Purple: 10 facts about my room.
Blue: 9 facts about my family.
Green: 8 facts about my body
Yellow: 7 facts about my childhood
Orange: 6 facts about my home town.
Red: 5 facts about my bestfriend(s).
Pink: 4 facts about my parents.
White: 3 facts about my personality.
Grey: 2 facts about my favourite things
Black: 1 fact about the person I like.
suckington. what a name.
Someone stop me before I write an AU where Tucker somehow ends up back in the time of the Freelancers. I am nearly keeling over with laughter at the idea of him seeing bb!Wash and just. Yeah this is going to happen. Oh well, off to drown in my feels.
So my little sister is all into the religion thing, and tonight before she went to sleep she did a little pray thing like she always does. It started all nice and sweet but then she just blurted out “and tell rooster teeth if they don’t show the faces of the blood gulch crew that I’ll kill them, oh and Felix”
i need more people to follow so if you post:
- Tokyo ghoul
- Akame ga kill
then like/reblog this post so i can follow you.
I know this is fucking impossible but you now what I want?
I want Epsilon to get a body. Find an abandoned suit of armor or something, I don’t know, just give me his own body of sorts.
And, after he’s seen how little his own team trusts him, tastes the betrayal they feel, after numerous episodes of this emotional torture, I want him to save Caboose’s life. Maybe someone shoots at him, is about to pounce on him, doesn’t matter.
And not just Epsilon knocking him over and Caboose happens to survive. I mean, I want Epsilon to fucking rush in front of him, take the blow, and proceed to beat the living shit out of whoever dared to try and kill his teammate in front of him. I want him to center his frustration with himself for what he did to his team into defending this kid who he acts like he hates on a daily basis. I want him to prove to his team, to the Reds, to Wash, to himself, that he is a defender and he is worthy to be their leader again
And when he’s finished, I want him to turn to the shocked and stunned Caboose and say “I will never leave you again. I will never let someone fucking kill you. Do you understand me?”
I can always count on you to send me the fun stuff. I’m not sure how quality this will be! I hope this is what you wanted;;;
holy cow this thing is long.
drabble under the cut, doll! <3
im hella scared to put this up because this is the first time ive really written any gore and self loathing?? type stuff but it wont hurt to try. so yeah thats that.
Atychiphobia – fear of failure
Failure was not an option. It was never an option. Failure only happens when you don’t train, when you don’t push yourself towards your goal.
After the capture of Washington, Donut, Sarge, and Lopez, he was driven. Tucker trained hard, always regretting it in the morning when he couldn’t get out of his bunk. He pushed himself to the absolute limit. Failure is not an option.
There was no way he was going to fail. He can’t fail. He feared failure. What was it they called it? Atychiphobia? Sounded about right to him.
He used his fear as motivation. His nightmares were the fuel to his fire. His insecurities tormented him to no end. He wasn’t allowed to fail.
And once he was assigned a small platoon of men, Tucker knew, failure was most certainly not an option. He had to protect them, and do what’s best for the team.
He had failed them, and the loss of Rodgers and Cunningham weighed heavily on his shoulders.
And it crushed him. These kids trusted him to their hearts’ content. They had faith in him from the beginning.
"Captain Tucker, what’s it like being part of an elite team of men?"
"Sir, I want to be a great soldier like you!"
"How do I become as cool as you?"
Tucker often found himself unable to sleep, obsessing over the what ifs and if onlys all night long. What if he hadn’t gone for the information?
What if he wasn’t so desperate to find Wash?
If only he had listened to Felix, then they’d be here.
He was the reason they were dead. He was the reason why their families were busy planning funerals. He was the why reason parents regretted sending their sons over to the army. He was the reason why parents thought: what if I hadn’t let him go? He would still be here.
The captain found himself using the nightmares to fuel his training sessions once more. Determination coursed through his veins. He would not allow another failure.
He was not going to fail. He wasn’t allowed to fail.
He should have killed Felix when he had the chance.
The entire New Republic was vanquished in under 3 hours.
Tucker and company had returned to see the gory aftermath. Buildings were crumbled beneath their feet, hundreds of innocent kids dead in 3 hours. They rushed throughout the burning camp for survivors, unsuccessful in their search.
Their lieutenants had been massacred.
Bitters had been crushed under the no longer existent armory building, legs jutting out of the rubble like the Wicked Witch of the West. Grif had been mortified, ordering to clear the rubble to retrieve the kid’s dog tags.
Jensen had put up a fight. It was painfully obvious. Her arms were bruised and a wrist had been broken in a scuffle, followed by an ankle that made the poor girl vulnerable. Her killer had left his signature mark by slitting her throat with a dagger. There was no need to say who had done it. They all knew. Simmons took hard though no one could really tell. He’d taken her dog tags as well.
Smith was no where to be seen, leaving false hope in the captains until they spotted his dog tags lying on the ground, melted. His name was barely visible, but Epsilon had managed to figure out what had been on those name tags just hours before.
And Palomo. Tucker’s lieutenant and only remaining soldier. His lieutenant had the one of worst deaths of anybody else on base. He fought hard, and Tucker was proud. He’d obviously gotten in a few good punches because his knuckles had swollen to the size of a grapefruit. Something was broken in his hand. However, the kid’s battle had been over after a shotgun wound to the stomach. It had been enough to kill him slowly, ripping him partially open from the belly button up. Tucker didn’t hesitate to take the dog tags off the kid, putting them on that very moment.
He would not fail next time.
Tucker training hard once more, using the dog tags around his neck as motivation. Felix and Locus would pay. He’d kill them as brutally as they had killed the entire New Republic. He’d stand and watch them bleed out helplessly just so they knew what it was like for those countless men and women they had slain.
They encountered the two in the capital of Chorus a week later. Felix and Locus were in charge of wiping the rest of the civilians off the planet. Once they did so, they’d get paid and be allowed to leave.
But they weren’t going to leave.
Tucker had ordered the others to fight Locus. Felix was all his.
That cocky, smug little mercenary had caused every. single. one of his problems from the start. Felix was the reason why he had feared for Wash’s safety. Felix was the reason why Cunningham and Rodgers had died. Felix was the reason why the entire New Republic and Federal Army had been destroyed. Felix was the reason why the planet was going to end in a holocaust.
They fought for a long time. Nearly 2 hours of perfectly matched defense and offense, each person getting lucky to throw a decent hook or jab, but never getting more than that. Felix had been disarmed almost immediately, knife being kicked aside from the battle as guns were stripped away from his body, tossed aside and up for grabs.
Tucker had lost everything besides his sword. That was his trump card, remaining attached to his hip. He didn’t worry about the sword considering that it couldn’t be used against him unless he had a hand on it. And he knew Felix would make a grab at it. Go ahead.
And that was exactly what the merc did. He’d lunged forward, ripping the sword from Tucker’s hip, smugly grinning as he stood there waiting for the sword to activate. “Looks like I win, Tucker.”
The captain had managed to snatch it out of the other man’s hands, activating the plasma sword with a simple flick of the wrist before plunging it through the baffled merc’s chest. “Looks like I win, Felix,” He sneered, kicking the man onto his back.
Felix had fallen the same time Locus did, each man’s armor coming in contact with the ground seconds apart. Tucker stood above the bleeding mercenary, glaring down at the dying man beneath his boot. “Remember when you said that you don’t fail? Well, looks like you just did. To a sim trooper. Have fun in hell, Felix.”
He didn’t wait for Felix to die. Instead he ordered everyone to fall back and get the hell of the planet. He’d suffer just like everyone else. He deserved it. He deserved to know they failed at the last possible moment thanks to a bunch of no good simulation troopers.
Tucker knew that his victory over the mercenaries wouldn’t clear his failures or prevent the nightmares from returning, but damn it felt good to know those assholes had failed just like him.
strongly disagree | disagree | neutral | agree | strongly agree
anon, you’re adorable. let me love you.
I have never seen/heard someone say that about my voice. That’s so cute.
I actually do drool in my sleep believe it or not.
Those are literally the best colors ever of all time.
I freaking love lollipops. Dum-Dums are my fave thing ever. Strawberry= best flavor.