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#pacific rim imagine
kaijuposting · 8 months
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Average Pacific Rim Headcanons
A local ice cream place offers kaiju blue milkshakes for sale (berry flavored with lime). A sign says that percentage of the profits are donated to kaiju blue poisoning treatment research.
If you were in school and lived in a coastal Pacific city during the kaiju war, you had kaiju escape drills.
You had PPDC officials come to your school looking for drift compatible students.
You know a girl who claims that she can channel the kaiju. She has a small online following who hang on to her every word.
Construction projects are delayed or halted in your city as iron is redirected to the jaeger program.
Anytime you and your friends say something at the same time, you joke about being drift compatible. Part of you hopes you really are.
If you were in college, you considered changing your major to biology or engineering, if it wasn't that already.
You follow several scientists researching kaiju or the breach on social media. Some work for the PPDC, some work for private labs or university labs. Some would host AME sessions. You watch as the scientists working for the PPDC all eventually announce that they've been let go and are going to work elsewhere now.
You follow several rangers on social media. One by one, they stop posting. Their deaths are announced on the news.
People joke about sending the citizens of Philadelphia to fight kaiju. They're so good at crushing invasive spotted lantern flies, they should be good at destroying kaiju.
Scientists announce the discovery of a bacteria that eats kaiju blue. Several more are eventually found all over the world.
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Imagine you and your f/o are jaeger pilots together. You're in each other's heads, have seen each other's memories, feel each other's thrill for the battle and determination to win.
You two have some of the highest drift compatibility among pilots, and every battle draws you closer.
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dailydragon08 · 7 months
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Promise I’m still alive and still have plans to write for my Remnants series (Luke x reader), some Will Ironhead Miller x Reader stuff, and want to get back to A World Without Monsters (Raleigh Becket x Reader). I’m hoping to start writing A Crime of A Different Kind next week. Just have been going through a lot mentally lately, but hopefully am getting there. My masterlist is linked in my pinned post on my page and should be up to date! Thanks for everyone’s patience 💕
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taintedmind666 · 5 months
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dragons-in-spaceee · 5 months
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*looks at newt* that is a man who watches httyd at least 3 times a week and owns neon green alien socks
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jakowskis · 5 months
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it's been 10 yrs... has anyone ever tried to isolate the sound of newt & hermann (i think it's mostly hermann) yelling in the beginning of their very very first scene (the one outside the shatterdome in the rain), before they go in the elevator. ive cranked the volume but there's just too much background noise but maybe (??) with editing software someone could be able to hear. what r they saying what r they yelling about
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hawktims · 6 months
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this is now my roman empire
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coeurdalene · 8 months
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looking for some light
masterlist | ao3
summary: he tells raleigh, “i want to come back from this mission, ‘cause i quite like my life.” he means, there’s still so much i want to do, so much i have to do. (aka chuck wants to make it through this goddamn war so he can finally live a normal life, even if he doesn’t really know what that means.)
pairing: chuck hansen x reader
warning(s): character death (sorry), swearing, mentions of canon-typical violence.
word count: 3.86k
a/n: i meant to have this finished by the ten year anniversary of the movie but uh… anyways, here it is now! this is my love letter to chuck hansen and also a projection of my want for a beach house.
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The universe gifts Chuck an unwanted Christmas present in the form of a memorandum. He swears under his breath when you trudge into the Mission Control Center that morning with a dejected frown on your face and shove the crisp paper into his hands. His eyes fall on the letterhead, embossed with the familiar spread-winged eagle, and he already knows what it contains. He’d been expecting it for months. He resists the urge to scream, to crumple the paper into a ball and hurl it at the trash bin with every ounce of remaining strength in his body. He doesn’t envy you when you announce the bad news to everyone else, fulfilling your final duty as Sydney’s Chief LOCCENT Officer.
Days later, not even twenty-four hours after the Shatterdome decommissioning and right at the beginning of the new year, the universe offers him—and the rest of Sydney—another unwanted gift.
Mutavore is an ugly thing. Nearly ninety meters tall and weighing over two thousand tons, it’s hunched over as if struggling to support its own weight, blade-like plates protruding from its head and back.
“I don’t care how many eyes it has,” he says after you read out its classification and measurements, “I’m gonna kick its ass.”
(Six. It has six eyes. Just because he doesn’t care doesn’t mean he won’t pay attention.)
The category four Kaiju plows through the coastal wall like a knife cutting through warm butter and tramps into Sydney Harbour, stopping only to raise its head and let out a guttural screech, as if barging through a metal barrier hadn't been enough to announce its presence. He wonders how many millions of dollars have now been reduced to rubble at the bottom of the bay and how many weeks were spent welding together beams that took only a few seconds to destroy. 
Then, its beady eyes—all six of them—focus on Striker Eureka and her brass knuckles glinting in the sun. It screeches again before charging headfirst into Striker’s swinging fist.
Mutavore dies as quickly as it breached the wall, lying motionless in the bay, blood-soaked missiles lodged in its chest and Kaiju blue staining the water. 
“That’s Striker Eureka’s tenth kill to date. It’s a new record,” he boasts to the reporter in the aftermath. He ignores the questions about the decommissioning and brushes off the look his father gives him. Don’t get too cocky, he looks like he wants to say.
When they return to the Shatterdome, the J-Tech crew cleans Striker, polishing her knuckles and wiping Kaiju remains from the Conn-Pod. Chuck takes a long hot shower. Then, the move to Hong Kong begins.
The Anchorage Shatterdome—the cold and stalwart Icebox—had been the first to close. He remembers how you had stared blankly at the official PPDC statement for hours while he watched the newscaster on the television read it out loud. The Marshal had been on the broadcast, too, brought on for further questioning. When the anchor asked about the future of the Jaeger Program, he had assured her that, as long as the Kaiju kept coming, the Jaegers would keep fighting. Chuck had laughed dryly at that. The dwindling funding from the U.N. would say otherwise and whispers of better opportunities at the wall hung in the air, getting louder with every passing day.
The closure of the Icebox set off a string of shutdowns: Lima and Tokyo later that month, Panama City in November, Vladivostok and Los Angeles a few weeks after. The clock was ticking and it was only a matter of time before that damned memorandum arrived in Sydney, his fate dictated by its contents.
His beloved Sydney Shatterdome closes at the turn of the year, leaving behind its only remaining sibling in Hong Kong. What had once been a robust network of PPDC hubs was now reduced to one. 
And the clock continues to tick. 
“We don’t need a stupid wall,” Chuck declares on the flight to Hong Kong, glaring at the news broadcast replaying footage of the Sydney attack. “We need better pilots.”
He’d expressed the same sentiment to the reporter who interviewed him after Mutavore’s attack, too, blaming the fall of the Jaeger program on the mediocrity of those involved. He isn’t sure if it’s that simple—you had explained something to him about politics and funding and morale, government nonsense he didn’t understand—but he sure as hell knows that the Jaegers would be winning if pilots stopped letting the Kaiju kick their asses.
“Have some respect,” his father chides. “Every pilot has fought tooth and nail to protect the people they love.”
And perhaps that’s the truth—it sure is for him. His days consist of sore muscles from training, never getting enough sleep, and always anticipating another fight. He does it for his father, who has been a soldier for as long as he can remember. For his mother, whose untimely death lingers in the back of his mind every time he sets his eyes on a Kaiju. For you, who frequently pulls all-nighters and agonizes over details to make sure the Shatterdome stays running. And for Max, of course. (Silly little dog probably has no idea what a Kaiju is.)
So, yeah, perhaps it is the truth. But it doesn’t change the fact that they only have eight months left of funding, or that the U.N. thinks a wall will fare better than a Jaeger.
“We won’t be getting more pilots. All we can do is work with what we still have,” you chime in, pulling Chuck out of his thoughts. “But, on the bright side, our remaining pilots are some of the best in program history.”
“Including me?” he smirks. You laugh, cheerful and bright, punching his arm lightly. Max shifts in his sleep at the sudden noise. His father gives him that look again. Don’t get too cocky.
He spends the rest of the flight listening to you read briefing notes on “Operation Pitfall,” the Marshal’s shiny new plan to end the war by detonating a bomb at the throat of the Breach. Somehow, the PPDC had procured a thermonuclear warhead from the Russians, entrusting Striker Eureka to carry it while the remaining Jaegers played defense. 
Chuck is cynical about this plan. They had already tried (and failed) to drop things into the Breach. A bomb would only bounce back at them and kill anything in range.
He quips sarcastically if the Marshal had thought of that. You respond only by flipping through the file again for an explanation. He knows you won’t find one. 
As he steps off the plane and onto the landing pad, he’s met with a grinning Tendo Choi shouting over the patter of heavy rain, “Welcome to Hong Kong!”
The man, wearing a grey suit jacket too wide around the shoulders shakes their hands in greeting before ushering them out of the rain and into the Shatterdome. Chuck sidesteps some J-Techs as he enters, surveying his surroundings.
He had been much younger the last time he visited Hong Kong and much less invested in all the inner workings of the PPDC. He remembers mechanics and pilots shouting and running about, dirt and scuff marks on the floor, and his father reminding him to keep a tight grip on Max’s leash. It had felt unfamiliar then, but he realizes now that it isn’t too different from Sydney. Same high ceiling, same metal catwalks, and almost the same arsenal of Jaegers towering over him. It’s a little older, a little grittier, and a little more worn down, but no longer foreign. 
He spots Cherno Alpha in one of the bays, its stalwart form hunkering and heavy. The Kaidanovskys stand at its feet, engaged in conversation. Crimson Typhoon stands opposite it, brilliant red and regal. J-Techs gather around her three arms, inspecting and cleaning the rotating saw blades. 
“Striker arrived a few minutes before you did,” Tendo gestures to the shiny silver Jaeger standing in the far bay, metal glinting under the bright lights of the hangar. “The crew is getting her settled in.”
Then, Chuck’s eyes fall on the fourth and final Jaeger. That last he had heard of Gipsy Danger was that she had been decommissioned, damaged beyond repair from a mission gone wrong. But here she stands—untarnished metallic blue, left arm intact, and definitely not lying forgotten in Oblivion Bay.
“What’s that old rustbucket doing here?” he leers, very aware that there isn’t a single speck of rust on her.
“She looks brand new,” you remark. 
“She is, sorta,” Tendo replies, “We’ve been fixing her up: a new fluid synapse system, new engine blocks, and a new hull. She’ll be holding the defensive perimeter for you in Operation Pitfall, along with Cherno Alpha and Crimson Typhoon.”
“Does she have pilots?” you inquire.
“Not yet,” Tendo grins. “But she will.”
Chuck hopes that these pilots won’t be incompetent idiots, whoever they might be.
The peaceful moments are rare, but cherished and so welcomed. In these instances, he lets his guard down, breathes deeply, and allows himself to think of anything other than training or fighting.
One of his favorites is somewhere in between Striker’s fourth and fifth kills: a lazy afternoon in bed with your back against the headboard and his head in your lap, sunlight streaming in through the windows with your fingers carding lightly through his hair.
“After this war is over,” he declares, imagining a life without the chaos and destruction that comes with being a Jaeger pilot, “we’ll buy a nice house in the suburbs where we’ll live blissfully for the rest of our lives.”
“The suburbs are nice,” you contend, “but how about a beach house on the Gold Coast? Or Port Douglas?”
He chuckles at that, picturing what living by the ocean without the fear of a Kaiju attack would be like. He would spend his mornings engulfed in the soothing murmur of the sea, gazing out at the unbroken horizon. His afternoons basking in the warmth of the sun, feet buried in the soft sand. His evenings surrounded by music and your melodious laughter, trying not to step on your toes while you lead him through a dance in your living room.
Quiet, he thinks. Serene. The only unrest would be the waves at high tide or the gulls swooping down to steal his food.
“Wherever you want, as long as it’s you and me. And Max. Right, bud?” he grins at the bulldog lying at the foot of the bed. Max lets out a little grunt. Chuck takes that as a sign of agreement.
“Sounds lovely,” you reply, your hand moving to rest against his cheek. He turns his head to kiss your palm, heart soaring at the way you smile softly down at him.
All Chuck knows about Raleigh Becket is that he quit the Jaeger Program. That information alone is enough for him to dislike the guy. He doesn’t trust some washed-up pilot to run defense for him while he carries a 2400-pound bomb on the back of his Jaeger. Doesn’t care that his father fought alongside the guy in Manila or that he single-handedly piloted his Jaeger back to shore. Doesn’t bother to hold back a grimace when Raleigh tells him that he’d been working on the wall for the past five years.
“If you slow me down, I'm gonna drop you like a sack of Kaiju shit,” he hisses at him in the mess hall. He ignores the way his father watches him with disapproval as he stalks away.
His bad mood turns worse when Mako Mori is named Raleigh’s copilot. 
He has known Mako for years. They had grown up in Shatterdomes together, met a few times when the Marshal had brought her to Sydney, and briefly bonded over their love of dogs. He’s close enough to her to know that she can fight well and that she has one of the best simulator scores he’s ever seen. (Better than his, although he’d never admit that.) But, she has no experience in a Jaeger and no understanding of what a drift is actually like, which, in his eyes, makes her no better than Raleigh. He isn’t surprised when they’re both out of alignment during their test run, your concerned tone alerting the rest of LOCCENT of the deviation, or when Mako begins chasing the RABIT, raising apprehensive murmurs from the crowd of onlookers. Or when it ends in Tendo pulling the plug on Gipsy’s power.
“Worse mistakes have happened,” Tendo sighs as Gipsy’s plasma cannon goes offline. Chuck scowls. There is no space for even a single mistake in the plan to attack the Breach, especially amateur ones like chasing RABITs. He knows that the Marshal understands this, too.
Later, as he paces in the Marshal’s office, still brimming with anger from Raleigh and Mako’s failure of a test run, he snaps, “He's a has-been. She’s a rookie. I don’t want them protecting my bomb run. sir.”
His father stands across the room, arms crossed and mouth set tightly in a frown. In the corner, you and Tendo are huddled over a tablet, discussing the drift results in hushed voices. The Marshal warns him to watch his tone. Chuck rolls his eyes in response and thinks to himself, He knows I’m right.
He finds Raleigh and Mako standing silently in the hall outside after his father kicks him out of the room. He rounds on the former, seething and jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest, “I want to come back from this mission, ‘cause I quite like my life.”
He turns to Mako, sneering and spitting out some distasteful things, ignoring the feeling that he’ll regret it later. 
When Raleigh’s fist makes contact with his jaw, Chuck sees red.
On bad nights, he wakes up in a cold sweat, plagued by nightmares of being painfully ripped to shreds by sharp claws and teeth. Some nights he wakes up angry, frustrated with himself after overanalyzing his fights. Other nights, he relives the moment when he found out about his mother’s death, shaking with body-wracking sobs and shuddering with each intake of breath. But you hold him through it, your soothing hands on his back and comforting words in his ear. He focuses on your voice, steady and calm, and syncs his breathing with yours.
“You’re okay,” you murmur. “They’re just nightmares. You’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” he repeats.
On bad nights, you confess your fear that the war will never end, or that you’ll burn out before it does. Some nights, you feel that you’re not doing enough, that you need to get back to work even though it’s past midnight. Other nights, you worry that you’ll spend your entire life fighting, that you’ll never be able to rest. But he holds you through it, his calloused fingers on your cheeks wiping away your tears. You focus on his touch, firm and resolute, and rest your hands on top of his.
“It’s okay,” you contend, voice shaky but certain. “I have you. This is enough.”
“This is enough,” he repeats.
Yet, he can’t help but want more. He wants the beach house instead of the cold metal walls of the Shatterdome. Wants to wake up to the sun, your smile, and Max’s whining for food instead of doomsday alarms and Kaiju attacks. Wants you to be able to sleep in for once. Wants to spend his days sunbathing and learning to surf instead of training in combat drills and preparing for another attack. Wants to give you some peace, and to find some of his own.
He tells Raleigh, “I want to come back from this mission, ‘cause I quite like my life.”
He means, There’s still so much I want to do, so much I have to do.
Chuck has only felt true fear a few times in his life. Standing on top of his disabled Jaeger with only a flare gun in his hands is one of them. In the moment, he tells himself that he isn’t afraid, that a double event isn’t any different from any other Kaiju attack, and that Striker will come back online in just a second. The adrenaline coursing through his veins overpowers the feeling of impending doom anyway. But, later, as he reflects on the feeling of relief that had washed over when Gipsy’s fog lights enveloped him, he admits that he had been scared shitless. And, he admits (only to himself) that he’s thankful for Raleigh and Mako, even if they’re has-beens or rookies.
He holds you closer that night and knows that you’ve already picked up on all the details of his uneasy expression. Still, he musters up the strength to confess aloud, “I thought we were gonna die.”
You’re silent, responding only by rubbing your hand across his back and hugging him a little tighter. The heavy weight of his lingering fear sits in his chest as he continues, “Dad had injured his arm, our comms were out, Cherno and Crimson were gone, and there was a fucking Kaiju ready to swallow us whole. Shooting that flare at it made it even more pissed off.”
“Not your best idea,” you remark playfully. “You’d think all that training to prepare you for situations like this would help you keep calm and think of something rational to do.”
“It was Dad’s idea, not mine,” he shrugs.
“Well, I’m glad the flare managed to keep it occupied long enough for Gipsy to get there,” you reply, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “And I’m glad you’re not dead.”
“Me, too,” he sighs, the weight in his chest lightening slightly.
When he drifts off to sleep, he dreams of the war ending and a house overlooking the shore.
If, a year ago, you had told Chuck that he would be piloting a Jaeger with the Marshal Stacker Pentecost, he would have laughed in your face and asked why the Marshal wasn’t off doing better things (like convincing world leaders to keep funding the Jaeger Program or figuring out ways to increase pilot recruitment). And, if you had told him that he would hear the phrase “there’s a third signature emerging from the Breach,” he would have rolled his eyes and declared the situation impossible. (“I’d still kick its ass, though,” he would have probably said.)
Yet, here he is, strapped into Striker with the Marshal as his copilot, only three hundred meters from the Breach, watching a category five Kaiju materialize in front of him. He feels his stomach drop as he lays eyes on Slattern’s angular head and the sharp spike protruding from its chest. When it roars, the water around them ripples, and the ground beneath shakes. He barely has any time to think before the massive beast rears its head and charges, swinging its heavy leathery tail directly at them. 
The hit knocks Striker off her feet and sends her crashing into a nearby hydrothermal vent. He winces and swears, body aching and head beginning to throb as streams of water push and jostle the Jaeger. Slattern prepares to charge again just as Striker regains her footing and he easily falls into a fighting stance along with the Marshal, fists clenched and ready to strike. This time, when it attacks, they’re ready—dealing out swift punches that send the Kaiju reeling.
He isn’t sure how much of it is the Marshal and how much of it is himself, but the exhilaration that rushes through him as one of Striker’s sting blades slices across Slattern’s throat reinvigorates him. The other blade cuts into its arms, blue blood spilling from deep gashes. It screeches, and he expects it to rush at them again, but it swims away, blood trailing eerily in the water.
He takes the moment of respite to breathe, and to survey the damage. The harsh red light of the many, many warning messages flashes across his vision. He fiddles with some controls, watches as the Marshal does the same, and sighs heavily when neither of their attempts fixes anything. He resigns himself to hoping that Striker can hold on a little longer. She had gotten him this far, surely she could see him through to the end of this war—and to the beginning of his life at peace.
But–
“The attack jammed the bomb release,” he notices. “We’ll have to manually override–”
A yell from LOCCENT cuts him off. Chuck’s stomach drops even further when he hears someone say, “Striker, you have two Kaiju converging on you fast!”
He curses loudly and immediately knows, There’s no time for a manual override.
The Marshal is on the intercom before Chuck can even begin to formulate a plan, shouting to Raleigh and Mako. 
“You know exactly what you have to do,” he declares. “Gipsy is nuclear, take her to the Breach.”
“What can we do, sir?” Chuck asks, bracing for the hit.
“We can clear a path,” the Marshal answers firmly, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, “for the lady.”
Even without the drift connecting their thoughts, Chuck understands.
“Well, my father always said, ‘If you have a shot, you take it,’” he remarks, knowing that, on the other end, his father is listening with pride. Chuck can admit that he was an arrogant dickhead with no respect for any of the pilots around him and that he never bothered to hide his resentment for his old man, never gave him a reason to like the man his son had become. Yet, he knows—and has always known—that his father is proud of him. (He is proud of his father, too, for what it’s worth.)
In the final moments, his thoughts drift to you: swathed in blankets and gathered in his arms on cold winter nights, perched on the seat of a stationary bike and reading reports while keeping him company in the gym, wrapped in his brown leather jacket with Max’s leash in your hand while accompanying him for walks around the Shatterdome. He recalls your bright laughter when he’d crack stupid jokes, your serious voice you’d use only over the intercom, and the mischievous glint in your eyes when you’d pretend you hadn’t given Max extra treats.
“I love you,” he had said before entering the Conn-Pod, so quietly that only you could hear him, holding you tightly and kissing away your concerned frown. The warmth of your hands against his cheeks had lingered as he had stepped away.
“I love you,” he says now, loud enough for you to hear him over all the noise, swallowing the lump in his throat and blinking away the tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry we’ll never get that beach house.”
“But, I had you,” he says. “It was enough.”
When the bomb detonates, he’s surrounded by blinding light and a deafening boom. And, finally, peace.
In his dreams, he can’t tell where he is, only that Max is sitting at his feet, his father is somewhere in the distance, and you’re next to him with your hand in his, fingers intertwined.
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realbeefman · 11 months
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it’s just me and my parasocial relationship with charlie day against the world
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wazzappp · 3 months
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@moosemonstrous I’ve been thinking about what you said with Robbie and the Jeagers connection going both ways. If Robbie’s connection tells his skin that the damaged areas of the Charger are places they need to form scars, couldn't it also provide the Corruption in the Charger a framework for scar tissue of its own?
This is. ENTIRELY. Self indulgent. Fueled by my insatiable need to give everything teeth. The mental image was too strong not to share regardless of plausibility.
Bonus doodles because I have no self control. Bonus lineart because I ended up really liking the lineart!
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somewillwin · 5 months
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Im gonna watch pacific rim for Ivanna even tho everyone tells me it’s bad. BUT HOW CAN IT BE BAD IF IVANNA?!
The wolfwren x pacific rim au that will come out of this???
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kaijuposting · 1 year
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A thought: Raleigh Becket lost his father figure Stacker Pentecost; Herc Hansen lost his son and his best friend; perhaps after the war the pair develop a father/son dynamic?
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baronessmeinster · 11 months
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Last year during Dracula Daily I saw a post about how it's extremely difficult to read someone else's shorthand. I was telling my partner about it, and how the fact that Jonathan and Mina can read each other's shows how close they are.
Except I decided to say they're Drift Compatible.
And since I said that out loud, my brain immediately latched on, as it does.
So, since Dracula is cannonically a Scholomance graduate/alchemist/general arcane magic-user, he uses Evil Powers to open the dimensional rift and let the kaiju through.
Mina and Jonathan's jaeger is the Lucy's Revenge.
Quincey and Arthur are copilots, as are Seward and Van Helsing.
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dailydragon08 · 1 year
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Masterlist
See a list of rules and fandoms I write for here!
** = smut
STAR WARS
Luke Skywalker x Reader
SERIES
Remnants masterlist --> a series of one shots about the budding relationship between you  and Luke as he trains you in the ways of the Force. Takes place post-ROTJ.
ONE SHOTS & DRABBLES
Undone --> You and Luke reunite after a long mission apart, with plenty of ideas to fill the time before you go give your commanding officer your report (just a short blurb; no smut, but does include a steamy makeout session with suggestive themes).
Home --> a short Luke comfort/fluff blurb. Stressful event is left vague to fit any situation.
Freezer Hands --> You decide to pull a little prank on Luke after rooting around in the freezer.
Breathe With Me Part I, Part II --> After an overwhelming time, your  resolve finally crumbles and Leia, Han, and Luke are there to give you  all the support you need to get you back on your feet.  
HEADCANONS
Dating Luke Headcanons
Dating Luke After a Toxic Relationship Headcanons
How Luke Acts With A Crush headcanons
Wearing Shoes That Make You Taller Than Luke Headcanons
Random cute Luke x Reader headcanons that live in my head rent-free Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8
OT Gang Reacts masterlist (preferences/headcanons including Luke, Leia, Han, Lando, and platonic Chewie, R2D2, and C3PO)
TRIPLE FRONTIER
Preferences (including all four)
Taking the boys to a cat cafe
Will “Ironhead” Miller & Benny Miller (no incest) x Reader
ONE SHOTS & DRABBLES
Movie Night with the Millers** --> You've been down lately, so Will and Benny make it their mission to cheer you up.
Will “Ironhead” Miller x Reader
ONE SHOTS & DRABBLES
Superbowls, Beers & Fears --> Imagine Will finally working up the courage to ask you out at a Super Bowl party. 
Avalanche --> Imagine surviving the helicopter crash with Will (DeltaForce!Reader). 
HEADCANONS
Dating Will headcanons
How Will Acts With A Crush headcanons
Soft Will headcanons
PACIFIC RIM
Raleigh Becket x Reader
SERIES
A World Without Monsters masterlist -->  During a post-kaiju war press tour, you and your copilot Raleigh  finally  grapple with the growing feelings you have for each other while  also  wrestling the world of reporters, politicians, and more who would   manipulate the world's saviors for their own purposes.  
ONE SHOTS & DRABBLES
A New Becket** --> Six months into a blissful marriage with you, Raleigh can't help but let his mind wander to kids.
KING ARTHUR: LEGEND OF THE SWORD
Arthur x Reader
ONE SHOTS & DRABBLES
Show Me --> Arthur can always count on you when he needs solace.  
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taintedmind666 · 4 months
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kellterntempest · 8 months
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they're drift compatible
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