This does not get proper posts. Oh no.
Somehow, terrible Zoids pairings came up in a chat. I was very tired, and started writing some of them in an attempt to cure said insomnia. It didn't work, but I found it disturbingly fun to throw these together and now I can't stop. Suggest things (preferably things that don't yet exist) as you please, but I make no guarantees, and likely write no outright porn. High levels of crack and low levels of editing are a given.
Index: Commissioner/Vega - Heller/Silverman - Harry Champ/Jack Sisco - Amy/Blake/Luke
(23:41:16) Fore: .... Tilly!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(23:41:21) Fore: I CHALLENGE YOU TO FIND that [Commissioner/Vega]
(23:41:25) Fore: That';s impossible
(23:41:48) Tilly: It doesn't exist that I know of
Vega had escaped jail. Well, in theory. He suspected it was a combination of his age, Sara's lawyers, and the Fury going nucking futs without its cute fluffy-hair kid buddy. He'd actually gotten fans, too, after the Royal Cup. Apparently people went for the rivals and antiheroes more than he thought, and Sara'd had to start screening his mail after the first interesting fangirl contribution.
Our narrative says "in theory", because Vega hadn't counted on getting older. Apparently fangirls were also fickle, and the last of his former screaming hordes had left him. And a bit after his now-legal-adult birthday (which was, conveniently, when he could be tried as an adult in the majority of Zi's criminal courts), the ZBC had come to drag him off.
He'd protested some, especially about the extravagant bail, and taken it right to the top. That is: the ZBC's head Commissioner dude, the one who'd wished Bit Cloud well way back in the (far more canon) past.
"Oh, I'm sure...alternate means of payment could be arranged," the Commissioner said. Vega could swear he was leering.
He didn't get a very good look at him, mind, as the Fury promptly leaned over, biting off the Commissioner's head in one snap of silver teeth.
Requested by ME BEING VERY TIRED IN AN AIRPORT
Fleeting relationships were no stranger to Jack; most of his were all about money and skill in the end. Skills grew dull or teammates drifted apart, and money ran out. The Taskers had been purely professional, but enjoyable to know nonetheless. He meant that, few other people could match their talent for Saix piloting. But he'd gotten restless, moved on, and they hadn't particularly cared. Perhaps he associated them too much with his defeat in the Royal Cup. Perhaps the money was better elsewhere. It certainly had been here.
However, Harry Champ left many things to be desired as an actual Zoid pilot, and that was where Jack couldn't figure out his want to stick around.
They'd first met over business, and they'd joined forces a second time for the same reason. Harry'd been ranting about Bit Cloud and Leena again, and Jack had bitten his tongue and avoided pointing out the way Bit had started asking questions about the legality of marrying Zoids. Harry was convinced Bit was part of his romantic problems, and Harry was willing to pay.
Damn, did he have money. And Jack loved money. Whether he loved Harry was debatable, but he'd spent the last six weeks on his team, taking out high-ranking opponents alongside his robots and letting Harry think it was his masterful planning and not his enormous amounts of cash (and Jack's Saix prowess) that drove them to victory. Jack could get used to this, was getting used to it. Far, far too used to it.
In fact, he noted with some consternation, he'd started to hope Harry wouldn't be able to wrangle battles with Class S teams out of the Commission anytime soon.
For a couple people on ZE. Was meant to be Blake/Amy, more went Blake/Luke/Amy because my tired mind does things like this. May be prodding at the fourth wall just a little—I blame Jammer's icon with Luke writing slash fic.
Sweet often invited the remaining bits of Savage Hammer (at least the ones what weren't in jail) over after the Seismo incident, and as a whole things went relatively smoothly. Blake and RD hadn't killed each other yet, Luke was a competent cook, and Sigma had avoided making too many jokes about potential relationships—especially after Luke had asked about his favorite childhood shows. Sigma wouldn't explain why the resulting printouts he'd been menaced with were so terrible, other than some brief whimperings about ancient Earth laws regarding the internet and...thirty-fours, was it?
The problem was Amy. Not that it got crowded (though it did, and people fought over the couches, and RD refused to cuddle close to anyone, much less her, much to Sweet's disappointment), so much as Amy was being Amy, and Blake was being Blake. Most of the team were used to Blake's excessive posturing and vaguely Shatneresque emphasis on random words and didn't rise to the bait. Amy wasn't here often, and their very first conversation ever had rapidly degenerated. They now seemed to be debating piloting abilities and Blake's matching (or not matching) the décor:
"All you've done today is stand here like some ugly wall painting! If I wanted that around here, I'd hire an artist!"
"What? I was SAVING the CITY while you'd gotten your WOLF exploded again. Do you DO anything else around here?"
"At least I can aim!" Amy punctuated the aim with a slap, hard enough to send Blake reeling back a step or two. Sweet braced for trouble, and Helmut made an attempt to hide behind a sofa far shorter than he was.
Blake just smiled strangely, ignoring the handprint on his face.
"Are you always this spunky? I like that, maybe you could teach Luke a thing or two."
Sigma was snickering, smothering hell knows what snark. Sweet reached for the ladle and issued a preemptive strike against his head.