#mark wolfe platoon

[senka-mesecine]

Can you please write something for Wolfe with the prompt "i'll provide for you—you'll never have to work again!"? Thx

Wolfe's a Wolf.

Lt. Mark Wolfe x Reader.

-

A patient died on the operating table that day.

A grizzly case of someone stepping on a landmine.

After a twelve hour surgery, deflated, defeated and bloody up to your elbows, plastic gloves entirely crimson on your hands, you sit slumping on the cracked tiles for god knows how long contemplating all the ways this life could've been saved. All the ways this could've been prevented. All the ways the ultimate outcome could've been different. All the ways all the bits and pieces this broken soldier was in when they hauled him inside could've been stitched back together to hold his entrails and limbs in place instead of collapsing into a mess of gore and mangled flesh in front of you. Maybe if you did more. Pressured yourself harder. Maybe if Doc --- sometimes, chaotic, disjointed thoughts have the habit of racing like that whenever you have a death case on your hands, professional poise, guilt and exhaustion mingling into a heavy, potent cocktail along with the realization you haven't slept or ate properly in two days straight, living off of adrenaline alone, notwithstanding the fact that you didn't even want to think about the notion of showering and when's the last time you had the free time to do it properly. Right now, you're tired. So very tired it echoes back to you from the bottom of your very soul. You know it, even as it's happening; you fall asleep in the hallway. You tell yourself; you'll have the rest of your life to feel more awful you've ever felt, but now --- your body needs some shuteye desperately; the sordid, tortured, dreamless type. It demands it. And you catch a Z, right there, uncomfortably leaning on the cold, iron leg of the very bed a kid no older than eighteen died on with his torso split open, carried out in a body bag. You're aware of yourself dozing off even as someone leans over you, talking to you or at least preparing to, for a second having you think the medic's returned to find you in this sorry state not befitting a combat nurse, napping in-between shifts. Funny that, how a person could be semi-asleep out here yet be fully awake, both in their own body and outside of it.

It's Lieutenant Wolfe of Bravo Company, US 25th Infantry Division.

Somehow, you had the tendency of both forgetting about the very fact he existed and yet, you could recognize him if someone forcibly woke you up in the middle of the night and showed you his picture while painfully pointing a flashlight into your eyes; he was peripheral yet ever present like that. Or maybe it was the humidity weighing heavy on the facility that had you thinking like that, all distorted and crazy. Grief burning through your mind like a sickness.

-"Hey, you sure did a job today. Did your best."-

He speaks to you and you're not sure if he really says those words or if you're imagining them in a state of complete and utter stress. All you wanted to do is keep your eyes closed and hope he goes away. Wasn't unkindness on your behalf. Had nothing against him or anyone from his respective platoon, except the few notable exceptions you'd rather diplomatically and very prudently steer clear of unless the opposite was absolutely necessary. It was just --- it was a difficult day. You wanted to be alone. No desire for small talk. And no. You didn't do your best. Someone died today in the most awful and painful way a person could die. Yet, Wolfe's presence persisted, or Mark's, as he occasionally insisted you call him. You recognized it as an attempt to flirt by getting personal and ditching honorifics and ranks but you tried to kindly ignore such advances, feeling that on-field fraternizations of a sexual or amorous nature in equal measure were always generally bad mojo and a cause for unnecessary entanglements and drama; the pastime of civilian life. Certainly not fit for in-country service.

-"Need something?"-

He asks, blurry in the frame of your heavy lids, taking up the space of your vision.

You appreciated the effort. You really did.

But, now wasn't the time.

You wanted to forget? How's that? You wanted a second chance? A shower? The war to end? To sleep, continuously for three days straight even though that wasn't a possibility? Could he provide that? Was he a magician? Probably not.

-"No."-

You mutely shake your head leaning against the infirmary's wall once he crouches so he'd be at eye level with you while you were there barely managing to get those two words out, squeezing them through by force because he at least deserved the courtesy of your verbalized rejection; lips chapped and dry, your words feel like cracked sandpaper in your own throat. You close your eyes again. Wolfe still doesn't go away, though. You sense him in front of you. Time feels strange, like he's been by your side for both longer and yet simultaneously shorter than he really was; you occasionally flutter your lashes open purely to check if he was a figment of some nightmare or not. Suppose the poor schmuck was doing his job too, as best as he could; making sure his infantrymen, including the medics, were okay was part of this calling irregardless of the fact how badly he tended to fail at it most days. You failed today too. So who were you to judge him anyway? You were in the same shit out here. In over your head.

-"You know ---"-

He begins, carefully, looking around like he was checking if the coast was clear.

Was this going to be another attempt of his to go sweet on you?

You hoped not.

You were too overworked and devastated for the theatricals of romance.

You listen to the rain outside, thumping the window ajar just above your head.

A harrowingly humid monsoon season has started.

You vaguely wondered what the weather was like back home.

-"I'll provide for you."-

He says, matter-of-factly.

Just like that.

Out of the blue.

You could barely keep your eyes open to look at him but you could see his own gaze dropping, scrutinizing the dried, crusted blood staining your skin and your rolled up sleeves sticking to you like he was trying to illustrate a point. It's like someone took a hammer and smashed you straight across the skull with it on the spot.

-"You'll never have to work again."-

He adds and you feel your lips part, exhaling sharply like it was the first actual whiff of oxygen you had in ages; god, that was unethical of him, college boy dangling his privileged position back home to bait you. Using this moment of weakness. Biding his time. Knowing it would come sooner or later. Eclipsing you alone like this. Men out here die every day. And he'd catch you. At your worst. Your most profoundly vulnerable. Your most miserable. Making you on offer you couldn't refuse. Because this was good work. This was noble work. Sacrificial. But, my god, was it awful. Was it dirty. Was it sad. It weighed heavier and heavier on your conscience every day. And you can almost visualize his words as clear as daylight; never having to sit on a cold floor up to here and here in someone's guts, eating away at yourself every time someone dies squeezing your hand begging for their momma who can't be here to help them. You feel the tears trickling down your face, unbidden, because the prospect was so attractive you had to weep. Wolfe was a wolf. He really was. So, why were you hyperventilating like you just heard the most beautiful couple of words ever constructed by human lips? Oh, You knew why. Because in spite of the fact you personally volunteered for this and nobody's forced you into it, in fact, your folks tried to actively talk you out of it, the job has become so hellish you wanted out and that was hard to admit.

Seems like Wolfe knew it too.

Because you can swear, from the corner of your eye, eye sight blurry as it may have been, you catch him half-smiling, if only a teensy, tinsy bit, twiddling his ring finger and the signet on it like a promise of things to come; like he was trying to say that you could be home right now, in your own powder room, a new bride freed from duty indefinitely, in front of a boudoir, all soft light and hues, writing a love letter to him on perfumed paper instead of being here, your fingernails blackened with someone else's dried guts, never needing to work again because someone else would take care of business. When did he become so quietly unscrupulous? Maybe he always was and it was your mistake to think of him as a bit of unassumingly, slightly cowardly and feeble non-presence. You wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but you couldn't muster the strength to do it when something inside of you wanted to slump over and start begging him. Graciously kissing the very ring finger he was twirling around in anticipation.

All you had to do was say yes.

And this would all be over. It could be, couldn't it?

You're not sure when, but the next time you open your eyes; Wolfe's gone.

As if though he was never there in the first place.

The rain outside comes down in a torrent like the earth was weeping too.

[dafoelvr]

I love making these i literally cant stop.

I can also see o'neill being one of those fuck boys when musically was around and wolfe doing crazy transitions and rhah is in the comments like,"how do you do that?" But wolfe never replies.

[southernbelllle]

today i was having a picnic with one of my girl friends at the country club, and she was writing poetry about her boyfriend and stuff. She looked over to me and asked who I was writing about. because i seemed really into it.. i could not tell her i was writing fake poetry love letters to Lt. Wolfe. Full oc and everything. She would NAWT understand.

[flappydragons]

Character Guide: Clone Captain Ylva (CC-3637)

Basic Information

Name: Clone Captain Ylva

Designation: CC-3637

Sex: Female (Disguised as a Male Clone)

Height: 5'10" (178 cm)

Weight: 156 lbs (71 kg) – Lean, hardened muscle

Rank: Captain Affiliation: Grand Army of the Republic, 104th Attack Battalion ("Wolfpack")

Twin Brother: Commander Wolffe (CC-3636)

Sisters: Sergeant Chase (Rex’s twin) and Captain Cameron (Cody’s twin)

Force Affinity: Exceptionally Force-sensitive Weapon: A second Darksaber, gifted by her Mandalorian trainers

Command Batch Member: Yes

Appearance

Hair: Short, black pixie cut

Eyes: Deep brown with a cutting, perceptive gaze

Skin Tone: Tan

Scars: A prominent claw mark across the bridge of her nose; body marked with battle scars

Tattoos: Loth-wolf across upper back and shoulders Mandalorian war sigil down the entire left bicep

Armor Details: Gray Jag-eye design on helmet

Sharp, aggressive patterns across her white armor Wolfpack sigil on her boots

Blacks/Undersuit: Bound tight with wraps to conceal her form—practical, utilitarian

Personality

Extremely Soft-Spoken – Uses military sign or subtle gestures more often than words

Reserved and Guarded – Keeps emotional walls high, especially around siblings and Jedi

Tactical Mind – Cold, brilliant, and unflinching in the heat of war

Fiercely Loyal – Especially to General Plo Koon and her brothers-in-arms

Silent but Deadly – Moves and strikes with the economy of a predator

Struggles with Social Skills – Does not know “how to person.” Communication is a minefield unless it’s in military code. Does not know “how to sibling.” Love exists in her like a furnace—but it often comes out as silence, long stares, or awkward standing nearby until someone asks if she needs something.

Backstory

Kamino’s Shameful Secret: Taken at birth from her twin, Commander Wolffe, by the Kaminoans who deemed her “unfit.” Hidden by Mandalorian trainers who disguised her as male, teaching her to survive through strength, silence, and camouflage. Taught how to suppress any softness, to lead like a shadow, and to kill with clean precision. Given a Darksaber, a symbol of power, to protect herself if exposed.

Early Career & Tragedy: Assigned to a Jedi-led platoon that was wiped out in a freak accident. Ylva survived. Barely. And carried the memory of their deaths like phantom limbs. Reassigned to the 104th Attack Battalion. There, her tactical brilliance outshone any suspicions.

Discovery & Acceptance: Gravely wounded after saving General Plo Koon’s life. Medics removed her chest plate. Her bindings. Her secret. She braced for exile or worse. But the Wolfpack didn’t abandon their own. “You saved our Buir,” someone said. “You don’t sell out family.”

Relationships

Commander Wolffe (Twin): The air between them crackles with shared instinct and unspoken words. Wolffe struggles with her silence. Ylva struggles with his emotion. Their siblinghood is built on near-death saves, protective fury, and rare, soul-deep nods of respect.

Jedi General Plo Koon: One of the few who treats her as a person, not a problem. His faith in her helped ease her terror at being “found out.” She would give her life for him again in an instant.

Captain Rex & Commander Cody (by blood): Doesn’t quite know how to talk to them. Feels both comforted and overwhelmed by Chase and Cameron. Will sit beside them in silence. Stand behind them in battle. Die for them without question.

Command Batch Membership

Ylva is one of nine elite clone officers known as the Command Batch, a unit forged of commanders and captains with uncanny skill and instinct:

Commander Bly

Commander Wolffe

Commander Fox

Commander Cody

Commander Ponds

Captain Rex

Captain Ylva

Captain Cameron

Sergeant Chase

Each is a strategic masterpiece in their own right—but Ylva, with her quiet Force sensitivity and twin sabers, moves like a myth among them.

Summary

Captain Ylva is a ghost among soldiers. Silent, scarred, and sharpened by tragedy, she is a rare Force-sensitive clone with a dark past and a burning loyalty to her pack. Disguised as male since childhood to survive, she has become a legend in the 104th: the quiet tactician with eyes like ice and a saber of night. She is twin to Wolffe, sister to Cameron and Chase, and one of the most capable captains the GAR has ever known. But beneath the war paint and wolf sigils lies a secret: Ylva doesn’t know how to be human. Not fully. Not yet. She stands beside her siblings with arms crossed, wanting to speak but unable to form the words. She’s still learning. Still healing. And the Wolfpack—the only family she’s ever truly known—will be there when she does.

I was inspired by women who by societal standards were not allowed to join the military back in the late 19th century and early 20th century but they did, even if they choose to hide as men to do. And partially by Mulan as well.

[jonnowrites]

Kids With Laser Guns

Thought I'd kick off my new blog by posting a little cyberpunk themed one-shot I finished the other day. Hope you enjoy it!

CW: Cursing

The skunk anthro felt right at home skulking beneath the highway turnoff. The pillar she leaned on was a mess of assorted graffiti and anti-corp slogans, some smarter than others. The occasional gunshot and distant blaring siren penetrated the music from a nearby nightclub.

“Chilly tonight,” she said, tugging at the lapels of her red jacket. Her faded blue pants sported a holster on each side, both carrying a pistol. Her flat sneakers were worn from a lot of running. “Least it’s not raining, huh?”

She turned her head toward a brown-furred wolf anthro, wearing a white mask with red digital markings that occasionally flickered between lines and circles. Her fit torso was covered by a grey-blue shirt beneath a black suit coat. Her dark blue jeans stopped above the heels of her black boots. Her ebony hair was tied into a bun. She stood up straight, her eyes laser-focused on the road as cars drove by. She only broke that stare to look up at the passing hover-rides, in case any cops or CorProtect agents were overhead.

“They are late,” she said quietly in Japanese. She gripped her sleeve irritably.

“It’s old-school scare tactics,” the skunk assured her. Her cybernetic aural implants translated anything her partner said into perfect English. “They’re trying to get us antsy by making us wait.”

“I’m a little nervous myself” a third young woman’s voice sounded in the skunk’s ear, carrying a Latino lilt. 

“What about? We’re doing the dirty work while you’re nice and safe in the car, as always.”

“I’m nervous for you two. You never know how deals will turn out, right?”

“We’ll be fine, girl. You got eyes on us?”

“Corner store.” The skunk looked toward the street corner and saw a blinking camera pointed in her direction. “The circuit covers the whole block. See me?”

The wolf curtly nodded her head. The skunk raised her middle finger with a smirk.

“Very mature.” Her eye roll was almost audible. “Okay, here they come now. Look professional, please.”

The skunk got off the pillar and stretched her arms before flicking some messy white hair from her eyes. “When do I not?”

The two watched as a topless military jeep pulled off the road and pulled up beneath the overpass. A small gang of anthros piled out of the back, sneering in their stolen army fatigues and waving stolen guns. From the front passenger seat came a cougar, wearing a bulletproof vest over his T-shirt and grey camo pants with his black boots. His brown head of hair was slicked back. His left arm was fully silvered out, and was just as large and mean-looking as his organic one. He took the lead, towering over the two girls as he smirked down at them, his sharp fangs gleaming menacingly.

“Arch must think I’m a pushover,” he said, “if he’s sending a pair of runts to make this deal.”

“You know what they say about small packages,” the skunk said, putting her paws on her hips. “Call me Jax.”

“And who’s your bud, then?” asked the cougar. “Your backup?”

“Kiba here is a thousand samurai rolled into one,” said Jax, patting the wolf’s back. “Fuckin’ steel tornado.”

Kiba stared daggers behind her mask at the guys behind the cougar, making one of them take a step back.

“Never told me who you are, though,” Jax continued. She tilted her head and noticed the stripes on his shirt sleeve, beneath a US flag with the stars replaced with a white wolf’s howling profile. “Take it you’re a Sergeant in New Glory?”

“Heh, you know your shit,” said the cougar. “Name’s Sergeant Cruz. This here’s my platoon.”

Of course, Jax didn’t need to ask. She’d had enough close calls with the New Glory street gang to recognise their structure, though not so close that they’d recognise her on sight. New Glory liked to think of themselves as the second coming of the US Army, giving themselves ranks and uniforms, but they were just a bunch of gangbangers cosplaying as fascists. Their boss, General Clash, ran the Silktown district with an iron fist. Two of them, in fact.

“Alright,” said Jax, “let’s get to bizz. You got Arch’s new toy?”

Cruz clicked his organic fingers. One of his boys dragged a briefcase out of the jeep and put it in his paw. Jax noted the distinct StarGuard logo on the side.

“Shit, I can’t see inside the case,” the Latina hissed in Jax’s ear. “It must be padded.”

She kept a perfect poker face. “Let’s see it.”

Cruz shrugged and opened the case, lifting out what looked like an assault rifle. “Watch this,” he said as he lifted a thick battery from the case and connected it beneath the rifle with a click. The battery glowed red, as did some lights around the rifle. He pointed it to a pillar and held the trigger down. The battery started spinning and a whirring noise came from the rifle as it fired bursts of light. The tasteful ‘All Corps Are Bastards’ graffiti on the concrete was peppered by large burn scores.

“The Heat Burster,” said Cruz as he turned the rifle around in his grip. “Fuck if I know how it works, but it’s some cool shit, right?”

“The coolest,” Jax gawked, her large tail flicking. “I didn’t think StarGuard was going into laser tech.”

“The info we got says they wanna replace old school leadslingers with these,” said Cruz. as he took the battery off with his cyber paw. Jax saw it turn red with heat. “Tell Arch to be careful playing with it - shit gets hot.”

“Well, I’m happy,” said Jax, grinning as she reached a paw out for the briefcase. She flinched slightly when Cruz pulled it away from her.

“Slow down there, stripe,” he barked. “I showed you mine, so you show me yours.”

“My bad, got caught in the moment,” said Jax as she reached into her pocket. She fished out a credit chip and held it out to him. “Here you go, not a cent more or less.”

“Let’s see it.” Cruz took the chip and handed it to one of his boys, who inserted it into a slot behind his ear. His eyes glowed blue for a moment.

“Twenty-K,” he confirmed. “It’s legit.”

Cruz nodded and gave Jax the briefcase. “Don’t shoot your eye out. Or do, I don’t care.”

“Pleasure doing business.” Jax patted Kiba on the arm. “Let’s scurry.”

Kiba gave the New Glory boys a final warning glare before turning to follow Jax back to the car. Hiding beneath the overpass was a cheap sedan with faded and chipped orange paint, pointing toward the road. 

Jax knocked the back passenger window and watched it roll down to reveal an ocelot woman. A young adult like Jax and Kiba, dressed in a black coat with purple highlights and an upturned collar. Her green pixie cut only slightly hid the violet-tinted goggles over her eyes. The splotches on her fur faded from blue to pink to green and other bright colours, like small lava lamps. Her gloves had blue, jagged lines running along the tops of her fingers to the tips.

“One experimental laser gun,” Jax said, passing the briefcase through the window. “Hold on tight to it, Oscura.”

“If that’s what stops me from melting myself,” the ocelot remarked in that Latino voice. “Let’s get out of here.”

Jax hopped into the driver’s seat while Kiba was already clipping her seatbelt. She glanced over in Cruz’s direction a moment longer before driving back onto the road. She turned on the radio, grinning as an Analogue Era rock song started blaring through the speakers.

“Easy peasy,” she said, drumming her fingers on the wheel. “You think Andy would mind if we took it for a spin before we get home?”

“Probably a bad idea,” said Oscura. “You might break it.”

“I will not!” Jax said indignantly. “C’mon, Kiba, back me up!”

“Do not play with the laser gun,” Kiba said flatly as she looked out the window.

Jax slumped back in her seat. “See if I let you two use the next cool gun we get.”

She drove through Central Square, and the sedan certainly looked out of place amongst the sleek sports cars and fancy corp vans. The anthros on the streets were dressed in style, wearing faux-fur coats and jackets bearing glittering lights. Holo-ads projected scantily dressed anthro girls showing off junk food and the latest fashion and cyberware on the sidewalk. 

The brightest lights cast the darkest shadows, as Kiba once said. Jax thought it described the city of Nueva Angeles perfectly.

“Oh, shit,” Oscura muttered in Spanish. “We have a problem.”

“Sup?” asked Jax. Kiba’s ears perked up to attention.

“I just intercepted some texts between Cruz and General Clash. About the Heat Burster.”

Jax shrugged. “If he feels ripped off, that’s Arch’s problem.”

“That’s not it.” Oscura’s paw typed in the air as windows opened and closed on her goggles. “Here, read this.”

A set of text windows appeared in Jax’s peripheral vision. She had gotten good at reading them while driving at this point, hence why the sedan only had a few dents.

Sgt Cruz Ya we got the cash. All 20 K

Gnrl Clash Good good. Did Arch’s buyer give u trouble?

Sgt Cruz Nah she was chill abt it. Didnt think Arch would send a pup tho

Gnrl Clash She?? U were waitin for a weasel called Marco

Sgt Cruz ? He didnt send a skunk called Jax??

Gnrl Clash WHO TF IS JAX

Jax bit her lip as the texts disappeared. Kiba tensed up next to her, having no doubt read them with her own ocular implants.

“Well, we’re too far away for them to find now, right?” Jax tried, her voice shaking.

A yelp escaped her when her rear-view mirror suddenly shattered from a speeding bullet. Cars swerved and honked their horns as Cruz’s jeep came speeding down the crowded street toward them.

Jax put her foot down and sped the sedan along the road, weaving around other cars and narrowly avoiding pedestrians. The car was a lot faster than it looked thanks to some modifying. Naturally, most add-ons weren’t exactly street-legal.

“Shit shit shit!” she hissed.

“We need to lose them!” yelled Oscura.

“Oh, do we?!” snapped Jax as she drifted onto another street. The jeep kept pursuit and fired more shots.

“Watch where you’re shooting!” Cruz roared, the three hearing him clearly thanks to Oscura tapping into his comm unit. “We can’t lose the gun!”

Jax grabbed a pistol and pointed it out the window, recklessly firing in the jeep’s direction while keeping her eyes on the road.

“Am I hitting it?!”

Oscura poked her head over the back seat. “You got a headlight.”

Jax made another sharp turn onto a narrow street, weaving onto the empty sidewalk to avoid an oncoming delivery scooter. The scooter itself then weaved to avoid the oncoming jeep of jeering anthros. Jax flinched when a bullet clipped the driver door.

“This is getting nowhere,” she growled. “I’ll lose them on the highway.”

She sped toward an exit from the road and oversteered, manipulating the handbrake to drift the car up the onramp. The tires screeched while they coughed up a cloud of smoke, and the sedan was soon rushing along the crowded highway.

“Was the drift necessary?” asked Obscura.

“If by ‘necessary’ you mean ‘cool as fuck,’” Jax grinned, “then yes it was.”

“That is absolutely not what I meant.”

A bullet ricocheted on the road next to the sedan, and Jax looked behind her to see Cruz’s jeep was recklessly weaving around the fancier cars to get right up next to the girls. His boys pointed their pistols and assault rifles at them.

“What’s your problem?” she groaned. “You got the money!”

“You’re not who we agreed to sell to!” Cruz roared. “Hand over the gun and this’ll be over!”

“Can’t do that! We need it for our own thing!”

Cruz bared his fangs in a snarl. “Fine, fuck this. Prepare to fire!”

Jax swallowed as she watched the wannabe soldiers lock and load. She and Oscura slowly lowered their heads in hopes of not getting a bullet lodged in them.

Kiba, meanwhile, lowered her window and slunk out onto the car roof.

“The fuck are you doing?!” gasped Jax.

“Keep driving,” Kiba ordered. She reached for her side, and from beneath her suit coat came her katana. She gripped the black handle tight in her paws and its long, narrow blade glistened beautifully in the rapidly passing lights. Despite Jax’s rapid swerves to pass traffic, Kiba kept her balance perfectly as she turned the katana, poised to strike.

“Nice butter knife, wolfy,” one of the gangsters taunted, nonchalantly pointing his pistol at her. “I got this one, sir.”

He fired a shot, and Kiba changed the katana’s position. He yelped as he gripped his paw while the pistol fell onto the road.

“The fuck?!” he gasped.

“Lemme try,” his friend said and fired his own pistol. Kiba changed position again, and he grunted before he gripped his now bleeding leg.

“Alright, girly,” a third growled as he pointed an assault rifle at her. “Get some of this!”

He opened fire, and Kiba’s blade was a blur as it swung at the air. A few New Glory goons were sent reeling from speeding bullets, and the side of the jeep was peppered with holes. The driver lost control for a moment and had the jeep skidding behind the sedan.

Cruz snarled as he picked a bullet from his metal arm. “Alright, I’m done. Get me Irma.”

“But sir, what about the Heat Burster?” one of his platoon asked while the others busied themselves.

“We’ll get what’s left from the wreck.”

Jax and Oscura gawked when they saw Cruz lift an honest-to-god oversized bazooka and rest it on his shoulder while one of his goons loaded it from behind. With its six firing tubes, a digital laser sight and the StarGuard logo emblazoned across the rectangle casing, it was practically some kind of revolver dreamed up by a lunatic.

And just when Jax thought she was already completely and utterly fucked, her ears twitched from the all-too-familiar wailing of sirens. She looked in a mirror and saw a sleek drone speeding in the air behind the speeding vehicles. Another lowered altitude so both flanked the jeep, with a fleet of what looked like a dozen followed close behind. Their red and blue lights flashed amongst the white lamp posts along the highway.

“Nueva Angeles Police Department,” a robotic voice bellowed from all drones at once. “Lower your weapons and stop your vehicles in a safe fashion, or face heavy retaliation. You have ten seconds to comply.”

Jax groaned, almost smashing her head on the steering wheel before needing it to pass a van. “First that freak pulls a rocket launcher on us, and now we’ve got Chasers.”

“Eight.”

“I’ll try to breach their system,” said Oscura as she started typing at the air. “Just give me time.”

“Six.”

Kiba, meanwhile, watched unfettered as Cruz raised a boot on the jeep windshield to keep his balance. 

“Five.”

“Hold her steady,” he said with a sneer. “I’m gonna introduce this little bitch to Irma.”

“Four.”

Kiba readied her katana, poised to strike.

“Three.”

Cruz fired a missile that sailed through the air right toward Kiba.

“Two.”

Kiba swung her blade, and the missile careened back in Cruz’s direction.

“One.”

The missile flew into the rightmost drone and turned it into scrap metal from a glorious explosion. The jeep and multiple cars swerved and honked their horns in panic.

“Failure to comply detected,” the remaining drones said. The bottom of their chassis opened and a turret appeared, starting to fizzle with electricity. “Aggressive force authorised. A squad of officers has been called.”

Cruz snarled and fired another missile, which Kiba deflected into another drone. The remaining pursuers started barraging the jeep and the sedan with pulses of electricity that just barely missed both.

“I’m not going back to Clash empty pawed!” roared Cruz as he fired another missile, which only served to get swatted into another drone, taking it and two others out.

Kiba surveyed the situation as she blocked another shot. She was transporting an experimental weapon, no doubt the one stolen from the attacked StarGuard convoy she’d heard about on the news. A mad cougar with a deadly weapon trying to kill her and her partners for it. Multiple police drones trying to stop them both. If they were not destroyed by Cruz, they’d be handed over to StarGuard’s private forces to be given a fate worse than death. On top of all that, she was certain all of this chaos was attracting news drones.

She had to end this. Now.

“Okay, I’ve gotten control of one of the Chasers,” Oscura said through her earpiece. She watched as one of the drones shot another with an electric bolt, causing it to twitch before falling onto the road.

“One shot left,” Cruz said, and he flicked a switch on the bazooka. “Irma’s gonna get you this time.”

“Kiba, I just remembered,” said Jax through Kiba’s earpiece, “I’ve heard of those bazookas before. I think he just turned on the smart scope, so even if you block it, it’s gonna come right back for you.”

Kiba lowered herself. “Does it have a weakness?”

“If I remember right, the smart scope is really power-reliant. After all those shots he’s already fired, one smart missile will kill the power.”

“How do you know all this?” asked Oscura.

“Drunk StarGuard guy I found in a bar once, I think.”

“Locked on,” laughed Cruz, almost maniacally. “Say goodbye, you little shits!”

Kiba poised herself. “Move the drone behind these idiots.”

The missile launched toward her, and once it was close enough, she leapt over it toward the jeep and landed on the hood. The New Glory gangsters’ looks of confusion quickly turned to panic when they saw the missile turn in the air and speed straight toward them, then back to confusion as Kiba bounded down the jeep and hopped onto the Chaser hijacked by Oscura. She balanced on top of it and watched the missile.

“You are misusing Nueva Angeles Police Department property,” she heard as the remaining drones approached and surrounded her. “Remove yourself or prepare to be–”

Kiba leaped over the missile which collided with Oscura’s Chaser. The ensuing explosion of the remaining drones propelled Kiba back toward the jeep, and she turned herself to the side and rolled with her katana in her paws. Once past the jeep, she skidded her boots across the roof of the sedan to slow herself, and stopped with a foot on the hood as she looked behind the car. After a moment, the jeep split in half, and both sides careened to both sides of the highway before crashing, sending New Glory soldiers flying everywhere. Cruz was left laying on his front with his beloved Irma next to him, smoking and depowered.

Kiba sheathed her katana and slid back into the passenger seat, fastening her seatbelt and rolling the window back up.

“That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen!” breathed Jax. “How’d you do that?!”

“Standard training,��� said Kiba.

“I’ve scrambled the police’s tracker and wiped our car from the Chasers’ camera database,” said Oscura. “We just need to get out of here.”

“Gladly.” 

Jax took the next exit back to the city, driving into the Little Asia district. A middle-class borough where most of the varied Asian community of Nueva Angeles banded together. She pulled into an alley next to a Vietnamese convenience store and stepped out, before collapsing against the hood. Oscura and Kiba got out with her.

“That could’ve gone better,” said Oscura.

Jax lifted her head. “Hey, we got away with the goods. And we looked cool doing it.”

“Very sloppy,” muttered Kiba, who leaned against the wall like she was trying not to collapse with exhaustion.

Jax perked up as she felt vibrating in her jacket pocket. She fished out her phone and grinned as she answered the call. “Andy, hey!”

On her screen was a badger called Andrew Mitchell, known in the merc world as Big Andy. Older guy, late thirties Jax was sure, known around N.A. for his huge cybernetic shotgun paws.

“Well, you three had a fun night out, did ya?” he asked in his gruff cockney voice. Jax couldn’t help but notice his RBF was particularly intense. “I sent ya to do a simple exchange, and suddenly you’re havin’ a merry little chase around the motorway with New Glory and cop drones?”

“Oh, you saw that?” asked Jax with an awkward toothy grin.

“The whole fuckin’ city saw it,” Andy sighed. “It’s all over the news. You’re just lucky the car was blurred out.”

“Hey, we got the gun!” Jax pointed the phone through the car window to show the briefcase on the seat. “See?”

“Well, there’s that at least,” said Andy. “Kiba and Oscura with you?”

“I’m here,” said Oscura.

“Yes,” Kiba muttered.

“And you’re all alive,” said Andy, his tone a little softer. “Ya took care of that mess quick enough, and ya got the Heat Burster. All in all, job well done, three of ya.”

“Did you see my sick drift?” asked Jax, smiling eagerly.

Andy rolled his eyes. “Yes, I saw your drift. Very nice.”

Jax’s big tail waggled happily.

“That said,” Andy continued, “streets are still a bit too hot after all that excitement. I’ll send ya a text when it’s safe to get back here, and we’ll see about a buyer for this fancy toy of ours.”

“We just paid twenty thousand for it,” Jax pointed out. “Granted, it wasn’t our money, but still.”

“And to the right market, we’ll get at least double,” Andy said. “You let me worry about all that. Just keep your heads down for a few hours, alright?”

“Rightyo, chief,” said Jax with a salute. “You won’t even know where we are.”

“Yeah, that’s gonna worry me a bit.”

“We’ll keep a leash on her,” Oscura assured him, getting next to the skunk.

Jax frowned. “I don’t need a leash.”

Kiba approached Jax’s other side. “No, you need a shock collar.”

“Getting kinky on me?” asked Jax, leaning toward Kiba and inadvertently flicking her tail in Oscura’s face.

“Just stay out of trouble until the heat dies down,” groaned Andy before hanging up.

“Well, the night’s still young,” said Jax, stretching her arms. “Wanna get something to eat? There’s a night market near here if I remember right, and I’m starving.”

“Fine, why not,” said Oscura, “but what about the Heat Burster? Should we take it with us?”

“You wanna carry a big corpo briefcase around the Black Tigers’ neighbourhood?” Jax pointed out.

“Good point. I’ll put it in the trunk.”

Once that was done, Jax locked the car and led her partners out of the alley.

“I can smell the ramen already,” she grinned, starting to walk down the street before being stopped by Kiba.

“If you could, then you would be following the smell that way,” the wolf said drily, pointing toward the alley across the road.

Jax darted her eyes between Kiba’s mask and Oscura’s smirk, before leading the way there. “Fuck off.”

[trucgrit]

fergal had been awake for hours now at this point, despite having to start a shift in the next two hours. he already opened station thirteen for the day. for the most part the fire department was the only place awake at this time of the morning. he was keeping count of the light fixtures that needed to be replaced. he was keeping his connection tight with the traffic engineering division or department of transportation in the city of portum. most of their complaints came from fergal o’lachlan. he watches the wolf from a nearby bench. his unable to sleep hours hitting him hard in this hour “the fire department is not too far away, miss.” he did not let his gaze reach her in case of what state she might be in. “there are warm blankets there.” he adds, for some reason he always thought that wolves and him were never to get along. He was a man of the flame and having third degree burn marks on him. wolves made him nervous for some reason just as regular dogs did. He found it hard talking to these younger folks, but here he was, always being around unintentionally. he remembered how he was after burning a forest to the ground with his abilities. he stumbled around young supernaturals frequently. “you seem like a thai tea type of person, i do have that at the platoon.” fergal was exhausted, growing older. but he lets a pleasant smile form on his lips. “fergal, by the way, witch. i'm old as daylight.” he says extending a hand gingerly towards her.

⇢ 🌕 STATUS ﹕ open. ⇢ 🌕 LOCATION ﹕ portum town square.

nyra’s   paws   padded   silently   through   the   forest,   her   senses   heightened   as   she   moved   through   the   trees    in   her   wolf   form.   the   moon   hung   near   the   horizon   now,   its   silver   light   starting   to   give   way   to   the   sun’s   first   rays.   the   pull   to   go   running   had   been   undeniable   and   nyra   had   found   herself   running   through   the   night,   the   anxiety   and   tension   of   the   last   few   months   releasing   for   the   briefest   of   instances   when   she   was   out   here.  but   something   was   off.  the   familiar   scents   of   the   forests   were   tinged   with   something   darker,   something   metallic,   and   every   bone   in   nyra’s   body   screamed   at   her   to   run.   the   sharp   scents   of   fear   and   pain   hit   her   like   a   tidal   wave,   and   her   muscles   tensed,   stopping   in   her   tracks.   her   nose   lifted   into   the   air,   ears   twitching   as   she   tried   to   identify   the   source   of   her   uneasiness.   then   without   sparing   another   thought,   nyra   took   off   sprinting   to   the   town   square.   her   powerful   legs   took   her   through   the   fog,   a   strange   pull   urging   her   forward.  there   weren’t   many   out   and   about   at   this   hour,   but   nyra   was   far   from   the   first   one   to   arrive.   she   remained   on   the   edge   of   the   crowd   that   was   slowly   forming   as   the   sun   rose   over   the   horizon.   there   in   the   middle   of   the   street   lay   the   lifeless   body   of   some   poor   supernatural   creature.   nyra’s   hackles   raised,   her   senses   on   high   alert   as   her   mind   raced   at   what   she   was   seeing.   the   fog   that   surrounded   the   town   seemed   to   thicken   further,   and   then   she   heard   footsteps   approaching.   instinctually,   the   wolf   crouched   down   defensively   and   let   out   a   soft   warning   growl.

[cyberhai]

What is Chinooks relationship with the other winds like? Oh and his relationship with bladewolf and armstrong if you don't mind.Sorry if I go a bit off topic,I just want to talk about how cool and stylish you made him look.

Man looks stylish as fuck with his glasses but I like on how he wears them to help with his migraines. Two reasons to wear cool as hell glasses.

Chinook's character design is *mwah* chefs kiss.(I'm a sucker for good character design if you can tell.)

Also,love your art btw. I feel your struggle of getting used to digital art.

To sum it up,chinook is amazing and I want to give him a hug.

Ok,that's all I have to say,your oc is awesome.

RAAAAAAARRRGGGGHHH Sorry this took a thousand years to answer, I am still Inventing Chinook Lore. This was a fun question though!!!! And I'm so glad you think he's purty 😎

Relationships!

Bladewolf

He’s not quite sure whether to treat Wolf like a machine or a living thing. Nevertheless, he loves jokingly testing the extent of Wolf’s intellect by asking him irritatingly specific questions (“What happens at 1:24:57 of Django Unchained?”).

Mistral

Best described as MLM/WLW Hostility. Most of their frenemyship involves them bullying each other. But if they’re training a platoon together and he blacks out from a migraine, within five seconds, she’ll have the room cleared, a cold compress on his head and be calling for backup. They’re mean as fuck to each other. But they’re homies :D

Monsoon

To say the least, their relationship confuses the fuck out of everyone. Do they have something going on? Are they just work buddies? Sometimes they can be spotted sitting shoulder to shoulder despite Chinook's touch aversion, marking up a map of their next target together. Other times they're bickering like an old married couple. More than one time Chinook has crashed out and fallen asleep on him flying back to base. Then again, Chinook does that to just about everyone. Most Desperados have adrenal enhancements that allow them to stay awake for longer periods of time without rest, but not Chinook. He's much more machine than Sam, but not as much as his fellow Winds. Thus, he is a sleepy fuck.

They've been spotted on a few weekend trips to DC together, seemingly unrelated to work. But, hey, they could just be scoping out the Pentagon.

Sundowner

These two are total bros. They’re both former Army, Chinook was a combat medic and Sunny D was a grunt, so they bond over shared experiences and swapping war stories. Chinook keeps up a pretty professional demeanor unless he and Sundowner are in the same room. Many a time one of them has been leading training or giving potential customers or recruits a tour of their facility, only for it to be interrupted by the other running up and slapping him upside the head. Chinook sort of bounces off his energy when they're around each other and swears 3x more than usual.

Their dynamic was inspired by some of the drill sergeants and NCOs I trained under during my very brief military experience, they were always messing with each other. One second our senior drill sergeant is smoking the platoon because someone mouthed off in formation, then third platoon’s drill sergeant creeps up behind him and kangaroo kicks him in the ass, then they’re giggling and fistfighting while us trainees are dying in the halfway down pushup position. I miss those mfs. 🥲

Jetstream Sam

Chinook was the one who designed and helped install Sam's arm. They're not AS close as the rest, as Sam's still relatively new, but they clicked pretty fast after the initial Arm Incident. Chinook is a big military history nerd, so he was eager to learn about Sam's samurai family background. They meet up to spar sometimes, whether for actual practice or just for shits and giggles. They're mostly evenly matched in terms of speed and strength, but seven times out of ten their fights still end in Chinook getting his ass handed to him.

Senator Armstrong

Chinook, despite having spent a significant portion of his life working for the government, distrusts and dislikes politicians, and by default is VERY leery of Armstrong. He is civil to him, figuring if the Winds are cool with Armstrong, then he’s gotta be cool with Armstrong too. But the iffiness is still very much there.

[introvertguide]

Platoon (1986); AFI #86

The most recent film for review is the last of our gritty war films from the AFI top 100: Oliver Stone directed Platoon (1986). This film took home four Oscars that year for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Sound, and Best Editing. Like many other big war films with many small parts, this film had a ton of current for the time and future stars. The cast includes almost no women since the film begins with the arrival of the main characters in Vietnam and ends with some of them leaving. Notable names include Charlie Sheen, Tom Berenger, Willem Dafoe, Keith David, Forest Whitaker, Francesco Quinn, Kevin Dillon, John C. McGinley, Johnny Depp, and Tony Todd. The only other war films I can think of with more star power are Saving Private Ryan or Apocalypse Now. The film has a much more interesting story than "kill the enemy," which is why I think it received so many accolades. I really want to get to some behind the scenes notes, but let's start out with a synopsis and a quick warning...

SPOILER WARNING!!! THIS IS A WAR FILM SO IT CANNOT BE GUESSED WHICH CHARACTERS MAKE IT THROUGH AND WHICH DON'T!!! I AM ABOUT TO SPOIL THAT!!! IF THAT IS OKAY, THEN KEEP READING! OTHERWISE, CHECK OUT THE MOVIE FIRST AND CHECK OUT THIS BOTTOM PART OF THIS ARTICLE AFTERWARD!!!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

In 1967, U.S. Army volunteer Chris Taylor (Charlie Sheen) arrives in South Vietnam and is assigned to an infantry platoon of the 25th Infantry Division near the Cambodian border. The platoon is officially led by the young and inexperienced Lieutenant Wolfe (Mark Moses), but in reality, the soldiers defer to two of his older and more experienced subordinates: the hardened and cynical Staff Sergeant Robert "Bob" Barnes (Tom Berenger), and the more idealistic Sergeant Elias (Willem Dafoe). An interesting note is that the first things Taylor sees upon landing are body bags being stacked onto an outgoing plane, implying that there is only one way to leave.

Taylor is immediately sent out with Barnes, Elias and veteran soldiers on a planned night ambush for a North Vietnamese army force. The NVA soldiers manage to get close to the sleeping Americans before a brief firefight ensues; Taylor's fellow new recruit Gardener is killed and Taylor himself lightly wounded. After his return from hospital, Taylor bonds with Elias and his circle of marijuana-smokers while remaining aloof from Barnes and his more hard-edged followers. There are many shots with Elias on the right and Barnes on the left, almost like an angel and devil on the shoulders of Taylor. To add to it, Barnes is scarred all over his face and body will Elias is basically untouched.

During a subsequent patrol, three men are killed by booby traps and unseen assailants. The injuries from the trap are hard to watch, so be prepared when the soldiers start looking around. One of the deaths is more obvious since a guard is displayed like a scarecrow as a message to the group. Already on edge, the platoon is further angered when they discover an enemy supply and weapons cache in a nearby village. This is the intense scene that the movie is famous for. One particular soldier called Bunny (Kevin Dillon) shows that the men in the platoon might be more dangerous than the NVA. Barnes, through a Vietnamese-speaking soldier, Lerner (Johnny Depp), aggressively interrogates the village chief about whether the villagers have been aiding the NVA, and cold-bloodedly shoots his wife dead when she snaps back at him. Elias then arrives, getting into a physical altercation with Barnes over the killing before Wolfe breaks it up and orders the supplies destroyed and the village razed. Taylor later prevents a gang-rape of two girls by some of Barnes' men.

When the platoon returns to base, the veteran company commander Captain Harris (Dale Dye) declares that if he finds out that an illegal killing took place, a court-martial will ensue, leaving Barnes worried that Elias will testify against him. On their next patrol, the platoon is ambushed and pinned down in a firefight, in which numerous soldiers are wounded. More men are wounded when Lieutenant Wolfe accidentally directs an artillery strike onto his own unit before Barnes calls it off. Elias takes Taylor and two other men to intercept flanking enemy troops. Barnes orders the rest of the platoon to retreat and goes back into the jungle to find Elias' group. Barnes finds Elias alone and shoots him, then returns and tells the others that Elias was killed by the enemy. While the platoon is extracting via helicopter, they glimpse Elias, mortally wounded, emerging from the tree line and being chased by a group of North Vietnamese soldiers, who kill him. Noting Barnes' anxious manner, Taylor realizes that he was responsible.

At the base, Taylor attempts to talk his group into fragging Barnes in retaliation when Barnes, having overheard them, enters the room and mocks them. Taylor assaults the intoxicated Barnes but is quickly overpowered. Barnes cuts Taylor near his eye with a push dagger before departing.

The platoon is sent back to the front line to maintain defensive positions, where Taylor shares a foxhole with Francis (Corey Glover). That night, a major NVA assault occurs, and the defensive lines are broken. Much of the platoon, including Wolfe and most of Barnes' followers, are killed in the ensuing battle. During the attack, an NVA sapper, armed with explosives, destroys the battalion headquarters in a suicide attack. Now in command of the defense, Captain Harris orders his air support to expend all their remaining ordnance inside his perimeter. During the chaos, Taylor encounters Barnes, who is wounded and driven to insanity. Just as Barnes is about to kill Taylor, both men are knocked unconscious by an air strike.

Taylor regains consciousness the following morning, picks up an enemy Type 56 rifle, and finds Barnes, who orders Taylor to call a medic. Seeing that Taylor won't help, Barnes contemptuously tells Taylor to kill him: Taylor does so. Francis, who survived the battle unharmed, deliberately stabs himself in the leg and reminds Taylor that because they have been twice wounded, they can return home. The helicopter carries the two men away. Overwhelmed, Taylor sobs as he glares down at multiple craters full of corpses.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I don't want to break down every single character in the film because that is everything there is. The film is much more about character development and Vietnam is just a setting. I believe that Oliver Stone wanted to emphasize that humans, when put into a hellish situation, had to choose between conforming to survive or trying to keep your own morals. Charlie Sheen plays Taylor, a young but moralistic person who entered the situation by choice in an attempt to prove himself. There is an authority figure of Lt. Wolfe, who is technically in charge, but it is the two sergeants that play a demon and an angel (they would be on his shoulder if this was a cartoon) that push Taylor towards conforming to evil or holding on to righteousness. Neither sergeant survives the film, and it is ambiguous how Taylor will act when he returns home, The only thing for certain is that he is very different from what he was when he arrived. Both Defoe and Berenger received nominations for best supporting actor for their roles, but neither won the award.

There is some mention of class in this film because it seems that it is mostly the uneducated masses who could not get away from the draft that fought in the war. It is this irony (those who have the least are forced to sacrifice the most) that is a focal point of the film. The character of Bunny, played by Kevin Dillon, finds war as an opportunity to get out his aggressions and attack something that represents his personal failures in life. A big gun and not much to live for is a dangerous combination, especially when a person with these attributes is trained to kill. Oliver Stone was a soldier in Vietnam and he really wanted to emphasize how the horror of the situation can bring out the worst in the downtrodden.

There are a group of black soldiers that are played by Tony Todd, Keith David, and Forest Whitaker. None of the three seem very interested in the politics of the situation as much as they just want to get away. Forest Whitaker's character sits on the middle ground and does what he is told, but he also expresses that he feels bad for his actions. Tony Todd's character sides with Barnes because he feels this is his best chance to survive long enough to get out. Barnes was shot and mangled, yet he still is alive, so he must be doing the correct thing. Keith David's character is trying to survive while also keeping his own morals, so he sticks with Elias and tries to do what he feels is right.

This film is what I would describe as a war drama since it is the Divine Comedy set in the jungles of Vietnam and Cambodia. There are no really good people and evil actions are understandable and sometimes almost relatable. It really makes the viewer upset that so many young men and women were put in this situation to be morally and mortally tested. It really affected audiences of the mid 80s, and that is why the film won for best picture.

One negative note about the production is the reported behavior of Oliver Stone. The film was shot in the Philippines and the push to make the film realistic bordered on abuse for the actors. The whole production was plagued with sickness and injuries with the actors having both Stone and advisor/actor Dale Dye yelling at them the whole time. There is a scene in which Tom Berenger is holding a gun to a little girl's head and he was told and berated into yelling and threatening the young actress until she really began to cry. Actors were allowed to leave as they were killed off since the film was shot almost completely in a linear fashion, so those looks of relief when they got on a helicopter to go home were quite genuine.

I was surprised that there was no nomination for make-up effects because the battle injuries look horrific and the scars on Tom Berenger were so realistic. I just thought that Berenger had scars all over his face until I saw him in another movie. He doesn't have the greatest skin, but the deep wound scars were blended in perfectly. The film would not have won since this award was eventually taken home by The Fly with Jeff Goldblum, but I still think a nomination was in order.

So, does this film deserve to be on the AFI top 100? Yes, but it is definitely lower on the list. It was shot in the Philippines and describes a war that America was not committed to, but it was still a major part of US history and touched a sensitive nerve for audiences at the time. The film is neither imaginative nor innovative, but the realism is worthy of recognition. Would I recommend it? That is actually kind of difficult. I wouldn't recommend it to a general audience because it will ruin your day. It is an engaging experience that transports the viewer to the war-torn jungle, but that is not something that many people really want. The film will affect you, just make sure that you are ready for it.

[mystical-mew]

It was dark that night, all I could see wall the thin wood holding back the dirt that would have filled our trench and the dark shape of no man’s land. It was awfully quiet all day with not a sound from the German trench. Before I knew it, I heard the sound of artillery being shot and a man shouting “Gas!” Shit, the krauts must’ve fires a gas round at our trench. I quickly put on my gas mask and waited. For 5 minutes I waited and nothing happened. I realized something, the wind was blowing towards their trench… why would they fire a gas round if it would just go back to their own trench? I heard someone shout “Get to the front trench! Now!”, so I got down from my post, grabbed my rifle and made my way over. There was about 20 other men standing there, waiting for orders when the faint shape of the Sargent became clear then it said, “Men, we are making a charge for the enemy tench. It’s been too quiet all day and they’re up to something. On my mark.” We all gathered on the edge of the trench, “3… 2… 1… Go!” We charged for their trench and crossed no man’s land, passing the decaying bodies of several men of both sides. When we were about 100 ft out, we were order to put on our gas mask as the gas attack that they fired still lingered. We jumped down into the trench and it was empty, rifles lay against the trench’s walls and the dugouts looked like they had just been left. Then someone saw blood on the floor and called us over. We followed it and it led to… a corpses. The corpse had large chunks torn from it and we were confused as to what could have caused this. “A new gas?” One suggested, “feral dogs” said another. As we were debating we heard a gunshot ring out within the trench. We all turned and Johnson was missing, with his pistol, still smoking, laying on the ground. At this point, half of our platoon ran back to our trench while me and a few others, including the Sargent, stayed behind to investigate. There was another blood trail, this one was fresh, that led away from our group so we followed it for what felt like miles until we found Johnson’s corpse. It was torn to shreds with bone visible in some areas. At this point we were all freaked out then we saw it, something hiding in the gas. It looked like a… wolf’s skull on a man and I fired a shot at it. It looked unfazed and we took a collective several steps back until the beast disappeared into the gas cloud. We returned to the trench after that, paranoid that we were being followed but we weren’t. That trench would lay empty for the rest of the war. We don’t mention the incident and just say Johnson died in a shell bombardment as we don’t have the heart to explain how he really died. That beast would never be seen by any of us again, until recently. I was sitting in my home in the forest of Britain when I saw it among the trees. All that was visible was it’s vague human shape and wolf skull head before it disappeared back into the woods. I fear it has come back for me, 5 years later, and that there is no escaping it this time…

[rexsjaigeyes]

Wolffe may not be into public fucking but he will absolutely find other ways to show you off to his platoon for sure.

Like maybe you happen to come up to talk to him about some type of maintenance in the hangar while he’s lecturing the new troops or issuing orders. You wait patiently but then Wolffe has got an arm around your waist and doesn’t miss a beat as he’s holding you in one arm and his bucket in the other. All while continuing to talk as if everything is normal.

Or if we’re talking about 79’s, this commander will love to show you off by getting a rise out of you in front of his brothers. Maybe just by coping a feel when nobody is watching, fingers tugging at your pants under the table. To all appearances Wolfe is as stern and unbudging as usual, which does nothing to explain how you’re suddenly flushed and breathless.

Idk, as much as I can’t reconcile Wolffe w a public kink, this man ABSOLUTELY likes to mark his territory on you to his brothers. He’s crafty, stubborn. He will find ways to claim you around the other clones bc that man is possessive for sure. In any way he can he’ll find a way to make it so that anyone who even looks your way knows that the Wolfpack leader is growling “This one’s mine.”

-your friendly neighborhood peg anon

peg anon why did you come here to pick on the ONE thing that makes me lose my fucking mind HUH?! PEG, WHY

I have nothing to add, you said it perfectly and turned my brain brain scrambled egg in the process. I just wanna be claimed by wolffe, damnnit 😭😭

[cowandcalf]

Catching up Meme

I got tagged by my wonderful and amazing friends @stephmcx and @angels-c - thank you so much, my gorgeous friends!

Rules: Tag 9 people you wanna catch up with/get to know better.

3 ships: McDanno - Hawaii Five-0, the boys are my OTP for life, man! I love them so freaking much, I can’t even! Closely followed by Sterek - Teenwolf, Derek and Stiles give me vibes that go beyond any normal ones because of the wolf thing. That drives me crazy. And there’s Brock Reynolds/Clay Spencer - SEAL Team, a rare pair that makes me want to hide in a corner and dream of them for a long time.

Last song: I’ve gotta be me by Sammy Davis, Jr.

Last movie: Tyler Rake: Extraction with Chris Hemsworth (great one)

Currently watching: SEAL Team season 4 (freaking LOVE it), Chicago P.D. (God, I’m so into Hank Voight, this guy, gahh!), Chicago Fire (I abandoned the show in season 5 for Chicago P.D.) and always there’s is H50 thrown in between.

I’ve started to watch all different kind of movies, on amazone prime, Netflix and all over the internet which include Navy SEALs (Black Hawk Down, Platoon, American Sniper etc.) I have a long list of films and documentaries to watch. I’m obsessed.

My all time favorite thing to listen and to watch though, are speeches by Admiral William H. McRaven. I listen to anything that is available on YouTube and elsewhere. He’s my inspiration and his way to express, explain and describe things and moments brings me to my knees. I love and adore him so very much. (Four star Admiral. SEAL captain, Navy SEAL...)

Currently reading - Books: ‘Make your bed’ by William H. McRaven, ‘No Easy Day’ by Mark Owen (both books written by SEALs).

Fanfiction: ‘Georgia Blues’ by Missslothy and ‘The Co-operative’ by Sealie - both are absolute fantasticly written! Missslothy’s one is a WIP, currently posting two chapters on Saturday. My weekly fix. Love it!

Currently craving: definitely coffee and something sugary

So many have been tagged already. But maybe you haven’t done it yet, guys: @mcdannoangelwolf @cheekyface72 @pterawaters @missslothy @glassmirrormask @julie-yard @whateverfandomworks

[senka-mesecine]

I really love the idea you had mentioned of Wolfe having a praise kink, could you expand upon that? ;)

-

I don't know, it just makes perfect sense to me, you know?

Someone who frequently flops, is often overlooked, made fun of, in way over his head, yelled at (with good reason at times because he's very much responsible for people's lives), is stepped over due to more competent individuals taking charge even though he's the one with the higher rank? Someone like that being looked down on actually receiving words of affirmation? Praise? Complements? Why, it would be like watering a dry plant. I imagine Wolfe not only wouldn't know what to momentarily do, but his first impulse is to think you're being sarcastic (and maybe even respond back with a small joke at his own expense as he chuckles) right before he turns into a smiling, stuttering, at-a-loss-for-words mess once the fact settles in you're actually serious and you're not in fact taking the piss out of him. After that? He deliberately starts seeking out said praise like a dog chasing his own tail and does things purely so you would say something nice to him. Doesn't matter what it is. Doesn't matter what he does, but he wants and needs that reassurance like air to breathe and so, he latches unto you. He'll invent things to do, even if he fails, in fact, he might fail solely so you'd say it's fine and he's tried his best regardless, the rare mercy and tolerance also being oddly alluring for someone straight out of a military structure where kindness isn't and cannot be afforded on a casual basis. You're nice to him, and for the lack of a better word, that's hot. He'll literally just approach you, say what he did, usually for you as an act of service and it's genuinely a ploy so you'd utter the famous job well done line. Man will just sit with and smile and wait like someone expecting a treat or a pat. It isn't even necessarily in a fetishistic sense, although it could very well turn into that, but on a day to day basis Wolfe reaches out commendations just for its own sake. Might just start getting cockier over time too. Now he's a bit mean with everyone else. After all, you venerate and exalt him constantly so he can allow himself a bit of an ego.

As for kinks?

He's shockingly easy to please because I can vividly envision all you'd have to do is place the palm of your hand on his cheek and sing him continuous praises. How good he's doing. How excellent that feels. How perfect he is at taking charge even if he's, you know, not exactly and maybe you're technically more in control than he is right about now and guiding him through the whole thing, telling him what to do and how perfect this or that is. Man could very well verge on being occasionally submissive, but that doesn't matter because if you tell him he's in charge, he'll feel he's in charge. Internally. He believes it. He's boosted by that. It's not a case of lying to him. It's just such that it feels so good to be fed and catered to emotionally like this that he's on cloud nine and couldn't care either ways.

[dafoelvr]

Nobody loves Crawford more then me!!

[southernbelllle]

Good evening tumblr I now own a real jacket Mark Moses really wore in the two week boot camp before filming platoon. excuse me while i go die. dead.

[watusichris]

Betty Davis: They Say She’s Different

It appears that everything anyone has written for the old Music Aficionado site has now disappeared from the web. A random Facebook post has prompted me to re-purpose this story, written in 2016, about my favorite funketress. **********

To this day, the name Betty Davis – Betty with a “y,” that is – remains best known to connoisseurs of Miles Davis minutiae and ‘70s funk obsessives. While it’s true that Betty played an important off-stage role in the career of the jazz trumpeter, to whom she was married for just a year, and she undoubtedly made some of the best hardcore funk records of her era, she deserves to be recognized beyond the relatively narrow provinces of the jazzbo and the crate-digger.

Uncompromising, intelligent, brazen, aggressive, and not incidentally gorgeous, sexually provocative, and a fashion plate always ahead of the curve, Betty was a prophetic figure. Spawned by the explosion of music, fashion, and alternative culture of the late ‘60s, and by concurrent leaps in black consciousness and feminism, she was a take-no-prisoners singer and writer who presented herself as something new, rich, and strange with her self-titled debut album in 1973.

There were some badass contemporaries working the soul and funk trenches– gutter-tongued diva Millie Jackson and one-time James Brown paramour Yvonne Fair leap to mind immediately – but they seemed to be adapting tropes previously worked by male singers in the genres. Betty still sounds like something new: a tough, smart, demanding woman who reveled in pleasure and insisted on satisfaction, unafraid to claim what she wanted.

Despite the fact that she was associated with some high-profile male musician friends and lovers – beyond Davis, the roll call included Hugh Masekela, Jimi Hendrix, Sly Stone, Mike Carabello, Eric Clapton, and Robert Palmer – she was no groupie or bed-hopping climber. Possessed of her own self-defining vision, she was producing her own records and leading a tight, flexible little band by the end of her brief run.

In 1976, after completing four splendid albums (only three of which were released at the time), she disappeared, not only from the music business but from the public eye entirely. What happened? It’s an old story that many women in the industry will recognize: Her record company didn’t know what to do with her, and wanted her to tone down her act. Betty Davis wasn’t having any of that, thank you, and she hit the damn road.

She was born Betty Mabry in Durham, NC, in 1945. She grew up country, and was exposed to down-home, get-down music early. On the title track of her second album, They Say I’m Different, she runs down the artists who served as inspirations: Big Mama Thornton, John Lee Hooker, Lightnin’ Hopkins, Howlin’ Wolf, Albert King, Chuck Berry. The blues, in one form or another, is the backbone of her style.

Her family relocated to Pittsburgh when she was young, but at 16 she left home for the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York. There she was hurtled into the roiling cultural vortex of the Village. She took up modeling, working for the toney Wilhelmina agency, and began running with a posse of similarly disposed, equally beautiful women who called themselves the “Electric Ladies.” Sound familiar? One of her closest cohorts was Devon Wilson, for many years a notorious consort of Jimi Hendrix known for her freewheeling, outré sex- and drug-saturated lifestyle.

Mabry began to try her hand at singing, and cut a few self-penned singles. They were in an old-school mold in terms of structure, but her very first 45 hints at things to come. “Get Ready For Betty,” a 1964 track released by Don Costa (discoverer of Paul Anka and Trini Lopez and a key arranger for Frank Sinatra), is stodgy early-‘60s NYC R&B to its core, but its message is pointed: “Get out my way, girl, ‘cause I’m comin’ to take your man.”

She also made a stolid romantic duet ballad with singer Roy Arlington and, produced by cult soul man Lou Courtney, a homage to the Cellar, the New York club where she DJed. But she didn’t start reaching the upper echelon of the music biz until one of her songs, a hymn to Harlem called “Uptown,” was cut by the Chambers Brothers for their smash 1968 album The Time Has Come, which also included the psychedelic soul workout “Time Has Come Today.”

The Chambers association probably secured a singles deal for her at Columbia Records, and her first session for the major label was produced by her former live-in boyfriend, South African trumpeter Masekela, in October 1968. By that time, she had split with him: A month earlier, she had married a far more famous horn player, Miles Davis, whom she had met in 1967. Davis and his regular producer Teo Macero would head her second session for Columbia in May 1969.

Those two dates were released for the first time as The Columbia Years 1968-1969 earlier this month by Light in the Attic, the independent label that has restored Betty’s entire catalog to print over the last decade. While devoted fans can be grateful that the work is finally seeing the light of day, it does not make for easy listening, for it was clearly made by people groping in the dark.

Betty’s artistic persona was at that point completely unformed, and so her male Svengalis did their best to mold the clay in their hands, with feeble results. Masekela evidently completed just three tracks, two of which, “It’s My Life” and “Live, Love, Learn,” were issued as a flop single. The homiletic song titles give the game away; the music, straight-up commercial soul backed by a large group (which included Wilton Felder and Wayne Henderson of the Jazz Crusaders and Masekela), has nothing original to say.

The date with Miles is a bigger waste, if a more spectacular one. The personnel couldn’t have been more glittering: Hendrix sidemen Billy Cox and Mitch Mitchell; ex-Detroit Wheels guitarist Jim McCarty; bassist Harvey Brooks, studio familiar of Bob Dylan and former member of the Electric Flag; and Davis’ then-current or future band mates Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter, John McLaughlin, and Larry Young.

But nothing jells. The material is either weak (Betty’s directionless original “Hangin’ Out” is the best of a bad lot) or incongruous (lumbering covers of Cream’s “Politician” and Creedence’s “Born On the Bayou”). Worse, the jazzers are unable to lay down anything resembling a solid soul-rock foundation, and even reliable timekeeper Mitchell blows the groove on more than one occasion. Miles gets impatient with his spouse at one point, rasping over the talk-back, “Sing it just like that, with the gum in your mouth and all, bitch.”

Apparently intended as demos, the failed tracks were consigned to the tape library. By late ’69, Miles and Betty’s marriage was history. She left her mark on his music: She appeared on the cover of his cover of his 1968 album Filles de Kilimanjaro and inspired its extended track “Mademoiselle Mabry” (based on the chords that opens Hendrix’s “The Wind Cries Mary”) and “Back Seat Betty” from his 1981 comeback album The Man With the Horn.

Moreover, she moved him toward the flash style that would dominate his music through the mid-‘70s, by exposing him to the slamming music of Hendrix and Sly and exchanging his continental suits for psychedelic pimp togs. Would we know Bitches Brew, On the Corner, and Agharta without Betty Davis? Maybe, maybe not.

For her part, Betty remained in the wings for a while. She collaborated on demos for the Commodores; in London, she modeled, worked on songs for Marc Bolan of T. Rex, and declined a production offer from her then-paramour Clapton. Drifting back to New York, she met Santana percussionist Carabello. They became involved romantically, and in 1972 she relocated to the San Francisco Bay area, where Carabello’s local connections led to the formation of a stellar band to back her on a debut album.

One reads the credits for Betty Davis in awe. The rhythm section was the Family Stone’s dissident, puissant rhythm section, bassist Larry Graham and drummer Greg Errico (who also produced). Original Santana guitarist Neal Schon, future Mandrill axe man Doug Rodrigues, founding Graham Central Station organist Hershall Kennedy, and keyboardist and ace Jerry Garcia collaborator Merl Saunders filled out the instrumentation. The Pointer Sisters, Sylvester, and Kathi McDonald were among a large platoon of backup vocalists.

Issued in 1973 by Just Sunshine Records, an independent label owned by Woodstock Festival promoter Michael Lang (who also released a set by another unique woman, folk singer-guitarist Karen Dalton), Betty Davis was one hell of a coming-out party. Since her abortive Columbia dates, she had developed a unique vocal attack that could leap from a velvety croon to a Tina Turner-like shriek in a nanosecond. The stomping funk of the studio band backed her up to the hilt.

Like Turner, she was one Bold Soul Sister. The lust-filled opening invitation “If I’m in Luck I Might Get Picked Up” announces that a new game was afoot. The statement of romantic/sexual independence “Anti Love Song,” the lovers’ chess match “Your Man My Man,” and the self-explanatory “Game is My Middle Name” offer up a startling, hard-edged new model of a hard-funking female vocalist.

The album’s most affecting track may be “Steppin in Her I. Miller Shoes,” Davis’ level-headed elegy for her sybaritic friend Devon Wilson, who sailed out a window at the Chelsea Hotel in 1971. “She coulda been anything that she wanted…Instead she chose to be nothing,” Davis sings, implying that route wouldn’t be one she would take herself.

“If I’m in Luck” grazed the lower reaches of the R&B singles chart and the album failed to reach the LP rolls at all, but Davis was undaunted. For 1974’s They Say I’m Different, she took the producer’s reins, which she would hold for the rest of her career. While the backup lineup is less glitzy (though Saunders, Pete Escovedo, and Buddy Miles, on guitar no less, appear), the support is still sizzling; crackling drums and burbling clavinet put over a set of songs that may have been even stronger than those heard on her debut.

No one who hears “He Was a Big Freak” is likely to ever forget it; it’s a startling dissection of a masochistic relationship -- inspired by Jimi Hendrix, and not, as many have assumed, by Miles Davis (“Everyone knows that Miles is a sadist,” Betty remarked later). Almost as notable are “Don’t Call Her No Tramp,” a prescient condemnation of what we now call slut-shaming, and the autobiographical title track, with slicing slide guitar work by Cordell Dudley.

Different and its attendant singles tanked, but Betty managed to maintain her profile with live gigs noteworthy for their uninhibited bawdiness, on-stage abandon, and the star’s Egyptian-princess-from-outer-space wardrobe sense. By early 1974 she had assembled a hot, lean road band that included her cousins Nickey Neal and Larry Johnson on drums and bass, respectively, plus keyboardist Fred Mills and guitarist Carlos Morales. This lineup would back her on her last two albums.

The end of Just Sunshine’s distribution deal liberated Davis, who, at the suggestion of then-boyfriend Robert Palmer, inked with Palmer’s label Island Records. The company released Nasty Gal in 1975, and it may be Davis’ best-executed work. The pared-down backing lets the songs shine, and there are good ones here: The shameless title song, the vituperative blast at the critics “Dedicated to the Press,” and the out-front ultimatum for sexual satisfaction “Feelins” get right up in the listener’s face. The most surprising track is the ballad “You and I,” an unexpected songwriting reunion with Miles, orchestrated by the trumpeter’s famed arranger Gil Evans.

It’s a tremendous album, and Betty supported it with live shows that ate the funk competition alive. A bootleg of an especially out-there set recorded at a festival on the French Riviera in 1976 literally climaxes with Nasty Gal’s “The Lone Ranger,” an in-the-saddle heavy breather that Davis wraps up by feigning a loud orgasm.

One should remember that at this particular juncture, Madonna was studying dance at the University of Michigan.

But Nasty Gal faded with hardly a trace, and Davis’ relationship with Island swiftly became fractious. It’s easy to see why the label declined to issue her final album, originally called Crashin’ From Passion and ultimately released, after years as a bootleg, by Light in the Attic in 2009 as Is It Love or Desire. The collection, which leans heavily on songs about sex, doping, and heavy drinking, includes “Stars Starve, You Know,” an outright condemnation of the games record companies play:

They said if I wanted to make some money

I’d have to change my style

Put a paper bag over my face

Sing soft and wear tight fitting gowns

 They don’t like the way I’m lookin’

So it’s hard for my agent to get me bookin’s

Unless I cover up my legs and drop my pen

And commit one of those commercial sins…

 Oh hey hey Island

And that was all she wrote. Until writers began to seek her out in the new millennium as her records became available again, Betty Davis was an invisible woman, one who had blazed a trail that other talents, such as Prince and Madonna, would blaze more profitably after her. She was definitively ahead of her time.

Asked by one writer what she had done since leaving music, Davis, who turns 71 on July 26, responded with the most tragic thing one can imagine any artist saying: “Nothing really.”

[majorshiraharu]

can you do a pt. 2 to the bad batch x wolf reader fic, where the bad batch and the reader are on another mission, but they get ambushed? A droid sneaks up on Tech, but the reader saves him, but gets mortally injured in the process. The reader dies from her wounds, but then a miracle happens, and she is revived. The reader's curse is lifted and she is transformed into a human again (like that scene from beauty and the beast), and the bad batch sees the whole thing. Angst and fluff, please

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The Bad Batch and Wolf Reader part 2

------------------------------------------ PART 1 LINK HERE Sorry this took me some time to respond too <3 ------------------------------------------ Content Warning: Injury Animal Injury Death (temporary) Angst / Fluff ------------------------------------------ Just before you all reach their ship Tech's scanners pick up multiple hostilities nearby, "It appears they found our ship." "Well that's just great," Hunter said crouching down to avoid being seen. "Told you guys we should have hidden it better," Crosshair scoffs as he readies his rifle. "We didn't know so many clankers were still around," Wrecker said moving to cover behind a nearby tree, "But now I got something to break!" "Just be careful you don't break our ship," Tech replied. "I can rush the one's on the side," you say looking over at some droids. Hunter and Tech devised a strategy to take out the droids and get onto the ship for a quick exit. All of you take up your positions and start attacking the droids, you notice that a platoon is coming up from the rear, but it's kind of hard to call out to everyone else when you need your wolf mouth for tearing up droids. -As they head for Tech you decide to charge at him and the droids, hoping to knock them out of the way before they shoot him, this time no droids were in your mouth so you call out to him, "Tech, behind you!" you call as you jump in between him and the droids, taking out as many as you can before being shot by the others. Your body feels heavy and your legs weak, despite having four legs they all gave out making you fall on the ground, the landing was pretty soft, guess that was a perk to being a wolf right now. Everything starts going dark, they just have hit a vital point you think as Tech calls your name, "Y/N stay with us.  GUYS I NEED HELP!" "What's wrong?" Hunter says fighting off some droids. "What happened to her?" Crosshair asks running over to help his brother and you. "She tried protecting me from the droids and ended up getting shot." "Well how do we help her, I'm not exactly an animal expert," Crosshair says looking at your injures, unsure of how anyone was supposed to help. "I don't know, I'm not one either!" Tech said as tears filled his eyes. "Tech you know a bunch of useless stuff, how don't you know anything about this," Hunter called out. "Because we haven't encountered anything like her before, I'm not sure how to help," he says attempting to do something, anything, to help you. He can't stop the tears from rolling down his face as you mumble out his name before your body becomes lifeless. --There's a light that appears, it's covered by green smoke but somehow extremely bright, lighting up the surrounding area and blinding the Bad Batch who had finished destroying the droids now coming over and kneel down beside you and their brothers trying to find a way to save you, but they were already too late. Tech's scanner no longer detects life coming from your body as the light and green smoke starts to vanish, --but then as it clears they see you, no longer the cursed form that you looking like a wolf, but you, the person. "Y/N?" you hear Tech mumble through the shock of what was unfolding in front of them. "Tech?" you say opening your eyes to see him, but he looks different, you notice more color and turn your head to look at yourself, "I'm human again?!" you shout not sure of if you were dead or actually back to your normal self. "I guess so," Crosshair said with a confused expression. "Maybe the curse wore off when you died," Hunter said, unsure of his own statement. "So I did die then?" "Yeah, you should have seen Tech he--"  "Shut it!" Tech says cutting off Wrecker as he threw his helmet at him, in amusement and surprise his brothers couldn't help but chuckle at him. "Sorry I worried you," you tell him as you sit up noticing the fresh tear marks on his face. "It's okay, I'm glad you're safe and alive--" "And human again," you added making everyone smile. "So since I'm human now, I guess that means you guys don't have to take me with you..." "If you want to come with us, we'd be more than happy to add you to the crew," Hunter said placing his hand on your shoulder. "Really?" "Do you want to join us?" Tech asked worried you might turn down their offer. "Yes, I do!" you say leaning over to hug him.