#cadet squadron

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“Patterson C.I. Boys Win Praise From Inspecting Officer,” Windsor Star. May 12, 1942. Page 5. ---- MAJOR W. L. AITKEN, cadet inspecting officer for Military District No. 1, praised Patterson Collegiate cadets for their precision and steadiness on parade, following their annual inspection in the Windsor Armories today. Major Aitken is shown at the right during the inspection. Cadet-Colonel Harold Coombs, officer commanding the corps, is at the left.

#windsor #military district #troop inspection #cadets #cadet squadron #cadet corps #high school students #high school #collegiate institute #canadian military #black canadians #canada during world war 2

[strawbubbysugar]

ASTRO COMMANDER WITH A BUNCH OF LITTLE ASTRO CADETS

YOU’RE A GENIUS

#ASTRO SQUADRON #WEEWOOWEEWOO SCRAPED KNEE SPOTTED #Astro cadet #ask #Astro commander

[joshuaalbert]

I do like moon girl

#can’t imagine this is going to end well for her #I’m assuming we’re only getting this scene bc she and probably like everyone else is about to die #but it’s a nice scene #‘are you getting attached to another doomed blonde cadet from an elite squadron’ who’s to say #ds9 liveblog #edit: yeahh I was trying to just watch this ep on its own merits but like #this is a nick locarno speech #edit edit: good for her. subvert the standards.

[basicinstnct]

fairytale / leon kennedy

word count: 3323

tags: possessive behavior, abo dynamics, rut/heat cycles, knotting, breeding, hints at yandere, mentions of rape and abuse, alcohol, hazing, smut, fake dating, intimidation

ao3 link: here

summary: you and leon happen to be in the same training squadron. further events pull you even closer.

When you’re told alphas, betas, and omegas train indiscriminately, you wonder whether they’re toughening you up or throwing you to the wolves. But you don’t falter, like you maybe think you should. Ignoring your instincts is something you’ve had to learn, because most of the time they just tell you to run.

They at least do you the favor of rooming you with another omega, one of the few others in your camp. Mostly the training squad consists of alphas, not even closely followed by betas, and both those populations dwarf yours. Nothing close to what it’s like if you walk down the street.

You quickly learn the ropes, courtesy of said roommate, and there’s plenty to know. Don’t go off alone with any alphas. Keep your scent blockers on, maybe even double up. Basically, keep your fucking head down and know your place, but sometimes things feel so tough that you wonder why they put you you here at all.

“And if all that isn’t enough to scare you,” she says after she’s given you the lay of the land, “just watch what happens to the ones who aren’t as smart.”

…

Her words prove true just a few days later. It’s the weekend, and there’s a kickback a few miles off base. You don’t know whose house it is, or even whose party, but a chance to unwind is worth all of that stupidity. Even your roommate agrees.

“Be cautious, yes,” she’d said, eyes locked on her own as she applied her mascara, “but social ostracization isn’t great either.”

When you’re handed a drink, you’re told to keep an eye on it. Not that she needed to say so, but there’s a weird sense of irony keeping your guard up among people you sweat and bleed with every day.

Some of the other cadets are determined to get as fucked as possible, so before midnight hits there’s a drinking game taking place in the middle of the living room. It’s mostly organized by two alphas you recognize to be pretty important in your squadron. In between them is a girl, an omega. Both of the boys have one arm on her, a strong suggestion.

You can’t imagine what they’d smell like that close. It must be suffocating.

“Does this happen often?” You ask your roommate.

“All the time,” she says.

There’s some chatter to explain the stupid rules, beers and sodas and liquors are put in cups, and then it begins. The drinks are thrown back like water, and you can’t help but notice how many of them go down the throat of the young omega, whose face is getting redder and redder as she tries to keep up with people two times her size.

Despite her effort, she still loses the game. Nobody objects as they put her into position for her punishment, an extended keg stand. The handstand drains all color to her face, even as the beer begins to spill from her cheeks, down her face to fall towards the floor. And when it’s over, it’s no surprise that she pukes everything back up.

What is surprising is that when she’s done, they just leave her there, in her vomit. You’re smart enough not to do anything; you’re as bad as everyone else. It’s a smart way to assert dominance in an overarching way. You’re aware that this could easily be you, next weekend or the weekend after that. Your second gender makes it so easy to fall prey to almost anything.

Later on, like everyone else, you watch in silence as the omega runs out the door, until she’s entirely out of view and you can’t hear her cry anymore. You have a strong feeling you won’t be seeing her again. 8 out of every 10 dropouts are omegas, or at least, that’s what they say.

The party doesn’t go on for long after that, the mood tanked by the lingering smell of vomit and pheromones of distress. You end up catching a ride with an older cadet, who your roommate sits across from. When you open the door to get in the backseat you’re a little surprised to see the back of a man’s blond’s head.

You quickly recognize him from training: Leon, an alpha. You also quickly recognize that you don’t know much about him other than that. It isn’t quite obvious that he’d be an alpha either, at least to you.

He doesn’t say anything, other than a noncommittal grunt, but you’re not offended. As much as he tries to mask it, you can smell that he’s somewhat distressed. The alpha behind the wheel must be able to tell too, as he rolls down the windows once you’re on the open road.

“See,” your roommate yells at you over the sound of the wind, before taking another sip of warm beer, “I told you so. Everything I said… the rules…”

“You did,” you reply, but you’re fixed on Leon’s expression. You can’t get the troubledness of it out of your mind. You want to fix it, desperately.

…

Even following all the rules, it doesn’t take long for trouble to find you.

A lot of people hate your Major Krauser, but in particular you hate the way he sounds. An alpha, naturally he has no issue throwing his weight or his power or anything else in his arsenal. He’s got commanding blood running through his body, apparent in his voice when he speaks, but it’s never been aimed at you before, not like this, not at you.

“Do I have to say it again, omega?” You swear you can feel the spittle. “My office, ten minutes.”

It’s not unusual for commanding officers to request the presence of subordinates, but there have been rumors surrounding Krauser that don’t exactly have you wanting to be alone with him. Talk of him requesting favors, forced affection, omegas coming back to the barracks on shaky legs.

You know what a visit to his office means, and you’d rather be a willing lamb to the slaughter than embarrass yourself by fighting.

The corridor to Krauser’s is endless, almost comically so. It feels like fate is a door away, but the feeling seems to disappear as you hear a grunt from a couple yards away. A sound you swear isn’t new to you.

“Krauser, sir.” It’s Leon. Looking at him, hearing him, makes it finally register. He’s an alpha, no different than Krauser.

“Yes, Kennedy?” He seems to be amused, and even with just a throwaway glance you realize something that has your stomach curdling. You’re kind of expected to keep your mouth shut.

Leon’s eyes glance at you, and you find that you understand exactly what he’s trying to do.

Krauser’s buying whatever Leon’s doing. He looks between the two of you, brow arching slightly. “Oh,” he drags out. “I see. She’s yours.” The venom on the last word pulls a shake out of you.

You can feel the sweat on your temples, and your hands twitch with the urge to wipe it away. You bet you look pathetic. You’ve got someone looking out for you and you can’t even speak up to confirm his story.

Krauser tilts his head like he’s pondering fucking Leon over and just taking you anyway. “Have her then, if she’s really yours,” he says finally, suddenly bored with the whole situation like he wasn’t about to knot you over a desk. He gives you a firm pat on the shoulder before shoving you in Kennedy’s direction.

You can’t deny that walking over to Leon feels like crossing a bridge to a better place. Just by the smell of him.

“You should probably let me… y’know, scent you from now on.” Leon says later, when you’re alone. He sounds like he’s asking, but there’s something that in his eyes, intense, determined. It’s in his smell too… Does protection have a smell?

You agree without much argument. It feels right. And some part of you is happy to have someone looking after you. When he moves to touch you you can feel it lighting up, synapses in your brain, and when he lets you go you find you feel a bit woozy. You wonder if he feels it too, this gravitational pull.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, and you agree. It must be the best option.

…

You’ve never been to the rut barracks before, and they certainly don’t have anything like that for you, but when the officer told you he was in rut, and asked if you wanted to do anything about it, you felt obligated. His tone was crooked when he said it, when he teased you about your “nice little relationship, your fairytale.” Did everyone know? He wanted to keep you protected, but how much did he say?

He’s told you stories about how hard training was, that in the beginning it was nothing he would have been able to even dream of before Raccoon City.

Knowing you has helped, you’ll remember the warmth that spread through your body at those words forever, but you try not to think about it too much, because you don’t remember talking to Leon all that much during his early out of training, at all really until he started pretending like you were his.

When you open the door, you can almost feel the heat of Leon’s lust. He’s awake despite the time, in a lounge chair he’s put in the corner in the room. You can tell he’s been sitting in it for hours. Muscled hands cling to the armrests like they’re a lifeline. His eyes are glazed, obviously from the rut, and he makes no attempt to hide the obvious boner he’s sporting. The sight of him like this distracts you from any hesitation you had before, from anything outside the room.

You take just one step, and his eyes lock onto yours impossibly fast. His spine shifts, and he looks somewhat like he does when he’s ready for combat. Leon tries to speak first, but you’re holding your hand up to stop him from getting a word in.

“Shhh,” you feel yourself purr, like you’re approaching a feral animal, which might as well be true. “I know you don’t feel good,” you tell him, “but I can make you feel better. You know I can.”

Your ears feel like they’re underwater but can make out that he’s protesting. He’s saying something about not wanting you to get hurt but you know deep down you won’t feel bad about it, about doing this with him. You have to force his walls away, so you do your best to put out a disarming smell.

“Leon,” you say, holding out your hand.

“You came,” he gasps. He’s warm around you, and his face in your neck feels natural (or maybe more like instinct). He’s trying to be careful with you, barely even moving, but you want him closer. You know he wants to be closer. You wrap your arms around him, and for once allow yourself to really feel his body.

Leon’s form is strong, and this isn’t really much of a surprise to you, but touching it is something else: a different way to know his strength. You drag your hands across every muscle and you know you’ll remember the warmth that spreads through your body for a long time. You feel him sigh, deeply, before his hands grip you a bit tighter and pull you more towards him. “This is ok?” He’s suddenly asking, with a raw voice. But you get the feeling he won’t be asking for long.

“You came to take care of me?” He’s asking, but his eyes are so lidded they seem closed, and his nostrils are flaring like crazy. He’s so worked up, and you haven’t even been with him for five minutes.

You mutter back a shy affirmation, and just to really drive, you pull at his belt. The shudder that goes through him is a reward all its own.

“Ohhh?” He’s almost all over you instantly. He’s warm around you, and his face in your neck feels natural (or maybe more like instinct). He’s still him, still so careful with you, but you want him closer. You bet he always wants to be closer. You wrap your arms around him, and for once allow yourself to really feel his body, like he makes you do when you’re under him.

Leon’s form is strong, and this isn’t really much of a surprise to you, but touching it is something else: a different way to know his strength. You drag your hands across every muscle.

Meanwhile, he’s panting, almost to the point where you can feel his wet saliva. And he’s slurring something you can’t understand, and until two huge hands cup your face and put your forehead to his.

“Ohhh,” he moans shamelessly. “Where are your blockers? I-I’ve never… I always knew you were—but I never got to smell you. But you took them off now, huh? Did you do it for me?”

His pupils are so black, the ice blue ring around them half as piercing, but worse than that is his cock you can feel pressed up against your stomach, almost letting you know how bad he’ll stretch you, before he even gets his knot in. It’s getting you wet, needy.

“Yess,” you hiss as you feel his incisors draw lines down your neck, “for youuuu.”

“You’re gonna let me take care of you? Let me give you my knot, huh?” His words make you buzz. You feel like you’re going to fall into something you can’t get out of.

“I wanna take it, I will,” you’re murmuring like you have a fever. It occurs to you: it’s a strong possibility that his rut will trigger your heat. But that doesn’t seem so bad.

“I heard he was taking you,” Leon’s saying, teeth gritted with the effort not to snarl. You realize the he in question is Krauser, that he’s talking about that day. “I couldn’t let him. Didn’t want him to have you. And he won’t. I’ll take care of you, you’re mine.”

His scent is so strong you feel sick on it. Even when you’ve been with other people you could always smell yourself, but he’s wiped you out.

“How’d you know?” Leon asks, with what seems like his last grain of sanity.

“They told me.”

He laughs but there’s a pain in it, “‘course they did.” He pulls gently at you, leading you towards the bed he’s so far left untouched.

You can tell he wants you badly but he’s trying to be gentle. It crosses your mind to give yourself up to him completely, tell Leon he can do whatever he wants with you. But you aren’t quite sure how that’ll turn out with him so turnt up like this. You still have your guard up, but there’s a part of you that lives to serve.

You do so by ridding him of his clothes, his vest and his cargo pants, and then his briefs, where you can see his cock, leaking and throbbing. You can see hints of the knot he’s gonna make you take.

The sheets are engulfed in his smell. You find out as your body sinks into them with Leon’s weight over you. His eyes seemingly follow every part of you at once. His hands grab at you, at your ass and hips. Before long, he’s undressed you as well.

“Just take me,” you tell him, “I can handle it. I know you need me.” You hope he can feel how you ache for him in return.

Leon hums to himself, but doesn’t obey your request. Instead his fingers prod over to your opening and he moves them through the slick of you. He doesn’t dip them in, and seems content to just play with you, get you even wetter, even with his dick weeping pre onto your thigh. He lets you stir in his arms until you start to beg.

“Leon,” you say, for both of your sake’s, “please.”

“Wait,” he hisses, “just give me a second. You smell so good I could…” he trails off, like he’s not supposed to say it, but you’re not interested in should or shouldn'ts. You need his knot.

“Please,” you beg again, not even aware you’re baring your neck.

Blue eyes lock onto yours for confirmation, and when he finds it he slides his dick in slowly, maybe less so you can get used to it and more so he can see you shake and writhe as you feel just how deep he goes. Without preparing you you’d think it’d feel worse, but you must just want it that badly.

“God, your pussy feels so good,” he says into your ear, when he’s worked himself all the way in. You can feel his balls as he rocks his hips against you before he begins to fuck you. You welcome every part of him, his lips on yours, his hands, and you can feel the base of him getting thicker.

“Can I have it,” you’re shocked at the sound of your whining, “your knot?”

He huffs, “no.”

“What? Why?” You’re desperate for him. He’s warming you from the inside out and he smells so good when he’s close and you feel like you were nothing before this, like the memories of before he made you his will slip away when he makes you come.

“Because,” he gasps as he goes deeper, like he’s shocked it can even feel any better, “I wanna feel you come, please. What do you need? You need it harder?”

Rather than wait for your answer he just tries it, gripping your hips just to pull you back into his cock. Using you because he’s strong enough and you’re letting him and he can. Something in that makes your brain fuzzy, makes you clench around his cock until he’s growling into your neck, giving it to you even harder.

It works, it does make you come, but you still feel needy. You pull Leon closer into all you can feel is him. Your’s mouth’s to his ear.

“Give me it,” you whine. “I know you’re close. I want it.”

“Yeah,” he says like he’s realizing it too. That he’s getting too thick there to keep fucking you like this. “Please, say you want it again.”

“Please,” you cry, “Leon, knot me, please. It’s too much if you don’t.”

He looks at you for a long moment before licking every one of your tears away. Then he fucks you he feels it.

All of you seems to soften when Leon gets caught in your pussy and comes. You can feel him filling you up, warming you from the inside out. Even better than that is the pleasure on his face. His teeth are clenched. You wonder if he’s grinding them so they don’t end up in your neck.

He cuddles you until his knot goes down, and then he bathes you (you didn’t even know there was a full on bathroom), dries you, redresses you. His cock leaks the entire time, but he ignores it in favor of you. You’re scared to say anything about it. You love the way he looks after you.

Later in bed though, you can’t help but ask him. “Why?” you say without naming anything explicitly.

“It feels natural,” Leon says, and you can tell he’s thought about it. “Feels good to give you what you need.” In all this misery it must feel good for him to save someone, rescue someone, and that someone is you.

“And you know what that is?” You can’t help but ponder. It feels uncharacteristic to say, but it also feels like the last chance for either of you to turn back from whatever this is.

“I have to,” it’s the voice of your alpha replying.

#resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon smut #smut #my writing #dark content cw

[lunaslovelyrambles]

-> hey i wrote a sequel to this :)

— • — • —

you're the first person he looks for - always. before the two of you even started dating he'd seek out your eyes in a crowd. your eyes. not anyone else's.

reiner was a quick learner when it came to the ODM gear. he'd whip through one of the training courses nearly flawlessly. then, once he was back at the start, he'd give you a wink and a cocky grin. and oh how he loved the way you'd roll your eyes with a small smile at his annoying confidence.

he's too damn cute for his own good sometimes.

this carries over into the rest of your time in the military: his desire to look for you, make sure that you're alive. when you're both in trost, fighting actual titans, he tries to always keep an eye on you.

it's hard when you're in different squadrons. yet he still finds himself searching for you throughout the city. through the titan massacring his fellow cadets, he still looks for you.

he's careless. as he's distracted by the thought of finding you, he nearly misses a titan running towards him.

"look out-!" he finally heard your call as you soar by on your ODM gear to slice the titan's ankle. it was seconds away from attacking him.

you didn't have to do that. regardless of if you showed up or not, he would've been fine. but you didn't know that. a pang runs through his chest at the reminder of the weight of a warrior.

"better watch your back, braun. or i might actually rank higher than you when we graduate." this time, you're the one grinning and giving him a smirk. despite your expression, he can still see the way your fingers clench the handle of your gear. you're shaken beyond belief.

he realizes then that he loves you.

"yeah, thanks." he's still a little out of it. the rush from the sudden attack to the rush of emotions that he just felt sent him into a daze. he's surprised that he managed to respond to you at all.

you notice this, he doesn't care.

the thought of being in love with you terrifies him. he's not supposed to feel this way about you.. a supposed devil in the eyes of his homeland. still he does. and there's no stopping it now, he's too far gone for his own good.

he crashes his lips to yours and doesn't look back.

reiner knows. he knows that he's fucked. he knows, but there's nothing that can stop him now from caring for you. for loving you. for always making sure that you're okay first. by looking for you, your eyes, first.

even as he reveals his true identity to eren on the walls by saying that he's the armored titan. he looks at you. you break before his eyes, he breaks harder.

when he came to that island, he thought there would be nothing that could tear him away from his goal. no island devil could deter him from fulfilling his duty as a warrior.

you aren't a devil, though, you're an angel.

an angel whose eyes he loves, and soul he loves even more.

an angel he swears to look for again, someday.

— • — • —

-> masterlist

#reiner angst is like my cocaine #i did have plans for a happy ending oops <3 #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #reiner x reader #reiner braun x you #reiner x you

[thecuriousquest]

OMG I loved your yandere levi arranged marriage fic. Can I request a scenario within the same AU where he comes back home really pissed and then takes it out on reader. Eventual NSFW please.

My Stone Cold Husband

Tag List @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @chickennugnugnug

Warnings: Yandere themes, abusive spanking, domestic abuse, NSFW, vaginal sex, taking anger out on wife

Checkout my Master List here.

—————————————————————————

It was an average winter’s morning. There’s nothing to do out in the garden, so you start with lighting the fireplace before beginning your “wifely chores” as Levi calls them. This would include making sure the laundry is done, tidying up around the house, washing/sweeping the floors, cooking dinner, and other things of that nature. You are to do all of this by the time Levi comes home from work.

However, fortune does not favor you today. At six o’clock, you hear the door open and slam shut. With wide eyes, you take into account that you haven’t even started dinner yet, and even worse, Levi is in a rather foul mood.

Sweat forms on your brow as his boots draw near where you stand. Your eyes lock on his just as you’re about to stick the fish in the oven.

“H…Husband…” you stutter with fear wringing your throat.

Levi rolls his eyes at you and looks around as he walks over to the table and sits down. Silence is the only thing that passes between the two of you for the next hour while you finish cooking. You hurry along and set the table, get him something to drink, and put the food on his plate.

His hand reaches out, grasping your wrist. Levi seemingly looks up at you from his seat. You thought he would have cooled off by now, but he looks even more enraged. The stone colored eyes take on a hue of charcoal with how angry he is.

You bite your tongue as he pulls you over his lap. Bunching your skirts at the small of your back, his hand begins to punish your backside.

“Levi!”

“Husband,” he corrects, never letting his hand rest for even a moment.

“I’m sorry! Husband, please, I don’t know what I did wrong! Was this because I didn’t have dinner ready when you- ow -came home?!”

Your legs buck like a wild horse, and your cheeks flush when you hear him laugh as his hand settles on your bare thigh.

“You think I’d punish you over something as trivial as dinner?”

Yes.

“No, this is because I had to deal with a fucking pervert cadet in my squadron. I’m stressed and pissed that I had to spend my entire day on the investigation, so as my loving wife, you get to bare the brunt of it.”

With all of that said, he begins punishing your now cherry red behind again.

It makes no sense to you, but it doesn’t have to. Levi’s erratic behavior has always been a mystery to you, and this is one of those times. It doesn’t matter that you had nothing to do with his horrible mood. All that matters is that you’re here, he’s angry, and he’s taking his frustrations out on you.

“The food will get cold!”

“Is that really what you’re worried about? You can always reheat it. Now, shut up and let me vent in peace.”

You forgot that Levi has a different method of venting. He doesn’t talk about his emotions. He would rather hit something, and right now, that something is the part that you sit on.

The throbbing pain sinks deeper and deeper through your skin, biting into your aching muscles from having to clean all day. Tears cascade from your glistening E/C orbs, only to drip onto the wooden floor that you washed and swept before Levi came home.

There’s nothing you can do to stop focusing on the sharp sting of his open palm. You know how it feels to be slapped by him. You’d take one good slap over this any day, but today is not your day. Today is a horrible day for him, which means a terrible day for you.

Levi pulls you up off of his lap, forcing you to bend over the table. You barely missed having your breasts covered in fish, potatoes, and vegetables. Your stone cold husband keeps your skirts folded up by your waist. You can hear him fiddling with his own clothes, adjusting them so that he can pull his cock free.

The burning from your bottom intensifies as Levi thrusts against them, making his way inside you. You whimper into your arms, hissing at the slightest feeling of the skin-to-skin contact.

Your face contorts as your nose scrunches up from the tears pooling in your eyes. Why has this happened to you?

Do you even love me, Levi?

“Of course I love you. You’re my wife. I protect you, I take care of you. There’s no one I’d rather come home to.”

You hear him, and you’re confused at first until you realize you asked your question out loud. You clamp your hand over your mouth, not wanting to be so lost in thought that you say something that might anger him even further.

“Do you really think I don’t love you? After all that I’ve done for you.”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can pathetically whimper.

Levi presses himself into you deeper and deeper, until you’re pushing back against him, until your foot stomps against the floor because you can’t take how good it feels. You whine into your arms, begging for him to make you feel even better.

And he does. He knows how to work you, how to manipulate your body. Reaching under you, he plays with your clit while railing you from behind.

You pick your head up and cry, “Husband, I can’t! I’m gonna-”

You can’t help coming undone all over his cock and his hand. Your dripping juices coat him, and he grips your waist with both hands as he continues to chase his own orgasm.

You just hope none of it gets on the food.

You’re glad that he decides to come inside of you as he pulls away from your pink slit. He leans over you and pats your aching bottom twice before sitting down on his chair. He begins eating the semi-warm food.

You chance a look at him since he’s sitting right in front of you.

“I’d suggest you fix your clothes and stand up unless you want me to fuck you again.”

Quickly, you do as he “suggests” before taking your seat next to him. It’s difficult to sit without squirming on your well-punished ass, but you try to eat your food in silence.

When Levi finishes his food, he does something that he’s never done before. He gives you a kiss on the forehead as he exits the kitchen. An odd feeling rushes inside of you at the unfamiliarity of his affection.

Maybe, he isn’t such a stone cold husband after all.

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere themes #triggering content #triggering themes #attack on titan #snk #snk levi #levi ackerman #levi ackerman attack on titan #levi ackerman aot #captain levi #levi smut #levi is hot #yandere levi x reader #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi ackerman x reader #spank me daddy

[ackerifle]

season of giving!

yan. fiancé captain levi ackerman x fiancée commander. reader

+ CW. — reverse power dynamics/power imbalance deadlock, forced relationship & forced marriage, coercion; can be perceived as the same timeline/sequel to paying the price in full; not proof-read

the soldiers of the survey corps are only granted leave twice a year: upon receiving ghastly injuries that render them ‘unfit,’ for work, and for the winter holidays. thankfully, today it is the latter. although the official holiday leave allegedly begins today, many — if not all — of the scouts made off the day prior. which you had so graciously allowed, seeing that you didn’t rule the corps with an iron fist; unlike your predecessor who you vaguely remembered writing up those who had fled from the headquarters at 23:59 on the eve of last year.

your comrades in arms were grateful, and those who did not run off the moment you informed them they could leave early were kind enough to bid you farewell and send their warmest wishes. the only requirement you listed was that the cadets clean their areas and barracks before they go, as soldiers were notorious for taking more than a mere few days off. and you’d rather them not return to find rats and roaches in their living quarters. and thus, the scouts could be seen preening and polishing the survey corps’ base throughout the day, up until evening, but the majority of them had left around the afternoon (which made you question how thorough they were).

only the ranked officials and a handful of your squadron had actually departed on the day of, but only because they had paperwork to complete before they could go. all of whom had given their last wishes to you intimately, one at a time. expectedly, the first to greet and first to say goodbye was erwin, who awoke promptly at the crack of dawn to knock on your office door. your section commander had turned in his neatly stacked pile of documents, and a wine bottle with ribbon around the neck (poorly tied, but you could only assume how long it had taken him to get the singular bow to sit correctly with how wrinkled it was, and imagining him re-tying it with a frustrated look brought a smile to your face). you thanked him, and told him to, “not bring alcohol into your office during working hours in the future,” but he was out the door before you could even finish your sentence.

less than a minute later, a far too lively hange opened, no, slammed, your door open. they were already rambling before they could step foot into the perimeters of your office, and you interrupted them to scold their loud tone and impertinent salutations. hange had apologized, waving their hand dismissively, excusing it with a, “there’s nobody in the damn building anyway!” as they dropped their papers — which appeared to be suspiciously bigger than the amount you had assigned them — on your desk, creating a loud thud once settled, and you swore you heard the wood crack. hange had read you like a book, because they quickly defended that they were also delivering moblit’s work, thus why they had such an ungodly amount of files, and not because they babbled and rambled in their notes.

unlike erwin, it seemed hange wanted to do anything but leave, chatting you up with all their newly found research and information on langnar’s journal. and eventually when you ushered them out under the pretense you were required to sift through all of their’s and the other captain’s and vice captain’s paperwork by midnight (which you were), they finally left. but they returned two seconds after the fact, apologizing profusely and throwing an assortment of small gift-wrapped objects at you, then hurriedly rushing out the door and slamming it shut, just as you instructed them not to.

when the sun had finally risen, there was another knock on your door. you had known it was mike when there was a long pause after the knock, and not the typical automated ‘commander, it’s cadet so-and-so,’ and the only form of acknowledgement you had gotten from him after permitting his entry was a subtle nod. mike was thoughtful enough to clip his papers together, setting them aside from erwin’s and hange’s onto what little open space was left on your overcrowded desk. however, the wine bottle caught his attention; it had been pushed to the corner, and he saved it from potentially falling, picking it up with both hands and inspecting it with a sniff. shaking your head with a disappointed sigh, you had asked if he wanted it, muttering something along the lines of how you didn’t drink, and erwin knew that very well. but mike set the bottle down at the center of the desk, responding with a simple, “but levi does.” you dismissed him after that comment, but gave him an honest and genuine goodbye.

as the day dragged on, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. it was empty, and rightfully so, as you knew this may be the only day happy families could rejoice with their loved ones, reunited after months away before they return scornfully to their duty on the battlefield. perhaps if you cared more, you would have gone home like the rest of the soldiers; but the pursuit for your own life, and needs, and wants, and worldly desires has led you here. back to your office chair, the one you sit at for hours a day so you can placate the curiosity that has since been ignited by the anomalies and inconsistencies in (what is left of) humanity’s history. sometimes, you question if this valiant effort is worth it, it’s been years with little payoff, and you’re starting to think that—

“fuck, is it cold out there.” your head snapped up at the voice, and you see levi standing in the doorway. you don’t recall hearing the sound of the door opening, considering it was quite infamous for creaking anytime someone had so much as breathed near it. his hands are full, papers and all, but a tiny yet neatly sheathed package sat atop of the reports, a pretty ribbon and all to complete it. you catch yourself grinning, which you excuse as being happy that levi has finally turned in his work and not because he’s actually here, and a frown quickly settles onto your lips, “don’t curse, you know i don’t like it.”

he shoots you a look, raising a brow as kicks the door shut with the slight nudge of his boot, “really? because last night, i’m pretty sure you were the one cursing.” levi stops in front of your desk, unbothered by the clutter, and your stare blankly as he sets his paperwork on the empty spot you had just cleared, “screaming, ‘oh my fucking god, levi—”

“okay, enough. and i don’t sound like that.” you critique his voice pitch and horrendous imitation of you, mainly to preserve your dignity and pride, and to stop the heat you felt rise to your cheeks. you placed both of your hands flat on the edge of your desk, pushing yourself backwards in your chair, but with no effort to sit up, you let your head fall back. staring intensely at the ceiling felt much better on your eyes than reading over ink writings, some unintelligible, others with atrocious handwriting, and all too tiresome.

your eyes drop to levi, who has his arms crossed, as if waiting for you to acknowledge his presence, he huffs when you two finally make eye contact, “where have you been all day?” you can’t help but be curious, standing to retrieve the present on top of his paperwork-pile, and sitting back down, “busy. why? did you miss me?” you bite back a scoff.

“hardly, it’s just… odd that you weren’t around.” the box is light in weight and small in size, fitting nicely in the palm of your hand. without moving your head, your eyes wander towards levi, who is already looking at you, urging you to open the gift with the swift motion of his hand.

you must admit his wrapping skills are unmatched to all the presents you received for this year’s annual winter holiday. including the ones that had been shoved into your mail, all of which had difficulty fitting into the thin slot, cascading onto the floor and taking up an outrageous amount of space. most of them had been from the cadets before they left, and the rest were letters from the government, pestering you about legal papers and official business. but levi’s gift was darling, and the bow was certainly tied much better than erwin’s, even if that wasn’t saying much. tugging lightly at the end of the ribbon, and it falls apart in your grasp along with the wrapping paper. the naked box is black in color, and smooth to the touch, so you are careful to slide the lid without denting the box with your nails.

upon opening it, the glint of a jewel catches your eyes. parting your lips with an impressed gasp, you hook your hand under a silver chain, retrieving the necklace from its confines, “do you like it?” of course you do, it is undeniably beautiful. you unclasp the necklace, bringing it up to you and wrapping it around your neck. levi takes long strides to help you re-clasp it, placing his hands over yours and moving your hair aside, fidgeting until it clicks, “yes, it’s very lovely. thank you.”

you hold the centerpiece of the necklace in your hand, eyeing it carefully. the embellishment is the same one that belongs to the center stone on your engagement ring, that is why it’s so awfully familiar. it comes as a mystery to you as to when levi had time to go and buy it, especially when he’s practically glued to your side all day long. it only sinks in now that you hadn’t bothered to get him anything, not that you particularly owed him anything; not when levi decides he’ll take from you whenever he pleases. you feel guilty, even though you shouldn’t, you do. and it doesn’t help your regretful conscience when levi presses a chaste, but sweet, kiss to the crown of your head.

“i never did get you anything. did you… did you want anything for your birthday?” you hesitantly query, almost like it pained you to ask in the first place; because it does. you can only bend your will so much, after all, “marriage.”

eyes wide with surprise, you shut your eyes with a grimace, “can’t you request something more reasonable? we only have a day off, and it’s what?” you raise your head and take a glance towards the window, and a blend of bright orange and yellow hues can be seen illuminating the stuffy room, “late in the evening? the registrar’s office is likely closed by now, if not closing as we speak.” turning your head to face levi, you gauge his reaction, which isn’t immediate, but he seems almost too calm to a response he would otherwise argue with you for hours on end about.

“i went earlier, they don’t close until midnight,” reaching into the pocket of his green long coat (which he hadn’t bothered to take off due to the ill-suited weather), he retrieved a scroll tied with a single red string. he held it out for you to take, and you apprehensively take it, unfurling the paper. the first thing you see is the big bold letters that read, certificate of marriage, you don’t bother looking at the rest, “i filled everything in for you, all you need to do is sign it, and we’ll go before the day ends.”

you’re pretty sure this is far from legal, and it concerns you that he memorized all of your information down to a t. dismayed at your delayed reply, levi places a heavy hand on your shoulder, hand clenching onto your body with such force you think he’s trying to rip your arm from its socket, “lest you need some more convincing, that is.”

#ackerifle #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere attack on titan #yandere aot #yandere aot x reader #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x reader

[sallytwo]

new star trek show about a bunch of starfleet academy cadets who do fuck all. asking the big questions like ‘what if star trek had 85% more relationship drama? and was about a bunch of guys who suck?” anyway here’s squadron 7022.

background notes i couldn’t fit anywhere else:

takes place vaguely in the early 2300s. characters on the same refs are roomate groupings.

1/C, 2/C, 3/C, and 4/C just stand for ‘first class/ second class’ etc. like first class cadet (meaning senior) and moving down in seniority.

margaret goes by ‘marnie’ (this would not fit on her sheet. sorry)

morgan’s freshman squadron got wrapped up in this huge galaxy-wide life-or death plot. morgan, who was always at soccer practice, had no idea this was going on. when the news about this broke, half the squad got sent out on this amazing assignment tracking down this plot. morgan got reassigned to a new squad. and of course only the sophomore squads still had room, hence why she’s here.

morgan also thinks the only reason she was placed in THIS squad is because they’re terrible at intramurals. and marnie hates losing to the other squads. since morgan joined there has been a marked increase in the squads win/loss rate.

sidney lived for a few years up by dakota, when her parents were stationed on a starfleet base there. their senior year, dakota got a spot at the academy, and sidney (legacy) did not. she’s still mad about this, even though she got in the next year.

dakota took a gap year after freshman year to ‘explore himself’ . sidney is extraordinarily mad about this too. also explains why they’re in the same grade.

it’s hotly debated who actually is the guidon (the bearer of their squadrons flag, in picture 2) . it’s pretty much been traded through all the underclassmen, though currently it rotates through kiv (forgets it all over the place), sidney (gets wayyyy to aggressive with it) and dakota (doesn’t give a shit about any of this).

kiv and dakota are also vaguely dating. both of them forget this a lot though. and they’re also sort of not.

finally most of my information on how squads work at starfleet academy comes from the book ‘the best and the brightest’ . i also drew some stuff from the nova + red squadrons from tng and ds9 respectively and from personal experience from going to a regimented academy. lol

#myart #star trek #star trek oc #star trek ocs #starfleet academy #i spent a lot of time on this and these guys so i want people to see them. hi. #ignore the terrible worlds of picard and snw and come into my world. of beauty #orginal concept is from TWO YEARS AGO when i finished watching community. lol.

[shjack180]

So I just started a rewatch of SPOP. Very first episode, Adora is introduced. Seemingly up early, training, getting pumped up, motivated. Then the announcement telling the squadrons to report for evaluation. Adora's not even the first there, it's Rogelio. Then Adora and the rest of the squad run up together. Sans Catra. It is insinuated that she is late. At the end of the evaluation, Adora even accuses Catra of not showing up until they all had done the hard work. Could be true, sure. I've always believed it. But when the evaluation starts, the cadets have barely run through it when we see Catra lurking up high. And for the first time I wondered, what if she wasn't late? What if she had already been there? What if she was the first to arrive and had been waiting inside the simulation/training room? I mean, yeah she could have been the last to arrive. She probably has the speed and stealth to sneak in and get up high unseen. But she was already there when Adora had cleared the path for herself and the other cadets to run through sooooo...she also could just as likely have always been there. The first to arrive, waiting for the others to catch up and not the other way around. Accused of being late and unmotivated, typical Catra according to Adora and SW. But like, what if that reputation, those accusations, were completely unfounded all along? Probably a stretch, but like, the extra drama that adds in the way Catra is mischaracterized in the Horde and in the show. I like

#even if it's not true I will now HC it as such #catra #she ra and the princesses of power #spop #shera

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“PROUD MOMENT,” Vancouver Province. May 18, 1942. Page 3. ---- On behalf of the 111th Squadron of Air Cadets, Cadet Squadron Leader Robert Bayliss accepts the honor roll presented to the unit Saturday night by transportation and customs bureau of the Board of Trade. Beside the scroll is Bureau Chairman Dr. W. B. Burnett. In the background is Squadron Leader A. W. Carter, organizer of the cadet unit.

#vancouver #honor roll #air cadets #cadet squadron #royal canadian air force #canada during world war 2

[soberscientistlife]

On this day in 1942, the Tuskegee Airmen became the first African American flying unit in the U.S. military and fought in World War II. The Tuskegee Airmen epitomized courage and heroism.

The first unit, the 99th Pursuit Squadron, was activated at Chanute Field in Rantoul, Illinois on March 19, 1941, nine months before the United States officially entered World War II.

—Over the past seven decades the exploits of the Tuskegee Airmen have been celebrated, occasionally mythologized, and used as a recent reminder of the patriotism and heroism of African Americans in times of national crisis. Mounting pressure by black leaders such as union activist A Philip Randolph, NAACP chief executive Walter F. White, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt and the black press to increase their presence in all branches of military service eventually persuaded a reluctant War Department to allow for the training of blacks as fighter pilots (initially no training for bomber crews) at an isolated field at Tuskegee Institute in Alabama, thus preempting contact with white trainees. The legal authority to form a black combat flying unit sprang from Public Law 18, enacted in 1939, which directed the Civil Aviation Authority (CAA) to allow for the establishment of training programs for “Negro pilots” at designated locations, most notably Tuskegee Institute (now Tuskegee University) and a revised Selective Service Act in 1940 that effectively ended discrimination in the recruiting of men for the armed forces. Despite the strictures of brutal and demeaning segregation in the nation’s military and the actions of a few of its white commanders to retard their efforts, 992 African American flight cadets completed the Army Air Corps course between July 19, 1941 and the end of World War II including many who had originally been assigned to the old Buffalo Soldier units, the 9th and 10th cavalries and the 24th and 25th infantries. Also, because they were a segregated unit, supporting personnel who were black–bombardiers, navigators, mechanics, and instructors—also had to be trained and they too are considered Tuskegee Airmen who kept the pilots aloft. Graduation of the first five pilots who received their wings took place on March 7, 1942, at the Tuskegee Army Air Field. Roughly 450 men joined the 99th Pursuit Squadron, initially led by whites but later ably commanded by then Capt. Benjamin O. Davis, Jr. who also took charge of the all-black 477th Bombardment Group in 1945. The 99th and the 332nd Fighter Group saw action in North Africa and Italy where they distinguished themselves winning hundreds of decorations for skill and gallantry in combat. Flying P-39 Airacobras, Curtiss P-40 Warhawks, P-47 Thunderbolts and, lastly, P-51 Mustangs, among the feats of the fighter pilots who flew more than 15,000 sorties was the downing of more than 100 enemy aircraft in aerial combat including three of Germanys fearsome ME-262, the world’s first operational fighter jet; demolishing nearly 150 enemy planes on the ground; and ruining an Italian destroyer that had been converted to a German torpedo boat. The Tuskegee Airmen were prized and respected in the Army Air Force for their success in closely protecting Allied bombers flying missions into Axis territories. Moreover, their outstanding performance served to bolster African American pride and facilitated the transition to an integrated military in the post-war years. Among the Tuskegee Airmen emerged a number of future leaders including Air Force four-star generals Benjamin O. Davis Jr. and Daniel “Chappie” James, Maj. Gen. Lucius Theus, Detroit Mayor Coleman Young, New York Borough President Percy Sutton, pioneering San Francisco physician Wendell Lipscomb, and sociologist Dr. Dempsey W. Morgan.

#black history month

[light-yaers]

Little Dove (Poe Dameron x Reader One Shot)

Fic Masterpost | AO3 

Based on this request!

Being in the Resistance was hard enough, but it’s made harder by the fact that everyone hates you. They think you’ve got something to prove, think you’re trying to overtake their Golden Boy.

Even Poe believes it; but it’s all a lie.

Warnings: mentions of death and past trauma, swearing, masses of angst, OOC Poe.

Word Count: 5k

You could see the way they looked at you, hear the way they mumbled under their breath whenever your X-Wing hit the landing bays or you turned the corner into the mess hall. You knew they hated you, it was clear to see. Wondering eyes found you during every pre-mission meet, but you tried not to let it get to you. 

The Resistance could be a cruel place sometimes, but you knew it was all part of the job.

Dameron was no different—which was the worst part of all. 

Being part of Black Squadron was a one way ticket to being noticed, and having Dameron as your commander put you on everyone’s radar even more so. The golden boy of the Resistance. One hell of a pilot. Poe Dameron with the kind eyes and sunshine smile and everything that made you feel fuzzy.

Not that he knew.

Not that he’d even care, probably.

Half the cadets on base had the hots for Dameron, and he fucking knew it.

It was cliché, like some bad Nabooian romance holo; the quiet and reserved cadet; the beloved commander; just waiting for the moment that they got time alone after a mission to actually talk.

But that would never happen. Not with the rumours. Not when everyone thought they’d already figured you out— high and mighty, superior, better than the rest.

They thought that you believed you were better than them, that you had something to prove, that you wanted to kick Dameron off his high horse. Never even cared enough to find out the truth before coming to their own conclusions.

Since joining the Resistance base on D’Qar, no less than a month ago, you were immediately assigned to Black squadron— which never happened. You’d been piloting since you were young, recruited by off-branch rebels as a getaway driver, before joining the good fight.

It just happened that piloting was in your blood, that you were good enough for Black squadron; but cadets hated that. At the end of the day, despite the Resistance being a force to fight evil, cadets still wanted to be the best; still felt threatened; still acted mean like school children.

You were in their firing line as soon as you’d stepped on D’Qar.

You’d mostly got used to it by now, but sometimes the digs still hurt. You endured. You were here to fight a war, first and foremost. You just wished that they’d stop, or at least dialled it down.

During your pre-mission meeting, Dameron was in a worse mood than normal.

“Two, are the coolant compartments up to standard?” Dameron asked, doing the checks with the squad before take off.

Black-Two, another tall, dark and handsome cadet, frowned. “Uh— I actually haven’t checked yet, Dameron,” he said hesitantly. Poe shot him a frown. You hated it when he frowned.

“It was your responsibility, Two, why didn’t you—,”

“All compartments are checked and accounted for, Commander,” you cut in gently, looking at the ground before you got hit with all of their annoyed stares. “I happened to check them last night before hitting my bunk,” 

Poe regarded you then, sticking his steely gaze upon you. You forced yourself to look up, hitting his eyes. They were so deep, the most beautiful warm shade of brown that you’d ever seen. You relished every look he gave you, just so you could look into them, but...

Just once, you wished he’d look happy to see you.

“Alright,” he sighed, obviously annoyed. “Well done, Five,” he said bluntly, no sincerity behind it. “Next time, stick to your tasks. We all have a role here. There’s no need to go too far,” there it was, the request to step back; the annoyance he felt about you wanting to be the best. 

Even though you didn’t. Even though all you wanted was for this fucking war to end, to possibly have friends on base, even.

“Yes, Sir,” you said, somewhat sadly. You didn’t mean to sound so sullen, but it just came out that way. Poe’s face twitched.

“Dameron or Poe is fine, I’ve said this before,” he snapped, and you took a small step back. He’d been on edge since last week, since that failed supply mission where the First Order killed Green-Seven.

Poe felt every death, every loss, even though he knew it all like the back of his hand. 

That was why you liked him. That was one of the main things you adored about him. Despite the things he thought about you, felt about you, hated about you—

You wished he could see that that’s not what you were truly like. 

Maybe one day.

The mission itself today— intercept a First Order rendezvous. Stop them from sharing information. Scare them. All the usual things when it came to these kinds of missions. 

You and the rest of Black squadron clambered into your cockpits, ready to take off on Poe’s command. General Organa was stood at the back of the landing bay, waving you off as Black One took off first; the rest followed their commander. 

As Black-Five, you were part of the back centre of the formation—

Right behind Poe. 

A few times, you’d found yourself wondering if he did that on purpose; made you Black-Five so he could always keep an eye on you, keep you in check, make sure you don’t overtake him.

“Okay, squad, let’s do what we came here to do,” Poe spoke over the comms, and you could hear the smile on his face as he did so. When he was in the air, floating through the stars, that’s when he was happiest.

You latch onto the upbeat replies of “Copy, Dameron,” and “You got it, boss!” from around your squad, but you say nothing in response.

It would have been ignored anyway. 

The comms stayed silent for a few seconds, before Poe chimes in again. “Black-Five, do you copy me?” 

Your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach immediately. 

“Y-yes, Commander,” you replied. 

“Then check in when I ask you to,” he demanded. 

Maker, why are you so mad at me, Poe? What have I ever done to you?

“Yes, Commander,” 

“Dameron or Poe,” he snapped again, and you could practically feel your squadron’s eyes upon you as he spoke. It was embarrassing, it was humiliating, but you had no choice.

“Yes, Dameron,” you forced out, through clenched teeth. Poe didn’t acknowledge it.

“Let’s move out!” he yelled.

You remembered when it all started, the stares and rumours and whispers. You’d just been moved to D’Qar from a previous base, after an incident that still broke you to think about. 

Poe had been kind at first. He’d showed you around, as he did with a lot of other pilots. He’d introduced you to his squad, said that you had a shot to get on Black, as well. They had your records, you see; your piloting records. 

“You are really impressive,” he said kindly, smiling at you as he recalled reading your records before your arrival. “My squad could use someone like you,”

Maybe that was when the feelings started, deep down in your gut and steadily growing, despite the absolute shift in Dameron’s opinion of you. 

It was after your first mission, after you put yourself between Black-Eight and a dreadnought canon and won. That’s when the rumours began, no doubt started by Eight and her friends on base—

Black-Five just had to play hero. 

Black-Five disobeyed Dameron’s direct orders to save someone. 

Black-Five thinks she’s better than her whole squad. 

Black-Five wants Dameron’s status on base.

It was relentless, it was cruel, and most importantly— it was all bullshit. A steaming, massive pile of absolute bullshit. 

It took a week or so, but you remembered when Dameron shifted. Before, he’d always been down to listen to you— mission reports, check-ins, for a joke here and there, but after the rumours had penetrated every dorm and shower block and landing bay on D’Qar, he changed. 

“Hey, Comman—,” 

“Not now, Five. I have to run diagnostics with Three,” Poe said harshly, even though he was floating around the landing bays by himself. 

“Oh,” you let out, immediately falling into a box that you had been slowly climbing yourself out of since your arrival on D’Qar. “I just got off guard duty, so I can help—,”

“No, Five. Stick to your schedule,” Poe almost spat at you, finally turning to meet your eye. He was seething, full of a meanness and a rage that you’d never seen take over his pretty boy face before. “Just—,” he started, surveying the shocked and hurt expression on your face. “Follow your fucking schedule,” he repeated, harsher and sterner and more horrible. 

Poe left you in the middle of the bay, frozen in place and unable to process his reasoning for being so awful to you. 

Since then, it had been the same every fucking day. Every mission, every after-fly beer, every meeting and training session and whatever else—

Poe Dameron hated your guts. 

But you could never hate his.

“First Order on our six, Dameron!” Black-Nine yelled over comms, and you forced yourself to focus on the mission at hand. 

“Disband squadron formation,” Dameron replied. “Black-Five— stay with split formation B,” he said lowly, and you had no choice but to follow a separate formation. Whenever the group split in two, he always told you to join B, despite being part of his. 

“Copy,” you said bluntly, biting down on your tongue to stop yourself from fucking exploding. It wasn’t within your nature to fight back, not against your Commander or other cadets. 

So, you followed Black-Six into formation B.

Six X-Wings circled back round, with you at the back of the formation layout. You copied every manoeuvre and twist effortlessly, as you slalomed through stray planet debris and followed their set path towards the First Order Star Destroyer. 

Tie fighters were already being shot out from the ships’ landing bays, erupting with high-pitched screams as they traversed through the stars. 

“Formation B— break!” Black-Six yelled down the comms, and you all dispersed in time with their commands. You split off to the right, ducking underneath the group and shooting back up so you had the Tie’s in your sight—

Without any hesitation, you engaged your blasters; shooting all of the bastards out of the sky like a game of Space Invaders. 

You shot five in quick succession as you sped through the starry void, performing quick corkscrew rolls and feeling every steering change, every hydraulic pull, everything that your X-Wing performed on your behalf. 

If your teammates were at all impressed or happy with your work, they still didn’t say a fucking word. You continued on your path through the roaring Tie’s, noticing formation A in the distance. 

They were rounding the Destroyer, headed for the back of the ship to sneak up onto the bridge and miss the canons. Dameron was leading them, as always, as the other three X-Wings trailed him.

“B, take out as many Tie’s as you can so we have a chance to disengage their weapons and power!” Dameron yelled over the comms. 

“Copy, Poe!” Black-Six responded, pulling up next to you. Quickly, sharply, over the full team comms, Six let out a rude “Get to the back, Five, for fucks sake,” 

You shot your gaze through the right of your cockpit, catching onto Six’s face as he looked back at you. He looked at you as if you were a blight to the team, despite you taking down multiple Tie’s just seconds before. 

“I—,” you started, but stopped yourself abruptly. “Copy,” you let out, forcing yourself to comply as you fell into formation B once more. 

This was fucking bullshit, always had been, but for some reason it was getting harder to put up with it everyday. You wanted to believe that your teammates cared more about the job at hand than forcing you to follow their overly helicoptering rules and authority, but it really didn’t seem that way anymore. 

They truly wanted to see you fall. Wanted to see you fail or fuck up or in their dust. 

How could you be a fighter pilot if they didn’t fucking let you do anything?

You followed formation B tightly, not wanting to step on toes despite knowing they were keeping you on an unnecessary leash. The five X-Wings in front of you performed brilliantly, shooting down Tie after Tie and allowing formation A to get through several canons. 

“Regroup!” Poe yelled, after they managed to break through some defences. 

You started to fly over to the main group, ready to group up and fight together, but no one saw the fucking canon—

The big one, the hidden one that’s in formation A’s blind spot as they gather behind the bridge. You saw it first, saw it swivel to aim directly at Black-One—

You engage your comms relay.

“Dameron! Canon on your—,” 

“Stick to the fucking mission, Five,” he responded, without even hearing what you had to fucking say. 

“Sir— this isn’t—,”

“I mean it, Five! You’re so close to getting a disciplinary back on base, I swear to the Maker,” Poe spat through clenched teeth.

This was it, the final fucking straw. 

You exploded, just like a Tie.

“Maker, why won’t you fucking listen to me!” you scream into the comms, as loud and as explosive as you possibly can, but you’re already speeding up before anyone can stop you. 

You shut off your relay, so you can only listen to the shouts and screams of your squamates as they tell you to fucking stop it, but you’re already halfway to Poe’s position, canon on your six and almost fully charged. 

You don’t think as you pull up, nose to the fucking sky, before abruptly pulling down on your controls— your X-Wing falls into a smooth nose dive, so you can build up speed and momentum.

Poe’s yells are loud as you veer towards formation A, formation B well behind you, but the canon is fully charged and you can’t stop now. You switched back on your relay as the canon shot directly at Poe, but your ship intercepts the stream—

“Canon on your six!” you screamed, as you fell in line sideways, right in front of Poe’s cockpit. He can see your side profile, see your teeth and jaw and everything tense as you fire your blaster at the exact right time—

Your shots landed perfectly, disintegrating the canon’s blast until you can cut through and hit the actual ship itself. 

Your lungs burned as you kept firing; relentlessly; tirelessly; inching ever closer to the weapon itself as Dameron looked at you in awe. He saw when you opened your mouth to let out an immense yell, but your comms were off— he saw it all through your cockpit windshield.

“Formation B, the canon!” he demanded finally, and B fell into the same mission as you. Together, the fires of six X-Wings break apart the bridge canon, exploding it into a thousand pieces of debris. 

You think your ear drums burst alongside the canon, since all you could hear was a sharp and painful ringing after you succeeded.

Succeeded in saving Dameron’s life. 

The Star Destroyer promptly relays to their rendezvous partner to abort, and within seconds, they shot off into hyperspace. You hardly notice, as you focused on levelling your breathing and tried not to think about what would happen now—

Would Dameron kick you off of his squad?

“Commander, are you okay?” Black-Six said over the comms. Poe didn’t reply immediately. The only thing you could feel was his stare, still stuck on you from his own cockpit. 

“Group up. Head back to base,” he said plainly, still in shock. 

“Copy,” 

You were the last back on D’Qar, taking your time as you engaged your landing gear and caught your breath after hitting the ground. Dameron’s X-Wing was three ships away; he was still inside his cockpit, despite landing first. 

You switched off your controls and rose from your pilot chair, trembling as you descended the small set of steps, jumping from the last rung. When you hit the ground, you expected everything to feel better—

But it didn’t. 

It didn’t, because you could see Dameron as he emerged from his own ship. He threw his helmet to the floor immediately, making a B-line for your X-Wing as the rest of your squad started to get nosey.

They followed Dameron’s route to you with their eyes, shooting smug smiles or wide eyes or disgusted looks at you. 

You, though? 

You’re trying not to cry. Trying not to let it all get you down. Trying not to explode again when Poe inevitably erupted into screams in front of your face. 

“Black-Five,” Poe started, bombarding towards you with a red face and seething eyes. “You— you,” he couldn’t even get his words out properly, not until he stopped right in front of you, breathing heavily as he took in your expression. “You disobeyed my direct orders,” he finally said. 

“I know, Commander,” you replied, tired— physically and mentally. 

“We all know what you do, Five, what you think,” Poe continued. All of was lies. “We know you’re a stellar pilot, but that doesn’t rank you above my word,”

“I know, Commander,” you responded, sadly this time. You couldn’t help it. Your heart was fucking disintegrating underneath your ribcage. These people didn’t know you, didn’t care to know. They didn’t know your past, didn’t know your present, and wouldn’t know your future. 

“I am your Commander, Five. What I say goes. You disrespected your entire fucking squad today by going off on your own, by trying to be the fucking hero. Why do you do it, Five? Why did you put yourself in the fucking firing line for me? Because you believe yourself to be better?” 

Did he really believe that? 

You lost your battle with your eyes; they won as you stopped forcing back tears. They fell from your eyes slowly, gently, crawling down your face as you keep your eyes wide and focused on Dameron’s.

For a split second, his expression faltered. He was shocked. 

Poe Dameron had made you cry. 

“No, Commander,” you let out, but your voice was so shaken and weak and pathetic that you could hardly stand it. Everything floated away— your care, your ability to hold back— you exploded. “I did it because my death doesn’t fucking matter,” you said, stronger this time. 

Poe stopped breathing. He took an abrupt step back, flicking his eyes between yours. He’d never seen you cry before. 

“You’re Poe Dameron, Black Squadron leader, Commander in the Resistance— if you die, it fucking matters,” you spat. “If I die, someone else takes Black-Five. I’m expendable, Dameron. You’re not,” 

Poe let out a stuttering breath. “I—,” he choked “I didn’t—,”

“When I rush forward on missions it’s not because I think myself to be better, or faster, or above any of you,” you cried, your voice turning into wails. You needed them to understand, needed them to listen to you just this once. “I don’t— I don’t even know where all of that fucking came from,” 

Black-Eight turned to Black-Two. They look at each other, guilt slapped across their stunned faces. 

“Black-Five—,”

“No!” you screamed, cutting through Poe’s attempt to speak. “I need you to listen to me, Commander— all of you— just this one time, because I can’t fucking take this anymore,” you wailed. 

Poe nodded vigorously, latching onto your every word. 

“Of course,” he said quickly, sadly. 

“You put me on your squad, Dameron,” you let out, and Poe kept nodding. I know, he mouthed. “You said I was a good pilot, and I am, but that doesn’t mean I want glory. All I’ve ever wanted is to fight for this war, to be a part of salvation— I never fucking wanted fame,” 

You breathed heavily, heaving air into your lungs and ignoring the salty drops of tears that gathered on your chin. 

Poe swallowed uncomfortably, but he didn’t move; didn’t move from his spot; didn’t move his stare from yours.

“I know all you all hate me,” you let out, forcing yourself to look at the rest of your squad, just for a second, before you turned back to Poe. “I know you don’t let me do anything because you think I only care about being seen, but the reason I act against orders now is because you don’t let me do my fucking job!” you screamed, just so they could hear, just to make sure they fucking listen.

“We don’t hate you, Five,” Poe said smally, croaking, as your expression changed. You looked at him honestly, all of your hurt spiralling out of every pore. 

“Don’t lie to me, Poe,” Poe. You called him Poe, finally. “I can take the talking behind my back, the looks that you think I don’t see, but I can’t take you lying to me,” your voice finally cracked, breaking apart as you try to keep what’s left of your composure together. 

You stepped back abruptly, smacking into the body of your X-Wing. Poe flinched, immediately reaching out an arm to steady you, but you raised your hand to him. 

He stopped, pulling away again, as you finally wiped away your tears. 

“I’m sorry for disobeying orders today, Commander,” you said. “But I’m not sorry for saving your fucking life,” Poe looked at you like he’d never seen you before in his life; stunned; amazed. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat, Poe,”

“Five…” his voice trailed off, but you didn’t stick around to hear if he continued speaking or not. You left your squadron in the landing bay, reeling from the realisation that they’d got it all fucking wrong; that they’d been horrible to you; that, without you, Poe wouldn’t be here to yell at you.

You headed to your dorm, knowing that your bunkmate wouldn’t be back yet. All you wanted was to sit in a dark room for a while, to feel everything, to move on like none of it had ever happened.

You’d finally said what you needed to, finally exploded and tried to get them to understand. If they still didn’t beyond this, then there was no hope for you at all.

In the mess hall, you wondered if they were talking about you. Were they sat, drinking beer and laughing about your outburst? Were they sharing it with other squadrons, giggling about how pathetic you’d been? 

Or, had they finally realised?

Realised their mistakes, their behaviour, their horribleness towards you.

A few hours pass. You busied yourself by memorising next weeks schedule, sorting your things and cleaning up your dorm. Subtle music cuts through from the mess hall, so you know post-mission celebrations are in full flow.

Poe’s probably there, drinking a beer, talking to cadets, smiling.

You flinched when three knocks hit your dorm room door. You straightened yourself out as you hit the control panel, and watched in shock as Dameron’s face hits yours after the door raised from the floor.

He looked sullen, sad, upset. His eyes weren’t their usual warmth of browns and yellows; they’d been tinted with grey.

“Dameron—,” 

“It’s my turn to talk, now,” he said sternly, letting himself in your dorm before you get a word in. “You were transferred to this base, correct?” he asked, back turned to you as his stare is stuck on the wall in front of him.

You swallowed away your nerves. “Yes,” 

“Why?” he chided, ever so slightly turning his head so you can see his side profile. 

It came in flashes; your previous squad on a mission, the blast of green canons, the explosive bursts of your teammates cockpits, erupting into flames.

“We were ambushed,” you started slowly, your throat drying up. “I… couldn’t save them,” 

“That’s why you put yourself in danger,” Poe worked out. He looked to the floor then, and you can tell his eyes are shut— he could feel your pain, radiating through the dorm in waves. 

“I do what’s necessary, when I know I can help,” you said bluntly. You balled your fists, overcome with a deep and dark hurt, coiling through your gut.

“You—,” Poe started, but stopped himself immediately. Finally, he turned to you, eyes piercing through yours. “All this time, we’ve been treating you like shit, Five,” his eyes quickly turned glassy, reflecting the sunset from outside your dorm door.

Your heart breaks all over again, just from that look on his face. That anguish, that realisation.

“Why?” he whispered, stepping closer to you. You didn’t move away this time. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” 

You squeezed your fists tighter together. “Would you have listened?” you let out, dropping your head to the floor. You didn’t want to cry again, but you couldn’t stop the tears from welling in your eyes. “Would you have listened before now?”

“Of course,” he said, but you know he’s uncertain within himself. 

“I tried, Poe,” you said, getting overwhelmed. “I’ve tried so many fucking times. You never listened, always cut me off, always—,” the breath hitched in the back of your throat. Poe stepped forward again, reaching out to curl his fingers around your forearm. 

“I’m so fucking sorry, Five,” he swallowed, but it didn’t stop his tears from falling. “You’re right. I put you on my squad because you’re fucking brilliant— an amazing fighter and pilot and everything in between— but all I’ve done is stop you from being able to do your job,” 

You let out a soft splutter, causing Poe to grip onto your other arm. 

“I don’t know— why I fucking let the rumours get to me,” he spluttered. “It’s unforgivable, it’s awful— I’ve been awful,” you shot your gaze to him then, treading forward until you’re close enough to feel his heart thumping beneath his chest. 

“Poe—,”

“No, don’t,” he said sternly, cutting you off. “Don’t just accept my apology, Five. You can accept it when you see that I’ve changed,” he let out, as more tears crawled down his cheeks. 

“We’re human, Poe,” you croaked out, fighting away the urge to wipe away his tears. “We get jealous and we get scared, especially in this line of work,” 

He regarded you then, properly, deeply, looking at you from eye to eye and expanding around your face; your nose; your jaw; your lips. Poe had never looked at you for this long, never taken the time to know the lines and curves of your face until now— when he was crying, when he was sorry, when he was listening to you. 

“What you said before,” Poe spoke, softer, gentler, calmer. “About you being expendable,”

Maker, I forgot I said that out loud.

“You’re not,” he said sternly, squeezing your arms in an attempt to make you believe it. “You’re important— so fucking important. Don’t think for one second that you aren’t,” 

Your cheeks flushed violently then, eyes squinting through your tears. You let out an abrupt splutter, but all that Poe does is latch onto you further.

“You saved my fucking life today,” he huffed, overwhelmed even more so when he says it out loud. “And I got angry at you about it,” 

Poe taking accountability was more than you’d ever imagined getting. He was owning up to his wrongdoings, acknowledging your outburst, acknowledging you putting yourself on the line— just for him.

I’d do it again in a heartbeat, Poe.

“Thank you,” he let out, before he fully came undone. The breath hitched in his throat and his tears fell faster. He dropped his head to your shoulder, while you stood— frozen— feeling every sob bubble out from his chest and burst from his lips. 

Gently, you moved your arms to latch around him. You felt the strength of the muscles in his back, as he fully let himself go. 

Poe Dameron sobbed on your shoulder until he was fully done. He cried through the material of your shirt, wrapping his arms around you so tightly and resting his hand on the back of your neck warmly.

“I meant what I said,” you let out, as tears kept falling down your own face. “I’d do it again, a thousand times over,” 

A thousand times over. Again and again and again, as long as it meant Poe Dameron was safe. As long as it meant he would live to see the end of this fucking war.

You recovered together, even laughing about the fact you were both reduced to puddles. When Poe laughed, your heart slowly pieced itself back together again.

He held you close the entire time, always resting his fingers on part of you and you moved on from the deepness of his confession and apology.

He begged you to come for a beer, and you were incapable of refusing him. All the way to the mess hall, his arm is hooked through yours.

When you turned the corner, the room descended into utter silence. Black squadron immediately looked towards you both, as you focused on calming the anxiety that tore through your gut.

“Come on,” Poe coaxed you gently, moving his grip to your hand. His fingers intertwined with your own, unashamedly. 

He guided you to the centre of the hall, where Black squadron usually sat for lunch and after missions. You’d never sat with them before, never thought it had been an option. 

When Poe gets up onto the table, you recoil. You don’t know what to do with yourself, don’t know how to stand or sit or whatever— so you simply peer up at him, heart in your throat, fingers buzzing from the electricity that he’s given you.

“Everyone,” he boomed. “Listen,” he demanded. He was in commander mode, now. The sternness of his voice and on his jaw was impossible to ignore. “Today, Black-Five saved my life,” 

You sucked in a deep breath, as Poe peered down at you. He smiled at you, like the sun, like the stars, like the Poe you once knew, before all of the fucking rumours.

“She’s a fighter, like all of us, and deserves that recognition,” 

And just like that, it was over.

The hurt, the pain, the lies.

Poe Dameron was looking at you like his saviour, because you were.

Poe Dameron was looking at you like friend— 

Because you are.

#poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #oscar isaac #oscar isaac ff #fanfiction #x reader #one shot #star wars #star wars sequels #ao3 #lightyaers #angst #mass angst

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Infectious

TBB & Fem!Reader

Chapter 2: Trouble Fitting In

Summary: You're completing your final practicum on Kamino as part of the experimental non-clone Combat Medic program. After graduating top of your class, and being inducted into the prestigious 407th Medic Unit, you get assigned to Clone Force 99. Neither of you are excited to be working together and tensions run high. However, those tensions dissipate when the Bad Batch unexpectedly falls ill while on a covert mission. Running against an unknown clock, it’s up to you to figure out what’s causing the illness before it ultimately kills you all.

Pairings: TBB & Fem!Reader

Characters: Kix, Hunter, Echo, Crosshair, Wrecker, Tech, Tungst (OC), Brett (OC), Drip (OC), Gloss (OC), Rift (OC)

Tags & Warnings: platonic, BAMF fem!reader, enemies to friends, lots of sass, humor, tension, action, angst, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, mild suggestive themes, explicit medical descriptions (ie: blood, bodily fluids, needles, procedures, etc), tbb whump (later chapters)

Word Count: 5.8k

Author's Notes: This chapter was so much fun to write! The gif will make sense after you read the chapter, but I couldn't help myself. No TBB whump yet, still working on the setup. I believe in strong setups that make the exciting part more rewarding. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. As always, please enjoy 💚

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

As you walk with your new squad through the halls of Kamino, you can’t help but shift your eyes to each member as they chat amongst themselves. You follow behind them, listening intently, and waiting for a moment to remind them that you’re still here, but the moment doesn’t come. The five clone brothers talk to each other as if you don’t exist, and you’re not quite sure if they are doing it on purpose or if they really are that absentminded about your presence.

You imagine this treatment is to be expected, at least a little bit. Clones are very familial and protective of each other, so attempting to fit in with an established squad is not the easiest of tasks. However, you want to show Kix that you can assimilate yourself into the most closed-off clone squadron the GAR has ever created and survive. You decide to take a less aggressive approach and see what comes of it. It isn’t the best plan, but you have to start somewhere.

When you reach their barracks, and Hunter opens the door, your nose is immediately assaulted by a pungent odor that churns your stomach. You try not to take any deep breaths as you peer into the dimly lit room. You wiggle your nose as you adjust to the smell and scan around the room. There are four bunks, each one distinguished out of the others with personal belongings and, well, junk. There’s also a hammock in the corner, and a couch across from the center table.

The group of clones walk over to their respective bunks and put their things down. You’re not sure how Wrecker sleeps in his bunk, considering the amount of garbage on it, or Tech for that matter, with all the wires and things poking out. Hunter and Crosshair’s bunks are the cleanest out the bunch, and closer to standard regulation. Which means the hammock must belong to Echo. You add notes to your squad mate's mental profiles as you continue to observe them.

However, standing alone at the entrance of their barracks and simply watching has now become very awkward for you. They all seem to have routines and you are most definitely not a part of any of them, or even have one of your own to start doing. You’re used to the barracks pods for the cadets, not a full barracks room. You wait patiently for your new commanding officer to tell you what to do or where to put your stuff, but he seems to be concerned with other things.

Unable to stand the blatant disregard of your presence any longer, you clear your throat in an attempt to gain some attention. No one seems to hear or notice you, so you try again with the same lackluster results. To these clones, ignorance must be bliss. You sigh and decide to take the direct approach as you walk over to Hunter, who is sitting on his bunk with his data-pad in hand.

“Sergeant,” you say.

“Medic,” Hunter says without looking up from what he is doing.

“Where should I put my personal belongings?” you ask.

“Wherever you want,” he answers with a dismissive wave of his fingers. He puts the data-pad down, bends over to pick up a box next to his bunk, and gets up to walk towards the table in the middle of the room.

“Understood, sir,” you say while following him to the table.

He sits down on the bench seat and places the box on the table. He pulls out his DC-17 blaster, opens the cleaning kit, and takes the contents out. “Something else?” he asks as he begins to disassemble his blaster.

You fidget with your fingers before asking the other important question. “Where is my bunk?”

Hunter puts his blaster down, turns his head to look at you, and raises an eyebrow. “Who said you were sleeping here?”

“Well, I thought–”

“You thought, now did you?” Hunter chides. “Well, think again, kid.”

“But, I’m part of the squad!” you argue. Yes, the place smells horrible, but these men are supposed to be your new family. You can’t sleep somewhere else. That doesn’t make any sense. That’s not how squad assimilation works.

“You might be part of this squad,” Hunter begins, “but that doesn’t mean I have to like you, trust you, or want you here.”

“Give her a break, Hunter,” Echo says as he walks over and sits down at the table.

Hunter rolls his eyes. “Must you always have an opinion?”

Echo rolls his eyes in return. “Must you always be so dogmatic?” Echo turns to look at you. “You can take the couch.”

“You can’t just give her the couch!” Hunter exclaims.

“Any objections?” Echo asks as he looks around the room at the three other clones.

“It will not be an issue with me,” Tech says with a shrug of his shoulders.

“As long as I get to sit on it during the day-cycle, I don’t care,” Wrecker hurls back loudly from his bunk.

“Not my problem,” Crosshair sneers as he narrows his eyes and stares into your soul.

You shiver at his cold glare, unsure of what you did to make him dislike you this much.

Echo gives Hunter an, I told you so, side eye and Hunter rolls his eyes again while crossing his arms in defeat. Echo gestures for you to make yourself comfortable on the couch, and you give him a small nod and smile as thanks. After listening to them argue over you, twice now, you’re not really sure who’s actually in charge of this squad, Hunter or Echo. However, Echo seems to be the most reasonable of the bunch and your biggest supporter, if you can even call it support.

“Get yourself settled,” Echo says. “Then we’ll hit the mess hall for some lunch.”

You do as he says and walk over to the couch. You place your duffel down next to it and sit down on one of the cushions, bouncing on it a little to feel out your new bunk. It’s a little softer than the barracks pods, which is nice, but there are no sheets, pillows, or even a blanket to be found. You look around the room to see if you can find any spares, but it’s hard to locate anything with all of the junk lying around. You surmise that you’ll have to find a pillow elsewhere.

You open your duffle and pull out a few personal items, but then quickly realize you have nowhere to put them. You look at what’s around the room and figure one of the crates can make a decent table to put your stuff on. You get up and find the closest one, pressing your full weight against it to push it over to the couch. As you begin to move the crate across the floor, you can feel their gazes shift to you. It’s like they’re waiting for you to trip or ask for help, but you don’t.

The crate proves heavier than you expect, and you wonder what is possibly inside of it. Their stares become unnerving as you push the crate into place next to the couch and you let out a small grunt with the last push. You pant softly at the exertion, but recover in a few seconds. Now that you have a place to put your things, you kneel on the ground and continue to pull your belongings out of your duffel, including a photo of you and your parents from when you were younger.

“Who’s that?” Wrecker asks as he bends over to look at the photo.

You startle at his sudden presence looming over you, but regain your composure and turn your head to look up at him. “My parents,” you say with a fond smile.

“Woah,” Wrecker says with awe. “You have parents?”

You chuckle at the innocent question. Clones are definitely fascinating people to be around. Grown in test tubes, they are motherless ten year olds stuffed into adult bodies with built-in programming to be fearless and loyal soldiers. Of course he wants to know about your parents, because he’s never had any of his own.

You sigh. “I had parents.”

“What do you mean, had?” Wrecker asks.

“They’re dead,” you say flatly while pulling more things out of your duffle.

“Oh,” Wrecker says. He straightens up and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s no big deal,” you reassure him. “They’ve been dead for a while now. That’s why I came all the way out here.” You trail the rest of your words into a soft whisper. “To find a new family.”

“Well, we don’t have parents either,” Wrecker says in an attempt to make you feel better. He grins. “You can be part of our family if you want.”

You half-smile at his kind words, but he seems to be the only one who shares the sentiment. The resounding silence and side glances after Wrecker’s remark tells you everything you need to know about your place in the squad. You sigh. You really did want a family, one that you could call your own, but it seems too far out of reach now. Hunter made it clear he’s going to keep you at arms length, and you understand the resistance, to a point, but their shunning still hurts.

“Thanks, Wrecker,” you say. “That’s a very nice offer.”

As Wrecker moves back towards his bunk, you finish pulling the rest of your things out of your duffle and place them all neatly on the crate. Happy with your little nook of a home, you plop yourself onto the couch, lean your head back, and take a deep breath. The smell of the barracks seems to be growing on you, albeit not by choice, but at least it doesn’t make you want to vomit anymore. You close your eyes and wonder if things will get better or worse from here on out.

After a couple hours of awkward silence in the barracks, it’s time for lunch. You trail behind your squad down the corridors and toward the mess hall in silence, again. They converse amongst themselves just like before, and never give you a moment to say anything or interject your own thoughts. They aren’t dull conversations either, so you listen with interest at their choice of words and the way they speak to each other, continuing to add to your mental profiles.

You sit down at the mess hall table with your squad and the silence is even worse. No talking, only eating. You pick at your food while remembering back to when you were a kid and ate meals with your parents at the table. The three of you always talked about how your days went and anything exciting that happened. You remember there was always laughter at the table. Laughter and love. Even the clone cadets had more conversations with you than these guys.

“Hey, Civvy!” Tungst calls as he approaches your table with his food tray.

Speaking of cadets. You groan at the sound of your awful name, but are happy to see a friendly face.

“You found out my name, huh?” you ask while twirling your fork around in boredom.

“News travels fast around here,” Tungst says as he sits down next to you, ignoring your squad mates who are also sitting at the table.

“Where’s the rest of the squad?” you ask as you peer around your shoulders.

“They’re coming,” Tungst says. He takes a bite. “They had a few things to finish up in the barracks.”

“Care to introduce the reg?” Hunter asks as he points with his utensil at the cadet who is clearly ignoring them. Tungst narrows his eyes at the sergeant and Hunter stares back, displaying equal animosity.

“Oh, yeah,” you feel embarrassed that you forgot to introduce him to your new squad. “Clone Force 99, meet Tungst and Tungst, meet Clone Force 99. He’s one of my friends from training.”

“Pleasure,” Tungst answers curtly.

“Is this the clone who’s anatomy you know so well?” Crosshair asks with a devious smirk from across the table.

“Cross,” Echo whispers in warning. “Don’t.”

You cough and almost choke on your food as your face turns red with mortification. Not this again. Why is this even a topic of discussion? You swear that Crosshair’s only goal in life is to make you uncomfortable. His words make you angry, however, you breathe and calm yourself. It’s not worth getting upset about and you figure that as long as you don’t feed into his antics, then the buck will stop there. You have to be the bigger person when it comes to Crosshair.

Tungst slams his fist on the table. “Care to explain what you mean by that?”

You flinch at the sudden loud noise. Oh no. He took the bait. You know this is not going to end well.

“Perhaps, I’m mistaken,” Crosshair mocks. “Maybe it was the commander instead. That’s how she became so popular, isn’t it?”

“I highly doubt the commander would trade preferential treatment for sexual favors,” Tech explains.

You can’t believe he said that. Why did he say it so loudly? You look around to see if anyone heard the scandalous remarks, but you don’t see anyone staring. However, you feel like everyone is now silently judging you. You place your head in your hands to hide your embarrassment, even though you have nothing to be embarrassed about. There were no 'favors' exchanged for your success. Everything you earned was won through blood, sweat, and tears.

Tungst shoots up from the bench seat in anger. “Don’t talk about her like that!”

“Tungst,” you gently tug on his arm, trying to get him to calm down before things escalate. “It’s okay, really. You don’t–”

“No, it’s not okay,” Tungst says as he looks down at your red face. “They’re making you sound like some sort of tramp.”

"If the stamp fits," Crosshair smirks.

Tungst scrunches his nose with indignation. “You son of a–”

“No one’s saying anything like that,” Hunter interjects as he takes a sip of his drink. “It’s just some friendly banter.”

“You rejects, have a funny way of being friendly,” Tungst scoffs.

“Are you picking a fight, reg?” Crosshair challenges as he flicks his toothpick away and stands up.

Wrecker pops up from his food tray. “Someone say fight?”

“Maybe, I am,” Tungst says. He leans over the table to get closer to Crosshair’s face. “If you don’t leave her alone, then maybe we should fight.”

“She belongs to us now,” Crosshair says with a cynical smile, reveling in the rise he’s getting out of the cadet. ���We can do whatever we want with her.”

“That’s it!” Tungst yells, then jumps over the table to dive towards Crosshair.

The two clones tussle on the ground, trading blows at each other's faces and kicking each other’s torsos. A few seconds later, you see the other cadets from Tungst’s squad arrive and engage in fisticuffs with the other members of Clone Force 99. Echo, the last one still sitting at the table, rubs his fingers against his forehead and sighs before getting up and punching some poor cadet’s lights out. Soon, the entire mess hall of clones joins in on the violent festivities.

You wince as you watch the unruly sight before you, and you try to move out of the way of the flailing body parts. You are all for aggression when needed, but this massive brawl is just idiotic. You remember the stories you were told about Clone Force 99, and you know them all to be true now. You contemplate whether to join the fight or to stop it, but you’re torn between your cadet friends and your new squad. Whose side do you pick? Do you even need to choose a side?

Unfortunately, the decision is made for you when a softball sized fist collides with the right side of your face. You let out a loud feminine cry at the hit and the commotion comes to a dead stop. Everyone looks at you while you hold the side of your face as it contorts in pain. You don’t know who threw the punch, and you don’t care. You spit some blood onto the floor and lift your face up, staring dizzily at the clones in front of you until you find the one you’re looking for.

“Permission to leave, sir,” you stammer out before spitting more blood onto the floor.

Hunter looks at you with his first glimpse of real emotion and nods. “Permission granted.”

As you turn to exit the mess hall, Tungst runs after you. “Civvy, wait!”

You turn around and put up your hand to stop him. “Please, just leave me alone right now.”

“I’m sorry,” he says with slumped shoulders.

You take a deep breath and leave to return to the barracks to take care of your injury. You stop by one of the refreshers on the way back to check yourself in the mirror. Looking around, there doesn't seem to be anyone else in it. You push your stomach against the sink and lean towards the mirror, opening your mouth to get a better look. There’s not much you can see through all the blood, so you painfully swish some water around and spit it into the sink to try and clear it out.

“Want some help with that?” Kix asks while leaning against the side wall, medpack in hand.

You startle for a second, and whip your head around, but then relax when you realize it's just Kix.

“I heard about some friendly fire in the mess hall," Kix says apologetically. "You okay?"

You turn back towards the mirror and sigh. “Yeah.”

Your voice sounds like you have cotton balls stuffed in your cheeks and Kix chuckles at it. You lift yourself up to sit onto the edge of the sink counter to give him a good angle to examine your mouth. He places the medpack on the counter beside you, puts on a pair of sterile gloves, and pulls out a small light. You open your mouth as wide as you can and tilt your head side-to-side to give him the room he needs to look around.

“That’s a really nice laceration you’ve got on the inside of your cheek,” he notes as he inspects the inside of your mouth. “Must've bit it pretty hard.” He pokes around a little more and you wince as he touches it. “But, no broken or loose teeth, and no jaw dislocation, so that’s good.”

You let out a sigh of relief and adjust your jaw as Kix removes his hand from your mouth. While he throws his gloves away and opens the medpack to grab the bacta spray, you lean back against the mirror, close your eyes, and let a few tears escape. When he faces you again, to apply the bacta spray, the tears don’t go unnoticed. He puts the spray down and turns away to lean back against the counter, still looking at you through the mirror from across the refresher.

“Those aren’t tears of pain, are they?” he asks.

You shake your head and more tears come out as you lift your hands to cover your face in shame. You're a Combat Medic of the GAR. You’re a medic trained for combat. You’re not allowed to cry. You’re not allowed to show emotion. You’re not allowed to be fragile. But, the best day of your life is suddenly turning into the worst day of your life, and you’re struggling to process it. You want a repeat, a do-over, anything to keep from being in the present, so you cry.

“It’s okay,” Kix soothes, still facing away from you. “You can let it all out here with me.”

“Why?” you ask through muddled tears. “Why did you assign me to them? They want nothing to do with me!”

Kix sighs and turns back around to look you in the eyes. “You're my best medic, you know that right?”

You nod your head in agreement.

“And I need my best medic for my toughest cases, don’t I?” Kix continues.

You nod your head in agreement again.

“Well, Clone Force 99 is that toughest case," Kix explains. "I gave you this assignment because I know you’re the only one who can handle it. You’re the only one who can handle them. You’re tough, clone tough. You can play their game and win.”

You move your puffy eyes to look at him and mumble out a small, “Really?” You wonder if this is what Kix was trying to tell you after graduation, before Hunter interrupted your conversation.

“Yes, really,” Kix chuckles at your garbled speech. “I know it won’t be easy, but I need you to be exactly who you are, no more and no less. Let who you are change them, not the other way around.”

You sniffle one more time, wipe your tears away, and nod your head. Maybe this is what you need to hear. That this assignment isn’t an accident, a punishment, or a cruel joke. Maybe, just maybe, Kix is right and you are what Clone Force 99 needs. You’re a tough combat medic that takes no lip from anyone and will sass your way into their squad and force them to listen to you. You reinvigorate yourself with your thoughts and nod at Kix, this time with more sincerity.

“Good,” Kix says. “Now, let's get an icepack on that cheek of yours before you grow a second face.”

You giggle at the joke, but the stretching of your jaw muscles gives you the worst pain imaginable.

“Oops,” Kix says. “Sorry. Bacta spray first, then ice pack.”

After you finish up with Kix in the refresher, you continue your original journey to Clone Force 99’s barracks. You hold the ice pack to your cheek and ponder your conversation with Kix. He really is the best commander you could ask for and he always gives the best advice. You now feel a sense of pride in the fact that Kix entrusted you with his most difficult case. Going forward, you are determined not to let anything your new squad says or does deter you from your mission.

You make your way into the barracks and sit down on your couch-bunk. You pull out your data-pad with one hand, while holding the ice pack with the other. Being an official Combat Medic means you also have access to your squad's medical files. You think now, while you’re alone, is the best time to go through their files and learn about their individual medical needs. Clone Force 99 is full of enhanced experimental clones, so you need to pay extra attention.

You pull up Hunter’s file first and start reading.

CT-9901 Alias: Hunter - Experimental Unit Clone Force 99

Developmental Progression: Normal rate of change

Embryonic attachment: Unremarkable

Infancy stage markers: Normal

Early Adolescence stage markers: Normal

Puberty stage markers: Abnormal

Late Adolescence stage markers: Abnormal

Adult stage markers: Normal

Developmental Notes: Tendency to be overstimulated

Genetic Mutation Progression: Normal rate of change

Heightened Smell: Positive

Heightened Taste: Positive

Heightened Hearing: Positive

Heightened Touch: Positive

Heightened Awareness: Positive

Accelerated Regeneration: Negative

Genetic Notes: Ability to sense electromagnetic fields was unexpected

Medical Notice:

Prone to migraines

Prone to sinus infections

Prone to ear infections

Prone to mood swings

“Ah, so he’s not moody on purpose,” you nod as you connect a few dots and then move onto Tech’s file.

CT-9902 Alias: Tech - Experimental Unit Clone Force 99

Developmental Progression: Normal rate of change

Embryonic attachment: Unremarkable

Infancy stage markers: Normal

Early-adolescence stage markers: Abnormal

Puberty stage markers: Normal

Late-adolescence stage markers: Normal

Adult stage markers: Abnormal

Developmental Notes: Tendency for isolation and delayed speech capabilities

Genetic Mutation Progression: Normal rate of change

Increased neural density: Positive

Increased neurotransmitters: Positive

Increased neural plasticity: Positive

Increased frontal lobe activity: Positive

Increased dexterity: Positive

Increased linguistics: Negative

Genetic Notes: Loss of normal vision fields was unexpected

Medical Notice:

Prone to insomnia

Prone to tension headaches

Prone to cataracts

Prone to macular degeneration

“Lovely,” you add the information to your mental notebook before moving onto Wrecker’s file.

CT-9903 Alias: Wrecker - Experimental Unit Clone Force 99

Developmental Progression: Abnormal rate of change

Embryonic attachment: Unremarkable

Infancy stage markers: Abnormal

Early-adolescence stage markers: Abnormal

Puberty stage markers: Normal

Late-adolescence stage markers: Abnormal

Adult stage markers: Abnormal

Developmental Notes: Tendency to be clingy

Genetic Mutation Progression: Normal rate of change

Increased muscle density: Positive

Increased muscle elasticity: Positive

Increased ligaments and tendons: Positive

Increased body mass: Positive

Increased oxygen retention: Positive

Decreased sustenance requirement: Negative

Genetic Notes: Lack of mental capacity was unexpected

Medical Notices:

Prone to joint pain

Prone to muscle spasms

Prone to arthritis

Prone to high blood pressure

“Ouch, that doesn’t sound pleasant,” you wince and swipe to the next chart.

CT-9904 Alias: Crosshair - Experimental Unit Clone Force 99

Developmental Progression: Normal rate of change

Embryonic attachment: Remarkable

Infancy stage markers: Normal

Early-adolescence stage markers: Normal

Puberty stage markers: Normal

Late-adolescence stage markers: Abnormal

Adult stage markers: Abnormal

Developmental Notes: Tendency for aggression

Genetic Mutation Progression: Normal rate of change

Increased concentration: Positive

Increased pupillary response: Positive

Increased hand/eye coordination: Positive

Increased retinal capacities: Positive

Increased agility: Positive

Increased night vision: Positive

Genetic Notes: Lack of body mass was unexpected  

Medical Notices:

Prone to photo-sensitivity

Prone to epilepsy

Prone to dry eye

Prone to cluster headaches

“No wonder he hates everyone,” you note, then swipe to the last member.

CT-1409 Alias: Echo - Domino Squad

Developmental Progression: Normal rate of change

Embryonic attachment: Unremarkable

Infancy stage markers: Normal

Early-adolescence stage markers: Normal

Puberty stage markers: Normal

Late-adolescence stage markers: Normal

Adult stage markers: Normal

Developmental Notes: Tendency for independency 

Genetic Mutations: None

*File Update - Post Skako Minor Assessment*

Cybernetic neural capacity upgrades

Cybernetic computational upgrades

Cybernetic communication upgrades

Cybernetic bilateral lower leg upgrades

Cybernetic right lower arm upgrades

Medical Notices:

Prone to joint degeneration

Prone to nerve pain

Prone to depression

Prone to night terrors

“I wouldn’t exactly call those upgrades,” you sigh, then put the data-pad down and lay back on the couch.

So this is your team. A bunch of experimental clones, plus a half-cyborg, with a plethora of medical concerns that may or may not present in the field. Although, you do feel a little closer to them now that you’ve seen their medical history and a part of you feels sorry for them. They didn’t ask to be made, let alone with these enhanced mutations.

You adjust the ice pack on your face as it gets less frozen and wipe away the condensation that drips down your cheek. You look at the chronometer and realize it’s been over two hours since the incident in the mess hall. You wonder where your squad is. Did they go elsewhere and leave you behind? Probably. No matter though. You have a renewed perspective and you’ll do your job whether they like you or not. You’ll be the biggest pain in their backside if you have to.

No sooner do you finish your last thought, does the door to the barracks open. You turn your head to look and see who it is and not surprisingly it’s your squad. They each disperse to their bunks and grab their packs. Curious about their movements, you sit up on the couch and crisscross your legs, still holding the ice pack in place.

“What’s going on?” you ask. Your voice is still garbled from the swelling.

Hunter connects his pack onto his backplate and glances over his shoulder. “We’ve got a new mission and we’re heading out.”

Your heart races at the prospect of your first mission. You knew this day would come, but you didn’t think it would be this soon. You’ve barely had any time to adjust to your new squad or go through any practice simulations. They don’t know you and you don’t know them. Your anxiety increases, but quickly dissipates when your training kicks in. This is what you are trained for, and you’re going to do it. You put the ice pack down and grab your pack and helmet to join them.

As you follow them out, Hunter turns around and stops you. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“On the mission, sir,” you say. You let Kix’s words echo in your mind and refuse to back down.

“No, you’re not,” Hunter says.

“With all due respect, sir, I am,” you say.

Hunter huffs. “And why should I let you come?”

“Because, I’m the best, sir,” you say as you straighten your shoulders.

“That remains to be seen,” Hunter retorts.

“You can’t see if I’m left behind, now can you, sir?” you argue while placing your hands on your hips.

Echo tries to hide a snort. “She has you there.”

“Glad to hear you’re volunteering,” Hunter says sarcastically. “You’re in charge of the kid.”

“What?” Echo questions with disgust. “Why me? I’m not babysitting her.”

“I’ve told you before,” you huff. “I can take care of myself!”

“Shut it, shiny,” Hunter exclaims.

You cross your arms and scrunch your nose.

“I’ve got my own weight to pull!” Echo continues to argue.

Hunter pats Echo’s shoulder and smiles smugly. “And now you can pull hers, too,” he says while pointing at you. “Since you obviously have enough time to make jokes.”

“But–"

“Just make sure she doesn’t die,” Hunter says with a wave of his hand as he starts walking away.

Echo looks at you and sighs. “Come on.”

You quickly follow Echo, your new chaperone, and head off with the rest of the group towards the landing platform. The walk is once again, silent. Maybe the third time's the charm and after this mission they’ll start including you in their conversations. However, you don’t hold your breath that it will be the case. You’ll be lucky to get any action worth talking about, considering that Clone Force 99 has never had a downed man on the field in their tenure as a squad.

On your way to the platform, you are intercepted by Tungst and his squad mates. You brace for the worst and hope for the best, since you’re not sure what the outcome of the mess hall fight was. You’re still a little mad at him for causing such a big scene, but you don’t blame him for your injury. You may never find out who threw the punch, but it doesn’t matter. You’re just happy the five of them are still alive after the altercation with one of the deadliest forces in the GAR.

“I heard you were shipping out on your first mission,” Tungst says as he approaches, his words sounding a little awkward.

It makes sense. The last time you both spoke was after the punch, so you haven’t had a moment to debrief. You stop to speak with them and the rest of your squad surprisingly stops with you.

“Yeah,” you answer with a small smile. “I guess I am.”

“We’re gonna to miss you,” Brett says while patting your shoulder.

Hunter rolls his eyes.

You chuckle. “I’m going to miss you too.”

“You’re going to do great out there,” Gloss smiles.

Drip grabs your shoulders and pulls your face really close to his and speaks with a straight face. “Don’t die.”

You start laughing and push him backwards. “I won’t.”

“You better not,” Rift jests as he points towards Clone Force 99. “Or we’ll have to beat up your squad again.”

Wrecker laughs. “You lost the first time!”

Tungst clears his throat to change the subject. “We just wanted to see you off and remind you that we’ll always be here for you if you need us.”

You smile at the sweet gesture and wrap your arms around Tungst to wish him goodbye. “Thank you for everything.”

Crosshair leans towards Echo and whispers. “You can’t tell me they haven't kriffed yet.”

Echo groans and whispers back. “Please keep your comments to yourself.”

“Can we go now?” Hunter asks impatiently.

Realizing that you are holding up the rest of your squad, you let go of Tungst and follow after them. You turn around and wave goodbye to your cadet friends one last time and they wave back. You are going to miss them. They are the closest thing you have to a family and you’re leaving them. It feels bittersweet, since they may not be there when you come back. They will eventually graduate from cadet training, get their own assignments, and leave you behind.

You let the intrusive thoughts dissipate from your mind and refocus on your current mission. You smile as you walk aboard the Marauder. The only ship you’ve ever been on was the transport that brought you to Kamino one cycle ago. So, this is the first time being on an Omnicron-class attack shuttle. You read up on it during your training, but to see it in real life is amazing. You swivel your head as you look around the ship and take in all the different elements.

“Strap in for take-off,” Tech says as he sits in the pilot seat and gets the ship ready.

Echo sits in the co-pilot chair and also works to get you off the ground. Hunter sits in one of the open swivel chairs and Crosshair grabs the other. Wrecker sets himself up by the gunner’s nest and gives you a reassuring smile. Looking around for a place to sit, you take your go-pack off and strap yourself into one of the jump seats across from the bunk rack. You’re a little nervous, but feel more excited to be out on your first mission.

You feel the rumble of the engines and slight lift as the ship takes off from the platform. This is it. You’re finally going on a mission. You’re finally going to save lives, just like you posthumously promised your parents. You lean your head back against the cold wall of the ship and take a deep breath. You’re ready. You’re ready for anything your squad or the battlefield can throw at you. You’re going to show them that you are the best and you’re going to make Kix proud.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Masterlist

A03

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[sephyathredon-writing]

Whumptober #7: Can You Hear Me Now?

Summary: After the Knighting Ceremony, Diego pulls Ambrosius aside and shows him the proof that he needs to know that Ballister is innocent. He goes off in search of Ballister but by the time he finds him, it's too late.

An entry for Whumptober under the prompt "Can you hear me?"

Heed the warnings for this one. If you are not okay with reading a scene where Ballister dies and Ambrosius is really upset about it, this fic is not for you.

----

Ambrosius stood in the wreckage of the Glorodome, eyes glued to the tunnel entrance that Ballister had just escaped down. He was frozen, his mind swimming with questions. The adrenaline high from the whole incident still kept him on edge as he fought with his heart which was telling him to go after Ballister.

What he didn’t notice was a lone man making his way through the wreckage, not until the man touched his shoulder and jolted him out of his trance-like state.

“Uh, Sir Goldenloin… s-sir.” The voice was familiar and when Ambrosius’ eyes finally snapped from the tunnel entrance to look at the man, his suspicions were confirmed.

It was the Squire, Diego.

“I have something that I need to show you. Please, it’s important. Nothing in my life has ever been so important” He pleaded.

Around them was chaos. The director was organizing squadrons of knights to find Ballister, the queen’s body was being taken away by the paramedics. There was no saving her, but the kingdom had to try. Todd was barking orders, not over the director, but to Blanche and Chad, the cadets that were loyal to him.

They never got knighted, Ambrosius realized.

Ambrosius couldn’t look into the Squire’s eyes and just say ‘no’. He hoped it wasn’t just an autograph that he needed or a picture that he needed to take with him, it had to be something truly important.

“Sure, let’s go somewhere private, how about the locker rooms?”

The squire nodded and began to head across the field to the entrance they had come out from at the beginning of the ceremony. Ambrosius could feel the Director’s eyes on the back of his head as he left, but she didn’t say anything. He’d hoped that he could just slip away without her noticing.

Either way, he ended up in the locker room, sitting on one of the benches. It felt good to just sit after a terrible situation like that. He was still visibly shaking from it.

Diego sat next to him, leaving a good amount of space next to him. He took out his phone and pressed the play button.

“Look.”

Ambrosius watched, curiously showing on his face. The video showed a close up of the Squire, the background Ambrosius recognized as the same locker room they were in now.

[“Check it out, I’m in the locker room, and you are looking at history in the making. Ballister’s armor. It’s speaking. It’s saying, ‘Respect me. Protect me. Put me on. No one’s watching.”]

Ambrosius felt the heavy weight of disappointment settle in his chest. This was what the Squire was itching to show him?

He stood up and started to walk away.

“No, No wait. Sir Goldenloin, please.” He was clearly panicking, reaching out and grabbing Ambrosius’ arm, “This isn’t it, I promise.”

He looked back at the Squire and sat back down, watching as he fast forwarded the video. He watched more of the squire’s antics go by quickly before he looked back, seeing something that made him panic and climb back into the locker, standing stock still like Ballister’s suit of armor usually was.

Ambrosius’ breath hitched as he watched a woman in a white cloak come into frame. She looked around cautiously, revealing her identity.

“No way… the Director?” Ambrosius whispered.

He watched as she swapped Ballister’s sword with the one she had with her. It was undeniable proof that she had set him up.

“I don’t understand… why would she do that to him?” Ambrosius asked Diego as if he had any answers.

“I don’t know, I only know what I saw.” He replied.

Then a realization hit Ambrosius hard.

Ballister is innocent, and he’s out there bleeding, left to treat the wound for an amputated arm by himself.

“I’ve gotta go find Bal.” He jolted from his seat and had to mentally restrain himself from taking off immediately. Instead he took a moment to look at Diego, “Thank you. I don’t know why she did that, but it took a lot of courage to come forth with this video.”

Diego nodded, “I’ll upload it to The Crier, make sure everyone sees it, even if it ruins my reputation.” He looked down at his feet, unwilling to look Ambrosius in the eyes, “Ballister has been like a role model to me. I look up to him. Please, make sure he’s okay.”

Ambrosius nodded, “I will.”

He didn’t say it aloud, but he mentally added ‘because I love him.’

Without another word, Ambrosius took off.

It didn’t take him long to realize that Ballister wouldn’t be anywhere within the city. The whole place was crawling with knights and guards.

So he searched in the forest, but the thing about the Kingdom was that there was still a lot of forest. It took Ambrosius close to an hour to finally found where Ballister was hiding out, and that’s only because he saw the tower peeking out above the treeline. There was a trail of blood leading up to the door.

He slammed it open.

“Ballister!” His voice was worried, not angry.

The smell that greeted him made him want to throw up. It smelled like burnt flesh. Clearly Ballister had attempted to cauterize the wound.

It took him a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light, but he saw Ballister lying on the ground. Without a second thought, he ran over to the other, scooping him up in his arms. Any signs of life in him were miniscule.

“Bal! Ballister!” He shouted, the panic clear in his voice. He saw that the arm that he’d cut off was still bleeding, despite an attempt at closing the wound clearly being visible by the scorch marks around the edges.

Ballister’s eyes opened and the fear he saw there broke Ambrosius’ heart.

“No, no Bal… It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I… I promise I just want to fix what I did.” Ambrosius sobbed, tears rolling down his cheeks, “We’ve got to stop the bleeding.” His voice held desperation in it.

Maybe Ballister could still be saved.

Ballister’s gaze softened and his good hand went up to caress Ambrosius’ face.

“I’m afraid you’re too late, love…”

Ambrosius placed a hand over Ballister’s pressing it into his cheek. He turned his head, leaving tender kisses on the only hand his lover had left.

“No… there must be something I can do… There must be something… I refuse to let this mistake kill you.”

A light laugh rang out, echoing off the walls of the tower, making goosebumps appear on Ambrosius’ skin, under his armor, “I’m afraid not…”

“No…” He took his hand off of Ballister’s to move to his severed arm, pressing hard in an attempt to stifle the blood flow.

Ballister grunted, “Trust me, I would love to stay, but It’s just not possible. I can feel myself slipping.”

“No… no… Ballister. Please.” He could feel Ballister’s grip on his cheek fading, leaving a streak of blood behind, “The Director framed you, it was all a misunderstanding. The squire captured proof, and it’s going to go live soon and the whole kingdom will know that you’re innocent. We can go back to the way things were…”

There was no answer from Ballister.

“Please… I love you.” Ambrosius begged.

Still no answer.

“Please… please… Ballister…” Ambrosius held him tightly, heart racing, mind spinning, “I can’t go on without you. You’ve been by my side since I was a child. You… you’ve been my everything… Bal… please wake up… please wake up.”

Slowly, the realization sunk in. Bal was gone. He wasn’t coming back, would never be the Knight that he wanted to be, would never be the first in a long line of knights with commoner blood.

Ambrosius broke, all his emotions flooding out in tears and sobs and screams and he held Bal’s body tightly and buried his head into the other’s shoulder.

He couldn’t help but stew in his thoughts as he sat there sobbing.

This was his fault.

This was his fault.

And then he remembered the squire and the video he showed him. Putting aside the idea that Ballister might have lived if he had not stopped to watch the video in the first place, he focused mostly on what the video meant.

When he finally had the strength to lift his head, his expression was one of anger.

It was still his fault.

But it was also the Director’s fault, maybe even the fault of the whole institute.

His expression flickered back to one of sadness as he put Ballister down and gave him a light kiss to the cheek, trying not to tear up again and he realized it would be his last.

“I’m sorry, Bal. I can’t bring you back, but I can make them pay for what they did to you… and they will pay.”

By the time he left the tower, he was a new man, a man on a mission. He walked toward the institute, anger showing clearly on his face.

When he got to the city, crowds parted for him, as the people around him could clearly see that he was not in the mood to talk.

It was dark, he didn’t expect the director to still be out ordering the knights around for patrols, it was more likely that she was in her office.

He stopped and fixed the Gloreth statue in front of him with a cold glare, before turning his gaze up to the institute building in the background looming above it.

He walked with purpose. Anger so apparent in his steps. Blood still streaked his face and covered his right hand, painting a pretty grim picture. Even parts of his armor where Ballister had bled onto him were dyed red. If he felt anything other than anger at the moment, he might have stopped and realized the irony behind his golden armor, the biggest symbol of his descent from Gloreth, being stained with Ballister’s blood.

But as it stood, the only thing he felt was boiling white hot rage.

---

I can barely hear a sound, it's faded

All the words you used to say

Tried to keep me down, I'm elevated

No more rain on this parade

---

He threw open the doors to the front of the institute, startling everyone inside. They looked at him with confused expressions, but he didn’t pay attention to them and they didn’t approach. One of them called security, Ambrosius did see that. He expected Knights to be on him any second now.

---

I went deep inside, where monsters hide

To free my mind, and come out alive

Tell me when you kicked me did you ever think that I would get up

---

The part of Ambrosius’ mind that was still lucid as he drew his sword and began to fight the knights descending on him wondered if this was where monsters came from. Had he turned into one? Had he become the very thing he had sworn to fight?

He pushed that thought away and focused on his mission. If it was for Ballister’s sake, he would become a monster. Even despite the haze of anger, he made sure not to hurt the Knights too badly. There was only one other person that had to die tonight.

He forced his way up many flights of stairs, until he got to the hall that led to the Director’s office. By that time, he’d knocked out the knights tailing him and approached her doors alone, slamming them open.

---

Tried to find the light between your shadows, but it always seemed to fade

It took some time for me to learn to let go

But I grew stronger from the pain

---

The director was sitting at her desk and when she looked up, she could see the anger in his eyes.

“What is the meaning of this, Ambrosius?” She stood, glancing from him to the small scepter on a stand on her desk.

“You know.” There was venom in his voice as he spoke, “Queen killer.” He snapped.

“I don’t know what you mean. I would never-” She sounded offended, grabbing the scepter and taking a few steps back. She placed a couple of fingers to her ear, activating some sort of communication device “Security.”

“Oh, I don’t think security is going to save you.” Ambrosius spat at her.

“No, but this might.” She held out her scepter and the diamond on it opened in a very familiar way, with a very familiar green glow.

Any doubts Ambrosius might have had that the Director was guilty, vanished into thin air.

“Ballister is dead because of you!” He roared, vaulting over the desk just as the laser went off. It bore into his side, and it hurt…

…but he kept going, footsteps even and purposeful. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug.

The director turned to flee, pushing aside the double doors out into the balcony. That was her biggest mistake. Ambrosius had her cornered and the wound hadn’t seemed to slow him down in any significant way.

---

Can you hear me now so loudly?

I'm screaming at the top of my lungs

Can you see me now so proudly?

Looking up at what I've become

---

A hand shot up and wrapped around her throat, the same one coated with Ballister’s blood. Another hand soon joined the first and Ambrosius took a few steps forward, until the director was dangling over the edge of the balcony.

She locked eyes with his, nothing but fury showing in hers.

“Monster” She spat, “Go back to the shadows from whence you came.”

Ambrosius laughed, “If I’m a monster, then that marks the end of Gloreth’s bloodline, doesn’t it? After all, a monster and a hero can’t be the same person, can they?”

Ambrosius saw something else in her expression, fear.

“Killing me will change nothing.” She reasoned.

“Ha, we’ll see about that” Ambrosius could hear the sounds of Knights behind them, they’d entered the office. He had to do it soon.

If he had to become a murderer to avenge Ballister’s death, so be it.

---

Tell me when you kicked me did you ever think that I would get up?

---

Ambrosius let go.

The Director plummeted to her death.

.

.

.

.

.

Nobody knows what happened to Ambrosius after that night. There was a fresh grave at the hideout by morning, but nobody saw heads or tails of him. The only thing that was recovered was his armor, somewhere near the wall. Legend says he went over.

Some people say that once a year, on the day Ambrosius disappeared, fresh flowers could be seen on Ballister’s grave. Dandelions that symbolize resilience. Black roses that symbolize death and mourning. Pink camellias that symbolize longing. Sprigs of heliotrope to symbolize eternal love and devotion, and sprigs of rosemary to symbolize remembrance.

#whumptober2023 #no.7 #“can you hear me?” #nimona 2023 #fic #blood tw #death tw #dismemberment tw #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister boldheart #goldenheart

[thecuriousquest]

I absolutely love all of your yandere levi ackerman writing it’s sooo good!!

Could you do another one with yandere levi?

Reader is a cadet and levi forced her to be in a relationship with him. Then one day after Levi made reader spent a night in bed with him she gets a even more scared of him so much that the next day during odm training reader manages to escape. While Levi wasn’t looking or was occupied by the other cadets and nobody is able to find her for like 2 weeks? Maybe longer? And levi gets really agitated and distressed whenever he can’t find reader on like the 3rd day of her being missing.

And whenever he does find her he’s happy/ angry at her and locks her up and punishes her. Or maybe you can choose the ending. Either way I know it’s gonna be amazing!

I absolutely love your writing btw.

But if you’re not able to get to my request than that is more than ok I’m sure you get lots of wonderful requests from other followers!

Runaway Soldier

Tag Lists: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @chickennugnugnug

Warnings: Yandere themes, NSFW, non con mentioning, murder, isolation punishment, possessive tendencies

I hope you enjoy! Thank you for being so supportive of my work!!! 🖤🤘

Master List here.

—————————————————————————

You run so far and so fast, you think your lungs might explode! It hurts to breathe. Everything burns from the cramp in your calves to the stitch in your side. Leaning against the brick wall, you pant a few heavy breathes before forcing yourself to keep going.

You arrive at your destination. The Underground. It’s an entirely different world down here, and you tread carefully, not knowing what to expect. You’ve only heard rumors about this place existing, but you didn’t know they were real up until this point.

Deciding that this is as good of a place as any, you take refuge in this little hole until you can get your bearings and leave. Sliding down a wall into a sitting position, you allow yourself to, briefly, rekindle what led you to this decision.

A night of terror: pure, unadulterated terror. Levi had cornered you, felt you up, threatened you in all sorts of physical ways. He told you to be a good girl and take what’s coming or suffer the consequences.

He raped you that night. Used you, made you feel like your only worth was in his bed, but you didn’t want that for yourself. No, you wouldn’t let that happen to you. That’s why you ran so fast when he was preoccupied the next day.

You had only the smallest window, being on kitchen duty as a punishment for putting up such a struggle in the beginning. However, you took it and escaped without a look over your shoulder. It tore you apart to leave the squadron when you became a soldier to do something productive with your life, something to benefit society.

Now, you feel like a coward, and no matter how you try to replay the facts in your mind, you can’t shake that nagging feeling.

———

Your first week in the Underground isn’t as bad as you thought it would be. You’re learning the rules quickly: keep your eyes down and don’t cause problems. You stay out of everyone’s way, and you even pick up a small job doing thug work with a group of misfits. Having some combat training, you’re able to lend a hand as the “muscle”.

By the third week, it seems as if your luck has run out. Word gets around that someone is making a name for themselves in the Underground, Levi’s previous home. He has a feeling he knows who it is since the timing adds up just right.

Your captain decides to pay his old neighborhood a visit with ulterior motives under his belt. He goes alone, and it doesn’t take long for him to find you when he sees you stomping someone’s stomach in as you’re surrounded by a group of losers.

“As much as I’m enjoying the show, we should get going now, don’t you agree?”

You freeze instantly. Hesitating for a few moments, you slowly turn to regard your captain with wide eyes.

“C-Captain? What are you doing here?”

He sighs deeply. “I could ask you the same question.”

“Who the hell is this freak, Y/N?” one of the guys in your little group asks.

“Someone who will kill you if you don’t shut up,” Levi quips.

“Go ahead and try, asshole!” he shouts, challenging Levi.

You put your hands up to try to prevent anything from happening.

“Please, stop! I’ll go with you, Levi!”

“That was never a question to begin with.” He turns on his heel, expecting you to follow behind him as he walks out.

Your friend grabs you by the arm. “Hey, you can’t leave us! We’re finally making a name for ourselves down here.”

Levi, agitated by the delay, decides to quickly cut this bastard’s arm off for touching what’s his. He lets the younger man lie there on the floor, screaming, blood squirting in different directions. He watches him for a time, studying his writhing movements, his pained expressions. How the young man curls in on himself, holding his arm to his blood covered chest.

He decides to kill him too, and stomps his head into the ground with the heel of his boot. Levi looks around at the remainder of your group. “Does anyone else have any objections to Y/N leaving?”

They all shake their heads.

“Good. Come now, cadet. We’ll be on our way.”

While he holds his head up on confident shoulders, yours slouch as you look down at the ground while trailing behind him. You know what’s in store for you, and you’re not looking forward to it at all.

———

It takes a while to get back to your squadron’s base with Levi, and dread fills you to the brim the entire journey.

“What the hell were you thinking, you damn brat?!” He shoves you roughly into a cell in the dungeon.

So, isolation, possible starvation, possible beating. Nobody will hear you scream, nobody will even know what’s going on.

You quiet a hiss on the tip of your tongue as you land on the cot. Looking up at Levi with a glare, you keep your lips clamped shut.

“I looked everywhere for you. I thought the worst had happened, but it just turns out you were being selfish.”

His clenched fist lands directly in the middle of your stomach. Breath flings from your lips, but your unable to draw in any air. You fall to your knees, clutching your middle with both arms.

Vomit builds in your mouth, spilling out onto the floor in front of you. It lands in a puddle right by your cot, chunks of potatoes visible in all of the bile.

You wipe your chin with the back of your sleeve and glare at him, trembling slightly with outrage at his claim. “Me? I was the one being selfish? You forced yourself on me! What was I supposed to do?!”

“Be quiet!”

A sharp slap connects with your cheek, turning your head. You bump against the cot with the movement.

“Say ‘hello’ to your new home because you’re not going anywhere for a long time until I think I can trust you again.”

He locks the door, key rattling in the lock. Standing up on quivering legs, you walk over to the barrier, placing your hands on the bars. “Levi, you can’t keep me down here!”

“Would you rather be whipped for running away from your responsibilities as a soldier? If that’s what you want, I can certainly make that happen.”

You shake your head, the realization of how bad your situation is beginning to dawn on you.

“So, what? You’re just going to leave me to rot down here?”

Surprisingly, he reaches through the bars to gently touch your cheek. You barely feel it, like the fingers of a ghost.

“I would never leave you to rot. You’re mine. You will always be mine. No amount of running could change that.”

“Levi, I don’t like it down here.” A tear slips from your eye. “Please…”

“Well, it wouldn’t be much of a punishment if you did like it.”

He turns around, your pleas falling on deaf ears as he walks out of the dungeon, leaving you all alone.

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere themes #triggering content #triggering themes #attack on titan #attack on titan requests #yandere attack on titan #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman attack on titan #levi ackerman #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi x reader #snk levi #captain levi

[imaginedreamwrite]

Happier Than Ever

Part 2: Welcome To Mexico!

The woman waiting for you in the small booth in the quiet dead-end diner, had been waiting for you after your shift. You’d seen her twice before in the hospital, once when you had treated her for minor injuries, and the second time when she had returned to talk to you.

The first time she mentioned being a nurse who worked for a greater cause had piqued your interest. You were 6 months out of your nursing degree, 6 months working in a busy hospital with a steady stream of emergency patients that came in like a revolving door. She was one of them, though you wondered why she hadn’t gone to one of the smaller hospitals in the area, for faster treatment.

When she had returned to speak with you in the empty stairwell of the hospital, she had made the proposition to do something more. She hadn’t alluded to what she meant when she said initially, however a longer stint into the conversation, and she’d revealed enough.

The job was working as a medic, or nurse, for a multinational joint special services task force that was stationed around the world. The job would take you everywhere the squadron you were working with went, and there was no guarantee that you’d be coming back alive.

“You’re not a soldier, not technically. You’re a medic, a nurse, and your job is to keep them alive to the best of your ability until they can reach a doctor out of the combat zone.” That was the job, a dictated career, running behind soldiers as they ran into fire.

“You’ll be thrown into 6 weeks of basic training. You’ll be learning to survive under the watch of one of the best American soldiers currently in this task force. You’ll learn everything you need to, to become a soldier, but you will specifically be classed as a medic. Furthermore, you will be given a test to earn your rank, it starts with cadet and then sergeant. However, you are not technically a soldier. Your expectations are to keep them alive, to make sure they can reach a doctor.”

The second meeting could have changed your mind, when she went into little details about what to expect. You would go through the same training as a hopeful soldier, you would be put through the same rigorous physical and mental training.

Furthermore, you would be taught commands and how to handle a weapon, you would be sent through more rigorous medical training than you received in school.

The choice was yours, and you were given two weeks to decide. Two weeks to decide whether you wanted to continue working in a busy city ER, where you would be rundown and worn out, or choose to join this task force. A task force where you would be shot at, threatened or kidnapped, possibly even die on the streets of wherever you were fighting.

You’d be in the face of death, a prospect that most people your age wouldn’t dare think about. You, however, had wanted to do this.

Now, after the first two meetings, she was back, and she was sitting across from you in a dingy and shitty diner, offering the job to you again. Her name was Kate Laswell, a woman with an impressive military career of her own, a career that had made her as many friends as it had enemies.

“Have you considered what this means? You will be heading into active war zones, you will be heading into hell without a guarantee that you’ll make it back.” She had sat across from you after those two weeks, you could have reconsidered, giving you the chance to deny her offer or accept.

If you’d declined, she would find someone else. If you accepted, you’d be sent for basic training within days for 6 weeks to learn how to survive.

“I want to do this, I’ve decided to accept your offer.” In the booth across from her wearing dirty hospital scrubs where you were exhausted and drained, you’d taken the offer handed to you.

“I’ll offer your congratulations when you complete your training.” Kate Laswell had given you the order for basic training, and you had left within days, like she had told you previously.

6 weeks of basic training, specifically under combat lieutenant Alex Keller. He had run you through basic training as directed by Kate Laswell, more than once driving you nearly to a breaking point. He had pushed as hard as he could, even further beyond what your limit had been, intending to prepare you for what was coming.

When you weren’t being trained by lieutenant Keller, you were in the military base’s hospital, working through every possible scenario to give you a leg up on what you could possibly face on these missions you would be heading on.

For 6 weeks you were put through it all and at the end, when you’d taken every necessary test to pass and earn your rank, Laswell had offered you that congratulations.

After your training and taking your necessary tests, you had successfully become a private, a nurse with the 141.

Time had passed like a bullet train, sending you surging through one mission after the other, until three were already under your belt.

But by 25, you were heading on your fourth mission with Ghost & Soap specifically, heading to Las Almas. The orders were given by Captain Price to the three of you, with the understanding that you would be in contact with both Colonel Vargas & Sergeant Major Parra upon arriving.

The mission was clear, hunt down and find Hassan who was hiding in the region of Mexico that was clearly overrun by corrupt police and military bought by Las Almas Cartel. Or that is what intelligence had offered before the three of you left for the region, the contact between Laswell and Captain price had set you up for this mission.

“Keep your head up. Las Almas is corrupt, don’t place your trust in the wrong people.” It wasn’t a sentiment that was saved just for Las Almas, it was a fact everywhere you’d gone.

“You ready for this?” Soap nudged your foot with his own, stirring you from your mental escape with his Scottish accent. “You look nervous.”

“I’m fine!” You called back over the noise of the engine, reiterating the position you’d taken as the medic, and translator. “I’ll be fine!”

Between the two of them, Sergeant MacTavish and Lieutenant Riley, you were far closer to Soap. There was a relationship that was comparable to being brother and sister, a friendship that was built through your time spent together on missions, and on base.

Ghost was closed off from the majority of people he had met, his cold heart guarded and kept tightly bound to himself. You’d been told, reassured likely, that while Ghost hadn’t trusted you entirely, he wouldn’t let you die in a gunfight. It was dispelled your anxiety to know that he would protect you if it came down to it, his role as your teammate accepted at the very least.

“Don’t lie to yourself! It’s normal to be nervous!” Soap had called back to you, adjusting his hold on the knife in his hands as he reviewed it.

He was good at quelling your anxiousness, at resolving your inner conflict. You had been on three missions now, but compared to the rest of the squad, you were practically a baby.

“I’ll be fine!” You reiterated, adjusting the throat mic that was around your neck. It was one of your habits, the fidgeting that had helped calm you before a mission. “I’ll be okay!”

“Mexico below us!” The pilot of the chopper spoke, his voice coming through the piece set in your ear, the clear wire wrapped around the back of your ear. “We’re coming to Las Almas in 10!”

The back of the chopper heralded no windows, yet you could almost picture the views in your mind. Though you’d never been to Mexico, Johnny was right in that you’d always wanted to go. Not like this, however, and you’d always wanted to be right on the shorelines near the ocean.

This was not ideally how you wanted to see the country, and if you survived this mission, you would make sure you came back to see those beautiful beaches. Without the threat of death and the weight of this mission overhanging your head. Even if you weren’t anything but a medic, a nurse to patch them up, if they had failed then so would you.

“Head up, private!” Ghost drew your attention to himself, the skeleton mask covering his face had only allowed you to be able to see his piercing green eyes, and even then, only the whites and irises were visible. The skin around his eyes was obscured with black war paint, giving him another layer of intensity and deadliness.

“What’s that say on your wrists?” Soap questioned you, the soulmate identifying words were in Spanish, not English.

You looked down at the words as they were almost faded and light. Once you’d met your soulmates and those specific words were spoken, your soulmate identifying marks would become emboldened and vibrant.

“This one,” you raised your right arm, directing his attention to the words stained lightly, “says Maldito cabrón! Which means, you fucking cunt.”

Soap’s laugh was echoing in the back of the chamber, his amusement at the swear words in Spanish had almost met your own. Thankfully, you had only gotten your soulmate identifying marks when you were 19 instead of a child.

“And the other?” He leaned forward, the knife he’d been playing with was set beside him with his elbows on his knees. “Tell me it’s something good.”

You lowered your right arm and raised your left, gazing at the same kind of faded, light lettering. “Maldito hijo de puta, means Damn son of a bitch.”

“You wonder what yours will be?” Soap’s question had come along with the pilot’s voice, warning you that you were about to touch down.

“Knowing me,” you shifted your weight as you sat, your thumbs slipping beneath the shoulder straps of your black reinforced Kevlar vest, “something stupid like ‘stubbed my fucking toe’.”

Soap’s laughter echoed again, sharing your sentiment with a nod of his head. He agreed that you would say something stupid like that, something shitty, when you had curse words on your wrists. His laughter had been overshadowed by the chopper jerking lightly as it touched ground.

Soap had stood first, grabbing his knife and shoving it back into it holster. He raised his hand and braced his palm against the wall, nudging you with his boot again. In silence, you grabbed your kit and slung it over your shoulder, the heavy canvas smacking against your hip.

“Las Almas,” Soap grinned at you, smirking as the back of the chopper dropped open, and you got your first view of the colonel and sergeant major, “welcome to Mexico, kid.”

“Shut up, Johnny.” You rolled your eyes and stepped in line behind him, moving toward the exit of the chopper.

Even from the ramp, you could feel the heat of the Mexican air. It was stagnant and hot, the sun beating down on the tarmac. Maybe twenty feet from the edge of the chopper’s ramp were the two soldiers you were supposed to be meeting, Colonel Vargas and Sergeant Major Parra.

From what you could see, both men appeared to be on par with Soap when it came to their height, if not a few inches shorter.

Of the men who were standing side by side, one had thick dark hair that was pushed back out of his face with the side cropped close, and the other had thick dark hair that seemed a tad longer than his counterpart. However, instead of having the sides close cut, his had seemed to be brushed back.

“Alejandro!” Soap stepped off the ramp, greeting the colonel with earnest. You’d followed, walking behind Ghost and Soap with your bag of supplied tucked against your hip.

“Sergeant MacTavish!” Colonel Vargas met you three halfway between the chopper and their humvee’s in the background, stopping to shake Soap’s hand.

“Call me Soap.” Johnny made the pleasant exchange, glancing toward Ghost as he prepared to make further introductions.

“Lieutenant,” Colonel Vargas’ attention had drifted toward Ghost, glancing over the other soldier who you’d been assigned to, “Laswell says they call you Ghost.”

“Actually, I think he prefers—“ Johnny started speaking, looking back at Ghost and almost immediately getting cut off by him.

“That’ll do!” Ghost’s thick British accent hung in the air, and then you felt eyes on you.

Brown and intense with warmth, you had initially expected.

“This is our medic,” Soap directed his attention toward you, introducing you with the same kind of respect that he’d introduced Ghost with, despite your obvious difference in rank, “Private L/N! A nurse!”

“You come with your own medic?” The question was raised and attention had fallen from you quickly, Alejandro Vargas focusing on the two men to your left and right. “Welcome to the “city of souls”.”

Your stomach flipped unexpectedly, nerves possibly from being on the ground finally.

This was the start of it all, the mission that wouldn’t end until Ghost & Soap found their target, or you were called home. This was your fourth mission now and while you were still inexperienced compared to the other two, you had been getting your grounding when it came to being in the midst of such chaos and strife.

This however, felt different.

“Never been to Mexico!” Soap nudged you, tilting his head to get you to follow him and Ghost.

“This isn’t Mexico…this Las Almas.” Alejandro had raised his arms, stretching his hands out to direct your attention to the tarmac and the heat that had radiated from the intense heat.

For a moment, you had tuned out the conversation as you took a long look around. The scenery beyond this place was beautiful, the hills and the endless blue sky that seemed unhindered by clouds. It was a sight that you’d wished you could have seen in different circumstances.

“My base is your base.” Alejandro had addressed Ghost and Soap while you followed behind, trying to do another mental check of what you’d need, and what you’d packed.

“Good. Now, where’s Hassan?” Ghost’s voice had an edge, one that had caught your attention.

“Cartel safe house, not far from here.” Alejandro approached one of two Humvee’s, looking back at the three of you with his intense brown eyes. “Get in.”

The door was opened and Johnny got in first, sliding all the way to the left of the back seat, settling himself against the leather. You were next to slide in, following him, and slipped your med bag around your shoulders, dropping it to the floor between your feet.

“Vamos. ¡Vamos a movernos!” Colonel Vargas addressed his men with a sharp whistle, directing them with a single command.

The door had been shut and Sergeant Major Parra had started the vehicle with the push of a button, the Humvee coming to life within a moment. As Parra hd started drive following the first vehicle, Alejandro had turned his head to look at the three of you, introducing you.

“This is my second in command, Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra.”

“Tengo miedo de los fantasmas…” The statement made you turn your head, glancing at Ghost with a natural reaction to laugh under your breath, however you had kept it to yourself.

“You know Spanish?” Alejandro asked the three of you, though you’d barely been able to open your mouth to speak before Soap cut you off, answering for you.

“No.” Soap flashed you a look, a warning with a single look.

You knew that Captain Price had assigned you to act as translator, however Soap and Ghost hadn’t yet wanted to let that information slip. Not yet, at least.

“You will…” Alejandro spoke with a smirk on his face, the Humvee pulling away from the airport, the chopper left behind momentarily.

“Welcome to Mexico, private.” Soap nudged you, a smirk of his toying on his lips.

#alejandro x reader #alejandro vargas #Alejandro Vargas x female!Reader #Alejandro Vargas x reader x Rodolfo Parra #Alejandro Vargas x nurse!Reader x Rudy Parra #Rudy Parra x reader #Rudy Parra x female!Reader #Rudy Parra x reader x Alejandro Vargas #happier than ever series #happier than ever masterlist #happier than ever #happier than ever part 2