#sergeant oddball

[t00thpasteface]

WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF!

[downthetubes]

Are You a Sergeant Oddball or Tank Girl Lookalike?

A curiosity of a centenary-inspired cosplay competition from the Tank Museum, in Dorset...

[1-800-crscnt]

-small (non-serious) friendship hcs i have-

Davijaan & Cody: besties. constantly complaining about everything with each other. will hype the other up and threaten others to do the same. ride or dies, except when it comes to the blame game. argue a lot, but it only makes their friendship stronger.

Stone & Cody: exhausted "mean" loner duo that doesn't care to let people know the other exists. estranged best friends that only see each other five times a year, and those times are spent in total silence. don't attempt to speak to them when they're together, you will be ignored. competing with each other but nobody knows what about.

Hound & Ahsoka: the kids that had to be separated in class because they would always goof off and be loud about it. roleplay as wolves and will bite people. every episode of Jackass is taken as a guide, helmets were invented because of these two.

Thire & Padme: gossip queens, no secrets between them. TMI = Tell Me Immediately. close enough to cause rumors/scandals if they were public about their affection. would break the other out of prison but while insulting their outfit the entire time. would go through hell and back for each other and call it a girls' trip.

Mace & Fox: two grandpas that insult each other while sitting on the porch while everyone else swears they're friends. somehow always a game of spades with a drink when seen together. will give you false advice and chuckle silently when you fail, and then probably ten dollars to go buy something for them.

Thorn & Neyo: friends only in the way brothers who tried to kill each other their entire childhood can be. which is to say they are not. frequently creating rube goldberg style traps to hurt each other (because killing each other would mean more chaos within their jobs). forged in the depths of hater nation, will only accept death if it's the other killing them. get confused as actual friends by some simply because they came from the same batch.

Keeli & Rex: chillest buddies ever. will do even the most dangerous/intense things with a relaxed expression if together, love lazing around with each other and escaping duties by hiding in each other's rooms. always laughing, eating, or sleeping. hundreds of inside jokes, probably a secret handshake too.

[snootlestheangel]

I would pay you my two kidneys for wolf!Simon licking and grooming otter!kyle

🫶

many please and many thanks

I won't take the kidneys but I'll take some cold chocolate cake to make me feel better about losing all the progress I had made very slowly throughout the day because now the first part is slightly different than it originally was supposed to be and I'm very upset now (which is why it ended up taking me like 2 weeks to get this done I'm so sorry 🥲)

Ghost definitely grooms everyone he can. He's learned not to lick Soap when he's shifted, otherwise he has to deal with a very upset bird. So what he does instead is lays his head down near where Soap is and sighs while licking his lips. Sometimes Soap will tease him by grooming himself, which usually leads to a husky level of dramatic tantrum. Nik and Price tolerate it, but Price laughs every time he sees their adopted daughter Bailey, a cat shifter, looking very angry with wolf slobber on her.

Granted, she's the one he's the most gentle with, and it's a form of bonding.

Enough yapping, here's the good soup.

Tagging @stuffireadandenjoy @bringinsexybackk69 (anyone else that wants tagged for this au please let me know. Even though this may not be an actual formal fic for a while its still gonna be something that stays consistent on my blog for at least a while)

The first time since the team's formation, the boys finally had some downtime. As shifters, they were familiar with the idea that the others would have different behaviors and quirks related to their respective species. It was rather easy for them to adjust to casual life together, yet for the most part, they still didn't understand where different boundaries were. Excluding their captain, they were all social creatures, yet bonded in different ways, and expressed their companionship in different ways. There was a good week where the sergeants and Ghost had awkwardly danced around each other as they learned individual boundaries.

Unfortunately for Gaz, Soap and Ghost had already formed a bond, something unique forged during their time in Las Almas. It wasn't surprising, actually. Gaz had heard stories of wild ravens and wolves forming close bonds, seeming friendships, and that sort of relationship was evident in Soap and Ghost. The two had quickly learned that Ghost didn't mind having his personal space invaded, much to Soap and Gaz's shock, and they learned Soap rather enjoyed sitting perched on Ghost any way he could. It was not an entirely uncommon sight to see a large Raven sitting on Ghost's shoulder as the lieutenant went about his daily duties.

But Gaz wasn't so lucky. He was an Otter, a seemingly oddball addition to the team. Bear, Wolf, and Raven all seemed to just work, it made sense. It's not like Gaz felt rejected, in fact he could see the desperation to include him on Soap’s face, the passing huffs from Ghost that Gaz never truly understood the meanings of.

So it's why Gaz was so grateful to have a space to himself where he could shift and take time for himself. The pool reserved for him was hidden away from the main portion of base, surrounded by a sprinkling of trees and a tall, thick fence for privacy. He spent a long afternoon doing laps around the pool, ducking through the tunnels placed inside, and jumping onto the platform along the far side. It kept him active, and after having been out of the water in proper otter fashion for far too long, it was stimulating. Something exciting and different from the dull thrum of life on base.

And nothing was better after a long afternoon swim session than heading to the nearby concrete pad and sunbathe after grooming himself. But as he approached his concrete pad, he noticed a glaring problem. A large Wolf was laying sprawled out on his side, soaking up every inch of sun.

Annoyed, Gaz ran up to Ghost's tail and lightly tapped it with his front paws, an annoyed squeal accompanying the action. The tail flicked but Ghost showed no other sign of acknowledging the otter's annoyance. So, Gaz moved on to attacking Ghost's large back paws, only earning a small grumble and slight kick. Desperation kicked in as Gaz hopped towards Ghost's head, and he jumped onto the Wolf's large head and nipped his ear. Ghost sat up with a start, and Gaz backed away to glare at the other as best he could. Gaz squealed and bobbed his head up and down in the most threatening way he could. Ghost stared down at him, mostly bored, before letting out a grumble, a yawn quick to follow. Gaz's efforts to chase him off must have been falling on deaf ears, or Ghost was lost in thought as he just watched the otter's antics. With a single swipe of his tongue, Ghost effectively silenced Gaz, pacifying him just like the otter were a wolf pup.

Gaz couldn't tell what made him angrier: the audacity Ghost had to treat him like a pup, or the fact it worked.

Gaz couldn't even think as Ghost continued to lick him. Well, lick wasn't the best term to describe the situation, it was more grooming behavior than anything else. And Gaz had quickly realized it had been too long since someone else had groomed him. He slowly curled against Ghost as the Wolf continued to groom him, using his teeth to gentle nibble Gaz's sore muscles. The repetitive motions were slowly putting Gaz to sleep, and he had rolled over onto his back. To think he had been so worried about fitting in with the other two's social circle, yet he had completely forgotten that he wasn't the only one to social groom. By the time his coat was dry, Gaz had fallen asleep between Ghost's front paws, and the Wolf had gently rested his head against the otter as he fell back asleep.

Gaz had nothing to worry about, after all.

[hellfiresky]

Red Tides: Calm during the storm

Contribution to @clonexocweek | Theme: Future

This is Chapter 1 of my fic Red Tides. Whilst it’s not necessarily about who the boys become in the future, this excerpt explores how they imagine their future as clone troopers.

Read their story here.

Summary: Fresh off Kamino, the Spectre Squad - Blaze, Quake, Ridge, and Steel are ready to take the galaxy by storm… or so they think. Between mundane duties, oddball assignments, and weird encounters, these shinies quickly learn that life as a clone trooper is anything but glamorous. But hey, at least the caf machine works… sometimes.

Pairings: Clone troopers OCs x Clone troopers OCs (Sibling dynamic. No cloneshipping/cest) Warnings: None

Taglist: @orangez3st @msmeredithrose

The cadet barracks on Kamino were as cold and clinical as the rest of Tipoca City. Long walls of rounded bunk doors lined the room in perfect symmetry, each hatch leading to a coffin-like individual sleeping pod. The pods were barely big enough to stretch out in, but they came with built-in lights and ventilation - a small mercy in a space designed more for function than comfort.

The faint noise of other soon-to-be troopers shuffling in the locker area beneath the rows of sleeping pods was the only sound beyond the relentless rain hammering against the windows on the far side of the room. It wasn’t unusual, the rain. It was as much a part of Kamino as the ever-present smell of disinfectant. The rain, the smell, the eerie uniformity of it all - it came as one package.

CT-80-3498 sat cross-legged on the bench in front of his locker, boots off, training gear neatly spread out before him as he meticulously inspected each piece under the faint moonlight filtering through the window. He considered himself and his batchmates lucky, they’d snagged the window-end of the barracks. No need to disturb the others on sleepless nights like this.

The ambient sleep light in their section warmed the space the moment his tube-twin, CT-80-7654, hopped off the ladder from his pod. Without a word, 7654 pressed his forehead to the cold glass of the window, exhaling warm air out of his mouth. Moments later, CT-80-4422, clearly fresh from one of his late-night showers, sprawled out on the floor beside the bench where 3498 was sitting, arms folded behind his head as he stared blankly at the ceiling.

“You know, Blaze,” 7654’s voice broke the quiet of the barracks, “I bet you ten credits our first mission’s on some sunny planet. Blue skies. Dust everywhere. The kind of place you’d hate after a week.” He rolled his head on the glass, now the top of his head pressing against the window whilst he faced away from it. “Maybe Maridun. Heard the drill sergeant say something about it.”

Blaze folded the last piece of his gear and tucked it neatly into his locker. He then sat on the floor beside his brother, who was busy fogging up the window with his breath and writing his CT number on it. “Yeah? And I bet you’ll trip over your own feet the second we land, Quake. Maybe get eaten by something. I hear they’ve got big critters there.”

“Big critters?” CT-80-8910, nearly dropped his datapad before frantically catching it, almost hurling himself off his pod in the process. “And they didn’t teach us how to deal with that?! Guess I’ll just have to sweet-talk my way out of it.”

“Your sweet talk,” Steel muttered without opening his eyes, still laid out on the floor and enjoying the coolness against his skin after his shower, “is what got us extra laps last week.”

“It was worth it,” Ridge cackled. “You’ve gotta admit, sarge’s face was priceless when I—”

“When you tripped over the training droid, fell on your face, and took me down with you?” Quake interrupted. “Yeah, priceless.”

Steel sighed from his place on the floor. “You know, actually, the funny part is how you still think it’s a good idea to open your mouth during our review. Was that your third speech about sarge’s ‘natural greatness’ this week?”

“Fourth,” Blaze corrected. “He hasn’t shut up about it since we got those performance commendations last week.”

“Sweet talking got you places, vod.”

“You’re gonna have a hard time sweet talking when you’re standing at attention for six hours straight on guard duty,” Blaze also fogged the window, just like his twin.

That seemed to settle things, for a moment. The conversation faded, leaving only the sound of the rain and the sound of the barracks’ air conditioner. Quake turned back to the window, the faint reflection of his face - identical to his batchmates - staring back at him as he pressed his hand to the glass. “I wonder what it’s like, though,” he said softly. “Coruscant. They say the city goes on forever. No oceans. No storms. Weather-controlled.”

“Probably loud,” Steel chimed in from the floor. He rolled onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows and resting his chin on his hand as he turned to face his brothers by the window. “Bright. Too bright. Bet we’ll miss this place after a week.”

“You might miss it,” Blaze pointed his index finger at Steel. “Me? I won’t miss slipping on those damn platforms every time it storms.”

“Which is all the time,” Quake’s face was back pressing on the glass to watch the storm outside.

Ridge, as usual, couldn’t let the moment stay serious for long. “We get it. Quake, the most stable man on Kamino, doesn’t slip. Unlike the rest of us mere mortals.”

“Except, the guy literally ‘quake’d’ half the obstacle course last month,” Blaze smacked his brother’s shin from where he was sitting. “Hey,” Quake held up his hands, “That was a structural weakness in the obstacle course. Nothing to do with me.”

“Sure,” Ridge blew raspberries, “whatever keeps you sleep at night!”

Quake smacked the back of Ridge’s dangling head on his way up the ladder to his pod, earning a sharp “Ow!” from his brother, who retaliated by yanking down Quake’s trousers. Too tired to bother responding, Quake just let out a quiet laugh, hauling himself into his pod to settle in.

The rain grew louder, pounding against the glass as if it, too, wanted to be heard. Blaze stayed by the window, still fogging the glass and inscribing the rest of his batchmates’ CT numbers on it. “Think we’ll all stay together?” he asked suddenly.

The silence that followed was almost uncomfortable. Steel was the first to break it. “Hope so,” he yawned. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

“Of course we will,” Quake quipped, with all the certainty of someone who believed it entirely. “You think anyone else can handle my greatness?”

“Handle it, no,” Ridge said. “Tolerate it? Maybe.”

Their side of the barracks fell silent again, the four of them retreating into their thoughts. Outside, the rain kept falling, pooling into endless puddles on the platform outside of the place they’d called home their whole lives. A place they’d soon leave behind.

Blaze finally turned away from the window, he looked at Quake, then Ridge, then Steel. Identical faces. Identical heights. Identical eyes. And yet, in moments like this, they couldn’t have felt more different. “Whatever it’s like,” he said, pulling Steel off the floor and heading for his pod, “it’s gotta be better than this. We’re made for more than standing in the rain.”

Steel followed him without a word. Ridge let out a quiet hum of agreement, and Quake, for once, stayed silent. For the first time in a long time, the storm outside wasn’t the only one they were bracing for.

The day every cadet dreamed of had finally arrived: graduation. For the Spectre Squad, it felt almost surreal. The endless drills, lectures, and grueling simulations were over - or so they thought. After completing their final Citadel test, they managed to scrape by without needing remedial sessions, though it came with no shortage of criticism from their instructors. Still, they’d impressed General Shaak Ti, which was no small feat, and even Commander Blitz, who rarely handed out praise, begrudgingly acknowledged their effort.

“Effort,” of course, wasn’t the word he used.

Blitz had dragged them into one of the briefing rooms afterward for what he called “a little debrief,” but it turned into a full thirty-minute sit-down lecture. He rattled off extra pointers on everything from squad formations to weapon maintenance to “not making fools of yourselves the second you leave Kamino.” Quake had barely managed to keep a straight face, holding back giggles while Blaze kicked him under the table to keep him in line.

“We’re sending you out there to fight a war,” Blitz firmly said during the sit-down lecture. “You’ll be wearing the armour, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with your siblings across the galaxy. Act like it. And remember: discipline first. The rest will follow.” Blaze committed Blitz’s words to memory. Ridge muttered a quiet “Yes, sir,” whilst Steel gave a fresh-off-Kamino salute. Quake, as usual, threw off the formation by saying “Thanks for the pep talk, bossman,” before Blaze elbowed him in the ribs.

By the time they left the briefing room, the reality of the situation finally began to sink in. They were leaving Kamino. Not in weeks, not in months - soon.

They weren’t told where they were shipping out, only that they had four rotations to pack their things and prepare. Their orders were vague at best: collect their shiny new armour from the Dome - the armour depot nestled in the west wing of Tipoca City Military Base; attend a mandatory assembly at 0600 in four rotations; proceed to stand in formation with hundreds of their brothers at the main hangar, and wait for the Venator-class ship scheduled to pick them up.

It wasn’t much to go on, but for the Spectre Squad, it was enough. Blaze had practically sprinted back to the barracks, dragging the others along with him as they worked out the logistics.

“Four rotations?” Ridge tossed a handful of training gear into his duffel. “What are we supposed to do until then? Stare at the rain?”

“You can stare at whatever you want,” Quake flopped onto his pod and pulled the blanket over his head. “Me? I’m getting one last good night’s sleep in before we’re crammed into a ship with hundreds of other troopers.”

Steel, who was methodically organising his pack with near-obsessive precision, didn’t even look up. “You’ll be sleeping plenty once we’re shipped out, Quake. Probably standing up in some hallway somewhere.”

“Standing guard,” Ridge groaned. “For hours. In brand-new armour that’ll pinch like hell until it’s broken in.”

“Beats sitting here,” Blaze zipped up his duffel and put it back into his locker. He tugged Quake’s blanket from under his pod. “You did polish your boots, right?”

Quake finally got up again and swung his legs off the pod. “Yes, they’re shiny enough to blind mothe–, um, Shaak Ti herself. Happy?”

Blaze ignored him. He looked out the window as rain continued to lash against the platforms outside. In four rotations, their home would just be another stormy planet in the rearview of a Venator. None of them said it aloud, but the next few rotations would be the last time they walk along Tipoca City’s pristine halls, run along those rain-soaked platforms connecting each building, or sleep in the utilitarian cramped pods. After this, everything changed.

“Four rotations. Pack your shit, shine your boots, and get your armour. We’ve got a war to fight.” Blaze took a breath and turned back to his brothers.

[hacash]

the problem of being in the Terror fandom is that I do a lot of og historical writing and love writing things set in the Victorian era, but I feel very wary of including any of the following archetypes -

insecure glory-hounds

alcoholic dad-shaped entities

pompous but well-meaning fools who never were suited for command

a damp wretched cat of a man

little balls of devout religious repression

goofy posh oddballs

kind-hearted doctors and/or scientists

good-hearted loyal working-class lads (assorted family issues thrown in)

cocky jock army sergeants (bonus:from anywhere north of the M25)

basically anyone from the Navy

little evil twinks - lest in the future someone thinks I'm just pinching Terror characters

and that's a lot of archetypes, many of which I kinda want to play with

[sandfordsmostwanted]

Look, I know Endeavour only just finished, and it was a poignant and beautiful finale, with a clear path towards Inspector Morse BUT

I want a series about Morse and McNutt.

Like - what the hell was their first few weeks together like? McNutt knowing about this oddball sergeant who has managed to piss off nearly every faction in Oxford and digs up cold cases sometimes out of long-established loyalties and sometimes just for shits and giggles. A man who will blare opera, and infodump about poetry, and who doesn't care about sports and TV, whose rare trips to the cinema involved a doomed date or the whole building catching fire. Who stood between an innocent woman and a sodding tiger, but who gets woozy when he's too high up, or sees blood. Who will do absolutely nothing to be your friend, but who will give you honesty beyond you could have ever imagined, if you meet his exactingly high standards.

And what state was Morse in? Morse, who just lost the captain he would have walked through Hell for, and who refuses to even mention his name due to this agonisingly heavy secret between them. A man who gives his life and soul to his work, yet refuses to follow any of its rules and regulations. A man whose friends are few and far between but stronger than steel but also drifting away from him, as they live comfortable happy lives while he tucks himself away in his big lonely house, any attempts at sobriety dribbling away, as the beer feeds his brain and the scotch makes it go quiet.

How the hell did they work together? How the hell did it become a relationship that Morse thinks favourably of, and tells Robbie about, when he never so much as mentions Thursday?

Also did they fuck?

[captain-rickbond]

what movie are they watching

boys are watching Kelly's Heroes

Larry's favourite is Sergeant Oddball, of course. He is Ben's favourite too, but Ben won't admit it and says that he likes Private Kelly (but honestly - he mainly focuses on tanks, and Larry 🪖)

listen to the theme song "Burning Bridges" - it's a bloody banger

[contentment-of-cats]

Fic Bit: The Seventh

In the days before the Clone Wars, the Outrider Fleet was a confederation of system and sector fleets that banded together to combat smugglers, pirates, and slavers at the edge of the Outer Rim and Wild Space. Brought under the umbrella of the GAR, it soon became the Seventh Fleet. It was generally viewed as a destination posting for the odd, the inconveniently brilliant, the politically unastute, and those square pegs who stubbornly refused to be whittled, hammered, or lathed into round holes.

Under the Empire, the Seventh remained a 'pocket fleet' - still assigned to the out-fars, and often a place where female officers, enlisted, specialists, and technicians ended up. It was the place to end a career, not begin one, and if one failed to adapt to the isolation, long hyperpace jumps, and frequent action - a place to end one's life and ensure one's dependents survivor benefits. Anyone caught being exceptional in the Seventh was usually reposted to a better positioned fleet, thus to hopefully wreath their captain in glory. It was not until the transfer and subsequent - if slow - promotion of Karyn Faro that a change began to manifest.

Faro came into the GAR from the Corellian Defense Force not as an officer, but as a Gunner's Mate and Junior Sergeant. As the clones were retired from service, officers became in short supply, so Karyn was given a choice - demobilization, re-enlistment in the Corellian SecFor, Merchant Services, or OCS at Corulag. It took her two years to complete a three-year course, and then go to the ass end of the ass end of nowhere as an ensign in the Seventh, junior weapons officer, and with about as much respect from the bridge crew as the ship's tooka. When the Chimaera was folded into the 96th Task Force, then-commodore Sartan noted that Faro had a knack for winning the 'how long will they last?' pool. The junior officer also was highly accurate in winning the pot for the dead pool. Faro's picks had staying power, and were generally skilled officers who fell off-center in the psych exams.

Sartan kept her close, letting her look over the cadets and transfers, her uncanny ability allowing him to staff up, and then spread out to the other ships in the task force. Though a lowly commodore, Faro's picks began to filter into the Seventh - cementing the oddball reputation, but also pulling victories out of their asses. The admiralty and IHC didn't give a high-flying fuck how those victories were achieved, as long as they were achieved. He assumed command of the Seventh as Fleet Admiral, keeping the Chimaera as his flagship and finally promoting Faro to full commander. The selection of naval officers and crew became her open job.

If anyone suspected just a breath of Force ability, they kept it off their tongue. This was the situation that Thrawn stepped into, and in front of a wall of resentment that Faro didn't get the captaincy. Sartan chucked up a few prayers that the 96th wouldn't give him more trouble, and sent them on their way to Ibriho - a little run against a pirate fleet pushing old Venators - and thought not for the first time that he was getting too old for this shit.

[lucerodiehards]

Lucero at The Metro, November 9., 2007

"Old Sad Songs"

"That Much Further West"

"I Can Get Us Out of Here"

"Nights Like These"

"Kiss the Bottle"

"Nineteen Seventy Nine"

Sixteen

"Sweet Little Thing"

"Joining the Army"

"Last Night in Town"

"Drink 'Till We're Gone"

"Hearts on Fire"

"Summer Song"

"Chain Link Fence"

"Slow Dancing"

"Noon as Dark as Midnight"

"She Wakes When She Dreams"

"Colorado Girl"

"All Sewn Up"

"Which One Broke?"

"Tonight Ain't Gonna Be Good"

Bikeriders

"I'll Just Fall"

"Tears Don't Matter Much"

"The War"

"Sweet Home Alabama"

"Nobody's Darlings"

The bloodied but unbowed South-erner has been a recurring figure in rock ever since a Canadian named Robbie Robertson had the audacity to write The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down as seen from the perspective of a fallen Confederate soldier’s brother. Almost 40 years later, the Memphis band Lucero and Nashville singer-songwriter Bobby Bare Jr. are still setting tales of devastated characters to rousing music.

Lucero’s Ben Nichols (second from left in photo) writes and sings about men haunted by guilt and lost loves, barroom brawlers, his World War II–vet grandfather (who made sergeant and got busted back to private three times), and a girlfriend’s father who “lost everything on horses, whiskey, and wedding rings.” Meanwhile, Bare, the son of a country singer who scored hits in the sixties and seventies, favors oddballs such as a man so heartbroken he gets turned into a robot. 

“There’s truth in the lovable loser,” Bare explains. “You can find some real doubt and hopelessness, and that makes for a good song.” Nichols and Bare agree there’s a Southern fascination with the underdog that traces its origins all the way back to the Civil War. “You’re fighting to prove yourself,” Nichols says. “That’s a common feeling for anyone raised in the South, and it runs very deep in Lucero. We definitely feel like we’ve had to scratch and claw.”

Nichols’s battle-scarred voice passionately conveys his characters’ hard times and hard living, while Bare’s sad-sack drawl suggests lifetimes of passive-aggressive behavior, but both men refuse to surrender to the losses that permeate their songs. Lucero’s grinding, country-rock guitars and surging rhythms give the music a back-against-the-wall combativeness. Bare consistently finds dolorous humor in unlikely situations, while showcasing his versatility through a mix of boisterous R & B, mariachi fanfare, clamorous alt-rock, and steel guitar–drenched weepers.

There’s pathos in these tales of the fallen and forlorn, but also perseverance. “There’s a time to be sad and nostalgic,” Nichols says, “and a time to fight for what you need.”

DAN BILLMEYER AUDIO

[aahsokaatano]

i've been crazy busy this month for various reasons, so instead of doing a regular "once per day" bingo thing, I decided to do a bunch of five-sentence dumps. Enjoy!

@cloneshipweek

1. Keeli/Doom

The helmet recovered from Ryloth sat heavily in Doom's hands. It felt like it weighed more than the rocky planet itself.

He ached to speak. To say I'm sorry, I failed you, I wasn't there when you needed me.

But the words didn't come, and Keeli would never tease him about being lost for words again.

2. Fox/Fox

"The more you speak," Fox said in a low, threatening tone, "the closer I get to punting you off the nearest platform and letting you free-fall to the surface."

"Aw, Commander, you say the sweetest things," the Torrent that Fox refused to name simpered.

One of these days, he was actually going to kill the CT. The name they had picked was bad enough - did they also have to be so karking annoying?

"You know, I hear kissing is a good way to keep people quiet," they grinned, and Fox didn't give them a chance to say anything else, much to their delight.

3. Keller/Neyo

They didn't ever speak about anything important, really. Neyo could chatter about anything and nothing for as long as Keller would let him, filling up the quiet of the med tent as he stitched the Commander back together after yet another harebrained mission that Neyo and Bacara had taken on.

Proof of life, in the little things. Keller could see he was alive, sure, but the more Neyo talked, the more he could see the tension drain out of the medic's shoulders.

If the stitches got a little more painful towards the end, well, that was just Keller's way of saying he was glad that Neyo was still there to feel the sting of it.

4. Hound/Tup

Grizzer always beat Hound to the lamding platform when the 501st came to Coruscant, not that Tup minded too much. The massif was a package deal with his handler, after all.

Hound laughed and wiped the slobber off of Tup's cheek to press a kiss there. "Welcome back, cyare."

"Good to be back, cyare."

5. Vaughn/Wooley

Someone once described them as distilled sunshine twice over. Vaughn had laughed, all but sparkling in his delight, and Wooley had grinned and blushed, running a hand through his hair and making it fluffier.

The darkness that was spread throughout the galaxy seemed to have a harder time casting a shadow over them. They were just... happy. They had each other, after all.

6. Oddball (Davijaan)/Crys

"You were reckless again," Crys fretted, watching with a scowl as Davijaan climbed out of his scorched fighter.

"And I won, again," he added, getting both feet back on the deck. "Isn't that what's important?"

"No, coming back to me is what's important."

Davijaan rested his forehead against Crys', hoping the contact would say what he couldn't find words for - that he won for Crys, every time.

7. Blackout/Grey

Grey was dozing, just enjoying the warmth of the bunk and the man next to him. Blackout was still deeply asleep, half on top of Grey with his head on Grey's shoulder and his arm over his waist. Warm, and comfortable, and safe.

It was a feeling they didn't get to indulge in often. He was going to relish it for as long as they were able to stay here.

8. Longshot/Hardcase

Hardcase had once claimed he wasn't a very good sniper, which was why he carried pretty much everything except a rifle.

Longshot was now ready to call banthashit on that.

"A millimeter," he said for the tenth time, "a single millimeter of difference between our shots and you say you aren't a good sniper!"

Hardcase shrugged. "You're the best and I'm not as good as you, so -" He gave a muffled laugh as Longshot cut him off with an aggrieved kiss.

9. Bacara/Colt

Kamino was as deary and depressing as ever, but the welcoming party was a sight for sore eyes.

"Colt," Bacara greeted softly, nodding at the other Commander.

"Bacara," he nodded back.

Later, they would have a proper reunion, would catalogue the new scars on each other and kiss away the ache of loneliness that had built up since they had last seen each other. For now, a short nod would have to do.

10. Dogma/Wrecker

Wrecker had called him 'regs' the first time they met, and Dogma had taken it as a compliment.

Dogma had quietly told Hunter about killing Krell, which got him assigned to CF99, and Wrecker overheard and immediately developed a crush.

They really shouldn't click as well as they did - uptight Dogma, loyal to the point of rabidness, and loose canon Wrecker, who loved nothing more than making things explode in glorious fashion?

But they did work, somehow, and soon it was Dogma-and-Wrecker, a single unit rather than two. And they excelled for it.

11. Thire/Cut

"I'm leaving, going AWOL."

"I know." The signs had been there for a while, he just hadn't wanted to think he was interpreting them correctly.

"You should come with me."

"I... I want to, but I can't." I'm sorry.

12. Bly/Spar

Bly had once thought that Spar was everything he wasn't - big and strong and fast and the best of the best.

But now he realized, Spar was an attainable goal, in more ways than one.

He was still a bit taller than Bly, but the muscled arms that wrapped around Bly in the night were hardly bigger than his own.

As Bly snuggled in closer, though, he still thought Spar was the best of the best. Even if they were closer in size, now.

13. Free/Free (my OCs, Crasher/Steel)

"Don't ever do that again," Crasher whispered against Steel's lips.

"I'm sorry."

"I - I thought -" a lot of terrible things had crossed Crasher's mind when Steel had been publicly declared a traitor.

"I know," Steel said, holding Crasher tightly. "No more covert ops for me."

[limoteesblog-blog]

Sergeant Oddball why don’t you knock it off with them negative waves sunset shirt

Oscar are Sea worlds money maker! One hour is an hour too long for entertainment. 3-4 shows a day. 7 days a week? Non stop practicing/training in between. It’s  Sergeant Oddball why don’t you knock it off with them negative waves sunset shirt and you can’t be this delusional to the realities that goes on in that place? I could sit here and write a book. I can produce links of research after research. Videos. Articles. Research journals. etc. but I’m not going too. Oscar and other sea mammals belong in the wild or at the very least, sea sanctuaries. Swimming around in circles, head butting concrete walls isn’t what I would call a fulfilling life. It’s clear that maybe you shouldn’t be in this line of work if you really feel this is more fulfilling then their home in the ocean?

Buy this shirt here: Sergeant Oddball why don’t you knock it off with them negative waves sunset shirt

Get more shirt at Limotees shop trending shirt and hoodie

All the orcs are in bad health, psychological and body wise at Sea world. Having teeth drilled weekly and cleaned out daily, the Sergeant Oddball why don’t you knock it off with them negative waves sunset shirt  goes on. I support zoos and conservation groups all day long! But I will not support amusement parks abusing captive animals, dressing it up to naive animal loving people that they are healthy and fulfilled, just because they have done some good in the world with their conservation efforts. You can throw a million facts on here, continue justifying all you want, ethics are ethics. Facts are facts. Wrong is wrong.

[harrypotterhousequotes]

HUFFLEPUFF: "Why don't you knock it off with them negative waves? Why don't you dig how beautiful it is out here? Why don't you say something righteous and hopeful for a change?" –Troy Kennedy Martin (Sergeant Oddball: Kelly's Heroes)

[lassieposting]

What do you think the Dead Men / other skulduggery pleasant characters pet names would be for their SO?

OKAY SO

here's the rundown

DEAD MEN

ghasdug: they don't really use pet names. ghastly sometimes calls skug skul, which skug hates, but he gets away with it by dint of having done it since they were teens. they get together at 16 and for most of their relationship skug doesn't use affectionate nicknames or pet names for anyone. He does sometimes fondly call ghastly bespoke, though.

sexter: dexter is just dex, mostly - not just with saracen, but with all his lovers. saracen is like 5'9 to dexter's 6ft, so dexter fondly refers to him as big guy.

shudderkin: shudder isn't a pet name person, but he is pretty much the only person who regularly calls larrikin by his first name, rover. on the flipside, larrikin will answer to pretty much anything, and shudder promptly gets nicknamed altar boy, in honour of all that religious guilt he carries around.

other: ghastly was a sergeant major during the war. everyone who doesn't outrank him still occasionally whines "but sarge," if he's telling them off for something.

BAD BOY BRIGADE

violent: their relationship is a closely guarded secret for a long time, so in public they're professional: vile calls mevolent your grace, and mevolent calls vile general. in private, over the years, mevolent will sometimes fondly refer to vile as rouquin ("little redhead" or "little ginger" in Middle French). vile doesn't use pet names at all, but he does call mev mevolent, rather than an honorific title, which isn't something many people get to do

nefmev: they don't do pet names, especially not from nef. he's pretty smitten with mevolent, but mev sees him as a convenient casual hookup whenever he wants one, so he won't get away with over-familiarity in the same way vile could if he was the pet name type. he's one of mevolent's closest advisors, and in the war room, to a certain degree he gets to talk to mev like an equal and argue with him, but that doesn't really carry over to the bedroom. nef is used to messed up power dynamics, so this never really strikes him as odd.

sorrowscorn: they're both rather fond of darling

baronscorn: they have their own little awkward thing where she calls him husband and he calls her wife. the rest of the court are not entirely sure whether these are affectionate pet names or whether they are just strange ultra-repressed oddballs who think that's how normal people speak. vile and mevolent have a running bet.

GOOD GUYS (MISC)

cassdug: she's not flowery at all about her pet names - he's usually either love or lovey, depending on her mood. he doesn't really go in for them with her, but he does call her cassie in private, which is. very unusual for him, seeing as he pretty much never shortens names.

skulpine: skug calls nef nefarian. this is significant to nef because he isn't on first-name terms with leibniz!skug, and he gets visibly annoyed when og!skug keeps calling him nefarian in lsodm/tdotl. as his obsession shifts from skug-as-enemy to skug-as-ally, he starts to like the informality, because it makes him feel like skug likes him, and at a certain point he starts reciprocating by going from "the skeleton" or "detective pleasant" to skulduggery. these aren't actually pet names for skug though - he and og!serpine are on first name terms the whole way through book one, so this is normal to him.

valdug: pet names are pretty rare from him, and non-existent from her, but he does call her dear every now and then. neither of them are really the type that show affection like this.

skugwife: easily the most petnamey couple here - he's my darling and she's dearest. when they're courting and writing to each other, him at the front and her back in dublin, his letters begin with "dearest clary" and hers always end with "be safe, my darling". they keep this sappy shit up until she's killed, and even after - he vaguely remembers hallucinating her comforting him and telling him to come with me, my darling when he was being slowly tortured to death in serpine's dungeon, and that's the incident her ghost tells him about in tdotl - "we watched you suffer, we tried to get you to come with us".

vilekyrie: not so much a pet name, but i've always had a headcanon that when vile has nonverbal periods, he communicates with little shadow emojis like the sandman in rise of the guardians. he has one for her, like (🙎🏻), and mostly uses it to show he's worried about her if she's upset (🙎🏻❓) or that he's happy to see her/wants to show her something (🙎🏻❗) or say "I love you" (🙎🏻❤). sometimes his shadows will make the little signs in his sleep, and she can tell he's talking to her in his dreams. she sees it as almost a pet name. when he's talking though, they don't really have any.

(@bubblemoon66 do they have pet names in the spy!au? now im curious)

soldug: they mostly call each other by their surnames (pleasant/wreath) or by titles (detective/cleric), so their version of pet names is just...informality. if they use skulduggery or solomon, it's usually affectionate or concerned.

skug's siblings: after skug's mother is killed, he gets custody of the five youngest siblings. respair, the youngest, is only like four, and still has a little-kid lisp, and can't actually say 'skulduggery'. So skug gets to spend several unfortunate years as...well...skug thkug. respair grows out of it - eventually. raising kids is a thankless, embarrassing job.

BAD GUYS (MISC)

vilequesse: she frequently refers to him as my little toy or my pet. he doesn't really have one for her (but vilekyrie!au vile does have a sign for darquesse, and it's different to his one for val, which is. a relief for her tbh because for a while she's not actually sure whether he knows there's a difference)

tanguine: brs is a good ol' southern boy, so he has a whole bunch of names for tanith. honey bun, sweetheart, sugar, dumplin', all the typical schmoopy food ones. if she asks him something, he'll often answer her with either "yes ma'am" or "no ma'am". tanith, being all remnanty, isn't overly given to genuine displays of affection, but in a world where he survives tdotl and they figure it out, she mostly opts for babe

[zippocreed501]

Donald Sutherland as Sergeant Oddball

Kelly's Heroes (1970)

[wanderinginksplot]

One-Shot: Trapper + Loan

I don't know why, but I wanted to write something for Trapper. A bunch of other 212th troopers show up as well! I don't write for the 212th very often, so forgive me if their personalities are a bit off. Also, this fic features a game of sabacc. I used the rules from the Galaxy's Edge version of the game.

Trapper/Reader pairing - gn!reader

Length: 2,300-ish words

Warnings: gambling

---

You finished signing off on the last checklist and tossed your datapad to the desk in the corner of the hangar bay. Administration and inventory weren't your favorite tasks - or even ones you had chosen voluntarily - but there was something satisfying about checking the fighters before and after a mission.

You were a pilot. At least, you had been before the Republic decided to use the new clone army to form the Grand Army of the Republic. Now, the Republic preferred using clone pilots, who had been engineered for heightened intelligence and reflexes. You objected to that, both in tone and message, but it was undeniable that your job had irrevocably shifted. You didn't mind working with the troopers, but you wanted to fly again one day and hoped it would be one day soon.

You wanted only one thing that particular night, however: a warm shower and twelve hours of sleep. A sonic shower and seven hours of sleep were the only things available, but you would make do.

With an eye on your wrist chrono, you walked through the shadowed hush of the hangar bay. Before you could reach the main door back into the Negotiator's main hold, you jumped violently at the sudden echoing roar of a cheering group.

When you rounded the hull of a V-19 Torrent Starfighter, you were met by a scene straight out of a holofilm. Five troopers in their black body gloves sat huddled around two stacked crates they had repositioned to serve as a table. Some of the bay's smaller crates were being used as seats, but no one was sitting on them at the moment. The shouting and complaints were apparently due to the sabacc deck strewn across the makeshift table.

It took them a bit longer to see you than it had taken you to see them. That was fine with you - you were still learning to tell the troopers apart from their minute differences and you could use the extra time.

Oddball had flung himself across the crate table to playfully punch at one of his brothers. Longshot, the one being punched, was laughing and defending himself as best as he could. Shatter, the 212th's medic, probably should have been stopping the chaos, but he was too busy cheering Oddball on. Wooley was easy to recognize with his distinctive Mohawk hair, and by the fact that he was throwing pieces of balled-up flimsi at the crowd. The last trooper wasn't doing or wearing anything crazy, but you could have picked him out of a crowd with your eyes closed: Trapper.

The sweet trooper had been the first one to take you under his wing when you had been assigned to the 212th, and you had stayed on speaking terms even after you had finished settling in. Granted, you didn’t have many chances to spend time together since he was busy doing the extra work that came with his new rank of sergeant, but you still considered him a friend.

“Hey, look who it is!” Shatter welcomed loudly, brushing pieces of flimsi from his orange-streaked hair.

Cheers welcomed you, despite your lack of familiarity with most of the troopers present. Still, you put on a smile and waved politely. “Hi, everyone. I’m just headed back to my quarters. Feel free to continue your game.”

“No, no!” Wooley protested, jumping to his feet and hurrying over to you. “You have to join the game!”

“I don’t know how to play sabacc,” you countered.

“Then you really should join the game,” Wooley pressed, undeterred. “C’mon, the guys wouldn’t let me bet on who would win between Oddball and Longshot. I need some kind of entertainment.”

“Yeah, because sabacc is known for being tedious and slow-moving,” Shatter told him dryly.

“See? Shatter gets it!” Wooley said, deliberately missing the sarcasm in the medic’s statement. He turned pleading eyes your way next. “Please say you’ll join?”

“I don’t have any credits on me,” you confessed, patting at your jumpsuit to check just in case some may have spontaneously generated in your pockets.

“We don’t play for credits,” Longshot reassured you. “We bet shift trades, especially shifts that no one wants to work.”

“Like what?” you asked. You had never heard a trooper complain about any task and this was the first time you had considered that they might just choose to keep their dissatisfaction quiet.

“Like, midnight barracks patrol,” Oddball said, pulling a face.

“Or medbay duty,” Trapper pitched in at last, staring pointedly at Shatter.

Shatter grinned. “Any day I can have someone else scrub the medbay to standard is a good day for me.”

“I’m not actually cleared for any jobs other than the one I already do,” you admitted, fighting a surge of disappointment. Somehow, you had actually gotten excited to play an unfamiliar game with a random group of troopers.

“Oh,” Wooley said, the excitement gone from his voice. “You need something to bet, though, otherwise it’s no fun.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized with a grimace.

“I’ll vouch,” Trapper said unexpectedly. “We can all play and I’ll cover any bets from my own shifts.”

“Are you sure?” you asked Trapper, terrified he thought you were some kind of sabacc expert.

“Too late, he agreed!” Wooley cheered, guiding you to the table.

“This is happening,” Shatter agreed. “Just enjoy.”

Longshot grabbed you a crate seat as you kept your eyes on Trapper. You didn’t want him to feel like he had to cover your bets, especially since you weren’t exactly confident in your skills.

“It’ll be fine,” Trapper assured you with a small smile. “You’ll do great.”

Trapper’s confidence - however sweet - was thoroughly misplaced. You didn’t win a single game of the nine that had been played and you were getting beyond frustrated. You had lost six shifts on Trapper’s behalf. Trapper wasn’t doing badly for himself, and had won four out of the nine total rounds. Unfortunately, his decent sabacc skills didn’t stand a chance against your actively bad luck, and the pot still held several of his shifts.

“Still feeling good about covering bets, Sarge?” Oddball asked with a smirk, jerking his chin towards you.

"Giving up for the night already, Odds?" Trapper countered, sounding far more collected than you felt.

"Not a chance."

"Should I just quit now?" you muttered to Trapper. The troopers had conveniently placed your crate next to his, so a private conversation was easier than expected.

"Why would you do that?" Trapper asked blankly.

You scoffed. "Because I keep losing? Sabacc is tricky and I still don't fully get it. I don't want you to keep wasting shifts."

Trapper shrugged. "I really haven't lost that many."

That, at least, was true. The way these troopers placed bets, the person with the worst score in each game lost their shift, the person with the best score in the round kept their own shift and the loser's bet, and everyone else got their bet back. The betting system was almost as confusing as sabacc itself, but it meant that Trapper only had three shifts in his brothers’ hands.

"Aren't you having fun?" From anyone else, the question would have sounded sarcastic, but Trapper's face and voice were full of sincerity.

You couldn't bring yourself to sound ungrateful, especially when faced with his concern. Instead, you just forced a smile and said, "I am having fun, really. I probably should have checked whether sabacc was a team kind of game first."

Trapper's eyes widened and he pushed his newly dealt cards back to Wooley. "I fold."

"Wait, what?" Longshot asked. "Never took you for a sore loser."

"I'm not," Trapper told him easily. "I'm just moving to an advisory role."

You quirked an eyebrow at Trapper, who had shifted closer to see your cards. At your look, he began speaking, his low, warm voice in your ear making chills run up and down your arms.

"The most important thing to remember is that sabacc is a game of chance," Trapper started. "But that's no reason we can't try to work things out in our favor."

"If you're going to talk about cheating, don't do it where we can hear you, vod," Shatter told him, laughing openly.

"Take Shatter, for example," Trapper continued, undeterred. "He always twists that stupid eyebrow piercing when he has a bad hand."

Shatter whipped his hand away from the small durasteel bar through his eyebrow and glared at Trapper while you chuckled.

"Oddball, on the other hand, moves his fingers too much," Trapper continued. "I think it's a holdover from his time in the cockpit. He wants to keep his hands ready to make adjustments. He isn't moving now, so we know he has good cards."

"Come on, vod," Oddball complained.

But Trapper kept coaching you through the game and another few afterward. Sabacc really was a game of luck rather than skill, but you managed not to get the worst score on most games and actually won a few. With those victories, you were able to recover most of Trapper’s shifts left on the table. In fact, there was only one left by that point.

“Okay, we probably need to stop for the night,” Wooley announced. “Curfew is coming up and we have to get back to the barracks.”

“No, you can’t!” you argued, determined that Trapper wouldn’t have to work an unpleasant shift on your account. “You have time for one more game, surely.”

“Maybe…” Shatter agreed, voice full of doubt. “Wooley, what do you think?”

Wooley was already dealing, spinning cards out to every person. When everyone had their two cards, Longshot started gameplay. You glanced at your cards, finding a negative six and a positive two. Negative four total.

When it was your turn, Trapper encouraged what you already knew: “Draw.”

You nodded and drew a card. Positive three. Negative one was a good score, but you knew sabacc was fickle. Wooley tossed the dice and they came out with one and five. You got to keep your cards this round.

On your next turn, you weren’t as sure of how to handle it. Trapper tapped the negative six card. “I would swap this one out.”

You did and got a negative two instead. Positive three, further away than you had been, but…

Trapper obviously saw it, too. Leaning even closer, he touched the positive three card and murmured into your ear, “Discard this in the next round and we’ll win this thing.”

You grinned at him and he returned the expression, dark eyes warming with surprise and delight. Wooley rolled the dice again and they landed on four and six. You kept your good hand.

Finally, your turn came around again and you discarded the positive three card, delighting in your perfect hand. Wooley picked up the dreaded sabacc dice and a loud warning tone sounded through the ship. You jumped, and you weren’t the only one. The troopers gathered up the sabacc set faster than you could believe and set the area back as it had been before you could ask what they were doing.

“That’s the lights-out warning,” Oddball told you. “Looks like we’ll be sneaking back to the barracks tonight.”

“But I was winning!” you protested.

Wooley shrugged. “That’s how sabacc goes.”

Shatter gave Trapper’s shoulder a friendly punch. “Come to the medbay on your next open shift, Sarge. I’ve got a few bunks that could stand to be fully sterilized.”

And then they had left, leaving you and Trapper standing alone in the dim hangar bay.

“Thanks for staying,” Trapper said, breaking the first silence there had been in hours. “I hope you had fun?”

“I did,” you promised, “but I’m sorry I couldn’t win back that last shift for you.”

“It was worth it,” he shrugged off. “I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun in a sabacc game. Besides, I got to learn your tell.”

“My tell?” you repeated, intrigued. “I didn’t think I had one. What is it?”

“I don’t know if I should say,” Trapper hedged. “It might help me next time I’m playing against you.”

You shot him a look. “We both know I’m no threat when it comes to card games.”

He grinned, but gave a little nod before you could figure out whether to be offended. “Your eyes.”

You frowned, trying to remember if you had blinked too often or looked in a certain direction any time you had good or bad cards. Nothing came immediately to mind, but you couldn’t be sure. “What about them?”

“They’re always incredible, but when you have a good hand?” Trapper smiled and brushed fingertips over your cheekbone, his gaze never leaving yours. “They sparkle.”

You reached up to touch his fingers with your own and Trapper let his hand fall to his side - definitely not what you had wanted. You cleared your throat. "Still, I'm sorry you have to pull a medbay shift."

Trapper shrugged. "It probably won't be too bad. Just boring. And I always get hungry during long shifts."

"You know," you said consideringly, "I've been meaning to get to the medbay for a while. I could bring some snacks along, just in case you happen to be there at the same time. I'll feed them to you when Shatter isn't looking."

Trapper's cheeks darkened slightly and you beamed… until a thought struck you. You had been so busy flirting that you hadn't stopped to think about whether Trapper would be uncomfortable with the attention. "I mean, if that would be okay."

"I would pull double shifts for a week if it meant I got that kind of treatment," he told you fervently.

"Then… Maybe we could hang out when you aren't working, too?" you suggested hesitantly.

"But then you might get sick of me," Trapper argued. "Between that and our date."

"Our date?" you repeated, floored. Had he asked you on a date and you had somehow forgotten?

Trapper sighed and scrubbed at his face. "I'm sorry, that was Wooley's stupid line. The guys have been giving me advice about how to ask you out. All of it is terrible, but I panicked."

"You wanted to ask me on a date?" you reiterated, focused on the important matters. "I accept!"

"What?" he gasped.

"Too late, you can't take it back," you insisted. "We're going on a date!"

"Good!" Trapper agreed, beaming.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment while you tried to work up the nerve to kiss him, but a voice echoed through the hangar bay: "Sarge, you're gonna miss curfew if you don't hurry!"

"I've gotta go-"

"You've gotta go-"

The pair of you laughed at your simultaneously panicked statements, but you managed to brush a light kiss against Trapper's cheek before he had to leave. It was okay - you would have more time together soon.

---

A/N - Okay, I didn't love the way this one ended, but a trooper card game was something I couldn't resist! Check out other works on my masterlist or make a request of your own!