Just watched the first episode of the new superhero game Dispatch and I've got some ideas regarding the 141...
Superheros 141 x Dispatcher Reader
Alright, so something something, you're a washed-up hero. Either something happened, which made you not wanna continue the gig, or you physically can't be one anymore. Whatever it is, you're scouted to become a dispatcher. Who better to do it than someone who has been a hero for years?
Laswell trains you (veryyyy briefly) and gives you a little background info on Team 141. She's been with her heros for a long time now, but she wants to retire to go vacation in Thailand with her wifey, and her team is not taking it well. They understand that she deserves a break and that she'll always be there for them, but its just not the same. Who else is gonna guide them through life-threatening, potentialy world-ending missions? Who else knows them like that? Nobody. Nobody could ever measure up... until you put on that head set and speak to them with that pretty voice of yours.
To be honest, you weren't as nervous as you thought you'd be. You had the experience and whatnot, so thinking of fast solutions wasn't a challenge. I guess the most challenging thing was hearing four close-knit, almost brotherly heros yapping in your ear.
For real, it wasn't even mission-related most of the time. They'd just ask you personal questions and pry into things they had no business prying into. You wanted to get them on track and steer them towards not blowing something up, but after the sixth "so do you have a partner?," you gave the scotsman an actual answer (a "no"). Bad idea. The questions became even more personal from then on.
Price - or "Captain", as is his hero alias - tried to reel Soap in, but alas, twas too late. Soap had already put you under a microscope and was determined to find out everything about their new, shiny Dispatcher. Your name, your age, how you liked your eggs in the morning, where you lived, the color of your bed sheets-
By the time you were ready to clock out, you had guided them through about 14 missions. All successes, you may add. Twas time to take a long snooze in your decent apartment.
By the time Team 141 had clocked out (not really though, because the grind never stops), they were compiling all sorts of information about you, including your responses and tone when answering questions. It all mattered, after all. They had to know this stuff to better take care of their precious Dispatcher.
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Uni has started which means I need to sht post before I sht my brains out
141 and their courses
Price. Ultimate Fishing. That old man's teaching fishing. He's teaching yall about bait types, proper forms, various fishing tools, and other need-to-know fishing tips. He's been doing this since he was a boy, so best believe he's got that sht on lock. No notebook, just fishing. Yall go out to local lakes and other water bodies to watch him fish. Participation is not mandatory. It'd be nice if you did participate, but he understands equipment is expensive. His preferred given assignment is for yall to take a video of him doing cool tricks, then writing reports on how he employed the skills he taught yall about. If you write a report absolutely glazing his skills, that's enough for him. Of course, if you're a really good student who pays attention to his every fishing move, he may take you behind a tree to teach you something different.
Johnny. Build-a-Bomb. Legally, he can't bring bombs to school. And legally, he says this class is a general science, for those interested in military and complex science (or something like that). Does he take yall on a field trip to build-a-bear, which then takes a detour to his personal CubeSmart unit that's full of actual bombs? Maybe, but the school doesn't need to know that. He's one of those professors that comes off mad scientist-y with how eccentric and off-book he is, but he's actually really good at breaking down all the components of every type of bomb in his lesson. Patient, too. Extra credit is always an option, and it's usually if you bring in a very specific piece of equipment he needs, but he won't disclose what it's for. Some call it bribery, he calls it learning how to get ahead in life. Speaking of head, he's 100% giving it to you if you give him a shiny new piece of metal that's on his wish list.
Ghost. Cosplay for You! As the big man in a skeleton mask, he gets stares, and he knows he comes off as odd. That's why he's taking that perspective by the ass and making it work for him. Yes, with his course, you too can learn how to transform yourself into someone who doesn't give a shit about wearing untraditional attire every single day. The "weirder", the better. His course accidentally becomes a self-help course, with students feeling much more accepting of themselves afterwards. He doesn't realize this, of course, but he's glad his students are all passing. I mean, low threshold, though. Just show up to class once a week with a different look, and give a short speech on why it's cool and why people should fuq off if they've got an issue. Easy points.
Gaz. Philosophy and Phood. He wants to inspire students to think about life-long morals and not just focus on academia. But at the same time, he wants to teach broke young adults how to cook. He knows yall are surviving off of Ramen and crushed up doritos. Students have to read the philosophical concept in the textbook before class, then cook during class discussion. It may seem intense, but it's not. He's teaching yall how to cook simple, affordable, and filling dishes, while simultaneously filling your brains with knowledge. Completely doable. The final exam will be to make a dish that you believe displays your moral compass, and a short reflective speech. It'd be awesome if the food tasted as good as your explanation, but he'd settle for edible. So would you...
Crazy thought, guys, but um Among Us x tf141? Erm, this could be because I've been reading Fear of God by @ceilidho (go read it, its lit), b
Amongus x 141 is def not something I should be thinking bt as much as I am but erm emergency meeting w them when youre the imposter...
You dropped your spoon when blaring red lights, and deafening sirens went off. An emergency meeting. The creamy pink substance that was about to enter your mouth splattered across the table. Great. No yogurt for you. But maybe it was better that way. You felt like you were going to puke up what very little you had in your stomach.
These days, being the imposter was getting more and more difficult. Sure, the tasks were the same, and you'd argue you were getting faster at sabotaging the others, but those four guys... They were everywhere.
When you were walking the halls, looking for blind spots, Ghost appeared in your peripheral. When you just wanted something to eat, Soap materialized out of nowhere and insisted on joining you. When you were coming out of the damn bathroom, Gaz was conveniently walking by and stopping for a chat. When you were in the middle of mucking up a task, the worst of them all, Price, caught you.
You couldn't do anything without a pair of eyes on you. And now an emergency meeting was called. Was this the end of your road?
All of you circled around the middle table in the caf, scrambling around like headless chickens. Except for them. Always them.
"I have something to report!" One of the crew mates announced. You kept your eyes steady but couldn't stop your jaw from tightening. At times like this, it was best to stay silent. Nobody had suspected you so far, and you'd been so nice to everybody, keeping a friendly demeanor and everything, so maybe you were fine, or maybe they had-
"Go on, who is it?" You startled at the gravely voice next to you. It wasn't necessary to turn your head. You knew who it was. Price.
When had he gotten there?
You turned away from him, a subconscious act of nerves. Grey fabric filled your vision. Your eyes flitted up quickly, once again, your nerves acting up and betraying your blank face (as blank as you could get it). Ghost's eyes bored down into your face.
Trapped.
A rat in a cage. That's what you were.
"I saw Rodney going to Eletrical the other night, looking around like someone was going to catch him doing something sketchy."
Your chest deflated as soon as someone else's name entered this dog pit. Small mercies.
The accuser and the accusee went back and forth, spitting curses and recountings of the night. You just watched, a slither of satisfaction mending your rattled thoughts back in place.
"All right, so are we all in agreement? Rodney is the imposter?" Gaz's voice cut through the others' squabbling. It was a wonder how his tone managed to remain upbeat despite the tense air.
It was probably because he knew. He knew what you were, he'd talked with Price and Soap and Ghost, and they all knew. How could they not? They'd been watching you all this time, and they probably saw you messing up tasks, and darting your eyes, and-
"We can't have him on board." Ghost's tone was dictatorial. It wasn't a suggestion or a question. It was an instruction to everybody present. Rodney couldn't be on board. Because he was the imposter.
"What- what do you think we should do?" Stacy glanced around to the others, checking if they felt as uneasy about this as she did.
You did.
What were these men planning?
"He needs to be let go. Simple. Can't have somebody on board who's trying to sabotage the rest of us, can we?" Price said. And all of a sudden, like a disgusting virus, his sentiments spread through the rest of the crew mates.
Something you had noticed from day one was the effect Price had on others. He was almost hypnotic with the way he spun words. Magnetic with the way he attracted others and kept them right where he wanted them. Dangerous with the way his ideologies quickly became everybody's.
"Alright, let's open the door then." A simple phrase. It could have meant anything in any other context. But right here, right now, it meant one thing. You were all sending Rodney to his death in outer space.
Soap and Ghost grabbed Rodney by the arms, he was no match for those hulking figures. What about you? Could you fight them if they wanted to throw you to the dark abyss? Could you use your words to gain a few more moments of life?
No, you couldn't.
That was the conclusion you came up with as Soap and Ghost's eyes peered over Rodney's flailing figure to stare at your trembling body. Like blue novas, their eyes spelled beauty, and destruction.
Everybody watched as Rodney was dragged to the outer chamber, following like sheep in a herd. Soap and Ghost locked him in, and then Price unlocked the door connected to the room. Rodney floated out like a piece of paper, inconsequential and weightless.
The others dispersed as soon as possible, not wanting to watch a former friend drift away. Did they believe he was the imposter? Maybe. Maybe not. But it was too late.
You stood a few feet away from Price, unsure of who to blame. They were the judges, the jury, and the executioners. They killed Rodney.
Yet, you created the doubt, the suspicion, the paranoia. You killed Rodney.
"So glad that nightmare is over, bonnie." Soap saddled up to you, looking oddly refreshed.
"No more trouble on board." Gaz smiled next to Soap, smiling like he'd just returned from a spa day.
"How can you both be..." Be what? Your question trailed off. Were you feeling guilt? Were you scared of how ruthless they were?
No. You were scared you were next.
"S'alright, love. Just getting rid of dead weight." Price's heavy hand fell on your shoulder, lacking any reassurance that he probably didn't even mean to give you.
"The imposter..." You whispered.
"Not quite." Ghost's deep grunt echoed from behind you.
If you were the imposter... what the hell were they?
Crazy thought, guys, but um Among Us x tf141? Erm, this could be because I've been reading Fear of God by @ceilidho (go read it, its lit), but I don't know much about eltrich horrors, so instead, you're getting Amogus.
So the first concept I'd like to explore is reader as the imposter. Super nervous, but still trying to fulfill their duties.
You had been trying to sabotage the crew mates at every turn, but somehow, it felt like you were the victim in all of this. Soap wouldn't stop following you around, yapping about something you couldn't even pretend to hear. Foam filled your brain when you thought about how you were going to do your tasks and mess up as many as possible. You heard his voice fade out in the background. Hopefully, he'd given up his daily chirping to you and started on Gaz. You had more important things to do than be swept up in his eager conversation.
A shadow eclipsed your path.
"Y'alright, hen? Lookin' a bit pale." Soap's face invaded your personal space as he bent down to examine you. You couldn't turn neutral fast enough. His eyes had already found what they needed to. It was easy to forget how perceptive he was with the laidback show he put on for you.
Could he see the sweat on the side of your neck? Were your ears turning red?
You didn't know, but now he did. It seemed irrelevant, but any minute detail of yours was stored in a large mental filing cabinet he had marked just for you. And your physical reactions? Very relevant.
You brushed him off, mumbling an excuse about having some tasks to do, which was true enough.
After your first kill, you started spiraling. It's not like you cared about the person you killed. You just regretted how the spotlight swiveled onto you almost immediately. Price, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost had such a strong bond. They had no room to doubt one another. Which left you and a few other crew mates. How was it possible for such a simple job to turn into a nerve-wracking challenge?
It was like they could hear your internal monologuing, your repeated reminders to stay calm, and do what you were here to do. It was anxiety-riddling and humiliating. You were supposed to be causing them trouble. Yet, you found yourself in a position akin to a rat in a maze. You knew your way around, but there was someone above you who could see your every move.
You started towards Electrical, ready to mess up some wires. It wasn't a hard task, but the thought of those blue eyes on you or that silent mammoth - "Ghost," they called him - following you in the shadows, even though he wasn't an imposter, it scattered your thoughts. You opened an electrical panel, concentrating on the colors, hoping that sabotage would clear your mind.
"Blue goes with blue, love." You slammed the panel shut, your entire body stiffening as a deep voice admonished you from behind.
"Ah, John. Yeah. Sorry, so tired lately. My bad." Your words were choppy and breathy, unbelievable even to your ears. Practiced lines didn't come off as natural in person. You rewired your work, putting everything properly in place - unfamiliar movements.
You turned around to find John less than a foot away from you. You avoided eye contact and made a move to skirt around him. He gave you no space to.
"Go take a nap, sweetheart. Sure you'll feel better then." A command.
You nodded to appease him, expecting him to move out of the way and disappear into the shadows. But no. Price walked you to your room, silently matching your pace. Your own personal warden.
You shut your room door without looking back at him. Your nails dug into your skin. How could you fail such a simple task? How could you get caught?
You'd have to make up for it later. After your nap.
Yk, I think a lot of people characterize Gaz as the most nice, the most docile and chill. I do not believe that. I think he's a manipulative, cunning bastard who can turn his moral compass' direction in any way that suits him. If something is morally questionable, he's twisting his own logic to make it into a necessary means to an end. He's a charming little snake that bites into you, and you don't even feel his fangs.
So when you tell him you're not interested in dating at the moment, you best believe he's molding himself into the most obedient dog. He's so sweet and non-threatening, what a reliable and respectful guy! But with every pleasant interaction, every successful friend date, he's turning your red light into a green one, until the colors blur. If he gives you a goodbye kiss after hanging out, he's just being friendly. If his hand reaches a little too low when he hugs you, his arm's just tired. And if he finds himself between your legs, well, that's just nature taking its course, isn't it?
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My favorite movie genre is 2000s childrens movies (the clique, sleepover, 16 wishes, geek charming) very much girl, very much cliché. So here's what character trope I think the 141 guys would fall into.
The most obvious one to me is Johnny being in a garage band. Black graphic tees, washed denim pants. Occasional crop top. Bad boy charm. All the older women swore that he was a loud nuisance in the neighborhood, but secretly swooned when he gave them that toothy grin. You're not so different from them, it seems. He tried to impress you with his drum solo (bc ofc he's a drummer), but you just commented on how sweaty he was. He tried to rub himself all over you, claiming his scent would keep all the other boys away. You told him how gross he was, but you gave a delighted squeal when he finally lifted you up in those muscled arms. Safe to say, bro was always trying to get you to watch him at practice. Surprisingly, one day, he took the mic from the lead singer and started singing his own song. Your awe was slowly overshadowed by confusion, then shock. The lyrics were incredibly explicit, and he hadn't broken eye contact with you for two minutes. No more band practice viewings from you...
Next is golden boy Gaz. He is the perfect son, friend, student, everything. He offers to help the younger neighborhood kids with homework and even offers to mow lawns. He chooses to mow your lawn for you on a particularly hot day, making a show of taking off his thin shirt and throwing it over his shoulder like a rag. Afterwards, as if there's no end to his stamina, he plays ball with the guys in the street, his every move perfect and precise - a parrot showing off his pretty feathers. When he lends a hand with taking in your groceries, your mom fawns over what a gentleman he is. You aren't so sure. Something about him is a little too perfect. Your suspicions only make him want to keep up his image more. If that's what it takes for you to pay attention to him, then he'll let you try and find a crack in his porcelain mask.
Now, Price, I'm not so sure how to fit him into this other than hot dad. Maybe he's a friend's dad or just the neighborhood dilf. He's just so nice to you, gentle with everybody, really. So, of course, you offered to babysit his kid. One day, you came up to his bedroom to offer him a small snack of sliced apples. You stopped dead in your tracks as you heard his gutteral laugh through the slight opening of the door. Uncharacteristically crass words flew out of his mouth as he laughed with a friend over the phone. You could't help but stand behind the bedroom door and indulge in every curse and innuendo that slipped out of his mouth. Once his call ended, you circled back to the stairs, grateful that the carpeted floor hid the sound of your footsteps. This was a secret you could keep. A side of him you'd personally heard. Not the other neighborhood ladies that pined for him, but you. Little did you know he could see you through the reflection of the window. Funny girl.
Ghost is... idk, some guy? Community pool lifeguard? Freelance mechanic? Weekend plumber? Nobody really knows what he does, but he somehow does it all. Local odd-jobber. He would most definitely do sumn strange for a piece of change. He comes over to fix your pipes, and you find yourself staring at him positioned under the sink. Is he... having trouble fitting under there? You reach out to ask if he needs help. He just grunts, pauses for a few seconds, then tells you to hold the flashlight over him so he can "see the bloody pipes." You can't tell if the encounter is more awkward or intriguing. Not often do you have a huge slab of muscle under you. Also, not often that you have to hold a flashlight at such an angle. You brain malfunctions for the next, um, 10 minutes? It could have been your determined focus with the flashlight or him bucking his hips upwards every now and then. You see him next week manning a lemonade stand.
One of my FAV tropes is cbf!Johnny but I also like it when reader just does not gaf abt Johnny so lemme combine the two
Ok so cbf!Johnny who you played with as a youth, along with the other neighborhood kids. He was a mischievous little rascal, and you two were probably closer to each other than the others in the group. He'd play minor pranks, scrape his knees on pavement, and get into fights with some older kids from time to time. Yeah, he was rough around the edges, but at the end of the day, he was your sweet Johnny. Johnny who picked wildflowers for you and treated it like a promise ring for when you two would inevitably get married. His words.
However, kids grow up. He decided to go to the military, and while you cared for him greatly, you kind of forgot about him after his grand sendoff. Sure, the first few weeks were hard. No more goofy grinning Johnny looking in at you from your window. First, he climbed trees, then he climbed through your window. Now he was probably climbing ropes in a boot camp or something. Call it object permanence or whatever, but once six months passed, then a year, so did the ache you felt when you remembered he was away.
You went on with life, and so did Johnny. Except Johnny was having a vastly different experience. Every day, he woke up and thought of you. Every night, he dreamt of coming back to you, to a field of wildflowers and the smell of his mother's cooking. At some point, he started writing down the good memories he had with you in a notebook. And then the letters...
Oh, the letters. He wrote and wrote, boundless words scribbled on crumbled paper. But he never sent them. How could he? In a way, they were his darkest secrets. Personal journal entries of every missed moment with you. He could have kissed you when he dropped you off after the school dance. He could have told you that your eyes shined whenever you talked about your interests. He could have confessed to you when you said you had a mild crush on that boy in your class.
He could have.
Once the regret subsided, Johnny began to feel a secondary emotion rise up. Determination. Maybe it was the training hardening him up and enboldening his spirit, or maybe it was the thought that you'd be taken from him in his time away. Whatever it was, his writing shifted. He started to write what he would do to you. Midnight confessions to you and himself that turned blue ink black. He would return home to you. He would put a ring around your finger. He would taste the sweetness between your legs.
He would.
So when he comes home after years of hardship and experiences that could break a man, all he has on his mind is you. You're what kept him alive. Your very existence breathed life into him, even when he thought his time was up.
Unfortunately, you'd moved on. What was once a close comrade became a blurry face in your mind. It's not like you kept up with him and sent letters back and forth (maybe it's better that way). Your relationship was estranged, and when he came in to hug (suffocate) you, you were holding your breath and waiting until it was over. His mother invited you over for dinner, going on about how close you two were. You were about to decline, feeling out of place, but Johnny had responded joyously, like there wasn't a better idea in the world. Huh, maybe everybody had an exaggerated idea of what your relationship was.
Johnny's now huge arm wrapped around your shoulder as he sat next to you. He should have been paying attention to his mother's lovely conversation, but it felt like his eyes were burning holes into you. Talk about awkward. I mean, the guy had been away for years, and now you were expected to just chat him up like you were 8-years-old again?
After a mentally straining dinner, when his mom was cleaning up in the kitchen and your parents were keeping her company, Johnny redirected you to the living room to watch a movie.
"Gotta catch up on what I've been missing out." He said as he led you to the couch you had jumped on as a kid. His eyes lingered on you a bit too long, but maybe he was just getting used to civilian life. Didn't know the correct social cues and whatnot. Don't worry. He'd learn to seem normal very quickly. Can't have you getting scared and running off.
As the movie progressed, you noticed Johnny's legs spreading out more, making you and the couch feel miniscule. His thigh touched yours, and so did his arm, and with how close he kept inching, his breath was about to touch you. Too much. He was just too much.
You told him you had some things to do at home and ran off. He watched you go from the doorway, not bothering to chase after you, no matter how much he wanted to. And he wanted to. It was unfortunate. The red string that connected you two had thinned out.
Good thing Johnny learned how to tie knots in the military. And trust, he's ready to tie the knot.
Love the idea of zombie apocalypse au with retired tf141
Like, they'd revert back to their military ways so quickly. Maybe even become a little more demented. And there are so many ways reader can be implemented.
Reader who was about to get eaten by a zombie, so John takes her under their wings and protects her. She almost died once, so of course, the most sensible thing to do is keep her soft, sweet self in their cabin.
Reader who they were friendly with - maybe a neighbor or a familiar store clerk - and they claim her as theirs, slowly warping their prior relationship into something unrecognizable and overwhelming.
Reader who survived on her own without anybody and fought them like a stray alley cat. Johnny would ask to keep her, and John would utilize her feralness against other survivors while keeping her purring only for (and under) them.
Thinking bt retired 141 all settling down in a nice suburban neighborhood. So nice, so peaceful. So different from what they're used to. So boring.
Then they meet you. The charming new neighbor with a pretty voice and an even prettier smile. They crowd around you like a pack of wolves aiming for their next meal. But you're nervous, antsy, and they can't have that, now can they? They back off, some more so than others, and instead, politely offer to help with your boxes.
They're well-behaved from then on. Truly willing to just be good, friendly neighbors. Until you're comfortable enough to let them bite.
Kyle takes the opportunity to bring you home-baked pie that he learned how to make a few nights before - he was always a quick learner. Johnny leaps to show you around town. A little too eager, so you decline, saying you still have some moving in to do. Oh, but he can help with that. Building furniture? A cinch. Mounting the television? Light work. Mowing your lawn? Only if you'll invite him in after for some lunch. Ghost lingers around, but occasionally, he'll tell a joke bad enough for you to giggle at, which makes him more okay, I guess.
John, however, he's biding his time. He doesn't want to throw himself into the fray like an uncouth schoolboy. He knows better than to just attach himself to the newest attraction. You never go on an amusement ride without getting a ticket. So he plans.
You leave your window curtains open as you prance around your newly-furnished home, all thanks to him and his boys. And John's just across the street. He can observe you whenever he pleases. What convenience. He can see you getting ready to go out. To the grocery store, he presumes, considering you haven't been going out much since you moved in two weeks ago.
He follows you from aisle to aisle, just out of your peripheral, a jar of peanut butter in hand so he doesn't look too out of place. As soon as he sees you struggling to reach a product - one of the last on a particularly high shelf - he swiftly positions himself behind you. Just enough for you to feel the heat of him.
"This what you wanted, love?" He grumbles out as he procures your item for you.
As you look up at him with such grateful eyes, he knows he and his boys won't be bored anymore.
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