#everytime I watch the pilot

[birdy-babe]

I know this is so crazy obvious but I just LOVE comparing the pilot to the newest episodes… the designs… the improvements.. the changes

Mostly with blitz

BUT ESPECIALLY WITH STOLAS

This bird and his dramatic draping himself upon couches

[wagingmywarsbehindmyface]

my TWENTY ONE PILOTS kinda re-edition of Clancy

[borgialucrezia]

the samdean brainrot is literally permanent like j2 and kripke really laced their codependency with crack because there's no way in hell i'm still thinking about them on a daily basis 15 years later wtf

[catfacedcat]

Hi

[ace-with--a-mace]

i have been watching american housewife

[5hrignold]

i absolutely love what their dynamic turned into in the show but whenever i watch the sf pilot im reminded of how much i love the way charlie just kinda slugs on behind pim and lets him do his thing and the only time in the episode he really gets his own moment he has no idea what to say to desmond and can only say they’ve failed. like i love the side of charlie that can be like overly passionate and kinda unapologetic and the way there’s nothing that can change his mind when he’s set on something and i dont even want it to be changed back to that but man . i just love it

[blistering-typhoons]

experiments into rewatching bbc sherlock so far has yielded: about 15 min of actual watch time, it's boring? why is it so boring, i did not expect of all things for it to be this goddamn boring, what was happening in 2017 why was i so enthralled

[add1ictwithapen]

your joshler edits are k i l l i n g m e they're everything

omg thank youuu 🥹

[andreadarcyart]

Everytime Eclipse said ‘Star Guardian, Guardian of the stars,’ all I could hear was this old vine 😂😂 Also ‘Shove it, Moon Man,’ had me in hysterics, this pilot was everything I wanted and more if you haven’t watched it already, then you need to immediately!!!! You can just feel the love that was poured into this project by everyone that worked on it, it truly was a delight to watch 💖

Link here to watch the pilot animatic! (You will absolutely love all the characters, they’re so funny and relatable!):

[l1ndseyper3z]

Gallavich headcanons cause I'm tweaking out about them

- mickey loves bands (basically confirmed in 1-07 cause of the radiohead shirt) and the first time he heard I Love You by Fontaines all he could think about was ian so that's basically their song to him

- mickey runs cold, ian runs hot

- I kinda get the vibe that after a while Terry's death actually started fucking with Mickey kinda in the way Monica's death fucked with Ian. it made mickey get kinda clingy but Ian didn't mind

- in s5 when Ian broke up with Mickey. it was 100% self destruction, he'd seen Monica and didn't want to drag Mickey into what he thought he was destined to be

- ian calls mickey baby and anyone who teases mickey about it gets threatened cause mickeys a softie who will never admit it

- although Mama Milkovich canon is unclear, I think she died somewhere in season 1 after being ill for a while. it definitely fucked with mickey and I believe that's why he ended up hooking up with ian. he thought because she was gone he had no reason to live and was just winging life. he was definitely close with her

- some songs that make them think of each other are Arms Length - Sam Fender, Open Wide - Inhaler, The Craving - Twenty One Pilots.

- they're such girl dads this is not up for discussion

- I think they end up having one kid, a girl. mandys the surrogate and she basically ends up being mickey with red hair

- mickeys a big Eminem fan cause I said so and once he has his daughter mockingbird RUINS him

- I imagine the first time Mickey held his daughter he literally just sat there for hours in awe and all the Gallaghers were just like woah ian you've managed to break mickey what the hell

- they're such good dads

- if their kid ended up with bipolar they'd deal with it so well

- honestly they're the ones most likely to break the cycle

- ian is generally clingier but mickey doesn't mind. he actually quite likes it (although he'll never admit that out loud)

- ian fell first, mickey fell infinitely harder

- mickey gets quite emotional sometimes, I mean you saw how much he cried over ian. I think finally coming to terms with all the shit he went through hit him like a truck around the time terry died

- ian is big spoon

- cause they're little domestic bitches one of their favourite things is ian reading a book while mickey naps on him or next to him and ian messes with his hair with his free hand

- people act like they don't engage in pda but they TRADEMARKED pda

- mickeys too possessive to not like pda

- mickey and debbie plus ian and mandy. lethal

- ian loves seeing mickey fit into the family. family's a massive thing for the Gallaghers so seeing mickey blend right in makes ians heart melt

- ALSO seeing mickey do anything domestic like laundry or shit makes ian horny just saying

- mickeys scent 100% grounds ian. it's what he was around at the peak of his bipolar and it brings so much comfort to him

- hence why they share clothes so much

- mickey just likes robbing all ians shit cause why not and ian loves smelling mickey

- going back to if they had a bipolar teenage daughter mickeys literally the best dad ever

- needs a day off school cause shes struggling? absolutely let me call them.

- she feels like shit? come here we'll get comfy on the couch and watch a movie

- doesn't wanna take her medication? talk to me about it, tell me why and I'll explain why you should, we can try new stuff if you need it

- mickey hated ians black hair

- after they banged in prison for the first time they were lay there and mickey just went "why u not a redhead anymore? you look like a fucking idiot"

- part of him being such a good dad is because of terry but also because he's genuinely a gentle person deep down and it just took security and comfort to bring that out. plus he wants to make his mum proud

- everytime ian sees mickey with their daughter he just like falls into a puddle on the floor

- they visit Monica's grave every year. mickey doesn't really like her but he wants to make sure ian stays connected to her

- same with mickeys mum, they visit her a lot

- everytime they go into the Kash n Grab when they're in the southside they just giggle. it's so goofy to them now

- they see Jimmy Steve's dad out somewhere one time and they're both like 😦😦😦

- they're such bad influences

- always up to some dumb shit

- basically they're all of our parents and I love my sillies

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Thirty Three - Crash

Part Thirty Two

———

Overuse was experienced by the earliest pilots from nearly day one, back when the tech was not being adapted for the human ability, when it was a machine being connected to flesh with no failsafes. Most of the scientists thought that would be the most dangerous time to be a pilot. 

It was overwhelming and painful, but those first pilots had more determination than anyone before or after them. Going through the motions of being a pilot, the unknown all around them.

The amount of time in a suit that leads to overuse depends on the compatibility level of the pilot, though not as expected, the more compatible the worse the symptoms, the less compatible the easier. 

Any extended amount of time in a suit can lead to overuse, the crash, or both. Just depends on the type of connection, the coding in the suit, and the health of the pilot. 

—

When they crash landed on an alien planet light years from Earth, one of the many things Breakdown hadn’t expected was becoming the designated ambulance for his unit. Let alone come to understand that for seemingly all sentient beings of any type, they all seemed to hate the doctor as much as humans did. 

Hell, as much as he did most of the time, but this one had an attractive personality.

Dragging them kicking and screaming to Knockout was not how envisioned a fun assignment, every few minutes able to take up post and let his cannon go at the enemies, that was the fun part. All the rest of it was mundane until Knockout was able to wipe his brow and take a moment to sigh.

That was why he did it, to have just a moment of the mech's time, to try and draw a smile from the medic. Why did he always fumble when it came to those in the medical profession?

Lowering the dripping mech to the slab, Breakdown sighs deeply, shifting back to look over to Knockout. 

Knockout was focused, completely in the zone and the transformed tools from his hands were working precisely. He glanced up and the movement stopped for a moment, he smiled before looking back down at his patient, “Take a capture, it will last longer.” And Breakdown’s throat tightened slightly before he clears it. 

“Knockout, this should be it for the time being, the Quintessons are falling back now that it’s daytime again.” Knockout hummed and kept working, energon splattering up his arm, Breakdown took a partial step back before turning and leaving the med-tent quickly. 

Doctors and nurses might be attractive, but certainly not while they were working or being splattered with toxic substances. 

Breakdown almost ran straight into Ironhide, who scowled for a moment before looking up at him, “Damn you’re tall. Where are you going in such a hurry?” Clearing his throat slightly, he glanced over his shoulder at medical and Ironhide nodded, “Ah, yeah, that’s understandable. Unfortunately, I think my prime is hiding in there for the moment.” He sighed before gesturing, “Sunstreaker was looking for you, over that way.” Nodding a bit, Breakdown sighs, “Thank you, sir.” 

Turning, Breakdown started that direction as Ironhide stared, “So, they're not all civilians.” He frowned slightly, watching the different hitch to Breakdown’s step, his frown intensifying as he watched a section down near Breakdown’s ped fold back up against his leg.

Not at all like a t-cog transformation, more hydraulic than that. Slowly, he moved into medical and over towards where Optimus had claimed a space to work, surrounded by familiar faces.

Better here than in command where Megatron would likely be. Venting slowly, he moves over.

Optimus looks up, “We need to speak about the humans.” Ironhide tried not to swear, “Everytime I turn around, we need to speak about the humans.” But he drags over a stool and sits anyway. 

—

Sunstreaker was waiting, rather impatiently, for Breakdown and Hound to show back up. Most of the blood and gore from the Quintessons had been rinsed off and the dull aches from battle were starting to come in, his cameras also were drifting in and out of focus annoyingly. 

The sun had risen and it was almost midday and to be perfectly honest with himself, he was starving but didn’t want to eat till they were all there. There was a certain peace of mind Sunstreaker preferred to have when it came to the crew and taking care of themselves, them eating together just seemed to help that. 

He knew Breakdown was in medical, helping Knockout move around a few of the wounded but he hadn’t seen Hound since they split up that night. It had been hours since he saw the man, but people were still coming in off the field. 

Drumming his fingers on his knee, Sunstreaker sighed deeply. Bluestreak had gone to some meeting somewhere and now he was alone, enjoying the lack of conversation, but still alone. Being alone was difficult for him. 

Tilting his head back, he stared at the slightly orange sky, it reminded him of the days after major cities had been partially destroyed. Some things didn’t seem to change, no matter what planet you were on.

Groaning, he stood and started towards the main part of camp, rolling his neck as his implants oozed uncomfortably. It eased the burning he’d been dealing with but the discharge was worse, always worse than the burning. Sunstreaker cursed and shook his head a bit to get it away from the worst of his connectors.

Once the others were sat down to eat, they could all disconnect for an hour or two, not the handful of minutes they’d gotten, who knows how long ago now. Frowning a bit, Sunny scratched at his neck, gloved hand coming away covered in discharge and light traces of blood. 

He sighed again, rubbing his face with his other hand. Through his speakers, he could hear the light tinkle of broken glass over the protective cover, he tried not to wince. 

Everyone looked exhausted, then again even he felt exhausted, they’d had fights but nothing like this or even the events of the last few days. There was something in the air that was unfamiliar to Sunny, because he was a civilian. 

For the rest, for the cybertronian’s, it was far more familiar. The feeling of desperation and deterioration, the ware and tear you only get from war, the feeling of loss even with a win because you all knew that it would just drag to the next. 

Coming into the main part of camp, Sunny only got in a few steps before Breakdown came from around the side of the medical tent, nodding to him slightly, that was one down but where was the other?

—

New Kaon in the middle of the day was hot, it didn’t have much in the way of water or organic materials, so it was hard to avoid the heat. Most of the mecha who lived here got used to having more coolant than they’d need on Cybertron.

Unfortunately for the humans, there was limited air conditioning in their suits with the new seals for space travel. Normally, it was too cold for them and New Kaon at night was not a comfortable cool night, it was the brisk near zero temperatures that any desert would reach. 

In all, not conducive to the life inside of a metal suit.

It had been hours since anyone heard from Hound. 

His comms were still offline from during the main attack.

There was very rarely good news when one of the humans would go radio silent for an extended amount of time. 

—

Sand, there was sand obstructing his view and a lot of it, when the hell did he get back to Mojave?

Hound started to come to slowly, painfully as he was more away of himself than his suit. After the first few dazed minutes, everything hurt. He was hitting that wall at the edge of overuse, the wall that could lead to the crash. 

There had only been a handful of MECHA pilots who’d experienced the crash in the past, mostly in suits much bigger than his own, though a few of them hybrid-class like he was now. Damn his head was pounding.

Unable to open his eyes, Hound groaned painfully, focusing on the connection with his suit more as he woke up. The more he focused, the more he could see even without opening his eyes. He was being dragged over the sand, arms over someone’s shoulders, and it made them ache even more from the strain. 

Coherent thoughts were capable, coherent speech was not. Hound was trying to speak, but nothing was coming out, at least nothing that he could hear, god how had it gotten this bad?

The voices outside were muffled, the people dragging him were striking in color but he really couldn’t tell who it was. 

With a groan, Hound attempts to que his microphone, “Guys, I’m fine.” But he wasn’t entirely convinced that was what he said, or that any sound came out. Groaning again, he hangs his head and closes his eyes, or feels like he does.

It felt like the briefest of moments that his eyes were close, but he’d still been a fair distance from base camp when he’d collapsed, now there were a few structures in his view as well as rapidly approaching suits of familiar yellow and blue.

He didn’t know what was worse, having to be towed back into camp or for there to be other pilots nearby to watch. 

The arms of his suit were quickly drapped over Sunstreaker and Breakdown’s shoulders, no longer being dragged through the sand and more helped along towards the medical tent. With a flick, Hound turns off the translator, “I’m okay.” This time he could tell that he’d actually spoke and not made strangled sound. 

“Like hell you are.” Sunstreaker sounded pissed, shifting the suit closer slightly and almost throwing off Breakdown’s balance, “No one has heard from you in hours, Hound.” Breakdown’s voice was quiet, almost too quiet to hear and Hound’s head lulled again.

Shade and cooled air of the medical tent almost made Hound sigh from relief, his suit was cooking him alive, but he glanced up and caught the eye of several medics who were in fact staring in horror. He could almost imagine the sight.

Two mechs, one of which with a shattered visor, holding up another who could have the paint melting off his plating. 

Breakdown was quick though, pulling them towards a corner and drawing a curtain around Hound and Sunstreaker, leaving Sunny to help Hound down to the cot while he attempted to smooth things over with Knockout. Least that’s what Hound thought. 

He was shoved non-to-gently down onto the slab and Sunny was quick to ping him. All the instruction he needed to close his eyes again and disconnect.

The suit was boiling and he was thankful to be kneeling on the floor of his cockpit instead of in the piloting chair, taking several slow and deep breaths, he answered Sunny’s hail. Though he didn’t have a mirror, Hound could imagine how terrible he looked from the state of Sunny’s expression.

”Yeah, I know.” Shoving off the ground on wobbly legs, Hound limps over towards his cot where everything was stored, “Hound.” He waves behind him as he tried two different times to grab hold of the cooling kit. 

Another ping hits their comm and Sunny answers for him, though thankfully Breakdown stays quiet about Hound’s current state, “We’ll be left alone for now, Knockout will probably be over in a while to check on you and Hound.” Nodding a bit, Sunny didn’t shift his gaze from Hound’s slowly moving form.

stripping off the exterior of his assistance suit helped, then pulling on the cooling vest provided just that little bit extra relief. He’d be sweating if he wasn’t dehydrated, “Hound,” Now it was Breakdown’s turn to worry, sighing he shuffles back to camera with food and water, cooling kit in tow.

”I know, I know, it was stupid.” Lowering himself to the floor, he pulls off the boots of his suit and sighs, closing his eyes briefly before starting to drink from the water pouch, “I fear it was worse than stupid.” Hound chuckles slightly.

Nodding a bit though, he shrugs, “You and me both Breakdown, but the job is the job.” He winced as his head twinged painfully, shifting back to the cooling pack to pull out something else.

He held a cold compress to his face, groaning painfully as his head pounded. Hound hung his head as mecha flitted in and out of the med tent on the other side of the curtain, “I’ll be fine, I’ve come to this edge before.” Sunny was worrying his lip and Breakdown was lightly shaking his head.

”One of my brothers, he went through the crash—“ Hound held up a hand, trying not to glare, “I have not crashed, this isn’t that.” It was the clearest his voice had been in hours.

Sunstreaker and Breakdown spare each other a glance before looking away.

He’d be fine in an hour or two, even better once he got some sleep and ate some real food, but for now if anyone were to enter their closed off area, he would be perceived on the outside as unconscious. 

Adjusting the screens, he shifts Sunstreaker and Breakdown onto a monitor each, plus a single angle with an outside view. Sitting back, he kept the compress to his face and opened one of the containers of food he had, frowning lightly at the offputting yellow shade of the fruit. 

Lifting a piece, he slowly started to each but kept his head down. Hound couldn’t even look at them now, couldn’t bear to bring himself to look at them, mainly because every time he did they were cringing. 

That’s how you could tell it was bad, when other pilots who experienced so much the same as you would shrink away from your appearance. To be fair, a shower would help immensely in it, getting rid of the dried blood that was turning the white compress pink and oozing discharge which had gone from clear to now nearly the same shade of green as Quint blood. 

The Crash was close, too close considering they were in the middle of a war zone. 

Hound sipped some more water and wiped the blood from his nose, holding back a hard cough painfully, Sunstreaker shuddered, “Hound.” He held up a hand for a moment before lowering the water pouch, “I’m fine Sunny, I just need some sleep.” 

But Breakdown shook his head, “Hound, the crash can kill you.” Sighing slowly, he pushes off the ground and moves back over to his bunk to get a change of clothes and some more bandages, “Better me than one of you, to know what our limit is.” He tried hard not to scratch his implants. 

—

North Iacon had some Quint sightings and Sideswipe was staring at one of the scouts right now. If it were any other time, any other place, it would have been no question to go after it. He almost had.

Chromia kept her hand on his shoulder while Skids and Punch moved in, guns raised, quick and lethal without damage to the surrounding area, “I still don’t quiet understand why you don’t carry a firearm Sideswipe.” her voice was quiet, watching.

He stayed quiet too, staring with wide eyes as the pair of them shot the Quintesson more than a dozen times a piece before it went down, “Uh, because I’m a civilian. And that, we don’t have the same sort of tech for guns back home, we, uh, use something different.” Wincing when a tentacle swung out and sent both Skids and Punch faceplating onto the frozen ground.

With a heavy sigh, Chromia patted his shoulder before moving in quickly, gun coming seemingly from nowhere to offer assistance, it should be dead but at least it was stuck on the ground.

Even as it was literally wiping the floor with Skids and Punch.

”This is why the civilians don’t have guns on Earth, because we figure out faster ways of handling the enemy, even when it means breaking shit and getting things dirty.” The Quint screamed before the fourth shot from Chromia split it’s skull. 

Moonracer, Anode, and Lug were just behind him, he could hear them muttering in a language slightly different from main Cybertronian, but the translator was still trying to pick it up. 

Sighing slowly, he lowers himself back to the seat nearest the heater, watching the team move in a practiced ease he hadn’t seen before. Looking even to those who had been late to the party they seemed to fall into some sort of pattern as well. 

Then Chromia smiled at him, “Come on Sideswipe, there’ll be more where that came from, whoever gets the most confirmed gets off the night shift.” He smiled just a bit and stood, moving over, “Uh, you realize humans need more sleep than you all do, right?” There were a few chuckles as they started towards the border.

“Yeah, if you get the most,” “Which I doubt.” Moonracer added, elbowing Lug with a smirk, “Then you get your next shift off. We got a deal?” And he smirked, quickly shaking her hand.

—

To be fair, he really did look unconscious from the outside, so it was no wonder that Knockout scared the crap out of Sunstreaker when he near silently peaked into their curtained room

The medic was frowning at all of them, from the seemingly unconscious Hound, to Sunstreaker with his shattered visor, and Breakdown who appeared to be fine but had alarmed the prime enough to turn the opposite corner of his medical bay or in this case tent, into a meeting room.

Sunny looked up at him and struggled with his cameras to get them to focus on Knockout, frowning a bit, “Uh, hi.” Knockout’s gaze was frightening, especially when he scowled, “Are you going to let me replace your visor, or will I need some seekers to hold you down?” Sunny gulped and disconnected from the comm, relieving some of Hound’s headache.

”So, uh, my visor.” He gestures lightly before Knockout had hold of his hand and was pulling him out, “I’ve already asked Bluestreak to come sit with you, but this needs to be done, now.” Glancing back, Breakdown pulled the curtain closed again.

Sighing slowly, Sunstreaker swore as he was sat on a slab all his own and Knockout filled his cameras, light shining into them quickly, “Oh god.” Wincing slightly as he attempted to turn down the brightness, “So, your visual feed is sensitive to light in this state.” Suddenly, Sunstreaker understood why everyone avoided all the medics.

He’d met two and had yet to have a pleasant experience with one. 

It was hard not to flinch back as Knockout started to remove the bandages and cover, “Don’t worry Sunstreaker, it all will be alright.” Knockout smiled lightly, for a moment before the cover came away and he froze.

To his credit, he didn’t start swearing, but he nearly tore the curtains around the slab Sunny was on even when Bluestreak started to come over, if mecha could look pale that is how Sunstreaker would describe it. 

Barely catching Blue’s glance, he figured that for them, however his suits so-called face looked pretty gruesome. If he had to describe it, the poor mech looked ready to be sick.

Knockout came back in after composing himself, taking a breath, “So, you don’t feel any pain?” Shaking his head a bit, Sunny shrugs slightly, “No, not really.” Even Knockout looked ready to be sick, “Is it that bad?” Closing his eyes, Knockout needed a moment.

The medics hand gently rested on Sunstreaker’s shoulder, “Sunny, when you became this, pilot, what all did they change?” Frowning a bit, he couldn’t help but shift uneasily, “What do you mean?” Groaning and hanging his head, Knockout gained his composure, “Sunstreaker, you don’t have eyes.” He was getting choked up, “They took your eyes.”

For a moment, Sunny wanted to laugh from the relief of it, but thought better of it. Shifting some, he clears his throat, “Do visored mecha usually still have eyes behind the glass?” Knockout nodded. Sighing slowly, Sunny brought a hand up carefully, “I have cameras, dozens of small cameras.” He bit his lip for a second, “All pilots have cameras behind their visors.”

Knockout swore loudly.

—

Hound wasn’t entirely sure how long it had been, but he’d curled up on the cot in the corner after Sunstreaker had been dragged off and disconnected their comm. Breakdown had settled down for some sleep himself, so he figured it was safe enough outside.

He was still exhausted, he couldn't have slept for more than an hour but it was better than nothing, both him and his suit had cooled off significantly in that time which was a relief. 

Sitting up slowly, he grabs the mostly empty water pouch and drains it the rest of the way with a sigh. His head was spinning and every part of him ached. The nausea was back and his heart was beating harder every five beats or so, if he didn’t know better he’d think he was sick.

Then again, overuse was a type of sickness. Turning to the box he kept, he pulled out some assortment of medical items from the Odyssey, the painkillers he was just about out of were tossed aside for the small slip of antibiotics. 

They originally weren’t supposed to make the manifest, but he’d packed enough for each of them to be on the edge of death at least twice. Hound couldn’t help but save his for the rainiest of days, popping open the foil like protection to get to the medication, drinking down the last of that pouch to take them.

Of course, doing one smart thing does not take away from at least two days worth of stupid ones.

Standing and shuffling over, Hound starts to pull on the pieces of his assistance suit, groaning a bit from the weight of it. He would be fine if he could just get back in the piloting seat, back in the right headspace of it all.  

Dragging on his helmet, he was limping back to the main console and started to adjust his settings. 

It wasn’t hard to remember how he used to like them, some were the same between hunter and striker, but there were subtle differences. Preference in camera angle and scanning capabilities. He needed to be able to see, not view, but actually see. 

The piloting chair had never felt so comfortable as Hound went about adjusting his settings, smiling lightly at the basic maintenance, ignoring the pain. 

Ignoring the drainage, each pound from the headaches, hallucinations, all the sensitivities, how tired he was, his stomach turning uneasily even with putting water in it, the rash across his arms and shoulders that was new, the bleeding, and of course the way he felt like if he’d slept any longer he could have simply keeled over and died. 

Smiling with some sense of satisfaction, Hound glanced over towards where Breakdown was shown, still dozing over their comms before he grabbed the cabling for his suit.

His heart was racing, fight or flight was there and both sides had valid arguments. Taking a breath, Hound closed his eyes.

They were so close, if they could just keep New Kaon safe they’d earn a rest. He’d earn a rest, maybe some time in Iacon, maybe some time by himself in Iacon. To actually see the planets he was protecting, to even tend to the garden they had in the apartment for more than five minutes.

To have a moment to feel alive again, to feel himself again, and that meant being connected with the suit, to hunt and kill the enemy. 

With gritted teeth, Hound took a deep breath and reattached his oxygen mask, adjusting the data on his helmet’s visor. 

Connecting, his implants zap lightly against the cabbeling as he attempts to stand from both the slab and his piloting chair. 

The best way to describe what Hound saw was as if he blue-screened, which in a way his suit did. The connection was not precise enough and with the side effects of overuse, it was enough to trigger the reaction. 

When the cabling for the suit cannot make a proper connection with a pilot, likely caused by discharge from overuse, it leads to one catastrophic conclusion. 

The Crash hit him like a bus and he was going in and out. Having been standing one moment, then to on his hands and knees the next, gasping to breath. There was a loud crash somewhere in the distance that he thought absently could have actually been him.

All the voices around him were going in and out, like he was going in and out of consciousness. Who knows, maybe he was.

There was one sole good thing about the crash, once you crashed you wouldn’t again; mostly because you either survived by the skin of your teeth or, well.

A second experience with the crash was unheard of and supposedly impossible, the only unfortunate thing was that Hound had experienced one so long ago he’d forgotten till now. 

Or he was made to forget till he was in it again.

Back before making the change to Striker. A hunter crash, now a striker one. Something deep in him told him that if he made it through it, there wouldn’t be another looming in the darkness. 

His suit hit the ground and there were hands on his shoulders quickly, trying to lift his dead weight, “What’s going on?” The voice was still muffled and unfamiliar in his current state, coming through exterior audio only.

“He’s in the crash.” Breakdown’s voice was clearer, piped in through comms. There was more distant talking, more muffled as Hound’s ears went numb before Breakdown came through clear again, “No, not a crash. The Crash, move.” He was hauled back up onto the medical slab and it jarred his back some. 

The light shined at his cameras was blinding, then it was like he couldn’t breathe, the procedure of drawing someone from the crash when they were trapped. It was horrific, but necessary.

Hound still couldn’t hear, seizing painfully in his seat, it wasn’t until his head hit the back of the seat and there was a deafening snap through his brain did everything seem to come back into focus.

He still couldn’t breath, so his hand came down hard on Breakdown's, which was pressed hard against a line in his side that connected him to the main air tanks. Gasping once Breakdown pulled away, he started to cough painfully.

Breakdown was staring, watching Hound through their comm line, watching the man pull himself back from the edge of death with the same stupid determination that almost put him there. After a moment, they shared a glance.

The Crash hit it’s first pilot, so who would be next?

Unable to help it, Hound went back to coughing and hacking, even as he removed his oxygen mask. The drift connection was almost painfully weak compared to what it had been last night, but then again, almost dying would make those connections weaker.

Breakdown kept watching, holding back the medics with a pained determination, “There is nothing to be done, he will either live, or he will die.” And that was as simple as it was. Heartbreakingly simple. 

———

A/N

Wow, what a chapter. I swear, I did not mean for it to seem like it was ending on another cliffhanger. (Meaning, Hound is not dead, he is out the other side of The Crash) I probably need to go more in depth about what the crash is at some other point.

I hope this chapter makes sense? It’s been a rough week, which I’ll go into later this next week in a rant post. But yeah, not a fun time for me recently.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter as much as I did writing it. I tried to get it up on Friday, but I was literally midnight when I finished writing out this authors note. Go figure. I’ll reblog in the morning though to those who live in different time zones. :)

Tags

Thank you @keferon for the ever amazing Mecha AU, it has brought so many of us together. It’s fantastic.

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[yelloowcars]

My roman empire is the fact that, from what we could see on the pilot, Lottie and Nat had a good relationship, like, I can tell they were good friends, or at least can see they stood up for eachother or agreed on most things.

I can totally imagine Lottie standing up for Nat everytime she heard something remotely close to what Tai insinuated she should be doing when she said "Don't you have a bong to hit or a dick to suck?". And then Lottie grabbing her arm about to call her out on it, but Shauna got ahead saying "Don't talk to her that way".

Then watching the slow freefall, when Lottie started to "act weird" because of the things she felt, heard, of saw in her visions. Still, at the beginning, they showed Nat still caring, talking to her or trying to sooth her in some way.

Afterwards, we know what happens and they grow apart, Nat constantly pushing Lottie aside on every attempt she had of caring for her (in Lottie's way of caring in the wilderness), but somehow on the bathtub scene it felt like they were finally getting along again, or at least standing on good terms. A silent white flag.

And Lottie cared about Nat, she never stopped caring about her, not when they were young, and definitely not when they were adults.

The adult version of them just makes me wonder how they handled things after the cabin burned down. Did the fact that Nat became the new antler queen change things on their relationship?

Why did Nat say "Friends? Is that what we are?"

Did something bad happen then? Or they grew closer and then after they were rescued and Lottie letf to the mental facility on Switzerland, something else got in between?

Like, it's clear she had to go through all of that alone. At least some of them kept in distant touch. But Lottie? As far as they knew, she was still on Switzerland completely out of her mind.

I don't know, it just makes me wonder so many things.

Also the fact that both of them as adults saw eachother's youngerselves in their most vulnerable moments, speaks to me. Like, why them exactly? They had to share something special for that to actually happen, right?

Just me rambling here, though.

[buckevantommy]

for @bucktommyfluffebruary day 1: non-sexual intimacy

Buck's done this before.

He's held hands with plenty of girlfriends and almost girlfriends and flings and one night stands.

It feels different with Tommy.

Physically it's different - Tommy's hand is bigger than his, which is new and distracting, and it's strong in the way firefighters and pilots naturally have a stronger grip - but that's not the kind of difference he's talking about (although he does love it).

It's the other difference.

The connection. The physical proof that Tommy wants him close, wants to touch him, hold onto him - and not as a precursor to sex. And Buck doesn't want it to lead there, either (at least not always; it bolsters the sturdiness of their relationship that he doesn't feel pressured to go there everytime, like he can enjoy this simple, easy thing without being expected to pay for it. He gets to hold his partner's hand outside the bedroom, an anchor in the world, without worrying when it'll be ripped away).

He's never really experienced casual intimacy so readily in a relationship before. He didn't realise how starved he was for it.

Tommy's thumb strokes over Buck's knuckles. He's fast becoming addicted to this, to Tommy's touch: patient and indulgent and wanting, in public for anyone to see, for everyone to see that Buck gets to have this kind of gentle care and comfort.

It's not a chore or a hardship for Tommy. It's not a trade for Buck.

He gives Tommy's hand a squeeze, tuning back into the conversations happening around him. Maddie catches his eye and he can't help his dopey grin as he ducks his head, cheeks turning pink with a flush of joy more than embarrassment.

Tommy's mouth brushes the shell of his ear, sending a warm shiver through him. His words are soft as he asks if he's okay. Buck turns towards that voice, nodding and eyeing the gentle concern on Tommy's face as he lets his smile show, nosing in for a short, sweet kiss. "Yeah, m'good," he murmurs against Tommy's lips, watching as they quirk up. "I like holding your hand," he confesses.

Surprise lights in Tommy's eyes and in the oh that bends his cupid's bow. Buck waits, and Tommy squeezes his hand again, gaze settling into something achingly fond. "Well," Tommy says, looking down between them where he reaches for Buck's other hand. "The feeling's mutual." He lifts Buck's other hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his fingertips with a cheeky smile that softens as he twines their fingers together.

Yeah.

Buck's hooked on this.

[queeredfortakeoff851]

God😭

Tell me why I was watching calc notes from my class today, and everytime the professor mentioned the variables in order: d, a, d, t, I had to stop the flippin video because I couldn't help but think about DADT 😭😭.

Like god damnit these flippin pilots WON'T LET ME DO MY WORK 😆😆

[buttercup12233]

Alastor is such a Gary stu that wants everybody to know that he's "sCaRy" because he can have black eyes and red pupils, turn big, and shoot out tentacles. Like bro. That's not creepy. And most of his lines fucking suck. How does he know about modern slang? Didn't this guy die during the great fucking depression? Not to mention, this guy swears a whole lot. It would've been perfect if the only time he ever swore was when his staff got broken apart. That would've really shocked the audience. I wouldn't mind him saying "fuck" a few times, but when that shit becomes a common thing, that's a problem. Swearing wasn't common in the 1900's. So why is Alastor using it on a daily basis. He no longer stands out from the cast. He's just another edge lord. He says the most corniest lines too like omg everytime he says ONE embarrassing word, I have to pause from watching the show bc the guy gives me second hand embarrassment. He's trying so hard to be terrifying that it's not working. For some reason, Alastor just wants power.... I'm not sure if it was planned from the start, but the execution is dog shit in my opinion. Pilot Alastor was done better than this. The reason why pilot Alastor was so creepy and overall an amazing character, at least in my opinion, was because you didn't really know exactly how he was feeling, or what was going on inside his head. The whole point of him volunteering to 'help' Charlie run the hotel was that he could see sinners fail and give himself some entertainment. He even flat out admits it in the pilot. But then you just have that gut feeling that there's something more going on with Alastor. That he's probably planning something else than just finding entertainment. Let the 'him wanting power' be like a b plot if THAT was the case (explain why he even wants power too bc if he just WANTS it for the sake of it, then that's boring). And I think what was the most exciting thing about his character, was that he was mysterious. Notice how the only times he EVER used his power or lost his cool was when Angel Dust claimed that he could suck his dick, or when Sir Pentious interrupted his song and threatened to literally hurt him. I swear, this guy used his title as the radio demon for times when it was appropriate. That's what I loved about Pilot Al. He wasn't trying to be creepy unless it was needed. In this show, he desperately wants people to fear him. He even tries to pick a fight with everybody, even the ones who are kind to him. He's a complete asshole and a dickhead. And I'm just like "boo, fucking corny, bitch". Idk, man. It's pro just me. But I hate Alastor so goddamn fucking much. At least in the show. He gives me headaches, he's a Gary stu, and I can't believe this mf got away with talking trash to the KING OF HELL like holy SHIT. Why didn't his ass get humbled at the moment there? He just got freewill the whole time during season one without consequences. Besides Adam tearing his ass up.

Alastor is just so- ugh.

I beg for you guys to let me know if some of my points were invalid. I would actively listen to them. I was just in rage the whole entire time while writing this, so my mind was just clouded with 'wtf happened to the cool guy I once loved' and just...RAAAAAH. so please don't hesitate to speak out. I'm aware that not EVERYBODY will agree with what I say. But it's great to hear y'all's opinions about this. Thank you.

[rainyorca]

☾

Reader’s powers are loosely based off a wolf, think Wolfsbane from Wolverine and the X-men.

The moon shines brightly down on the Blackbird, the engine is just a quiet rumble. Most of the team is asleep, quiet snoring fills the soundscape but it's much louder in your ears. 

However there was an absence among those snores, Scott. Unable to sleep, you opened your eyes, seeing his dark silhouette in the pilot seat. You unstrap the seatbelt, getting up and walking to the passenger seat. He didn't seem to notice you at first. 

“Scott,” you say, his name sounding pleasant on your tongue. 

He turns his head to look at you, his visors glowing softly. The moon allows some light in, as well as the glow from the controls, just enough so he could see your face, or so you could see his.

“You’re bleeding,” he states, reaching over to wipe the blood off your face. He only smears it, the blood staining the pad of his thumb when he pulls away. 

“You need to rest,” you hum, watching him turn to look ahead. “I’m not tired,” he responds simply, keeping his eyes on the sky. 

“You can't lie to me,” you point out quietly, “I spent most of my younger years hunting for my food, I know when my prey is tired, Scott.” 

“I'm your prey?” 

“That’s not the point.”

You watch his lips twitch, as if he was planning on saying something, but he stays quiet. You continue to stare at him, eyes looking over his body for any injuries, your nose searching for any sign of blood. 

“You're injured, Scott,” you say when you catch a whiff of his blood, “I can smell it. How long have you been bleeding?”

“I’ll get myself fixed up when we get back,” he looks at you, you can feel the intensity in his eyes. 

“Then at least let me fly.” 

“Absolutely not,” he mutters, dismissing you with a hand, “go rest.”

“I am nocturnal,” you remind him, “it's a part of my mutation, I can't sleep at night for long hours like you guys can without getting restless. Let me fly, or at least watch the autopilot.” 

He presses his lips into a line, like he was trying to decide. “I'm fine,” he responds after a second. You sit back crossing your arms over your chest. He's stubborn, just as much as you, but you like that about each other. 

“Tell me about your past,” he breaks the silence, still looking forward, “you mentioned you lived in Alaska for some time. I’m from Alaska, you know.”

You look at him sideways, furrowing your brows while you think of what to tell him. “What do you wanna know?” you ask, trying to see if there was anything specific.

“Everything,” he returns, “you said you used to hunt for food, tell me about that.”

You explain to him your life during your younger years before joining the X-men, hoping it’ll make him tired or at least bore him to sleep. Your past wasn't all that interesting, but he proceeds to ask you questions, showing he was following along. 

Eventually you guys make it back to the mansion, you go and wake everyone up, except Logan who must have woken up shortly before you arrived. Everyone either hits the showers or immediately goes to crash in their rooms. But you sought out Scott once again. 

He was alone in the laboratory, sitting on one of the cold, metal tables. You watch him from the doorway, his back facing you, but you can hear the pain he's in, see it in the way his body tenses everytime he presses on the wound. There's gauze scattered around the floor below him, all drenched and stained with blood. 

He hisses when he presses another to his wound, his hands shaking from the pain. You walk in quietly, placing a hand on his bare back while you move in front of him. “Didn't want to ask Hank for help?” you ask, slowly reaching down to grab his hand and pull it off his wound. He flinches at your touch but allows you to pull his hand and the gauze away. 

“Didn't want to wake him,” he responds, watching you stare at the wound. “This is a pretty deep wound, Scott,” you say, brows furrowing as you take a closer look, “you wont need stitches but it’ll scar.”

“I know.”

“You need to stop treating yourself like a machine,” you sigh, moving away from him to grab a rag, wetting it with warm water and then walking back, “you keep this up you’ll end up falling apart. Hold still.” 

You carefully rub the area around the wound, cleaning up the blood that has spilled onto his skin. Then you pat it dry with the dry side before tossing the rag aside and moving to dig in the drawers for more gauze and bandage. 

“You need to take better care of yourself,” you continue, pressing the gauze on the wound and carefully wrapping him up with the bandage. You feel his warm hand against your face, making you look up at him. His blood gets on your skin, the deep red color leaving its mark. 

You stare up at him, but keep your expression still. “You have such big, beautiful eyes,” he says quietly, barely a whisper. You reach up, resting your hand on his and nuzzling your face into his palm. You close your eyes, letting out a quiet sigh as you take in his scent.

 “More a doe than a wolf,” he murmurs, you open your eyes to look at him, “I wish I could see them more clearly.”

You press your nose to his palm, inhaling his scent again. Scott’s scent is much deeper than just whatever body wash he uses or cologne. You think of it like perfume.

His top notes, what everyone else smells, fresh laundry, slightly floral. His middle notes were amber, a dash of nutmeg. His base notes, the scent you can smell. Pine and sandalwood, aquatic. He had a type of woodsy musk that you loved, reminded you of home. You can smell it through the metallic scent of his blood. 

He always wonders what he smells like to you. Logan describes him to smell different than Scott expected, but with you, maybe it was different.

You could stay here for hours, face in his hand, the ambient sound of machines humming. What was strange about this, you and Scott weren't even in a relationship. You shared these moments of skin to skin contact as often as time would allow, but in secret. The team doesn't know, and in your eyes they don't have to know. People like Jean or Charles have an idea, Logan definitely knows from the way you simply talk about Scott. That man can figure out anything. 

His hand moves from your face, his fingers brushing your lips as he pulls away, staining them red. “Sorry,” he mutters, noticing the large bloody mark on your cheek. You don't say anything, instead you bring your fingers to your lips before swiping your tongue over to clean up the blood.

He hops down from the table, picking up his bloodied gauze, throwing it in the trash, and then picking up his shirt. Your eyes follow him, watching him move about the room before heading to the door. He pauses before looking back at you. 

“Get some rest,” he says simply, the ghost of a smile on his face before he turns off the light and disappears down the hallway.

It felt a lot colder in that room after he left.

My last little drabble with him (for now). I need to focus on finishing the two halloween fics I'm working on. Maybe I'll turn this into a long fic if anyone is interested? This is loosely inspired by this twitter post.