” you quipped, leaning forward slightly. “But go on. Tell me what makes you think I care enough to get involved.”

Steve stepped forward, leaning on the table as his blue eyes locked onto yours with that intense, all-business stare of his. “Because you know Hydra. You know how they think. And you know their tactics better than anyone we’ve got. If we go in guns blazing, they’ll see us coming from miles away. But you? You can walk right in.”

You tilted your head, considering. “And you think I’ll just play nice, follow your lead, and do exactly what you want?”

Steve���s jaw clenched. “No. I think you’ll do it because you love playing the game. And because if Hydra gets their hands on this weapon, even you won’t be safe. They’ll come after everyone—Avengers, civilians, people like you.”

Tony stepped in, his expression tight but calculated. “We need someone who can play dirty. Someone who can think like Hydra, act like Hydra, and blend in without setting off alarms. That’s you.”

Bucky, sitting quietly to your left, finally spoke. His voice was low, dangerous. “They’ll kill you the second they get the chance. You know that, right?”

You turned to Bucky, flashing him a grin. “Hydra’s always had a soft spot for me, Barnes. I’m sure I’ll manage.”

Tony flicked the hologram again, zooming in on a specific location—a heavily guarded Hydra facility buried deep in Eastern Europe, surrounded by military checkpoints and defense grids. “This is the target,” he said. “We’ve been monitoring this base for weeks. It’s their hub for whatever project they’re working on. It’s locked down tighter than anything we’ve seen before. We tried sending in a team, but they didn’t get far. Too many layers of security.”

“Layers I can bypass,” you concluded, smirking at the challenge. “Alright, I’ll admit, it sounds like fun. But what makes you think I won’t just stroll in, grab what I want, and leave you all hanging?”

Natasha, leaning against the wall, finally stepped forward, her gaze cold and calculating. “Because you know what happens if Hydra finishes whatever they’re building. You’ve got a history of playing both sides, but even you can’t outrun a bomb that size. And let's be real—you hate losing control more than anything. Hydra’s playing a game you’re not a part of right now.”

You tilted your head, the smile slipping just a little. “So what? You’re offering me a chance to take them down from the inside?”

“We’re offering you a chance to prove you’re not as self-destructive as we think you are,” Steve replied, voice steady but firm. “This isn’t just about us. It’s about keeping Hydra from leveling cities and killing millions. You help us stop them, and maybe—just maybe—you walk out of this without a target on your back.”

The room went quiet, the weight of the situation sinking in. You leaned back, letting the silence stretch out as you considered your options. They weren’t wrong—Hydra was dangerous, even to you. And sure, there was a part of you that liked chaos, liked toying with the line between hero and villain. But even you had limits.

“You really think this will work?” you asked, locking eyes with Tony.

Tony’s expression softened slightly, just enough to show a glimmer of trust. “I think it’s our best shot.”

Another beat of silence passed. Then, with a slow grin, you nodded.

“Alright, I’m in,” you said, sitting up straighter in the chair. “But let’s get one thing clear. I’m not here to be your hero. I’m here because I like to win. Hydra made this personal when they tried to cut me out of the fun.”

Steve straightened, arms crossed. “As long as you follow our lead.”

You shot him a wink. “No promises, Captain.”

The team exchanged a few tense glances, but the decision had been made. You were in. And, for now at least, that was all that mattered.

“Good,” Tony said, the hologram flickering away. “We move out tomorrow. FRIDAY will upload the mission details to your room.”

You grinned wider. “A room, huh? How fancy.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Natasha said as she turned toward the door, her voice flat. “This isn’t a vacation.”

You chuckled, rising to your feet. The cuffs clinked lightly as you stretched your arms, casting a glance back at the Avengers. “Oh, trust me, Romanoff. I’m anything but comfortable.”

And with that, you followed them out of the briefing room, feeling the weight of the cuffs on your wrists and the eyes of the Avengers on your back. You were back in the game, and Hydra had no idea what was coming.

dividers by @dollywons

[uncharismatic-fauna]

Uncharismatic Fact of the Day

Most animals don't have the firepower to tangle with the Portuguese Man'o'war, as their venomous sting can be extremely painful or even lethal. One predator, however, can't get enough of these floating siphonophores! The violet sea snail creates a raft out of mucus bubbles, and waits on the surface of the water waiting for jellyfish to float by for a tasty snack.

(Image: A violet sea snail (Janthina janthina) floating on its hand-made bubble raft by Denis Reik)

If you like what I do, consider leaving a tip or buying me a ko-fi!

[samueldays]

I got out the original X-COM and started a game for a refresher on what it's like, turned difficulty level to 2/5 with OpenXCOM bugfixes, started by getting extra soldiers for the Skyranger and

boy am I glad I got extra bodies!

The first (very small) UFO escaped interception, this is the second one to show up, a Large Scout, which was landed so it had its full complement of crew and loot, and it was a night-time mission. Ow.

I think a lot of the sequels, reboots, remakes, and general xcom-genre-games have a problem that they didn't want to be churning through cannon fodder like this, so they reduced lethality and scaled squad size down with the best intentions, and that had serious knock-on effects.

Once you're running a 4-man team instead of 12, taking 1 casualty and going down to 3 is a much bigger proportional loss in firepower, so the devs have to reduce lethality some more and ensure the aliens deal carefully-controlled amounts of damage and don't show up in large groups, thus the 'pods' spawning system, the weirdly nonlethal headshots, and so on.

And when you only get 4 shots a turn, RNG impact is larger, so the player has to be given tools to mitigate RNG, like autohit grenades. But wait, if grenades autohit, why wouldn't the player simply 'nade everything? So the 'nades get nerfed into low-damage effects to finish off wounded enemies, and the devs impose a rule that a soldier in XCOM:EU can only carry 1 grenade, and grenades cannot be passed from person to person. Upon promotion to Major, an officer receives permission to carry a second grenade. WTF?

[why-bless-your-heart]

I just think the whole Home Alone type thing is fun. Like “Oh noooo you’ve invaded my home whatever shall I doooo }:) psych.” Full-out guerilla warfare tactics. Maybe the bad guys have superior forces and firepower, but the good guys know that if you get that one doorknob wet the jerry-rigged electric wiring system will give you a, well, maybe not technically lethal shock, but it’s not gonna be pleasant. “Oh nooo our Star Trek ship has been boarded by hostile forces,” the entire engineering department has been fantasizing about this day since they were kids, you’ve got gleeful combatants popping up out of the air vents. “Alas and alack, our castle has fallen to the foe,” turns out the servants know all of the back ways and aren’t particularly interested in switching employers. It’s just fun!

[mistyresolve]

| Incident Report - Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Pilot Reader

Word Count - 4.5K

Summary - The reader is the pilot of an apache helicopter, one the most dangerous, advanced killer in the sky. She’s been the 141′s go-to when they need aerial support for a year. Each time she is called to a mission with them she immediately thinks of one person, Ghost. And she’s not the only one finding it hard to focus on the mission when working with the other. So when she devises a plan to finally get what they both desperately need, Ghost happily obliges her.  

Warnings/Tags - 18+ ONLY,  swearing, SoftDom, slight switch, praise, fingering, pussy licking? unprotected sex, creampie 

A/N - not to be nerdy but the apache helicopter to hella fuckin cool

Masterlist  ❤︎  RTB (Part two)

The first time you joined Task Force 141 on a mission was a year ago, having been asked to be their aerial support. Unlike the regular formal introduction that happened where you would meet your new team and mission in a conference room, you had been introduced on the tarmac. You were just doing the final safety checks with the engineer when the 141 arrived. 

You thanked your engineer before leaving to meet them. The only one you knew from previous collaborations was Captain Price. And it was Price who introduced you to everyone else. You tucked your helmet under your arm, catching it on the curve of your hip so you could have a free hand to shake with. 

“Nice to see you again, Stitch,” He dipped his chin at you, before sweeping a hand at the pack of men behind him. 

“Always a pleasure,” you gave him an easy smile. 

“As I’m sure you’re aware, this is the 141,” he pointed to the first individual, “Soap”, his grasp was firm and as you shook his hand, and gave each other a curt nod. Then Price moved the next, “Gaz,” you did the same with him, he offered you a sweet smile and you couldn’t help a matching one from growing on your own face. The last soldier was more stoic than the rest, harder to read, “and Ghost. This isn’t everyone but it’s who will be on today's mission.” 

When you met Ghost eyes you knew immediately he was dangerous. Extremely dangerous. You were thankful he was on your side. Thankful that you’d never have to come toe to toe with him. You took note of the fact that his eyes lingered on you too. Dark eyes roamed over you. Not in a heated lewd sense, but like a calculating predator. He was taking note of weaknesses and blind spots already. You wanted to wave a little white flag at him, marking yourself as an ally. 

Just then your co-flyer, having previously focused on the manifests, joined in on the pleasantries. 

“This is Dutch,” you knocked your shoulder against his, “The best gunner and partner a pilot could ask for.”   

“How long have you guys been flying?” Gaz inquired, cocking his head to the side. 

“Three years with this girl,” you threw a thumb over your shoulder to the aircraft behind you. It was an apache helicopter, one of the most advanced technologies all packed behind the painted green casing. The most exciting piece of equipment is the integrated helmet display, allowing either the pilot or gunner to slave the live footage of the chain gun to the helmet. It tracked an individual's head movement to provide an even more accurate aim. 

The apache was one of the most dangerous helicopters in the sky and you got to pilot it. You almost cried when you got your placement after flight school. You did cry after your first flight. 

Gaz let out a low whistle, “Is she treating you well?” 

You nod, “As long as I give her proper aftercare.” 

That first mission went smoothly, really smoothly. 

The Apache was built on the premise of being agile and lethal, and with you and Dutch inside the cockpit, the aircraft was able to reach its full potential. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t show off for them just a little. Show them who you acquired your callsign, Stitch. Bobbing and weaving around bullets and missiles. Threading between the terrain. Dutch provided firepower with unmatched aim. Dutch hammered the enemy with chain gun rounds, rockets, and HELLFIRE missiles. You’d also be lying if you said the elated cheering of the 141 over the radio didn’t boost your ego. 

You had provided them with as much support as you could be having to RTB for fuel. 

Every mission was no different from the first. All of them a success. And you couldn’t help the exciting you that hopped around in your chest every time you got assigned to the 141. 

One of the reasons was that you had grown a certain affinity for one of the members.  

Today’s mission was a little different. It started off with you being called to one of the conference rooms with Dutch right at your side. When you entered the room and found out who you were meeting, you grinned.

“Hello, boys,”  you immediately started searching the room for one person in particular, finding him seated at one of the tables. He had one arm resting on the table in front of him, and his head resting on his other fist. His eyes were already on you, slowly racking down your body. The heat behind his eyes made you feel good, made you want to ravish him right then and there. 

The tension was there from the very beginning, and it only grew every time you saw him next. You could feel it swell and surge between you guys, and you were damn sure he could too. Neither of you had acted on it though. Mostly because of the conflict of interest. Partly because the chase was fun.  

His gaze met yours, heavy-lidded with filthy vehemence.  

Some flighty and skittish part of you taking the reins and you had to look somewhere else. Anywhere else. You landed on the table he was sitting at, littered with maps, pictures, and documents. You slapped down on that piece of yourself, cursing at it. He made you nervous and loathed him for it. No man has ever made you nervous.  

“What’s on the itinerary for today?” your voice came out a little higher than it usually did. You shifted a document over to get a better look at the map. Price ran through the plan, briefing you and Dutch on your roles.   

The flight started off as expected, being called into action when the 141 had difficulties shaking the enemy and were in a vehicle chase. Their ammo was running low and one of them was shot. The wound wasn’t mortal but apparently, he was hurtin’.  

They were speeding down a desolate street of a deserted city when you reached them. You maneuvered your heli to hover behind a highrise, waiting until the enemy forces sped around the corner at the end of the street. When finally they did you rolled over into the middle of the street, hovering high in the air. Dutch fired away, taking out the forefront. 

“Fuck yeah!” Soap yelled into the radio, and you could see him shoot a fist out the window of one of their trucks.  

You shifted, barreling forward, adding pressure. This allowed Dutch to make a run with the chain gun as you flew overhead. You didn’t like the position but the highrise buildings on either side of the streets gave you no choice. 

“Let me know when you guys see smoke!” you had to yell over the sound of Dutch’s bombardment and strafe. You dipped between two buildings and met the reflection of the apache in the windows. You gave Dutch a quick salute in said reflection to which he returned with his own, before repositioning to enter the battle further back. More space meant more time for reaction. You would support them for as long as you could, they just needed to get out of the intended location or when they lose the tail. Or when you get rid of them. 

“Smoke!” Ghost shouted, warning us of the heat-seeking missile. 

“Flares!” you counter. Inverting the aircraft you released flares. The maneuver was the only way to get them out and in front of you in time to counter the MPADS missiles. You swore, “That was too fucking close.” 

Even Dutch seemed a little uneasy about it. You rightened yourselves, wanting to gain distance and height. 

“Switching to helmet display,” you announced, joining Dutch in the shooting. The 141 raced underneath you, and you applied as much cover as you could manage before needing to refocus on piloting. Four blocks away were reinforcements for them. You could manage it, Dutch could manage it. 

“RPG!” 

You merely had to dodge these ones, leaning left then right as they blew past you. 

Three blocks. 

Two blocks. 

Dutch signalled to you that he was out of HELLFIRE, and Missiles, “I got 50 rounds left in the chain gun,” he remarked, his voice calm and collected. One of the reasons you loved him as your gunman.     

“We’re RTB, we’ve given you guys all we could,” I hailed down to the ground, pulling away. 

“Thanks once again, CADAVER,” Price replied, calling you guys by your aircraft callsign, “See you two back home.” 

“We’ll have dinner ready and on the table for you guys,” you said, already heading back.

“Sunday roast?” Soap joined in.

“It’s Thursday, Mate,” Ghost answered for us dryly. You couldn’t help but smile at the familiar exchange.  

They were back on base an hour after you guys, and we met up for a quick and dirty debrief before being let off for dinner. You had purposefully chosen the seat beside Ghost during the debrief. He had also purposefully knocked his knee against yours underneath the table. The fleeting and seemingly innocent touch made you throw your other leg over the other and squeeze your thighs together. 

Like always you dreaded the inevitable paperwork that you had to complete and hand in tomorrow. You had just finished it when an idea formed in your wicked thoughts. 

With your action report in hand, you knocked on his door, plastering an innocent look on your face before opening the door. An expression of pleased confusion passed through his dark eyes, darker still when they dilated at the sight of you. He was still in his gear, only he was missing his weapons. You had strategically worn easy-to-remove clothes. An oversized sweater you’d stolen from the locker room(and nothing underneath you might add), and plain black leggings.   

You waved the piece of paper in front of him, “I thought it would be a good idea to compare notes.” 

You catch the ghost of a smile in his eyes, and he scanned the hallway before stepping aside to let you in, “Brilliant idea,” he shut the door behind him. 

It was your first in his barracks, and if you hadn’t known any better you would have assumed the room was vacant. Apart from the paper and folders on the desk, the rest of the observable room was pristine. 

Before answering the door he was probably working on the same report as you were. His writing was neat and tidy, a mixture between print and cursive. You examine the papers with a hum. He stayed a step back, he wanted to let you make the invitation before closing in. 

“I hope you’re not gossiping about me in here,” you jest as you drag a finger down the page. 

“Never,” he said, his voice low and serious, “I only ever say the most wonderful things about you.”

“Oh?” you tilted your head, your loose hair falling over your shoulder, “Like what?” You dared a glance back at him, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. There was the invitation he was looking for. 

“How the team always feels safest when we have the infamous CADAVER watching over us. How professional and talented you are,” the emphasis he put on “professional”, wasn’t mocking, but a challenge. A disguised question. 

Are you sure? 

You bit down on your lip, “Mhm.”

He took a step closer, reaching to take your report from your hand and placing it on the desk in front of you. His other hand comes to plant itself on the wood beside your hip. You could smell him, like smoke and rain. 

“How I’m finding it harder and harder to work alongside you,” you could feel his chest against your back. The bulletproof vest getting in the way of feeling the muscle and heat you knew to lay just beneath. 

“Because all I think about is how good I could make you feel,” he reached his free hand around your hips, pulling you back into him, his fingers digging into the flesh. Your breath caught and you placed one hand on the desk for support, your other one reaching for his around your waist. Your fingers disappeared under his sleeve to wrap around his wrist. You don’t know why but there was a fleeting shock when you met warm skin. Maybe you were half expecting him to be an actual ghost, with cold lifeless skin.  

“The sounds you’d make for me,” oh, he was arrogant, but it didn’t bother you one bit. No, his confidence and conviction made you hot, and your breaths came out in bursts. He drew you closer so you could feel his own response to the proximity, “How you’d crawl back to me and beg for more.” 

Your eyes almost rolled into the back of your head and you leaned your head against his shoulder, “Ohmygod,” it came out more slurred than you had anticipated. You reached up to his masked face, tugging at it slightly, “Kiss me please, Ghost.”

“Go on,” he instructed.

“Tell me when,” you breathed as you twisted to pull up the mask, stopping at the bridge of his nose when he said. He let you take him in, the strong curve of his jaw, his full lips, and the…light spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks. You traced his jaw, fingers dancing across his skin.  Lingering on the light scar above his lip. 

“You’re beautiful,” it was barely a whisper, barely audible. But it was enough for him. His hand shot from the desk, wrapping around your jaw before crashing his lips against yours. The kiss was erratic and deprived. After a year of circling each other and building up the frustration and tension, it felt like this was it was your time kissing anyone. The sensation of his mouth on yours made you burn. His tongue swept the line of yours, to which you wantonly open for him. He delved in, tongue running along the roof of your mouth, your tongue. The action made you well aware of the fact that if he got between your legs he’d make you scream with pleasure. You moaned, and he caught the sound, sucking your lip, and teeth biting down. He trailed wet, openmouthed kisses across your cheek, down your jaw, and sucked bruises into the supple skin of your neck. You whimpered, and it must have been a little too loud because a hand came to cover your mouth. 

“Unless you want to fill out an incident report tonight too, I suggest you use your inside voice,” he brought his mouth to your ear, his own pants fanning across your skin. You tugged at his vest, asking him to remove it. He removed his hand, “Say pretty please.” 

“Please, Ghost,” you tugged again, “I need to feel you,” Lord knows you’ve already waited long enough.  

He removed himself from you to unsnap it from his body with trained military ease, next was the black canvas jacket. The fabric of the black dry fit underneath was pulled tighter across his shoulders and chest. You were going to eat him alive. You were going to let him ruin you. You turned to face him fully and you hardly got the chance to reach out to him before he was over you again. His hands drove into your hair, around the back of your neck. Your hands ran across his chest, feeling hard muscle, the heat of him searing your palms. You travelled lower, untucking the shirt from his pants to gain access to his skin. Nails dug into his abdomen, leaving behind red lines. He hissed at the delicious pain.

Before you could register it, he was lifting you onto the desk and standing between your legs. He tugged you until you were flush with him, his hands securing you to him. You could feel his hard cock through the pants as it pressed into your stomach. You were in trouble. He was going to rip you apart. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t put it in until I have you nice and ready,” he must have felt you tense at the realization. You met his gaze, then started to roll your hips against him. His eyes widened before he slammed them shut and faced the ceiling. He didn’t let you get any further though. His hand shot to your chest, pushing you back until you were laying on your back. His nimble finger pushes your sweater up and pulls your pants down to your ankles. 

“Jesus fuck,” he croaked when he was met with your bare cunt. He pushed either leg to the side so he could have an interrupted view. His fingers grazed over you, and you jerked your hips up trying to meet his touch. 

“Don’t tease me,” you mewl at him, half tempted to relieve the ache yourself. 

All he could do was shake his head, eyes fixated on your arousal as it dripped down onto his desk. This time his fingers slide into your folds, coming to a halt at your clit. He made slow circles with his thumb. You gasped and had to bring the sleeve of your sweater to your mouth to bite so that you didn’t get too loud. He moved down and slid in two fingers, his brows furrowing in bliss as you greedily took him in. Your breasts tighten and you reach under your sweater to cup one and squeeze. His attention flicked to the activity and shoved the sweater higher so he could watch. The cold air was jarring, and your nipples hardened from both the temperature and arousal. 

Then he pulled his fingers back a couple of inches before slowly guiding them back in. He switched between watching your face morph with ecstasy and your pussy, enthralled with both but not sure which one to choose. He found a slow, teasing pace. One that was going to drive you to tears if he kept it up. 

“Faster,” you choked, trying to grind yourself on his hand but he stopped you with a stern grip on your hip. Yet he did as you asked, picking up speed and angling his hand so he could reach just a little deeper, and curving his fingers inside you. You couldn’t contain the moans anymore, and he seemed to have forgotten about the need to stay quiet. You started to shake as you neared your climax. You caught his expression, his lips parted and eyes glassy, you didn’t think he’d remember his name if you called to him. Your cunt tightened just as you started to cum. 

He removed his fingers.  

And dropped to his knees. 

He looked up at you, his pupils were completely blown, and placed your thighs on either shoulder and brought his mouth to you. You sobbed, frustrated with the stolen orgasm and the new stimulation. You placed your hands on the back of his head and pushed him further in. His tongue was way better than his fingers, and when he dragged it up the length of your length you thanked him. He sucked and licked and tasted you. The filthy wet sounds as he ate you out filled the room. You were so sure that if someone pressed their ear to his door they’d be able to hear it too. 

This time when you neared your orgasm you held him there, making sure he wasn’t going to pull away again. He groaned into you, and it was at just the right moment that the vibrations of it sent you spiralling. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you pant, tears pricking at your eyes. Your body went taut before it loosened. He stayed to lap you up. Placing chaste kissing on your clit. When he rose, he only wiped at the bottom of his chin to get rid of the cum dripping there so he could lick the rest of it from his lips. He leaned down to kiss you, allowing you a taste for yourself. 

You were going to ignite, and the only thing keeping you from doing so was digging your nails into his back. 

“Do you want more?” He asked, giving you an out should you have changed your mind. The thought of him going unrelieved after what he just did to you was absurd. You wanted him again and again and again. 

“I want all of you.”

He pulled away only to remove his shirt and undo his pants. His cock was hard, and you could see it pulse. He wrapped a hand around the middle, his thumb gliding over the head. 

“I’m on the pill. And Im clean,” you babbled. You wanted to feel him, without any barriers. 

“Are you sure?” he eyed you, “I have-”

“Yes.”

He didn’t waste any more time. He tapped the head of his cock against you, sliding his length into your folds, collecting the slick there. He rocked back and forth, holding himself against you with a thumb, “Shit.”  

“Fuck me. As hard as you need to,” he said before picking you up and sitting back into the chair behind him with you straddling his lap. He rested his hands on either hip; not to control or take charge but just because he wanted to touch you. Feel you in his arms. 

You swallowed as you guided him in, pausing at the head to adjust. Relax. If he hadn’t taken the time to warm you up, you would have shot right off him. The slight burn and stretch as you sank down onto him forced a cross between a squeak and a moan. You wished you could have captured his reaction on tape. His breath quivered, and he leaned his forehead on your shoulder. The both of you had thin coats of sweat on your hot, sensitive skin. Everywhere he touched you it felt like he brought with him flashes of lightning. 

“Just like that,” he grounded, tilting to the side to get a better look at where you connected. When you made the first rise and plunged back onto him, he nearly whimpered. You pulled back slightly, gauging his appearance before continuing. 

“I’m good,” he half laughed before tilting his head back and exposing his throat to you, “You’re just bloody tight.” 

“Well, you’re big,” you retorted, lifting yourself up and back down. 

“Mmm,” he shot you a conceited smile. 

So, he liked the occasional praise.   

You braced your arms on his shoulders, fingers dipping under his mask so you could grip at his hair underneath. You dragged a tongue up the column of this throat, the salt taste of sweat, and nipped at his jaw, “And so fucking hard.” 

His hips jerked up, meeting you on your descent. Hard. Lightening shot up your spin, and stars blocked your vision. Your pace picked up, chasing that pleasure. Riding him like it was the only thing keeping you alive. You racked your nails down the front of his chest, catching on his dog tags. Little red lines appeared. The desire to carve your name into his chest surfaced. You settled for your initials. 

He hissed at the mixture of pain and pleasure. His cock twitched inside of you, “Atta girl, mark me as yours.”

You rocked your hips against him, the muscles of his stomach providing extra stimulation against your clit. It left a trail of slickness and you would make damn sure licked him clean after. 

His groans turned into hot desperate whimpers, and his grip forced himself up and impossibly deeper. You squeezed around him.

“Good-” he choked, pulling you in to rest his forehead on yours, “Cum for me, baby.”

You did as you were told, your body convulsing and shuddering. You could feel it drip out of and onto him. 

He followed, fast and hard. You could feel him pulsating as his seed painted your walls white. It was hot and… a lot. He was leaking out of you and he was still inside you. 

You stayed like that for a couple of minutes. Catching your breath. Collecting your mind. 

“You think,” you paused, “you think they heard?” you asked, his team wasn’t far. They were either in their own room or congregated in the common area. Which was just down the hall. 

He pulled back, eyes searching your face, “Umm, yeah. You’re loud.” 

You faked an insulted gasp, “You’re loud.”

“No’m not,” he was. He wasn’t the silent type. You liked that. Liked it when your partners were vocal. 

“Liar,” you lifted yourself off him, cum dripping out as you did so. 

His chest seemed to puff out at the slight, pleased with his work. 

“You think they’ll see me?” you tightened your pussy, to keep it from leaking onto his floor. You pointed to the clothes he’d tossed onto his bed and he tossed you your shirt and pants. 

“They won’t say anything. There’s a shower in the bathroom,” he offered, you were just going to go back to your room and shower there, but it was a little risky. If the room smelt like sex, you did too. He followed you into the bathroom, flicking on the light, “Next time bring panties so you can walk around with my cum inside you,” he murmured as he watched. He pulled his mask back down over his face. At some point, he had pulled on some sweatpants. 

“You’re dirty,” you said playfully, locking eyes with him in the reflection. 

“Or better yet, we can fuck in your room so you won’t have to sneak back out.”

“You want to do the sneaking next time?” you tilted your head back to look up at him.

His eyes narrowed, “I’m really good at the sneaking.”

Because of his mask he wasn’t able to join in on the shower. But he did bend you over his backroom sink, holding your hands behind your back with one hand, and the other hand wrapped around your neck so he could make sure you watched as he fucked you from behind in the mirror. 

It was an hour before curfew when you finally slipped out of his room. He almost didn’t let you, tried pulling you back in. When you stepped into the common rooms, Gaz, and Soap pretended to be really interested in the walls, carpet, and couch. Price was nowhere to be seen. 

“The captain left a couple hours ago,” Gaz didn’t even look in your direction. 

He left a couple hours ago because that's when it all started and if he couldn’t hear anything he didn’t know anything. If he didn’t know anything he couldn’t get mad at anything. 

“Thank you,” you shoot back before very quickly exiting their barracks. 

Masterlist  ❤︎  Tag List Form

A/N - we love a vocal king

[zvaigzdelasas]

Detailed tests on the damage capability of kinetic energy weapons against US military armour have found it could be possible to take out a tank in one shot – even if it does not look like any damage has occurred.

That was the conclusion of Chinese scientists who conducted the in-depth assessment of kinetic weapons through experiments and numerical simulations.

They found that a solid sphere, weighing 20kg (44lb) and hurtling towards its target at about four times the speed of sound, could spell disaster for advanced tanks manufactured to US military standards.

The kinetic energy carried by such a projectile would be around 25 megajoules. This value may seem large, but when converted into electrical energy it is less than 7 kilowatt-hours, scarcely more than the energy it takes to cook two turkeys for Christmas.[...]

it was found that bolts connecting important equipment to the inner cabin wall could fracture. Even if the crew survived the impact, they would be unable to return the tank to its normal combat state.[...]

“Under high-speed kinetic projectile impact, certain typical locations in the armoured target exhibit impact response spectrum lines with amplitudes at certain frequencies exceeding the safety limits recommended by the US military standard MIL-STD-810,” Huang’s team wrote.

“Components at these locations have a high probability of failure due to overload damage,” they said.[...]

high-speed kinetic projectiles have the potential to achieve lethal damage even upon grazing contact, and their launching methods can be diverse.

Chinese naval scientists recently claimed that they have installed an electromagnetic coil gun on to a land-based wheeled platform and conducted rapid consecutive firing tests. This coil gun has the ability to accelerate heavy spheres to incredible speeds in the blink of an eye. Photos of this new weapon circulated on Chinese social media, sparking much speculation and excitement.

While the mobile coil gun might have appeared primitive, just as the early tanks did, some military experts believed it to be a game-changer. If electricity replaces gunpowder as the driving force behind lethal weapons, the landscape of future warfare will never be the same.[...]

Tank crews often point the front of the vehicle towards the energy, as this section is designed to be the most rugged and able to withstand the most firepower. But a kinetic projectile hitting this section would send destructive stress into the tank’s interior, potentially causing catastrophic damage to its firepower capabilities.

“The grip of the tank gun stabiliser console can be shaken off, the wiring base of the console pulled out completely, all connections between the fire control computer and the turret severed, resulting in a substantial loss of firepower,” the researchers said.

1 Jan 24

[vickyvicarious]

As he went down the wall, lizard fashion, I wished I had a gun or some lethal weapon, that I might destroy him; but I fear that no weapon wrought alone by man's hand would have any effect on him. I dared not wait to see him return, for I feared to see those weird sisters. I came back to the library, and read there till I fell asleep.

Jonathan's sheer rage is really notable here. I imagine at least a part of it is the sight of Dracula in his own clothes once again, after what happened last time. He also doesn't attempt to watch for Dracula's return at all, and while his stated reasoning is certainly a possible part of it, I wonder if he also simply doesn't want to have to bear witness again if Dracula returns with another victim. After all, despite the library being listed as a secondary safe place to sleep, Jonathan hasn't really done so before (except when he was locked in). But he knows it is a safe place, and while still nearby, it seems to be not right next to Dracula's room. If Dracula does bring back another child (which is by no means guaranteed) then even if he can't help, Jonathan at least won't have to listen as they are killed.

But with his rage and his desire to try and stop Dracula harming others, you might think he would want to be closer, right? Again, some of it is that self-preservation instinct. But his line about "no weapon wrought alone by man's hand" tells us he doesn't think he could, even if he had much more firepower than he actually does. Jonathan has had lots of experience with various strengths and abilities of vampires, but doesn't know their weaknesses. He's figured out that Dracula didn't like the crucifix, and 'sleeps' during the day, but that's about it. He may believe only some kind of holy weapon could even harm him (not wrought alone by man's hand). And he's not wrong about that, at least when a vampire is active. All the methods Van Helsing lists later are intended for use when a vampire is already weakened by the time of day/in a 'sleeping' state - even the stake, beheading, and 'sacred bullet' are all only listed as options to kill a vampire in their coffin. The most that seems doable while they are awake, at least that we ever see in the book, is to ward them off in one way or another. The crucifix and communion wafers aren't pleasant and the vampires avoid touching them but they don't seem to actually physically burn/scar in the same way they did Mina. Now, that may simply be because the vampires never touched any of those holy objects long enough, but regardless, Jonathan's instinct here isn't really wrong per say. Just not complete.

If he is convinced of this, then why attack Dracula in his dirt box tomorrow? Well, he's in the heat of rage and guilt at knowing what Dracula will unleash on many other people. It's the same as the other day, really. When Jonathan sees or hears someone else being hurt, he can't help but try to do something, even if he doesn't really believe it will get anywhere. In this entry, that isn't happening. And it's no guarantee that Dracula will bring back another victim; he's gone out multiple other times without seeming to have done so, after all. Not to mention the main reason: Jonathan says above that he would still try to kill Dracula if he had a weapon - he just is afraid it wouldn't work.

[sanam011]

"Warrior of the Air: Exploring the A-10 Warthog's Dominance"

History of the A-10 Warthog

The A-10 Warthog was developed by Fairchild Republic in response to a United States Air Force (USAF) requirement for a close air support (CAS) aircraft to provide ground troops with effective and precise air cover. The development began in the early 1970s, with the first prototype taking flight in 1972. After a series of tests and evaluations, the A-10 Thunderbolt II officially entered service in 1977, marking the beginning of its illustrious career in military operations.

Design and Features

Capabilities and Performance

The A-10 Warthog is primarily designed for close air support, providing vital assistance to ground forces by engaging enemy targets with precision and firepower. Its versatile arsenal includes a variety of air-to-ground missiles, bombs, and rockets, making it highly effective in missions ranging from anti-tank operations to close air support for troops in combat zones. The aircraft’s slow and steady flight characteristics, coupled with its ability to loiter over the battlefield for extended periods, make it a reliable and invaluable asset in modern warfare scenarios.

Significance and Legacy

Conclusion

In conclusion, the A-10 Warthog stands out as a true military marvel, blending rugged design, lethal firepower, and unwavering reliability into a single aircraft. Its role in providing close air support to ground forces has been instrumental in shaping the outcome of numerous military operations. As we look to the future of aerial warfare, the legacy of the A-10 Warthog serves as a testament to the enduring value of purpose-built aircraft in meeting the challenges of modern combat. Whether roaring across the skies or on static display, the A-10 Warthog remains a symbol of strength, precision, and unmatched combat capability.

[neon-knights-mercenary-company]

The world outside of Rowan’s cockpit was cast in shades of grey.

Sleet drove away the sun, battered away at building and bunker alike, leaving them indistinguishable from each other, the metal titans moving between them nothing more than looming silhouettes. Tracers and the occasional actinic glare of a laser would disrupt the illusion, casting hundreds of tons of metal and myomer in stark relief, before the snow cloaked them once again in anonymity.

Rowan cycled her scopes from IR back to Seismic, as the frozen mess proved once again too difficult for her Marauder’s sensors to pierce. Holding still to get a good reading, she found her target- a Rifleman RFL-3N, providing the AA cover keeping their air support at bay. She lined up her PPC’s crosshairs over the center mass, and-

CLANK

KRACK

A split second before she depressed the trigger, an incoming shell caught her ‘Mech on the left torso, stripping away over a half ton of armor and throwing off her shot just enough for a lethal blow to thetorso to simply rip off half of the offending Rifleman’s firepower.

Fuck.

Rowan turned her attention to the new threat- a Centurion CN9-A, it’s AC/10 reloading a new cassette. She turned the stumble of the blow into a smooth twist and step back, putting a building between her and the Rifleman even as she brought her weapons to bear on the Centurion.

She missed with her large laser, but managed to track the Centurion with her arm mounts as the ‘mech twisted its torso. Her medium lasers carved great molten furroughs across a score of armor plates, rather than punching a hole through to the tender bits inside. This was no green pilot- that, or they just got lucky. Better to treat them as the former, though.

Rowan pushed her mech into a sidestep, behind the cover of a building as her lasers cycled. Seismics showed the Centurion closing the distance, but stopping before getting to the corner instead of rushing through.

Definitely not a greenie, then.

The Centurion peeked around the corner, only exposing it’s arm-mounted autocannon and part of it’s torso and cockpit, and fired off another burst, even as Rowan pushed her Marauder to move.

Her mech danced around the burst of fire, closing the distance, before swinging a leg out in a kick aimed at the barrel of the Luxor-D autocannon. With the clang of metal on metal, the end of the barrel sheered away from the gun, but the Centurion’s pilot pushed forward, nearly unbalancing Rowan. She windmilled the arms of her Marauder as she stumbled back, and the Centurion pushed it’s way fully around the corner.

The Centurion’s medium lasers slashed a weeping red line across her ‘mech’s left arm, and managed to burn out the focusing lens on her own medium laser.

That fucker.

Rowan saw red.

As soon as she caught her balance, she shifted the center of gravity on her mech, and fell more than stepped forward into the offending Centurion, pushing it to the ground with all 75 tons of angry Marauder bearing down on it. The arm housing her now-ruined laser came down in a mad swing against the prone ‘mech, sheering away chunks of BAR-10 and leaving a section of the delicate structure exposed. A swift kick to shatter the knee actuator of the fallen ‘mech ensured it would have a hell of a time getting back up, and she sprang away back to her feet, uncannily smooth for the towering monstrosity she piloted.

Backing up a dozen paces, she fired off a final parting shot with her remaining medium laser. Her shot was aimed well, and touched off the ammo bin the opened up torso. The ensuing explosion breifly illuminated the battlefield, and in that moment through the red haze that had settled over her vision, she saw a model of ‘mech unlike any she’d seen before.

It’s shining silver form was superficially similar to her own Marauder, but it seemed to be some sort of frankenmech, with a Catapult’s twin-box style LRM launchers on the shoulders.

She decided to call it a Maraudapult, and was prepared to turn and charge the newcomer like she had the Centurion, when the IFF ping came back Friendly.

Rowan shrugged, and turned her attention back to the fight at hand-just in time to witness the Maraudapult obliterate a Hunchback-4G, that she hadn’t seen sneaking up on her damaged flank.

Woah.

Rowan took note of her savior’s IFF, resolving to buy them a drink when they made it off this fucking planet.

[rw-repurposed]

Rain World Repurposed - SEVEN RED SUNS

Seven Red Suns was a notable Iterator in their local group. He was Five Pebbles' mentor and was seen as a senior by many just below Looks to the Moon. His relationship with the OG Chasing Wind was a respectable one, albeit the two don't interact as much as No Significant Harassment does.

After Pebbles' isolation, Moon's final broadcast, and Spearmaster had come back to him, Suns were distraught over what had happened and he took a step back from communicating with the others in the local group except with Sig. Eventually, Suns opened to Wind as well after Wind told them that he is going to leave the Sliverist group and disconnect with everyone except their local group. Suns respected Wind's decision and everything was well.

Until it wasn't. When news struck that a Repurposed Chasing Wind had destroyed multiple Iterator facility grounds and their superstructures Suns immediately tried to contact Wind and confront him about it. Wind refuses to take responsibility for his actions and even warned Suns to not interfere. Shocked by how insane Wind had become, Suns sent Spearmaster to investigate of what had happened with Chasing Wind.

Unfortunately, Spearmaster was caught. Wind then gave Suns a threatening message contained in a pearl lodged inside Spearmaster's chest. He will come to Suns and destroy him if he intervenes one last time. Suns was not having it and fortunately for him, Sig had a surprise for him. Sig was able to replicate Wind's repurposing method and had repurposed himself beforehand.

With Sig's help, Suns was repurposed with a lot of firepower and immense capabilities as if he was built for war:

He had a built-in energy reactor capable of generating an unlimited amount of power and energy while disconnected from his superstructure. This energy reactor is capable of empowering an entire superstructure alone.

He was given extra platings of armor for his body. Capable of resisting the worst of physical damage even explosions. This plating of armor also allowed him to conduct even more heat for his energy cells.

He's capable of combusting himself into a fiery rocketbot if his energy reactor was overcharged. Making him devastatingly fast and powerful in melee combat.

He's able to shoot out a laser from his head insignia. Not a normal Iterator brain blast, but a scorching incinerator that would leave no ashes remaining on its target.

He's capable of summoning energized spears from his hand plates. Yes, Spearmaster was the blueprint for his main choice of weaponry. And he was delighted to have Spearmaster as his combat duo.

His energized spears were as lethal as an explosive and fire spear fused into one. In that, it explodes as it hits its target and burns the target into crisps afterward.

Sig gave Suns a bit of an old-fashioned knight armor over his armor platings. Albeit a bit excessive, Suns still accepted it because it gave him more defensive capabilities. Sig however just thought it looks cool on him.

After his enhancement was done, Suns strapped himself for the journey towards Wind's facility ground to confront him once and for all. Wind has to be stopped or else who knows what he'll do to the other Iterators or ecosystem next time. Sig and Spearmaster followed right next to him, however, Sig separated from him later on to check on Looks to the Moon while still maintaining his overseer to look after Suns.

Suns will confront Wind one way or another...

[guerramecanica123]

Seven deadly sins AUs

pride sans: He can spawn ghostly apparitions of enemies that stab them with bones, and these manifestations are able to actually cause physical harm to the enemy, making bone-imp creatures emerge from the void to jump on them and suck their lives away. He's a tough adversary with the ability to fire forth swift, lethal punches, launch a gigantic tendril from its arm to attack from across the area, crash into the ground with the force that upends people standing on it, and emit a wave of energy that threatens to poison anybody hit by it.

greed sans: greed sans, he truly symbolizes the sin of greed and takes you for your entire value. Then some claim he's a genuine master of deceit and trickery. He hides behind a facade of charm and charisma and can rapidly manipulate any situation to his advantage.

Lust sans: Lust Sans is loud, sardonic, and welcoming, with a fast, keen wit. He is also fun and naughty, frequently teasing and stressing inappropriate jokes and innuendos. He likes a good chuckle and pulls a few pranks. He is tremendously flirty and enjoys making people blush. He is always up for a challenge and can be relied on to be the life of the party. {UnderLust Sans Sprite. by TheRealAllanTorngren}

envy: Meet Envy Sans is a person who understands how to adjust and respond. When he sees someone who is more powerful than him and has more technology than his AU, he will do whatever he can to make his AU or his resident stronger and smarter. They duplicated the designs for themselves, yet they would not just copy them; they would advance them by finding ways to adapt them as flawlessly as possible. If Envy Frisk ever resets the Genocide, or if an AU destroyer enters his AU, Envy Sans will torment them. It's not something enjoyable for him to do, like having a drink with friends; this is a scratch he can't itch. He will do whatever it takes to be the most influential and recognizable envy in the multiverse, his universe, and beyond.

gluttony: Glutantony sans is capable of biting with a force of up to 6,000 Newtons and will devour anything and everything around him. His metabolism is so fast that drugs and toxins have no effect on him, including anesthesia. He would eat his enemies alive. He possesses superhuman durability, which helps him withstand fatal wounds and prevents him from dying, but overwhelming firepower can kill him.

wrath sans: Whatever occurred, he's come to do what he does best: kill in a fight. His ruthlessness is on full display. He works best in the midst of the violence, charging into The Fray and releasing powerful crippling blows that turn enemy after enemy into a corpse, allowing his targets to get a head off before turning back with a deadly counterattack, but while his body is durable and his mind is fragile, it is easy to lose himself in the bloodlust, for if the wrath sans feels his life is in danger, he will become ferocious, lashing out at Friend or Foe and focusing solely on his own survival. He may be both a strong antagonist and a faithful friend, as well as protective of those close to him. He is always aware of his surroundings and can quickly assess a situation, allowing him to adjust his strategy and tactics accordingly. He is incredibly strong, making him a valuable asset to his team.

Sloth sans: He is slow to act but has an incredible memory and can recall information quickly. He is also highly intelligent and can often come up with creative solutions to complex problems.

[noirofhyrule]

Sniper Riffle

I'm back to this about writing stuff 😎🤙

I think this one hasn't any warnings so it's sure to go. Maybe an slightly vulgar language but it's normal I think)?

Apparently I made 1451 words, yay!

Enjoy!

I'll make a summary later with my drabbles list next, I think… maybe, I don't know

Wynter was upset that Ghost had excluded her from his team for the upcoming mission. 

He seemed to have certain prejudices about her abilities that Wynter was determined to keep quiet. Ever since that accident in the Almas, plus the events of the previous mission where she almost shot Ghost by mistake, she seemed to have lost what little trust she had gained from him.

 That frustrated her a lot, she felt she was worthless in 141. Everything had changed since she left home in Las Almas, away from her brother. 

Still, she didn't lose hope, and with a smile, she combed her hair into a braid and set out for the firing range, where Ghost's team was training. 

Intimidated by the soldiers bigger than her, she took what courage she could from wherever she could and advanced to her locker in the armory, where her weapons that she had customized over the course of those few months were. 

At first, Price had told her they were too flashy, however, she bought it with an ornament for him in the shape of a little frog. 

Wynter pulled his favorite sniper rifle out of his locker, a garish pink Victus XMR that he had extensively customized. The weapon boasted numerous stickers of kittens, hearts and rainbows that contrasted sharply with the rifle's black metal. On the side, Wynter had had the name "John Wick" engraved in a sleek silver font, in honor of his favorite fictional character. 

In addition to aesthetic customization, Wynter had internally modified the rifle to maximize its accuracy and firepower. He had replaced the barrel with a longer barrel and the stock with a more stable stock with an adjustable rest. He had also installed a powerful telescopic sight with variable magnification for sniping. These improvements, coupled with his own skills, allowed Wynter to make incredibly accurate shots at long distances.

Wynter stroked the cool pink metal of "John Wick" before she strode decisively to the range, ready to silence Ghost's doubts about her abilities. The rifle seemed to live in her expert hands as she raised it and aimed at targets, proving that appearances could be deceiving and that her unique weapon was as deadly as any other.

Once there with her "John Wick" rifle, she felt ready to beat the best mark that belonged to Lieutenant Ghost with 30 seconds. 

Wynter positioned herself on the firing line, with "John Wick" firmly braced against her shoulder. He could feel the skeptical stares of Ghost's team pinned to his back, but ignored them as he focused on his target. 

At the sound of the whistle, he quickly aimed through the telescopic sight at the first humanoid target, 300 meters away. He held his breath and pulled the trigger. The shot echoed across the range, impacting right in the center of the target. Without wasting time, Wynter reloaded and turned to the next target, taking it out with a clean shot to the head.

And so he continued, moving from target to target with lethal grace. His movements were fluid and his shots accurate, the result of countless hours of practice. But as he progressed through the course, he could feel the growing tension in his muscles. 

As he reached the tenth target, his pulse quickened slightly and the shot struck a few inches off center. Cursing internally, he adjusted his position and focused for the final shots. He managed to hit the two remaining targets, but the damage was done.

When the horn sounded marking the end, Wynter lowered the gun, panting. She had completed the course in 33 seconds, narrowly missing Lieutenant Ghost's record. 

Behind her could be heard derisive laughter and disparaging comments from Ghost's team. 

"She's not good enough, Lieutenant. We should get someone more qualified," one of them said. Ghost said nothing, but seemed satisfied that he had excluded her.

Gritting his teeth, Wynter gave them a withering look as he mentally prepared himself for a second attempt, this time without making mistakes. He would show them what he was capable of.

After his first failed attempt, Wynter closed his eyes, taking a long deep breath, he needed to concentrate. He memorized the location and distance of each target, plotting the ideal course in his mind. 

After a few minutes, he returned to the firing line with his eyes alight. This time there was no hesitation or nervousness, just cold determination. 

At the sound of the whistle, he moved like an unstoppable machine. His movements were economical and lethally precise, without an ounce of wasted energy. The telescopic sight seemed to guide itself to each target, and the shots came out of "John Wick" like pink lightning.

First target, second target, the rifle almost seemed to fire itself in his hands. Wynter was on autopilot, every muscle in his body working in total synchrony. There was no room for hesitation or error. 

By the time the final horn sounded, he had cleanly hit all 12 targets in a mere 25 seconds, shattering not only Lieutenant Ghost's record, but also Gaz's, who stood in first place at 27 seconds. 

He lowered the gun panting, with a smirk on his face. Ghost's team watched in complete awe of his feat. Wynter turned and looked at them defiantly, "John Wick" still smoking in his hands.

"Now do you still think I'm not good enough for your team?"

She had shown what she was capable of, and was ready to take her rightful place among the best. 

None dared to respond. Wynter walked over to Ghost, who was looking at her with a mixture of surprise and admiration. "I hope this shows you that you can trust my abilities, Lieutenant. And that you will never belittle them again."

With that said he withdrew, leaving Ghost considering that he had misjudged the talent of the stubborn Wynter. From that moment on, he began to see her with different eyes, realizing how much potential she had and that she would be a terrific addition to his team, in more ways than one.   

Wynter had proven that she was there on her own merits, and she would never again allow anyone to make her feel less because she was a brand new girl in their groups. Especially not the stubborn Lieutenant Ghost, who had just discovered that he wanted much more than her skill with a rifle in his ranks.

After her impressive display, Wynter began to walk away from the range, satisfied that she had silenced the taunts of Ghost's team. 

However, the Lieutenant's loud voice stopped her in her tracks:

"Wynter! I didn't tell you to leave. I want to see you in my office now".

Wynter froze. A shiver ran down her spine as she heard Ghost's serious tone. She slowly turned around to find him staring at her, his face inscrutable.  

Behind Ghost, his team burst into derisive giggles.

"Uh-oh, someone's in trouble," sneered one of them. 

"Looks like the girl has a date with the school principal" added another with a chuckle.

Wynter felt her face redden, but she kept her gaze up as she followed Ghost towards the main building. She could feel everyone's eyes glued to her back.

Once inside the imposing office, Ghost sat behind his desk and motioned her to take a seat across from him. Wynter obeyed, resisting the childish impulse to look at the floor. 

"So..." began Ghost, interlacing his fingers in front of him. "You want to join my team to this mission."

Wynter nodded, bracing herself for reprimand. But the words that came next left her completely baffled.

She was already ready to apologize when Ghost abruptly interrupted her.

"What you did out there was not only humiliating, but a gross disrespect of my authority as your Lieutenant." 

His tone was icy and his eyes flashed with restrained anger. Wynter inwardly cringed, but remained silent.

"You show up here, barge in on my training and make such an ostentatious display...do you think my team will respect you now after making me look like an idiot?"

Wynter stammered "I...I'm sorry sir, I meant no disrespect...".

But Ghost continued as if he hadn't heard her. "I'll expect you tomorrow at 0600 hours for your first mission. And don't even think about bringing that pink atrocity with you. We need discretion for covert operations."

He then abruptly stood up, indicating that the meeting was over. 

Stunned but excited, Wynter retreated from the office. Despite the scolding, Ghost was giving her a chance! This was her big chance to prove herself on a real, real mission. 

[soraka-in-warhammer40k]

Space Goat List Design (temp title)

Today's topic: Deathwatch

Alright, due to popular demand let's try and do this

@strumwulf , @trat-yrrebeulb, @saintnuke-ac, I hope this sort of post is what you expected, and if anyone wants me to cover a specifc supposedly "bad" faction, just drop an ask into my inbox.

Todays's topic is the Deathwatch. As by a Metawatch article from three weeks ago sitting at the very bottom of the roster with a miserable 42% winrate, right there with Admech. In this post I'll put together a list that definetly will pack a punch on the table and definetly perform better than 42%.

Let's see what we are working with first. Our Army Rule is "Oath of Moment" - essentially "each round pick a target, go fuck them up with full hit rerolls". The detachment rule is 3 tactics to pick for a round, which is Sustained Hits 1, Lethal Hits, or Precision on a 6. All in all pretty simple, just fire up whatever is needed. Nothing here gives us specific instructions on list construction, so let's look at the Stratagems:

Aside from Armor of Contempt, each of those targets either ONE regular unit or TWO killteams. Adaptive Tactics is fairly lame as well, so we will spend our command points mostly on a) teleport 2 killteams around with Teleportarium and b) turn on one of the Rounds-Boost depending on the situation, either Hellfire or Kraken.

That gives us the first order to be effective: slap two Killteams in there, and we can effect the most points (and firepower) with this by using Proteus Killteams. Two big units are priced 360p each, which gives us a neat 720p core to work around. There's just a problem with that: those boys will never hold objectives. Ideally you always have them placed at max range, have them blast away, and then jump back up.

So what DOES actualy hold the objectives for us? For the homefield that is fairly simple: 5 man Infiltrator Squad. Their 12'' deepstrike denial shuts down so much possible enemy nonsense, making their inclusion for the homefield a no-brainer. We are now at 820p with that.

But what about other objectives? In general Space Marines are not good at holding objectives unless they throw a Terminator Brick on something. Their units are too pricy to be relegated for holding duty most of the time. Luckily, we don't have to be good if we can just grab the enemy homefield instead. Usually that's not easy for the faction, but among the exclusive Deathwatch units there is an Aircraft Transport: the Corvus Blackstar.

And would you look at that, it can transport EVERYTHING.

So what is the most annoying, hardest-to-remove, packs-a-punch unit we can send right on its way to the enemy homefield? Centurion Devastators of course! A squad of 3 with Grav Cannons should be able to deal with any big stuff the Blackstar's Hurricane Bolters can't shred - and would you look at that, they even get full rerolls when shooting a target on a marker. But wait, there's more! We still got three unit slots left on our party cruiser! It's a bit cramped, but we can still fit a unit of Eliminators in there! Very useful if the marker is full of units and you can't directly disembark on it: they can move after shooting, so you still got a shot of scoring the objective after blasting the enemy off it.

Adding that all together with what we already have that puts us at 1260p, and oh dear, we don't have any characters yet!

Remember the pitiful 5 man infiltrator squad we left to defend our base? Those people will just get shredded away by any sort of serious indirect fire, or especially ballsy deepstrikers, and then our primary scoring takes a nosedive. Turns out for just 70p you can eliminate that risk entirely: a Librarian in Phobos Armor gives essentially the entire unit Lone Operative. Since the enemy cannot deepstrike within that range due to the unit's ability, that means they are now ultra-safe. With the homefield now at maximal security, we are now at 1330p.

So what to do with the remaining points? Well, the Proteus Killteam does have a mirror: the Fortis Killteam. While the first gets a bonus for aiming at targets above half strenght, they get a bonus for hitting units below that. There's just one problem: they don't have deepstrike and out other Killteams are clogging up the Teleportarium. So we add a regular Apothecary with the Beacon Angelis enhancement to a squad of 10. Just in case those Plasma Boys blow themselves up, we now got a medic on standby.

Adding that to what we have puts us at 1640p. To make the most out of this, let's add a Watch Master and 5 Deathwatch Veterans - they are just there to carry the following Enhancement:

This levels up Oath of Moment to its old glory, AND gives you an extra use. Meanwhile the special weapons on the Veterans can pack quite the punch as well, even when they are just a small unit. The "makes stratagems more expensive" skill is also neat.

Overall: 1920 points by now.

What we do with the last 95 points is completly up to preference. I just threw a Callidus Assassin in there for scoring purposes, and that fits thematically with the Proteus Teams jumping around.

TO CONCLUDE OUR LIST CONSISTS OF:

Librarian in Phobos Armor

Apothecary (Beacon Angelis)

Watch Master - Warlord (Tome of Ectoclades)

Deathwatch Veterans (5 models)

Centurion Devastator Squad (3 models)

Corvus Blackstar

Eliminator Squad

Fortis Killteam (10 models)

Infiltrator Squad (5 models)

Proteus Killteam (10 models)

Proteus Killteam (10 models)

Imperial Agents: Callidus Assassin

With a total of 1995 points. Weapon options are to be taken as common sense dictates (= no Frag Cannons on the Proteus, Fortis goes full Plasma, high damage weaponry on the Blackstar).

Notes on playing this list:

The most interesting part about this: the list has an extreme advantage when going second. Not only can you start deepstriking on the first turn with your Teleportarium, you can also RAPID INGRESS THE CORVUS BLACKSTAR in the enemy T2, meaning for your T2 you can already zip over to their homefield. The list is not ideal for secondary scoring (you will most certainly not even consider Investigating Signals with just the Callidus), but it does not have to be, for your focus is to ruin the enemy primary scoring by directly putting their homefield into your focus. And hey, "Capture Enemy Outpost" is 8 points, so having your Centurions parked there at the first chance you get definetly will also score a bit.

Your biggest worry is running out of command points for you have no generator in your list but that is something one can play around. The operating procedure should be fairly obvious: mark Oath of Moment Target -> let the Proteus Killteams blast them off the table. Eventually strike in the Fortis Team for cleanup duty. Meanwhile the Blackstar with its cargo has its own gameplan mostly independent from that.

The biggest issue for this list in a competititve setting is time, for your goal is to win the primary game in the long run. I recommend unit trays for the Proteus Killteams so taking them off the board and putting them back down is easy.

Last fun bit: I am not sure how this works on the rules specifically, but in this list you would have TWO instances of "make a enemy battle tactic stratagem worse". Of course that means you target their best + Command Reroll, but I am not sure if you can stack them. Putting Command Reroll at a 3CP cost sounds hillarious tho...