#Lucky Lady Clover

[lucky-lady-clover]

People are writing fan fiction about villains?? It feels strange but i am curious..

What is an "X reader?"

[alchemicalterror]

You got something big planned, Don't you? Hm, Maybe I should get a gas mask ready..

Could you give us a hint~? Pretty please with sugar on top?

- @lucky-lady-clover

......

Sixty-seven new followers.

[en-esprit-de-corps]

Can’t have shit in Gotham, man.

I put on fuckin’ sandals to go get my mail and @lucky-lady-clover makes it EVERYONES BUSINESS-

[lucky-lady-clover]

[Oh god, Amelia don't drink random things handed to you what the fuck]

TRUTH SERUM - MY MUSE HAS TO ANSWER ANY AND ALL QUESTIONS TRUTHFULLY.

[[Preface the question with TRUTH]]

[lucky-lady-clover]

He's always so smug..

[en-esprit-de-corps]

Gonna be super self indulgent here and ask:

TELL US ALL YOUR THOUGHTS about the villains you've met so far!! Because i love them.

Well technically I’ve met all of them at least once, but for the sake of ease I’ll go off this universe.

Clover: New Mom collected Cool, I like her a lot, very maternal but I can respect it. If I’m gonna show up in her life and refuse to leave she has every right to react however she wants.

Jonathan C: Reminds me of a rat. But in like a good way, like extremely smart and very clean. Also the face he makes when annoyed reminds me of the way a rat scrunches its nose. Chewtoy what who said that? Overall I like him quite a bit too. Though I’ve been a bit… apprehensive lately. I’m sure I’m just paranoid.

Lex Luthor: Fuckface.

George Harkness: Goofball, bit of an idiot, definitely insecure and struggling with toxic masculinity. Honestly if I was an adult I’d probably shoot my shot. Please keep in mind I fall into the unfortunate group of people who see annoying men and think “I can fix him.”

Edward N: Never actually interacted with him, most of what I know is through osmosis via Clo. Scary smart like Jon. Seems cool, definitely would be another in the “if I was an adult” category cause he is cute as hell, but he’s currently trying to get with a Goddess and I respect the hell out of that.

think that’s most of em for now…

seriously though if there’s a teenage riddler out there in some universe hmu…

[enzo-rambles]

Lady Luck was not on their side

This is probably one of the stupidest things I’ve ever drawn

🍀🥄 (I made the fan kid a key because I heard that can used as a symbol for luck sometimes)

[lucky-lady-clover]

[I beg you, please, this would be so funny to me]

Send 🧠 + an intrusive thought for my muse to have, and they'll react to having it!

Specify muse!

example: "🧠 + Muse is craving a delicious cold drink!"

[loosesodamarble]

My lovely friend Laura (@thoughtfullyrainynightmare) got a heaping helping of Vermillion from the chapter leaks. And honestly, good for her. Well deserved, darlingLaura~! 💖❤️‍🔥

But I also got myself a crumb of Fausts! Tabata is teasing me with what’s to come… 🥰

[chaokao]

รีวิวเกมสล็อต Lucky Clover Lady EP.5 ปั่นยันเช้า By เจ้าเก่า

[lucky-lady-clover]

As fascinating as it is unfortunate, truly.. such brilliant minds being ignored when they could create incredible leaps in science, only to be taken advantage of when some reside in arkham.

I wish I could have read your Thesis, Spooky. I always adore hearing about your work.

Oh well.

One of the biggest questions faced to the academic world today is the role of professional ethics in research.

Yesterday, a joint scientific conference in Gotham on the future of cryogenic technology was unceremoniously interrupted by the presence of Dr. Fries, a man who first robbed everyone present then, in doing so, proved the operating theory the lecturer had spent five years of their life trying to prove.

Two weeks before, three luxury cars belonging to a visiting oil tycoon were thrown through the wall of the Gotham Police Department by one Dr. Isley. If the power of what she can do could be harnessed appropriately the hole in the ozone layer could be patched within the century.

The best neurosurgeon on the eastern seaboard (and possibly farther if not for the limited access he has to modern medical developments) currently sits in Arkham Asylum where he could be perfecting new life-saving techniques.

What do all these have in common? They can't get published. Since the rise of masked villainy many decades ago, as it is called in certain circles, universities have been quick to reject the academic degrees and qualifications of anyone deemed likely to use their proficiencies for less moral experiments. Our fields of study have become academic black marks on anyone who would look upon them, whilst the more toothless of our findings are quickly taken by those who would claim credit.

Most will likely die with the vast majority of their research hidden from the world. This is nothing short of a travesty.

The best thing to do here, then, is a platform to document my areas of research. Luckily, as I cannot get published anyway, the burden of actual proof is lower and I do not have to go searching for research papers to cite. A little unfortunate as I actually did enjoy writing my (now removed) thesis, but I do not have much time to go searching anyway.

Some of the dictation will be less than formal, due to time constraints and personal preference.

[lucky-lady-clover]

Hm, What to do for Valentines day at the casino.. hm, would a contest be fitting? A lottery raffle? Goodness, I miss being the one treated to things on Valentines day and not being busy planning.

The most obvious thing to do would be to inflate a large amount of heart balloons, set the lights to pinks and reds.. anyone have ideas for events?

[b1rds3ye]

Radio Silence

The mission required you to separate from the rest of Task Force 141 but when the operation is compromised, all he can do is listen to the panic through the comms until everything goes silent.

Pairings: Captain John Price x GN!Reader, Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader Reader Aliases: Breeze (Callsign), Bravo 1-5 (Squad-Member Code) Genre: Angst (open-ended), Drama Warning: Descriptions of violence/crashes, blasphemy/religious references, (probably) inaccurate military terms Word Count: 3k (~1.5k each)

Captain John Price

The captain was not a superstitious man, but when you’re on the battlefield, you take all the good fortune you can get. With age he’s picked up a range of small habits and lucky paraphernalia to get him through the mission; an aged penny in his left breast pocket, a four leaf clover stored in another, he finds himself reciting the lord’s prayer even though he’s not particularly religious (and if there is a god he’d like to personally go up and sock them across the face).

When you noticed his little rituals, you added on a good luck charm of your own - his favourite by far. A quick peck on the cheek followed by a teasing little “good luck, captain” in his ear. Price swears there’s something divine in your affection, it does wonders for his morale and efficiency. He thought nothing of it the first few times, but when he realised that this little gift of yours was here to stay, he started to reciprocate in kind when the others weren’t looking. His soul has become tainted over the years - if anything a kiss from him should be a bad omen - but your beaming smile in response convinces him that maybe he’s given you some luck your way.

And perhaps that’s why, after your ritual good luck kiss, he feels a little more than bothered when Laswell calls you away before he can reciprocate. You notice the slight furrow of his eyebrows and laugh, telling him not to worry and that you’ll see him on the other side. The hold you had on his arm disappears as you pull away, bidding him and the rest of the Task Force good luck as you join your own squadron. Price then returns to commandeering his own men, but the thought lingers in the back of his mind. Perhaps you need that extra little bit of luck today.

Price hates how good his intuition can be.

“Bravo 0-6, do you copy?”

With his squadron grounded and on the perimeter of the site, he stiffens at the tone of your voice. That’s not how you usually sound like over comms, that hint of uncertainty didn’t suit you.

“Loud and clear, in position of Site A.”

“Copy, we’re at the compound but… we’ve got company.”

“Al-Qatala?”

“No, looks like Al-Qatala is buddy-buddy with some mercs and- shit.”

“Breeze, what are you seeing?”

“How’d they get us surrounded…?” You mutter more to yourself than to Price but his blood runs cold regardless.

“Bravo 1-5 you are to fall back and wait for backup-”

He’s cut off by various layers of static but he’s learnt to decipher them. The deeper base of the rustle of fabric as you manoeuvre, the sharp trill of gunshots all overlaying the white noise of distant shouting.

“Price, our exits are blocked, they knew we’d be here, how’d they- Corporal! Fuck, stay with me! We’re dropping like flies here. Bravo-1, we’ve got no choice, we have to push through, full offensive!”

He hears the screams of nearby soldiers. While he’s grateful none of them are yours, he knows that the ride back to base will be a rough one regardless. He feels the eyes of his subordinates burn holes into him and the walkie talkie. Gaz, who was beside him, was the only one moving, animatedly talking to Laswell and filling her in on the situation.

“Bravo 1-5-”

There’s an audible sigh on your end that shuts him up.

Through the time it has taken for Price to become captain, he’s learned a lot the hard way. One of the most important things he’s learned is that earning Lady Luck’s favour is more crucial than any skill for the battlefield. Some of the best he’s ever seen has fallen because they pissed her off somehow, but he still never expected her to shun you.

“Just my luck…” your voice starts off quiet as you curse to yourself. A gulp breaks up your panting as you stabilise your breathing. Your next words are far too calm.

“I’m sorry, Price.”

“Sergeant.” Price’s voice was low, cautious. A warning. He knows how you fight, he knows you don’t do anything extreme unless the situation he calls for it, and once again he’s praying to the unknown that it hasn’t come to that.

“I said next time we hit the pub with the 141 that the first round will be on me but I don’t think I can make that.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Breeze.”

“The merc company goes by Order of Ashes.”

Your words are becoming harder to hear as the explosions seem to be getting closer and closer. Gaz is becoming louder, literally screaming into his comms as he near begs for an evac for your squadron. The rest of his team is becoming restless. Price’s grip tightens impossibly tight on the walkie talkie, any tighter and he could probably crush the metal.

“Rain hell on them for me, yeah?”

Price starts calling for your name, only to be interrupted by a deafening static that has him reeling from his own technology. Inexperienced privates that surrounded him flinched at the sound while Gaz fell silent. Soon Price’s walkie talkie falls silent too.

He brings his hand up to activate communications again, a tentative check in.

“Bravo 1-5, do you copy?”

He waits for a moment.

“Fuck. Breeze? Do you copy?”

The next time he calls out to you is the first time he’s hesitant, to the untrained ear he sounded as strong as ever but to him he recognises how his own voice wavers. A gentle call of your actual name, the last resort.

Silence.

Price gives you a few more seconds to answer, each moment more damning than the last. Gaz sends a concerned look his way but words fail him. He’s a good sergeant but his inexperience is showing. He hasn’t fully mastered the poker face, not like Price has. 

Eventually he lets out a heavy exhale through his nose, counting each racing heartbeat it takes until it has marginally slowed.

Gaz instinctively straightened up, he didn’t need to see Price’s face to know his captain was transforming before his very eyes. Price adjusts his hat, looking at the rest of his team under the brim.

“Alright, we’ve got double the work and half the manpower. No time to lose, I want this site cleared within the hour, and then we're finding our other half."

With affirmatives all round, the soldiers get to work and so does Price. To the untrained eye, he’s calm, eerily so. As captain, Price can’t afford to lose his cool, it’ll bleed over and smother his team, blanket them in a tense atmosphere of panic and uncertainty. So he stays resolute, acting as the team’s anchor as he guides them towards the objective with precision.

The only emotion that breaks his facade is anger. Pure, unbridled rage that casts a frightening glaze over his eyes. His allies can see it as Price stomps towards the entrance of the site. Al-Qatala most certainly feel it as their lackeys are pummeled to the ground, bones cracking against stone and tiles. They’re not gifted the mercy of a quick bullet, but the pain of slowly bleeding out with broken bones, bruised bodies and limbs jutting out in all the ways they should not. Every bruising punch, every bullet delivered does little to quell the raging storm within him. It brings him closer to the mission objective but it doesn’t bring him closer to you, and that’s the only thing that matters right now. There’s no hostages, no chance of salvation for his enemies. Any form of good will in Price was taken away when you were taken away from him. He hopes whatever god that sees the carnage he’s inflicted knows that it is only a taste of what to come if he ever meets that poor sod.

When his side of the operation is done and the squadron is now leaving the site, Price returns to his comms. He needs to address the other half of the mission, you. Suddenly his tongue feels thick in his mouth as his throat tightens. His collar is suffocating.

“Bravo 0-6 to Watcher-1 do you copy?”

Laswell’s voice rings out.

“Affirmative. We’ve already dispatched birds to Bravo-1’s location, we’ll do what we can and sort out that compound.”

“Do me one more thing. Find me everything you can on the ‘Order of Ashes’. I want names, locations, families, the whole fucking mile.”

“Can do. … Is this for Breeze?”

“Breeze wanted me to rain hell on them…”

Price’s voice is low as he puts a cigar in his mouth. He lights it up, even when the cigar smokes he keeps the lighter on. His eyes narrow at the flickering flame, fixated on it for a moment longer. He’s never been a particularly superstitious man, but he’s asking for Lady Luck to be on his side once again. For the slim chance that you’re somewhere out there, breathing. He’s never been worthy of her favour, but you damn well are so surely she’ll put that into account. She’ll consider that you still have a lot to do, you still have a good luck kiss that Price needs to return. He puts his lighter away.

“... and I intend to deliver.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost preferred his quieter missions. Others feel safer when in a team but more people mean more variables, and more variables mean more fuck ups, and heavens know he’s had enough of those. For Ghost, the less, the better. And yet, when it came to 141, and in particular to you, he’d pick company over going solo in a heartbeat.

Reconnaissance missions were a personal favourite, they were quiet, less violent if done right and often required only a few people. Of course his first person of choice is you, even if you’d always call these missions an “impromptu date” and then chastise him for not planning something more extravagant just to rile him up.

Even now, when you two were starting on opposite sides of the target site a good few kilometres apart, you were connected through communications. He’d listen as you ramble about anything and everything on your mind when the mission gets quiet. It was endearing, it was soothing. Ghost never thought he’d find someone like you with the power to give him a respite even when on duty - or if he ever deserved such a thing. And yet here he was, sitting against a wall, waiting for further instructions from Laswell as you started the purely hypothetical debate on who in the 141 would best survive the zombie apocalypse.

“Honestly, with a mask like yours you could probably blend in with the horde. 10 out of 10 you’d last your entire life like that.”

“Surrounded by brain dead morons? Already have that.”

He heard your laugh that you tried to mask as an exaggerated scoff.

“How long do you think I’d last?”

“One hour at most.”

“Oh come on Ghost, have a bit more faith in me.”

“All Bravo to Watcher-1, we’re awaiting further action, copy.”

As Laswell replies, Simon can already imagine your offended expression as he changes the topic.

“Bravo-1 this is Watcher-1, you are all clear to close in on the perimeter. Do not engage, just tell us what you see.”

“Watcher-1 this is Bravo 1-5, I’m already seeing hostiles.”

Ghost stills, his hand reaching back up to the comms. You’ve always managed to keep it cool but he heard how your sentence ended with a slight waver. It was too early for speculation, but the alarm bells were already going off in his head. The enemy should be clustered within the site, nowhere near where you currently are.

“I’m counting a dozen men, a couple of trucks and- that’s looking like some impressive cargo.”

There’s some extra static as Ghost finds his pace increasing. He won’t be able to reach you soon, but it doesn’t stop his legs from moving towards the site.

“They’re moving quickly, they’ve got an agenda.”

“Stay frosty, Breeze.”

“Got it, Simon.”

Your voice is more of a whisper now, almost blending in with the static. Was the enemy that close to you already?  Usually, he loved when you used his actual name. Everyone calls him ‘Ghost’ even off-duty, but you were proper enough to at least always call him by his callsign in battle. You were getting spooked and he was too far away to even try and comfort you.

It was a strain to unclench his balled fists. He wasn’t going to have a mission go wrong, at least not one that involved you. He’d be damned if something took you out before him, because he refused to return to a life where you weren’t yapping his ear off.

“Breeze, head back to exfil.”

“Fuck, they’re heading this way.”

If you found a good place to hide, Ghost could reach you before any enemy did. He had to.

“I’m heading towards your position. E.T.A 20 minutes.”

“Ghost, my spot is now crawling with hostiles. I know you’re a one man army but I think you’re pushing it this time.”

Your laugh was different this time. It wasn’t as hearty as the one he heard before, it was a weak wheeze. Half-hearted, the sound of a bitter and quiet defeat. He could hear your rugged breathing against the end of the mic. If he was actually with you, he’d stand beside you in moments like this, letting you put your body weight on him discreetly as he anchored you to the world. His gloved hand instinctively curls as he imagines himself holding onto your arm.

“Breeze, stay with me. Focus on the objective.”

“You owe me a proper date after this, Ghost.”

“Then make sure you get back in one piece-”

The comms are disrupted with a voice that Ghost can’t recognise, with you returning an indistinguishable shout and a curse. He can’t help calling your name into the comms, only to hear the static of indescribable commotion, bodies shuffling and the harrowing crack of broken bones and limbs. It escalates into a deafening crescendo spanning only a few seconds before the grand finale of a thump of a fallen body. The transmission ends with a damning click. He stops in his tracks before he returns to the comms.

“Breeze? How copy?”

The line has gone dead. Ghost slams his fist into the nearest wall, but it does little to quell the pain from within.

“Bravo this is Watcher-1, what’s your status?”

Ghost pauses at Laswell’s request, he wants you to be the one who replies on his behalf, you usually do. Never did a moment feel so heavy, outweighing his military gear and weapons, almost bringing the hulking man to his knees. His hand reluctantly comes up to activate his walkie talkie. He takes his sweet time, giving you the chance to interrupt. When he finally speaks, his voice is slow as he draws out every syllable, every pause a desperate invitation for you to speak up.

“Bravo 1-5 is M.I.A.”

Laswell is silent on the other side. Ghost lets his head tilt back until it rests on the wall beside him, the guilt made his skull too heavy. With that sentence alone he felt like your executioner, as if he just brought the possibility of you being gone into reality. The only thing he can hear now is the slight rustle of grass against the wind, a backdrop to the rhythmic bass of his pounding heartbeat. This was a typical ambience for solo missions, and Ghost was used to being alone.

But lonely? He had forgotten how it felt ever since you barged into his life. And now that the feeling has returned, he forgot just how utter shit it feels.

“We’re sending immediate backup to their position. We’ll meet you there.”

But by the time he and the squadron make it to your position, there are only the remnants of a battle left in your wake. A few unrecognised bodies are slumped against the walls, furniture is overturned, and dried blood paints the floor as a macabre dye. Most - if not all - of this must have been your handiwork, and if it was any other circumstance Ghost would feel proud, but you’re not beside him for him to praise you. That being said, there is no sign of you, and that leaves him optimistic, but the other soldiers seemed to think differently.

“You know, they say Al-Qatala never takes prisoners,” one jittery private said to another.

“What’re you trying to say? I've seen the Sergeant. Breeze is tough.”

“I’m just saying, even if we can’t find their body they’re probably d-”

“That’s enough,” Ghost snaps his head to them, eyes alight with a rage usually reserved only for his worst enemies. His voice is near unrecognisable, more akin to a growl than any human sound. He will not tolerate anyone speaking ill of you or doubting your capabilities as a soldier. He tells himself he does it for your honour, nothing more, nothing less. He disregards the selfish need for you to return to him as it wittles him down to the bone and contorts his face to a scowl concealed under his mask.

The soldiers hurriedly salute before exiting the room, leaving the lieutenant alone, shoulders and chest heaving before he moves to continue the search.

The team returns empty handed, but that means nothing to Ghost. Even as he’s issued new missions he does not falter. He fights with the same brutality, killing his enemy before they can kill him because he needs to return home. Return home so he can organise a covert mission of his own - retrieving you. No matter the rank or squadron that separates you, no matter if you’re shipped out to the other side of this godforsaken earth, you two are a team. Combat has hardened Ghost into a brutally honest man, many would call him a pessimist, but a stubborn voice in the back of his mind refuses to believe that you’re gone. You’ve always been a tough nut to crack, if you weren’t you wouldn’t be dating him. He’s seen you stare death in the eyes only for you to stand back up beside him. And so he faces forward and doesn’t look back. Because until he has to rip off the freezing metal of a dog tag from your neck, he swears on his stone cold heart that you’re still out there. Maybe a little tattered, perhaps even broken, but living.

Call of Duty Masterlist

[bowandcurtsey]

When someone else calls their s/o with their last name for the first time

(bc boys version) Haikyuu boys version here

So I decided to do a little quick piece amidst the 1700 event requests, because I miss black clover contents and I personally loved this fic and idea hehe. Here's one for all of you, something sweet and fuzzy.

Yami | Nozel | Fuegoleon | Zenon x F! Reader TW: unchecked You may of may not want to read this before reading yami's fic

Yami Sukehiro

You had to drag you husband’s ass out to the apartment viewing. You knew that low key, he found it hard to leave the bulls HQ. Afterall it was a place he found, built and had for a very long time.

But now that you’re married, it was only right for you two to have some alone and peaceful time without the walls breaking or anything catching fire at home.

Yami compromised to move and you compromised to find a place where the base can be nearby too.

“So, Mr Yami, your wife came the other day and she loved this place, how do you like it?”

“Yeah, whatever she likes.” Yami shrugged, he was okay with whatever, so long as you’re living with him.

“You have a lovely hubby, Mrs Yami. Aren’t you a lucky lady~” the agent smiled at you before her phone rang.

“Oh I have to get this, please excuse me for awhile, feel free to look around!” And she stepped out of the apartment

“So, Mrs Yami,” you were wrapped by his huge frame from the back, “is this our new love nest?”

You blushed and swatted him playfully, “if you like it!”

“I like it so long as the neighbours are okay with loud noises,” he smirked.

Nozel Silva

You were really busy with the wedding preparations , so you sent your fiancé to collect your customised gifts for your bridesmaids.

He stepped into the store and handed the receipt to the shopkeeper.

“Oh Mrs Silva’s gifts~” the lady said as she scurried to the back of the store.

Nozel stood there, stunned by what she said.

“Here you go,” she handed him the gifts awhile later, “you are Mr Silva?”

Nozel blinked, coming back to his senses, “yes.”

“Ah, Mrs Silva speaks a lot of you, I can tell she loves you very much.”

A blush crept up Nozel’s cheeks and painted it a tint of pink.

When he came home, he handed you the gifts.

“Thank you honey,” you smiled as you inspected the meticulous work.

“You’re welcome, Mrs Silva” he whispered in your ears before pressing a peck on your cheek.

Fuegoleon Vermillion

“Is Mrs Vermillion in?” A florist came into the crimson lion HQ one day.

“Mereo!” Fue was walking out from the pantry, “someone’s looking for you”

Mereo came out from the pantry with a cup of coffee in hand, “what?”

“Mrs Vermillion, I was told to come here to meet you,”

Mereo stared at the man for a few seconds, “what did you call me?”

The poor man read out the name on the paper carefully, “Mrs Ver-Mil-Lion, did I get that right?”

“Oi, dumb brother,” Mereo marched into Fue’s office to drag him out.

“Say it louder to his face, you’re looking for who again?”

“Mrs Vermillion, sir.”

Fuegoleon’s face turned bright red as he heard it from someone else for the first time.

“M-my wife-”

“Oh the florist is here!” You suddenly came in through the doors.

“Ah, Mrs Vermillion, I’ve been looking for you,” he bowed.

Fue stood there smiling with pride, he had to purse his lips a little so his smile wouldn’t get too wide as he listened in on the conversation with you and the florist on how to decor the place for the upcoming Crimson Lion anniversary.

You thanked the florist as he left.

“Mrs Vermillion sounds good on you, honey” he couldn’t contain his wide smiles.

“Oh honey,” you rolled your eyes cheekily at him, “please, your lips are about to reach your ears!”

Zenon Zogratis

He was kinda mad at you for going on a mission without telling him, so he didn't say a single word on the way to the restaurant as you celebrated your monthly date night.

"Do you have a reservation monsieur?" a waiter greeted you both.

"y/n." Zenon gave the waiter your name, since you booked the restaurant for tonight.

"let me see..." he scanned through the list of names, "ahh, Mrs Zogratis, si?"

"yep." you nodded shyly.

"And you must be Mr Zogratis, sir." the waiter beamed at the both of you, "lovely couple we have tonight, welcome in~"

He led you both to a quiet corner where you could oversee the spade kingdom. "Let me know when you're ready to order, Mr and Mrs Zogratis."

"are you still mad, Zen? You weren't back yet and it was a fast mission, so it slipped my mind to leave a note for you," you jutted your lip, pouting at your man.

"how could I stay mad, Mrs Zogratis?" his head rested on one hand, as he looked at you with soft ocean blue eyes.

You smiled shyly, it seemed surreal that now, you were married to this man.

"hmm, I should use this trump card more often~" you joked.

Zenon chuckled as he shook his head, what will he ever do with you.

[lucky-lady-clover]

**She visibly pales and shudders a bit**

Oh, god. Why here?? Why now??? Whatever, what are the chances I'm going to see him around anyway?

Breaking news from Gotham city!

Wanted fugitive, George “digger” Harkness a.k.a. Captain boomerang is reportedly being chased by authorities through the streets of Gotham.

Amanda Waller, the government official leading the chase only had this to say.

Amanda waller: It’s being handled.

[void-soup]

heres a lil list of all the names for the 1.6 starter chickens :-D

Portobello and Porcini

Chicky and Grushenka

Lucky and Clover

Salt and Pepper

Pecky and Clucky

Brunhilde and Gretchen

Billie and Bertha

Pickle and Zucchini

Peachie and Papaya

Potpourri and Ann

Buster and Scrappy

Petal and Twig

Cheeper and Squeaks

Skwash and Pumpkin

Goldie and Cocoa

Toast and Beans

Chip and Dip

Hazel and Peanut

Winky and Nod

Huffy and Puffy

Eggy and Ollie

Polka and Dot

Tiny and Shrimp

Fishy and Roe

Princess and Lady

Misty and Beluga

Snowy and Gingersnap

Honey and Biscuit

Piccolo and Viola

Potatoes and Gravy

lemme know if i missed anything :-)