#Command Strike online

[sayruq]

It's actually crazy talking to friends and relatives about what's going on because very few of them know that this is a retaliatory attack. I keep seeing people online call the attack unprovoked too.

So those who don't know, on April 1st Israeli warplanes bombed Iran's consulate in Damascus. The attack killed 7 of Iran’s military advisers including 3 senior commanders.

Reuters reporters at the site in the Mezzeh district of Damascus saw emergency workers clambering atop rubble of a destroyed building inside the diplomatic compound, adjacent to the main Iranian embassy building. Emergency vehicles were parked outside. An Iranian flag hung from a pole by the debris.

Iran's ambassador to Syria said the strike hit a consular building in the embassy compound and that his residence was on the top two floors. Iran's Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps said in a statement that seven Iranian military advisers died in the strike including Mohammad Reza Zahedi, a senior commander in its Quds Force, which is an elite foreign espionage and paramilitary arm.

This attack on the embassy is against international law. Embassies are protected sites. But instead of condemning the attack and putting pressure on Israel, the US has spent the past week and a half calling West Asian countries to put pressure on Iran, with Biden going as far as to warn Iran not to attack Israel and saying that his support for Israel is 'iron clad'.

The West, the UN, and UN Security Council have largely failed to condemn the attack which means Iran has no choice but to retaliate with force in order to prevent future attacks. Otherwise, the country will look vulnerable and weak, especially to the Israeli occupation government which has spent months bombing neighbouring countries like Syria and Lebanon

[nerdygirlramblings]

Off to See the Wizard (5)

previous | next

It takes you over an hour to get your brain online because after that talk at breakfast, John walked you to your office and kissed you. It was a kiss on the cheek, but still.

His lips.

Your skin.

Your brain short-circuted.

There was no way to deny it, even to yourself: Captain John Price was interested. In you. Romantically.

You try to shove the little gleeful voice - the one with crushes on all your boys - to the side so you can work. But she keeps chirping about the kiss. About how his beard felt, rough and soft at the same time. About how warm his lips were. About the promise look in his eyes as he pulled back and whispered, "'Til later, dove"

You finally put the kiss in a box of 'Things to Deal With Later' and focus on digging back through mission intel again. You flag two items to bring up with Laswell and a third to follow-up with John about. You're not sure how a closed door meeting with the captain will go after this morning's display, and you pray he's better at separating work and play than you.

You find your groove and are startled by a knock at your office door. You glance at the clock and see it's nearly 2. After being so rattled by John's admission, you'd gotten into the zone and practically missed lunch. You almost expect it's going to be one of your boys. You don't know if you want them to come to you or not.

You're surprised to find Corporal Avery on the other side. "Ma'am," she inclines her head politely. "Cap'n Price wanted to make sure you ate. Told me to help you find the mess and said to tell you, 'I know you're a big girl, but you haven't tried to find your way around on your own yet.' 'm supposed to let you lead and correct the path if necessary." She looks apologetic as she says it, like she understands the ridiculous nature of the command, but since it is a command, she's going to follow it.

You close up your workspace and follow the corporal into the hall where she lets you take the lead. You're loathe to admit you probably need the guide as the corporal corrects your directions at least twice. At least she's polite about it. "Almost got it, ma'am. Another trip and you won't need help at all."

Lunch is a quiet affair as most of the mess has already cleared out. Corporal Avery stays with you but tells you she ate with her squad earlier. "Don't want you to eat alone," she says. "Besides, I wanna make sure you've got the route between your office and food down pat as my guess is your barracks, your office, and the mess are where you'll spend time while the 141 is on mission."

You hadn't given much thought to what you'd do when the boys are gone, but it strikes you suddenly how lonely things will be. You only know your boys, and now Corporal Avery, but that doesn't leave much for socialization when they're away. "Hey, Corporal? Is there someplace on base - besides the mess - people hang out? Like, I dunno, a base rec room or something?"

She looks at you for a long moment, her brow furrowed in question before a look of understanding passes over her face. "Uh, yeah. There are a few. I'd be happy to show you where they are, introduce you to a few other soldiers and civilian employees." You smile gratefully at her, glad she picked up your subtext. "We can do it after the 141 are gone."

The latter part of your day is spent contemplating Corporal Avery's comment to you. You'd been a little surprised when she hadn't offered to show you to the base common spaces sooner, so you asked. She floored you when she admitted she could but "thought, what with them leaving, you'd like to spend as much time as possible with Captain Price first."

Are your desires, or his, that obvious? Certainly she'd seen the two of you together in the hallway that morning, but that couldn't have been enough for her to draw the conclusions she was drawing, was it? And if so, is she telling other people? Does the whole base know? Does the rest of the 141?

You know you're spiraling, but you can't seem to stop yourself. It takes a series of repeated knocks at your door and someone calling your name for you to come back to yourself. You see it's about 7:00 and expect this is someone - Corporal Avery or one of the boys - come to drag you to dinner.

You open your office door and see Simon standing in the hall. He's still wearing a mask, but you see enough of his eyes to tell he's smiling. "Evenin' luv," he says, stepping up beside you. "Ready for a meal?" You nod at him and start walking toward the mess, ready to show him you can find you way without getting lost.

As you walk, he matches your stride and casually drapes an arm over your shoulder. "Look a' ya, already a natural on base. 'S like you belong here." You beam at the praise and don't miss the way his arm tightens ever so slightly at his last comment.

"Like havin' you 'ere, luv," he says, so quietly you can act like you didn't hear it. And you're tempted to ignore it because that's a lot easier than dealing with what it might mean. When your silence stretches too long, however, Simon slows you both down. "D'ya like bein' 'ere?"

You give an enthusiastic, if non-committal, "Of course!"

"D'ya like bein' with me?"

You're almost at the mess, can see the door from here, but you stop dead in your tracks at his question. "What?" you squeak out.

Simon turns to look directly in your eyes. The emotion in his gaze is raw: desire, fear, vulnerability. He searches you long enough you feel he's looking at your soul. "I need to know, luv, if ya like me."

You try to go for a quip, but it dies on your lips. You whisper, "I'm not sure what you want me to say, Simon. I'm not sure what to do here."

He looks pained when he pleads, "Say ya wan' me like I wan' you."

And for the second time today, your brain simply stops responding.

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

Taglist: @blackhawkfanatic @starriestarlight @grayskel @mxtokko @imjustheretofightforlove @miss-vanta-likes-to-write @thriving-n-jiving @madsothree @silly-starfish @danielle143 @beelzebee @nova-willow-541 @alchemyfreak321

[sweetstrawberryys]

"House Rules"

Summary: When boredom strikes and Captain John Price is deployed for weeks at a time, his sweet, clever wife proposes starting an OnlyFans account to pass the time. John—predictably—loses his damn mind. But underneath the protectiveness is a man desperate to understand her needs. A compromise must be made. Boundaries are drawn. And maybe, just maybe, the captain learns to loosen his grip... just a little.

Rating: Swearing,light D/s themes, possessiveness, domestic fluff, emotional vulnerability, playful kink-coded tension, no explicit content.

Masterlist

---

John comes home early.

You don't hear the door open, but you feel the shift of the air—the heavy press of boots in the hallway, the thick scent of leather and nicotine and oakmoss cologne that clings to him like duty.

You're on the couch in his hoodie, legs bare, laptop open in your lap. Lazy. Warm. Comfortable.

Until he steps into the room and freezes.

"What the hell is that?"

Your heart skips, not from fear, but from the tone in his voice—that gravelly, tight-lipped fury he saves for the battlefield or bureaucrats who waste his time.

You glance up and smile, nonchalant. "Hi, babe. Missed you."

His eyes are locked on your screen.

And the words on it.

How to Start an OnlyFans When You're Married

He doesn’t say anything. Just stares.

You snap the laptop shut, lips twitching.

"You're home early."

"You were going to what, exactly?"

You set the laptop down and stand. "I wasn't going to do anything without talking to you first. I just... got curious. I was bored."

"Bored enough to sell pictures of yourself online?"

You cross your arms, not in defense, but defiance. "It wouldn't be like that. It'd be tasteful. Fun. Anonymous. Maybe outfits or theme shoots, not even showing my face—"

"Absolutely not."

His voice booms. Final. Commanding.

You frown, heat rising in your chest. "Why not?"

"Because you're mine, and I don't share. Not your face. Not your body. Not your fucking elbows, if it comes to that."

You blink. "Elbows?"

"You’d be surprised what the internet gets off to."

You want to laugh. You don't.

Because under all that anger, you see it—fear. Insecurity. He knows he can't always be here, can't always give you what you need. And you're resourceful. Curious. Hungry for attention.

"John," you say softly, stepping closer. "I'm not trying to replace you. I just... I get lonely. I want to feel sexy. Desired. Not just a wife waiting for scraps when you're gone."

His jaw flexes.

And then he looks at you—really looks at you.

"You feel like that?"

You nod. "Sometimes. I don’t want someone else. I just want to feel... alive."

He exhales. Long. Heavy.

You expect another no.

Instead:

"Sit down. Show me what you were reading."

You blink.

"What?"

He motions to the couch. "If we're talking about this, we're doing it together."

You sit side by side, his arm around your shoulders as you scroll.

He hums thoughtfully. Disapprovingly. Occasionally grumbles.

But he listens.

"No face," he mutters. "No names. Nothing anyone could trace."

You glance at him. "So... is that a yes?"

He gives you a look. One brow raised. "It’s a maybe."

"Progress," you whisper, grinning.

"If I agree," he continues, "I'm the one taking the photos. I'm the one uploading. You don’t answer DMs. You don’t even touch the app without me."

Your stomach flips.

"What if they want a video?"

His eyes narrow. "Then you tell them your husband’s the director and he doesn’t work for free."

---

It starts with outfits.

A little black dress. A silky robe. One of his old dress shirts buttoned halfway down.

He sets up the lighting with military precision. Inspects angles. Tests shadows.

"We need a backlight for depth. Maybe a fan to get your hair moving."

"John, this isn't Vogue."

"No. It’s better. It’s you."

Your cheeks heat. He doesn’t even realize how sweet he sounds.

He takes the photos with a photographer’s eye and a possessive husband's heart.

You pose. He directs. You tease. He groans.

But nothing crosses the line. No nudity. No flirtatious captions.

Just moody, artsy shots. Beautiful and distant.

---

One night, you find him in the living room at 1AM, hunched over a light reflector, muttering about shutter speed.

"You okay?"

He looks up, bleary-eyed. "Just trying to get the lighting right for that backlit silhouette shot we talked about. Need to order a diffuser. Maybe two."

You blink. "John. Are you... stress-shopping photography gear?"

"No. I’m preparing. There’s a difference."

You snort.

He glances at you, sheepish. "I might be... enjoying this."

You walk over and kiss his temple. "Yeah, I noticed."

---

The account grows. Quietly. Anonymously. Beautifully.

But it’s still just the two of you behind the camera.

Your husband. Your partner. Your biggest fan.

And suddenly, you don’t feel so bored anymore.

[gunsandspaceships]

MCU Timeline: Avengers: Age of Ultron

19th century - Black Panther kills Ulysses Klaue's great-grandfather during his attempt to annex Wakanda.

1990s - Wanda and Pietro Maximoff are born (12 minutes apart).

Between 1992 and 2008 - Tony meets Ulysses Klaue at an arms convention, before Klaue got his tattoos and branding.

~2000 - the Maximoff twins become orphans. They remain trapped with the unexploded shell for 2 days.

May 4/5, 2012 - STRIKE hands the Scepter over to Dr. List.

Early 2014 - Maximoffs volunteer for Hydra's experiments and become mutants.

Spring 2014 - Spring 2015:

The Avengers become Tony's private paramilitary organization under Cap's command.

The team moves in the Avengers Tower.

September/October 2014 - Clint is on vacation.

Tony creates the Iron Legion.

Tony and Bruce create Veronica and Hulkbuster.

The Avengers raid Hydra bases in search of the Scepter.

The main events take place in early or mid-April 2015.

Day 1 (Thursday), April 2nd or 9th:

Afternoon in Sokovia - The Avengers attack the local Hydra base.

3 pm in NY (several hours later) - they return to Avengers Tower. Clint is being treated by Dr. Cho.

Evening - Tony convinces Bruce to use the Scepter to try to create a global peacekeeping AI, Ulton.

Day 1-3 (Thursday-Saturday), April 2-4 or 9-11 - Tony and Bruce work on Project Ultron.

Day 3 (Saturday), April 4th or 11th:

Evening - the birth of Ultron.

The farewell party.

Night - Ultron's attack on Avengers Tower.

Day 4 (Sunday), April 5th or 12th:

Early morning in Sokovia - Ultron takes the Scepter, goes online, and, after connecting to Strucker's castle in Sokovia, begins creating a new body and many Ultron Juniors.

The Avengers discuss the situation.

Days 4-8, April 5-9 or 12-16:

Ultron builds his body.

Maximoff twins join him.

Ultron and the twins are emptying laboratories and weapon facilities.

Ultron tries to get his hands on the nuclear codes, but J.A.R.V.I.S. holds the line.

The Avengers try to find him and find out his plans.

Rhodey returns to his duties in the Air Force.

Thor tries to reach Heimdall, to no avail.

Ultron kills Strucker.

Day 8 (Thursday), April 9th or 16th:

3:30 - 5:40 pm - the Avengers learn of Strucker's death and finally track down Ultron, which leads them to Ulysses Klaue.

Note: It's always Thursday on computers in this movie. It's highly doubtful that this is true for all of them, and is most likely just a result of the laziness of whoever was in charge of the screens. I'll accept this as true for the first appearance only, since it also makes sense for the number of days that have passed.

Rhodey heads to the Middle East. Tony updates War Machine's encryption against Ultron's cyber attacks.

~Day 9 (Friday), April 10th or 17th:

Afternoon in South Africa - The Battle at the Salvage Yard.

Evening in Africa/Morning in the US - The Duel of Johannesburg.

Night in Africa/Day in the US - the team is on their way to Barton's farm.

Afternoon - team arrives at Barton's farm. Thor departs to London. Fury sits in ambush in Clint's barn.

Evening - Bartons and Co are having dinner. Fury gives the Avengers a pep talk.

~Day 10 (Saturday), April 11th or 18th:

8 pm in Korea/6 am in the US - Ultron takes control of Helen Cho and her Cradle in Seoul.

6 am in the US - the Farmers Avengers split up: Tony heads to the Nexus facility in Oslo; Rogers, Barton, and Romanoff head to Seoul; Fury drops Banner off at the Tower, picks up Hill and Rhodes, and then goes to dust off the original Helicarrier.

Night in Korea/Morning in the US - Ultron and Doctor Cho work on Ultron's new vibranium-organic body.

Afternoon in Oslo/Morning in the US - Tony retrieves what's left of JARVIS from the net.

Afternoon in London/Morning in the US - at the University of London, Thor picks up Erik Selvig and takes him to the Water of Sight.

Afternoon in the US - Tony restores JARVIS.

Morning in Seoul/Evening in the US - Ultron begins uploading himself into the new body. The twins learn of his plan, remove his control from Dr. Cho, and escape.

The Battle of Seoul.

The twins join the Avengers. Ultron takes Natasha to his castle in Sokovia. Clint brings the Cradle to Tony and Bruce.

Night in NY - Natasha wakes up in the castle. Ultron creates a new body out of vibranium. Tony and Bruce work on Vision. Clint connects with Nat.

Note: on this computer screen it's Thursday (again) and 3:28 PM, which obviously doesn't match the time in the movie. It's night there, so we have to ignore this unreliable evidence for both the day of the week and the time.

The birth of Vision.

The Avengers prepare to battle Ultron. Tony chooses FRIDAY as his new main AI.

~Day 11 (Sunday), April 12th or 19th:

6 am (local) - the Avengers arrive in Sokovia and evacuate the city.

7 am - the Battle of Sokovia.

Tony and Thor save Earth from the artificial meteorite. Pietro dies saving Clint. Vision kills Ultron. Hulk takes the Quinjet and leaves the planet.

Evening in the US - Clint comes home.

April - September 2015:

Barton retires.

Tony builds a new Avengers Compound in upstate New York.

~June 2015 - Nathaniel Pietro Barton is born.

Note: babies usually start giggling around 4 months of age. At the time of the main events, he was about 2 months away from being born, then add about 4 months to that Compound scene.

September 2015:

The new team has been assembled, now including Wanda, Rhodey, Sam and Vision.

Fury, Hill, Cho and Selvig work at the Avengers Compound.

After making sure that the team is assembled, the Compound is built and everything is ok, Tony tries to retire. Again.

Thor goes to investigate the situation with the Infinity Stones.

Note: I take it the makeup artists thought this scene took place right after the Battle of Sokovia? That's why Thor still has scratches on his face. But as practice shows, children are not born and do not grow up so quickly (see the previous note), so we will have to accept the fact that Thor has already managed to fight with someone again.

Forever - Clint Barton lives.

MCU Timeline: The Infinity Saga

[n0vazsq]

Every glance | Jamal Musiala x Reader

pairing . . . jamal musiala x dortmund!academy!player!reader

summary . . . Ever since you met each other, you and Jamal become rivals. It was bound to be; Dortmund's golden girl and Bayern's star boy. But as the weeks pass, you rivalry blurs into something more, the tension increasing more than ever. And before you knew it, you two were confessing to each other in the bleachers

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 4.7k+

warnings . . . shit ton of tension, slowburn and rivalry but romance too!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . didnt proof read this but who cares!!!!! i hope this mad sense bc ilike idk i wasnt entirely paying attention when writing this. I HOPE YOU LIKE I EVE!!!!! as you can asee i YAPPED. my longest fic ever omg anyhow yeah the smau grind will be here soon!!

. . . The annual interschool sports tournament wasn’t just a competition; it was a battlefield. A week long war of football, academics, and extracurriculars that tested every student’s strength.

For your high school, it meant putting their trust in you, their star midfielder. Your name was associated with victory; the pride of your school, the one who never cracked under pressure, Dortmund Academy's golden girl.

This year, though, was different. Bayern Academy, Dortmund’s biggest rival, had brought their star boy, Jamal Musiala, into the pitch.

Jamal Musiala, the name everyone seemed to drool about. He wasn’t just good; he was annoyingly perfect. Flawless footwork, an effortless smile, and that annoyingly calm composure.

It was as if the universe had handcrafted him to be your nemesis. You’d only seen clips of him online, but even through a screen, he made your nerves crawl. Now he was here, in the flesh, and he was already stealing the spotlight.

The opening ceremony was full with energy as schools from all over the country gathered in the massive sports complex. You stood with your team, donning Dortmund’s signature yellow and black, as the Bayern squad entered.

They moved as a unit, their red jackets gleaming under the lights. At the center of their group was Jamal, his gaze scanning the room like he owned it.

And then, as if the universe demanded it, his eyes locked on yours.

His lips curved into a small, knowing smirk, the kind that made your blood boil.

"Is that Musiala?" Ida, your teammate, whispered beside you.

"Yeah," you muttered, forcing yourself to look away before your irritation became too obvious. "Doesn’t look like much."

"He’s supposed to be amazing," she said, clearly impressed.

"We’ll see about that," you replied, though your words felt more like a promise to yourself.

The first day of matches solidified what you’d feared; Jamal was as good as everyone said. Bayern’s game was a masterclass, and he was its centerpiece.

Every touch of the ball exuded cheers, every pass seemed calculated, and his goa, a curling shot from outside the box, was met with loud applause. You hated how your chest tightened watching him, not with admiration but with the burning desire to prove you could do better.

When it was your team’s turn to play, you poured every ounce of frustration into the game. You commanded the midfield, intercepting passes and setting up plays with precision.

When you scored, a long range strike that shook the net, you allowed yourself a flicker of satisfaction, knowing Jamal was watching from the sidelines.

But as the match ended, you glanced toward Bayern’s bench. Jamal’s eyes were on you, and when he caught you looking, he gave a slow, deliberate clap. It wasn’t the sarcastic kind, it was worse. Genuine. The kind that almost felt like a challenge.

Later that evening, during a skills challenge, your rivalry came to life.

Players from all schools were testing their dribbling, shooting, and agility. You signed up without hesitation, eager to show your worth. As you approached the dribbling course, you caught sight of Jamal standing nearby, arms crossed and smirking.

"Good luck," he said, his voice smooth and maddeningly calm.

"I don’t need it," you shot back. "Watch and learn."

You tackled the course with striking precision, weaving through cones and finishing with a shot that hit the top corner of the net. The crowd’s cheers echoed in your ears as you walked off, head held high.

But Jamal was next, and his performance was… flawless. Effortless. Annoying. When he broke your time record, he walked past you, grinning.

"Anything you can do, I can do better," he said.

"Keep dreaming," you snapped, glaring at him.

From that moment, the rivalry consumed you. Every match, every skill test, every interaction became a battle. You pushed yourself harder, determined to outshine him, and he matched you step for step.

The sight of him alone was enough to ruin your day. He didn’t even have to say anything; his presence carried this unbearable arrogance, like he owned the air you breathed.

Every time he walked into a room, that stupid smirk of his plastered across his face, you could feel your patience thinning. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he went out of his way to find you, just so he could look at you like you were beneath him.

It wasn’t just the way he spoke, all smug and self assured, but the way he looked at you; like you were a puzzle he’d already solved and thrown away. The kind of look that made your skin crawl and your hands clench into fists.

You didn’t need his pity, his judgment, or whatever game he thought he was playing. He was your rival, nothing more. And yet, there was something about him, about the way he lingered just long enough to get under your skin, that made it impossible to ignore him.

There was a storm in every conversation you had with him, a brewing tornado in every exchange of words. No matter how civil you tried to be, it always ended with raised voices and sharp stares, each of you unwilling to back down.

If you called him insufferable, he called you predictable. If you accused him of being self absorbed, he’d laugh and say you were obsessed with him. It was infuriating. It was exhausting. And yet, some part of you almost welcomed it, the way sparring with him made you feel so alive.

It wasn’t enough for him to win; he had to rub it in, too. Every goal he scored, every point he earned, he made sure you knew it. He didn’t gloat outright, no, that would’ve been too obvious.

Instead, he’d give you this infuriating little glance, like you were in on some private joke. As if to say, See? You’re no match for me. It made your blood boil every single time.

You’d thought you could avoid him outside of matches, but somehow, he was everywhere.

At the library, leaning against a shelf with that annoying air of ease. At the cafeteria, stealing your favorite spot by the window. Even in the hallway, you could feel his gaze on you, like a weight you couldn’t shake.

It was like the universe was conspiring to throw you together, just to see which one of you would snap first.

But the tension between you wasn’t just competitive, it was electric.

You hated to admit it, but there were moments, brief and unwelcome, where you couldn’t help but notice things about him.

The way his brows furrowed in concentration, how his shoulders relaxed after a perfect play, or the rare laugh that escaped when one of his teammates made a joke.

And then there were the stolen glances, quick, almost unnoticeable moments when you’d catch his eye and immediately look away, heat rising to your cheeks.

It didn’t help that he seemed to notice.

"What is going on with you and Musiala?" Ida asked after a game. "You’re like magnets… but an angry bad kind."

"He’s just… infuriating," you muttered. "Thinks he’s better than everyone."

"Maybe he is better," she teased, grinning when you scowled. "Relax, I’m kidding. But honestly? I’ve never seen you this fired up."

"He brings out the worst in me," you said, though deep down, you weren’t sure if that was entirely true. Yes, he infuriated you, but he also pushed you to be better. The rivalry was exhausting, but it was also exhilarating.

One afternoon, during a rare break, you sat alone in the cafeteria, replaying the week’s events in your mind. You didn’t notice Jamal until he sat across from you, sliding his tray onto the table.

"Do you mind?" he asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer.

You raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Eating," he said, biting into an apple. "Relax, I’m not here to fight you. Yet."

"Gee, thanks," you replied, dripping with sarcasm. "Coming from you, that means so much."

He laughed, unbothered. "You’re not bad, you know," he said casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Don’t talk down to me, Musiala," you shot back, leaning forward slightly. "I don’t need your validation."

He smirked, his eyes holding yours longer than you expected. "I’m just saying, it’s fun having someone who can keep up."

The words lingered longer than they should have, stirring something you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

The week continued, each interaction only adding to the storm brewing between you. During a trivia night, you were forced onto the same team by random selection. Every whispered argument, every accidental brush of hands as you reached for the answer sheet, set your nerves on edge.

When your team won, Jamal leaned close, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "We make a good team, don’t we?"

"Don’t get used to it," you muttered, though your heart raced at the closeness.

By the time the tournament neared its end, the tension between you and Jamal had reached a heated point. Every interaction was lit with unspoken words, every glance lingered just a second too long.

It wasn’t just about winning anymore. It was about proving something to each other, though you weren’t sure what. it was no longer about school pride or trophies.

It was personal. And neither of you was ready to admit how deep it ran.

After a particularly heated game, where both your teams had narrowly secured victories, Jamal caught up with you as you headed off the field.

"You’re really something, you know that?" he said, falling into step beside you.

"Don’t tell me you’re just figuring that out," you replied, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

"No," he said, his tone unusually serious. "I’ve known it from the start."

You glanced at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his eyes. For a moment, the rivalry fell away, leaving only two people who understood each other in a way no one else could. But just as quickly as it came, the moment passed. Jamal’s smirk returned, and he nodded toward the exit.

"See you in the finals," he said, his voice light again.

"You’d better bring your A game," you called after him, your heart pounding for reasons you refused to examine.

The finals were looming, and with them, the promise of one last battle. But somewhere amidst the rivalry, something deeper was starting to take place.

Neither of you was ready to admit it, but the lines between competition and connection were beginning to blur.

The finals came faster than you anticipated. One moment, you were preparing, training with everything you had, and the next, you were standing at the threshold of the biggest match of your life.

The weight of the competition, the constant back and forth with Jamal, the pressure to perform; it all sat heavy on your shoulders. But in the chaos, in the swirl of anticipation and adrenaline, what lingered in your mind wasn’t the game, the plays, or even the cheers of the crowd.

It was Jamal.

Every interaction, every glance, every smirk, every perfectly timed subtle teasing left its mark on you. It wasn’t even the words themselves, no, it was the way his presence seemed to stir something in you that you couldn’t put a name to.

The rivalry, intense and sharp, had gradually started to feel like something else. Something more.

And yet, you didn’t want to admit it. How could you? Jamal had always been your rival. The one person you couldn't beat, the one you always wanted to outdo.

But now, when you really thought about it, the competition felt…different. You had stopped seeing him as merely an opponent. Somewhere, between the victories and defeats, he had become something else entirely, someone else.

The finals arrived, and the game was everything you expected it to be. Intense, fast paced, each team clawing for every inch of ground, every goal, every point. You could feel the weight of the moment pressing in on you as the final seconds ticked down.

Your team pulled through, victorious, the trophy now gleaming in your hands as your teammates crowded around, lifting you up in celebration. Cheers and excitement filled the air, but your eyes instinctively sought him out.

And there he was, standing off to the side, his figure sharp against the blur of victory. His gaze locked with yours, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to fade.

His face was unreadable, a blank canvas, but his eyes; there was something in them. Something dark and intense, something you couldn’t quite decipher. The air between you crackled with a tension you hadn’t expected to feel.

You wanted to look away, to return to the celebration, but you couldn’t. And when he broke the gaze, turning away without a word, you couldn’t help but feel the faintest sting of disappointment.

Later, when the stadium emptied out and the noise faded into quiet, you found yourself walking the halls alone. The adrenaline from the win still pulsed in your veins, but so did something else.

It gnawed at you, lingering in the back of your mind. Without meaning to, your feet carried you toward the bleachers, where you found him sitting alone, his head tilted back as he stared up at the sky.

"You know, you’re supposed to sulk after a loss," you said, the words almost automatic as you approached.

He didn’t look at you right away, but when he did, there was that smirk. The one that made everything inside you tighten. "And you’re supposed to celebrate after a win," he replied, his voice smooth, teasing.

You climbed the steps and sat beside him, your heart hammering in your chest. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, not exactly. But it wasn’t comfortable either.

It was loaded, heavy with everything you hadn’t said, everything that neither of you was brave enough to voice. The space between you felt like an abyss, but you didn’t know whether you wanted to close it or leave it as it was.

After what felt like an eternity, he spoke again. "You played well today," he said quietly.

"I know," you replied, your voice lacking its usual sharpness. You didn’t have the energy for the usual banter, not now. Not with him.

His gaze softened, just a fraction. “You’re a tough, you know that?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a genuine, unguarded sound that surprised you both. "Coming from you? I’ll take that as a compliment."

He smiled, the cocky edge in his expression blunted, replaced by something far more… uncertain. Hesitant, almost. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, and you wondered, for the briefest of seconds, if he was seeing something you hadn’t noticed before.

"You really are something," he added, his tone softer now, less mocking. It wasn’t quite a compliment, but it wasn’t far from one.

The conversation rambled after that, going onto topics without really settling on any one thing. The tension between you remained, an invisible thread pulling at both of you, never quite severed.

There was something magnetic about him, something about the way he looked at you, the way he saw you; not just as a rival but as an equal. And somehow, that made everything more complicated.

The weeks that followed were a blur of practices, interviews, and games, each day blending into the next. But Jamal was never far from your thoughts.

You couldn’t escape him, no matter how hard you tried.

The rivalry, at first so intense, had grown into something far deeper. It wasn’t just about the game anymore. It was about the quiet moments, the stolen glances, the words you didn’t say.

Every time you crossed paths, the air between you seemed to thrum with energy. Every interaction, no matter how small, felt charged, as if the tension was simmering just below the surface, ready to explode.

Then one day, it happened. You found him waiting for you outside the locker room after a particularly tough game. His back was pressed against the wall, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He was studying you, as if waiting for something.

"You just can’t stay away, can you?" you teased, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them. Your heart skipped a beat as you saw the small shift in his expression, the way his eyes darkened just a fraction.

"I could say the same about you," he shot back, his voice low and deliberate.

There it was again. That crackling energy between you, pulling you in. You swallowed hard, fighting the impulse to take a step back, but your feet were rooted to the ground. His gaze never wavered, and you felt a heat creep up your neck.

"Why do you always have to make everything a competition?" you asked, though you knew the answer before he even spoke.

He stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. The distance between you closed, leaving you acutely aware of every detail; the faint scent of his cologne, the way his eyes glinted in the dim light.

His words were low, almost intimate. "Because you make me want to be better. And I think I do the same for you."

You hated that he was right. Hated how easily he saw through you. You hated that you couldn’t look away, couldn’t even bring yourself to fight back.

"You’re insufferable," you muttered, but your words lacked the bite they usually had. It felt more like a feeble attempt to cover up something else, something deeper.

He smiled, a knowing look in his eyes. "And you love it."

You should have argued, should have pushed him away. But instead, you stood there, frozen, your heart thundering in your chest. You didn’t know what was happening, but you couldn’t deny it any longer. Something was changing. Slowly. Relentlessly.

The realization hit you in a moment of silence, one that caught you completely off guard. You had gone to watch one of his games, just to pass the time, to distract yourself from the constant pull between you. But as you watched him on the field, it hit you like a train.

It wasn’t just the way he played, it was the way you felt when you watched him. There was admiration there, sure. But it was more than that. It was something deeper, something you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge.

When he scored the winning goal and looked up, his eyes scanning the stands before landing on you, everything inside you froze. The crowd was deafening, but all you could hear was the rush of your own blood in your ears. He knew you were there.

And when his eyes locked with yours, it wasn’t just a brief glance. It was something intentional, something deliberate. It made your heart race, and for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were proud or…something else.

That night, as you lay awake in your bed, the weight of everything pressed in on you. The rivalry, the competition, the slow, inevitable shift that had taken place between you and Jamal. You didn’t know what it was or where it was heading, but one thing was clear; it was no longer just a game.

It was something much more dangerous.

The next time you saw him, the air between you was thick with unspoken words. Neither of you could pretend anymore. Every glance, every word, every touch seemed to linger just a little longer than it should. The line between competition and connection had blurred, leaving you both on the edge of something you couldn’t name. Something neither of you was brave enough to confront.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you wanted to win… or lose.

The tension between you and Jamal had grown unbearable. Every glance, every word, every charged moment felt like a string being pulled tighter and tighter, ready to snap. And when it did, it was bound to be explosive.

It happened on a rainy Friday evening. You’d just wrapped up a practice session, the field slippery with mud and your teammates’ laughter echoing in the distance. You thought you were alone until you heard footsteps behind you.

"Can’t stay away, can you?" Jamal’s voice was unmistakable, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

You turned to find him standing there, his hair damp from the drizzle, his expression unreadable.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, though you weren’t sure if you wanted an answer.

"Watching and learning," he said, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. But his eyes held something deeper, something that made your breath catch.

"Funny," you replied, rolling your eyes. "You could use the practice."

He laughed softly, the sound rich and warm despite the cold rain. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

"And yet, here you are," you shot back, crossing your arms.

He stepped closer, and suddenly the air felt heavier, charged with something neither of you could ignore. The teasing, the rivalry, the constant push and pull; it all seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you standing there in the rain.

"Why do we do this?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

"Do what?" you asked, though you already knew the answer.

"This," he said, gesturing between you. "The arguing, the competition, the… pretending."

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. "I don’t know," you admitted. "Maybe it’s easier that way."

"Easier," he repeated, as if testing the word. Then he shook his head. "It’s not easier. It’s torture."

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. This wasn’t the confident, cocky Jamal you were used to. This was someone raw, someone honest.

"Jamal…" you started, but he cut you off.

"I can’t do this anymore," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "I can’t keep pretending like I don’t care, like you don’t drive me absolutely insane in the best and worst ways."

You stared at him, your mind racing. Part of you wanted to run, to go back into the safety of your rivalry and banter. But another part, the part that had been growing bigger with each passing day, wanted to stay.

"You’re not the only one," you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took another step closer, so close now that you could see the drops of rain clinging to his lashes. "Then stop fighting it," he said, his voice almost pleading.

You hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. But then he reached out, his hand brushing yours, and all the walls you’d built came crashing down.

The kiss was unavoidable, as much a peak as it was a beginning. His lips were warm despite the cold rain, his touch firm but gentle. It was everything you’d both been denying, all the tension and frustration melting away into something softer, something real.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. He rested his forehead against yours, a small, disbelieving smile on his lips.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that," he admitted.

"Probably as long as I have," you replied, your voice shaky but light.

The rain continued to fall, but neither of you moved. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you and the newfound understanding between you.

From that moment on, everything changed. The rivalry didn’t disappear, but it softened, became something playful rather than competitive. You still challenged each other, still pushed each other to be better.

But now, there was something more. The stolen glances, the lingering touches, the quiet moments when it was just the two of you; it all added up to something you couldn’t ignore.

You found yourself craving his presence, his voice, his laugh. And he felt the same. The time you spent apart felt like an eternity, and when you were together, it was never enough.

The rivalry that had once defined your relationship had become the foundation of something much deeper, something that neither of you could deny.

One night, as you lay together under the stars, he turned to you, his expression serious.

"You know this isn’t going to be easy," he said.

"I know," you replied.

"But it’s worth it," he said, his voice firm.

You smiled, reaching out to take his hand. "It’s always been worth it."

And for the first time, you both let yourselves believe it.

The connection between you and Jamal had become an unstoppable force. No matter how much time you spent together, it was never enough. Every moment apart felt like a lifetime, and the longing grew unbearable. It wasn’t just desire; it was a need, an aching pull that neither of you could resist.

It started small, a text here, a call there. But soon, it spiraled into something neither of you could control. Late night phone calls that stretched until dawn, whispered confessions that left you both breathless.

Even when you were apart, you were never really alone; your thoughts were consumed by him, and you knew it was the same for him.

One evening, after an exhausting match, you collapsed onto your bed, exhausted but restless. Your phone buzzed, and you didn’t even need to check the screen to know who it was.

Are you awake?

You smiled, your fingers gliding across the screen.

Always for you.

A moment later, his name lit up your screen. You answered without hesitation.

"I can’t stop thinking about you," he said, his voice low and filled with longing. "It’s driving me crazy."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Join the club," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "You’re all I think about, Jamal."

There was a pause, and you could hear his breathing, steady but heavy. "I hate this," he said finally. "I hate being away from you."

"Then don’t be," you whispered, your words bold but honest. "Come over."

He didn’t need to be asked twice. Less than an hour later, he was at your door, his hair tousled and his eyes filled with an intensity that took your breath away.

You barely had time to step aside before he was pulling you into his arms, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was as desperate as it was passionate.

"I can’t do this anymore," he murmured against your lips. "I need you. All the time. Every second of every day."

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your hands cupping his face. "I need you too," you admitted, your voice trembling. "I don’t know how to be without you anymore."

He smiled then, a soft, disbelieving smile that made your heart ache. "Good," he said, his forehead resting against yours. "Because I’m not letting you go."

From that moment on, the walls between you crumbled completely. There was no more acting, no more hiding. You were his, and he was yours, and nothing else mattered. You spent every possible moment together, your lives intertwined in ways you’d never thought possible.

He started showing up at your matches, cheering louder than anyone else. You did the same for him, your voice hoarse and non existent by the end of his games.

When you weren’t on the pitch, you were together, whether it was curled up on the couch, wandering the city hand in hand, or simply lying in bed, talking about everything and nothing.

The rivalry that had once defined your relationship was still there, but it had transformed into something playful, something that pushed you both to be better. You still challenged each other, still teased and competed, but now it was with a smile and a kiss waiting at the end.

One night, as you lay tangled together under a blanket of stars, Jamal turned to you, his expression serious.

"You know this is it, right?" he said, his voice soft but steady. "You and me. There’s no going back."

You nodded, your heart swelling. "I wouldn’t want to," you said.

He smiled, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently. "Good," he said. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

And neither were you. For the first time, you both let yourselves believe in forever, knowing that whatever came next, you’d face it together.

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @notm4d1 ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @bernalswifeyy ,, @nngkay ,, @justaf1girl (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[lvlexish]

Aspect Observations: LILITH EDITION

Follow me on X for more random astrology observations [LVLEXISH]

Lilith (7H) Square Uranus (10H)

Sudden things happening in the work place of a dark manner. Control could be huge with this placement. People that are above you in the work place wanting control over you. Higher ups in the workplace sexually harassing/assaulting you. I feel this placement could even bring people at your workplace doing something negatively pertaining to you online, possibly having to do with work but it could be other hidden/inappropriate things.

Ex. Lilith (7H) Square Uranus (11H) Unpredictable happenings in social circles, feeling like an outsider amongst people.

Lilith (7H) Square Uranus (12H) People exit suddenly out of your life. Always feeling like the rug is going to be pulled underneath you at any minute.

Lilith (7H) Square Uranus (1H) People can see you as someone who is extremely independent/Rebellious. You have an urge to be free, so feeling trapped is not an option for you.

Lilith (7H) Square Uranus (5H) You are seen as hard to pin down. Shocking things happen in your love and creative life.

Lilith (5H) Conjunct Pluto (8H)

Being shamed for the way your creativity isn't like others. Power struggles when it comes to your creativity, maybe other people try to take credit for what you've done. There is a darker aspect to the way you express yourself. Someone could have took advantage of you in a space where you were trying to express yourself. Mediumship skills are there whether you recognize them or not. You truly do have a magic when it comes to creating with the other side. Darker themes surrounding relationships, nothing is easy and one night stands tend to take a weird turn.

Ex. Lilith (5H) Conjunct Pluto (9H) Creating is a form of transformational release. You can attract people who are sent to transform you, very taboo like relations.

Lilith (5H) Conjunct Pluto (10H) People can try to take credit thats not theirs pertaining to your work. In your career field people see you as powerful which can create struggles for you.

Lilith (5H) Conjunct Pluto (3H) Very powerful words, in that people can often try to silence you specially in childhood or direct community.

Lilith (5H) Conjunct Pluto (1H) People feel your energy the moment you step into a room. Love will never and is never light for you. You attract intensity.

Lilith (9H) Sextile Sun (11H)

You would do good teaching others how to tap into their dark feminine energy. You are seen in a group as mysterious but smart nonetheless. You have a real power in getting across what you want to groups of people. You could have social media presence in some way. You have your own way of doing or teaching things and people can respect that about you. You stand out for your authenticity, you like things to be real and raw and you're seen for this. People can see you as someone who is naturally a leader and a great teacher.

Ex. Lilith (9H) Sextile Sun (6H) Your work and beliefs go hand in hand. You are not one that likes to be micromanaged.

Lilith (9H) Sextile Sun (4H) Could come from a family that had traditional beliefs but you knew you had to find your own way. You love to think deeply in the comfort of your own home.

Lilith (9H) Sextile Sun (7H) unconventional relations. You thrive on deep connections where you can be intellectually stimulated.

Lilith (9H) Sextile Sun (2H) You command the attention of people as soon as you start talking about your belief systems and how to personally empowers one's self.

Lilith (2H) Conjunct Mercury (1H)

You could have to deal with people telling you how you need to spend your money especially when it comes to personal things you buy yourself. You could have energy or the voice that commands peoples attentions, striking in some way. You don't have an issue speaking your mind but you notice people do try to silence you because they feel your power. You would be an amazing writer. You have deep thoughts and feelings that are amazingly conveyed through speaking or writing.

Ex. Lilith (2H) Conjunct Mercury (8H) Power struggles when it comes to money. The way you communicate intimidates other people.

Lilith (2H) Conjunct Mercury (6H) The way you feel about yourself closely ties in with how productive you choose to be. Could be good in exposing systems that are unfair.

Lilith (2H) Conjunct Mercury (12H) You have a hard time expressing yourself. Money could secretly be a struggle for you. The way you communicate is not like others could be symbolic.

Lilith (2H) Conjunct Mercury (10H) The way you think about success can be different/unconventional. You will challenge the norms.

These are my personal thoughts. Not a professional astrologer.

[dangerousconnoisseurdonut]

My cat woke me up after less than six hours of sleep so I want to share this bizarre thought with you all at last; I read a fic a month or so ago where Julian's augmentations were controlled or hidden because Julian had a cybernetic implant or something; he was a cyborg, and Data linked their minds so they could always 'talk', but a thought has been bugging me since then, and I want everyone's opinions on it.

At the internment camp, three Borg are placed as they are hoping to gain a foothold in one of the Federation's strongest and most deadly enemies. The experiment is a failure for obvious reasons and the three Borg are left to die without the connection but Julian, being Julian, refuses to let this happen and, taking what he's learned from Data, Julian links the three Borg to himself.

At first, they refer to him as their new Queen (Tain almost dies laughing from that but they manage to settle him), then 'Command Unit Julian', which is a bit better as they are in the infant stages of regaining their individuality. They are taking lessons in Cardassian engineering from Tain and converting it so Julian can understand it and work on the transmitter when Tain is too tired (the Borg didn't strike me as the most nimble of species when they debuted, so I don't see them crawling into that tight place and managing to work on it). The Jem'Hadar and Vorta don't know how the three Borg are still alive but they see it as amusing and, like Martok, pit their strength against the Borg.

Julian naturally names them. The strongest one he names Ian after Ian Flemming as, when he asks the Borg (and finally gets him to say I instead of we), he admits he doesn't like the name James but likes Ian.

The only female of the group is named Agatha after Agatha Christie sine Agatha (or Aggie as he sometimes calls her which gets a small smile), despite being a Borg, is good at blending into the background or staring into space and looking like she's regenerating on the pad Julian and Martok won for them, and she's instead listening to the Vorta or Jem'Hadar discussing things. Like Ian with James, Julian initially suggests Jane as in Jane Marple, but she responds that she wants a name with personality, hence Agatha.

The last one, Julian names Preloc as, instead of being human-looking like Ian and Agatha, Preloc is a Romulan convert and, when he first comes back online when Julian connects them, his first word comes from Julian's memories as he quotes Meditations on a Crimson Shadow, and seems to enjoy reciting poetry he remembers reading before he was converted. Preloc is the best at learning from Tain and helping Julian understand what he needs to know about the transmitter.

Eventually, Worf and Garak show up and don't know which to be more surprised over; the fact the Doctor they've seen on Deep Space Nine for the last five weeks, the one who delivered little Yoshi, was a Changeling, or the fact their Doctor is now the Queen of three Borg named after famous authors. They eventually escape, get back to DS9, and Sisko has to deal with three Borg who now see his CMO (who they hurt badly with their failure) as their mother (I can see Preloc saying that, and Julian is trying to shut him up as Miles and Jadzia smirk at him). He wants to get rid of them but Agatha mentions that it could be detrimental to Julian as well since they have been donating their strength to him over the last five weeks and, to suddenly remove it could cause backlash. Sisko gets the feeling they are manipulating him but can't prove it one way or the other and sends for the only other people who successfully detached a Borg from the Collective - Data and Geordi La Forge.

Ian: While we await the arrival of your experts, we must insist Command Unit Julian be allowed to regenerate properly.

Ben: 'Regenerate properly'?

Agatha: Yes, Command Unit Julian requires time to decontaminate the filth from the asteroid, take in hot nourishment that is not cold gruel, and regenerate for at least eight hours.

Ben: You mean he needs a shower, a hot meal, and a good nights rest.

Julian: I'm fine; I need to-

Preloc: Command Unit Julian, it is our opinion that you need the prior requirements Aggie and Ian suggested; if you are not performing at peak efficiency, you risk damaging yourself and therefore us. If you will not voluntarily regenerate, we have no choice but to ask High Command Unit Sisko to order you to do so; you kept us alive in the camp, we will not allow you to fall to pieces now.

Ben, begrudgingly smiling as he realizes the trio are protective of Julian: Not a bad idea at that; I suggest you follow your 'units' suggestion, doc- Julian, and, as a 'High Command Unit' - whatever that means - I am giving them permission to sedate you if you try to leave your quarters for anything other than some food you can't replicate.

Julian: But, but-

Agatha: Come along Command Unit Julian; if you are quick, we can try some milk and cookies before the proper regenerative cycle.

Julian: Hey, who's the Command Unit around here?

Ian: You are until you are no longer at peak efficiency, then Preloc is unless High Queen Sisko takes over.

Ben, Miles, Jadzia: High QUEEN?!

Preloc: Yes, the only one above Julian is one he has respect enough to call captain; if Julian is our Queen and he listens to you, you must be High Queen and above him, but we are Julian's first and foremost so we shall only listen to you if it is for his betterment.

Sisko as they walk away: I have no idea how I'm going to explain this to Starfleet.

Jadzia: If Julian is their queen, I wonder if Garak would be their king?

[gawrkin]

The Pendragons and their names

From time to time, I've investigated into the etymologies of the various names of the Arthurian legends, because a good chunk of Arthurian Material is poetry. So for a bit of fun, I try to tease out the meanings of the characters' names

Then I remembered that, in a number modern stories, writers use "Pendragon" as a dynastic/family name for Arthur and his relatives, even though Pendragon is actually an epithet that only two characters in the entirety of the Matter of Britain are known to bear that title - neither of which is Arthur - and it's mostly a kenning for "War Leader".

So let's humor ourselves and see what happens when you turn Pendragon into a last name and see what that technically means for certain characters.

The following comes from my personal interpretations from learning through online dictionaries. So forewarning, these are my speculations.

First, the "official" Pendragons from medieval sources:

Uther Pendragon: "The Dreaded War Leader", "The Horrifying War Leader" (From the Brythonic Uthr "Awesome, Terrible")

Gwen Pendragon: "The Beautiful War Leader" "The Holy War Leader" (From the Brythonic feminine Gwenn "White, Blessed")

Next are the presumptive Pendragons:

Arthur Pendragon: "The Bear(like) War Leader" (From the Pan-European Arkhtos, "Bear")

Morgan(a) Pendragon: "The Sea-born War Leader" (From the Bretonnic Morigenos, "from/of the Sea")

Mordred Pendragon: "The Moderating War Leader" "The Restrained War Leader" (From the Latin Moderatus, "Managed, Controlled")

Amhar Pendragon: "The Disgraceful War Leader" "The Harmful War Leader" (From either the Brythonic Amarch "Disrespect" or Amharu, "to impair, to disrupt")

Gwydre Pendragon: "The Glass-like War Leader" "The Glazing War Leader" (From the Brythonic Gwydr "Glass")

Llacheu Pendragon: "The Striking War Leader" "The Brilliant War Leader" (From either the Brythonic Llach "Lash" or Llachar "Bright, Shining")

Duran Pendragon: "The Enduring War Leader" (From the Latin Durans "Hard, Lasting")

Archfedd Pendragon: "The Compelling War Leader" "The Commanding War Leader" (From the Brythonic words Erchi "Request, Ask" + Gwedd "Appearance")

Melora Pendragon: "The Superior War Leader" (From the Latin Melior "Better")

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Thirty - Instinct

Part Twenty-Nine

———

Communication, defined as the imparting or exchanging of information or news. Also defined as the means of sending or receiving information, such as phone lines or computers. 

The transmission of information, whether from person to person or person to thing of other species or from person to technology and back again. It’s a generally understood foundation of society, whether through vocalization or other non-verbal signs. 

Communication has evolved over time, exchanging information for generations and invocation has expanded the definition. Whether with writing systems, radio, and exchanging data through computers or relay satellites. 

A loss of communication can be a striking blow, whether it’s someone cutting another person off or the loss of an entire crew of pilots, it hits the soul hard. 

MECHA had lost communication with five pilots and was maintaining the lie of remaining in contact with Arcturus One for the very reason, it is a striking blow to lose contact with someone.

A relay satellite had been set up with the crew, so that were anything to happen to them as was expected, the retrieval of data would eventually reach Earth.  

What was not expected was the relay satellite to be set up thirty light years away from Earth, there was no precedent for that. 

Unknown timeframe for reconnection. The number in command back on Earth kept growing larger. 

—

The attack had started just before sunrise, now the sun had set and most of the other mecha had been recalled for a retreat to form a line of defense. Dozens of unfamiliar mecha were coming in from the city to defend it and honestly, Hound had never seen anything like it.

He was crouched behind some cover in the field still, checking through his systems to get his arm fully back online now that he had not only some basic cover but covering fire. Had Megatron screamed in his ear to get back towards the line, yes, but were his implants and suit practically screaming at him to keep going also yes. So now he was crouched just behind a rock while he was going through parts of his suits data. 

This had never been his strong suit, usually Hound left it up to the techs back at base, but right now he needed access to some of his old tech that the engineers had said was too difficult to remove. Like actual night vision for his cameras, not the overlay they claimed he needed. 

Each suit for Arcturus had gone through a massive overhaul to prepare for space, the engineers back home figured there would be some kind of space battle or something but instead they were fighting on foreign planets.

All the air tight seals and things were tremendously helpful, especially for places that had toxic atmospheres like most of the planets in the Archa system, but a lot of the planet side protocols had been disabled. Hound had been working at it but in the six months they’d be fighting, he hadn’t really had to fight at night. At least this many Quintessons. 

His comm crackled briefly, “Hound, you need to move.” Mirage was the only one currently connected to his comm, as every time he went to the main line his translator had a hard time and Megatron was shouting painfully loudly, “I need a moment Mirage,” several gun blasts went just over his head, before his suit learched and he brought his cameras back up. 

Now he was fighting with his screens while tangled up in a Quint he didn’t see coming, swearing loudly, one more blaster shot whistled past his audio pickups before Mirage spoke again, “I’m not going to have a clear shot, heading your way.” Hound flung back his good arm, hitting the Quintesson in the beak, “No, no stay back there. I’ve got this.” He could hardly see what he was fighting. 

The dragging seconds felt like minutes, trying to fight off the alien while closing out the issues with his suit, “Goddamnit, just work you hunk of junk!” His arm was still coming back online, one of his screens was searching for the night vision mode, and he was fighting the Quintesson that had wrapped its tentacles around him.

This was not how he wanted today to go.

Digging his gun into the Quint’s body, he fired in rapid succession, splatting his mech with green blood and guts. It screamed and Hound yelled, digging his good arm into it and tearing it apart, pulling the remains off. 

It was only then that he was nearly blinded as his world erupted in a bright green, turning the near pitch black landscape into the familiar sand dunes of earlier that day, covered in the enemy, “Oh.” His neck tingled and burned as other more dormant systems started to come online, bringing the world outside more into focus than it had been in years, “Oh no.” he took a breath and raised his gun, before stalking towards the next Quintesson. 

—

If he were being honest with himself, the shot that had shattered his visor was slightly terrifying, but Sunny was anything but honest with himself when he needed to focus. 

The shuttle was loaded and he lowered himself to the seat next to Bluestreak, sighing slowly, “So, it’s all sand?” Blue shrugged slightly, taking apart and cleaning his rifle now though his hands were shaking lightly, “Not all sand, but most of it.” Nodding a bit, Sunny leans back and closes his eyes.

”I bet Hound is having a blast then.” Blue hums but then looks over, “Why do you say that?” Sunny chuckled lightly, “He was stationed in a few sandy places over the years, way back when he first became a pilot, even before he was a pilot.” Sunny adjusted his microphone and disconnected from his suit with a groan.

His suit sank slightly in its seat ever so slightly and Bluestreak chuckled slightly, “Not sand like here, like nothing but sand.” Sunstreaker smiled, tugging his microphone close, “Yeah, I know what you mean. All of Earth doesn’t look like Florida.” Eyes still close and helmet off, he couldn’t see the weird look that Bluestreak shot him.

Blue shifts and clears his throat, “Sunny, you’ll have to explain Earth to me a bit more, it doesn’t look like where we spent the last day?” Sunny sighed but smiled, “Not all of it, and not every country either.” He yawned and stretched on his chair, grabbing the water pouch nearby.

Before Bluestreak could ask another question, the shuttle shook and started to rise, then Ironhide’s voice came over the speakers, “Alright mechs, this is the moment we’ve been dreading. Get any rest you need now, fuel if you have to, but I expect a silent shuttle for the next few hours. Either you're eating, sleeping, or shutting up.” There was a quiet murmur around, “The Quintessons are invading New Kaon, it’s going to be a long while before any of us get a break because the prime is going.”

Half the shuttle groaned and the rest were swearing, Bluestreak lowers his head with a quiet curse.

Sunstreaker frowns a bit, keeping his voice quiet, “What’s wrong with Joan coming along?” Bluestreak glanced over, keeping his own voice low, “Either means it’s bad or something bad has happened. Ironhide didn’t say, so it’s probably both.” Sunny sat there for a moment, frowning, “You going to be alright Blue?” Bluestreak nodded a bit, taking his limp hand, “Yeah, yeah it’s just, none of us want this to get as bad as last time.” And there was a tone to what he said that made Sunny worry his lip.

He had to bite back what he was thinking, ‘I think it already is.’ Instead, he sent a ping to Blue as he got up, connecting the camera with a sad smile, “Get some rest Blue, we’re going to be here for a bit.” Bluestreak hummed and leaned his head against Sunny’s shoulder, or the shoulder of his suit. 

No one was saying anything, most trying to bunk down to sleep, and a few were eating. 

Nothing good could come from an attack on New Kaon. 

—

This was probably the most awkward situation Breakdown had been in since he first moved to the United States. Sat on a shuttle craft with the hustle and bustle that was apparently normal for a Prime, while being told to just stay and wait. 

People were coming and going while he was just sitting there in his mech, it felt weird, being connected again even though it hadn’t even been the two full weeks he was supposed to take. Not like before, when it had been months without his suit while it was being prepped for this mission. 

It was simply that this time felt off and it was hard to place. 

Breakdown had to try very hard not to bounce his foot, sitting back heavily in both his piloting chair and the seat of the shuttle. Sighing deeply, he rubs his face tiredly. That was the one thing still lingering, how tired he was. 

Another mech brings on yet another crate before they finally start to strap it all down, Breakdown watched out of one of his secondary cameras and slowly a few different mechs came aboard.

Optimus Prime was still the most distinct out of all of them and he looked pissed, talking quietly with Elita-One before she bowed her head and moved towards the front of the ship.

Breakdown lowered his head and stared at his feet, hands clenched awkwardly at his sides, after a moment someone clears their throat and he looked up. Optimus was wearing his battle mask, but it was easy to tell that he was giving an awkward smile, “Breakdown, how are you feeling?” He gawks for a second then shifts his weight, “Uh, better, better thank you sir.” He clears his throat painfully. 

Optimus’s smile relaxed a bit, “Optimus is fine.” he sighed slowly, “You should know what we’re going into.” Nodding, Breakdown shifts and sits up, crossing his arms comfortably, “What is the mission?” Optimus nods and stands, gesturing, “I’ll show you a map.” Breakdown eases himself off the seat and follows, arms falling back to his sides. Moving much slower than he used to, head just now starting to ache. 

He hadn’t been in this part of any of the shuttles he’d been on, usually it was kept for those in command, one or two mechs were working in there, one he recognized as Red Alert. 

The table turned on with a flicker, “This is New Kaon. It is an old decepticon settlement from the last war. Not a colony of Cybertron, so I have been reminded.” If Breakdown didn’t know better, he would think that Optimus sounded bitter. 

Both the mecha at the command chairs winced.

”The Quintessons are attempting to surround the city, though their main command ship has crashed according to reports, it appears to be in this area.” He highlights an area just east of the city, “I’m afraid to say that I don’t know currently where Hound is located.” Breakdown stared at the map and gestures, “Likely as close to the crash site as he could be, anything we can learn from you all will be important to send back home, even if we do not return ourselves.” He continued to stare at the map.

Even as everyone in the room stared at him like he had grown a second head, “We have every intention of ensuring your safety.” Breakdown hummed, “That is not our thought, sir.” He glanced up, “We are to destroy the Quintessons, at all cost, even our lives.” He looked back at the map and gestures, “Do you know who is protecting this area? It appears to be a weak point.” And Optimus stared at him.

—

His suit felt alive, he felt alive for the first time in years. The total connection to your suit you could only get when your base coding it properly connected. It was dangerous, but thrilling. It exacerbated overuse and likely would lead to the crash, but unlocking his night vision brought back all the old instincts of hunter coding. 

Sometimes on Earth, they would decommission specific suits from certain classes when other things were needed more. Hunter class was a dwindling group, but the compatibility test for it was different from striker class. Usually military, they were the best at tracking and killing the enemy. In this case, the Quintessons. 

Hound had been a Hunter class for the first two years of his piloting career and it had ended his marriage, when he was offered the switch to Striker, he took it. He could still remember the surgery of removing some of the older implants and wiring made specifically for the old way his mecha used to work. 

Now, there were other hybrid mecha, pilot 3141, 17741, 17740, and a list of others who hadn’t survived the conversion but they were out there. 

It was as if there weren’t screens in front of him anymore and he was on his feet, as if the world around him was just that, around him and not his suit. It was a familiar old feeling and it filled him with dread.

Being a hunter class had almost ruined his life, it’s why his suit and him were striker class, but this focus, that was all hunter. Taking a slowly and deep breath, he was able to find the positives, he didn’t feel like an animal in a suit. He felt like himself but bigger, calmer and again still all him.

”Hound, you alright? I’m getting a lot of heavy breathing.” Mirage sounded concerned and that was enough, as his arm finally finished adjusting and he could actually see, it brought him back to a better state, “Uh, yeah. I’m alright, I had to switch some stuff around so I could see it being so dark.” He nodded a bit, gun firing with ease as he dispatched a Quintesson quickly. 

Another thing to ground him, Hunter’s usually didn’t have guns, he hadn’t back then and certainly not one like this. 

“I’m good Mirage, you have my six still?” He took a slow deep breath, even as he tore apart a screeching Quint, “Yeah, I’ve got you. Just try to hang to my right side, alright?” He grinned, gun firing into the gaping would he had just made with his hands in the Quintessons side, “Got it.” And he kept moving.

It was a deadly calm, the familiarity of moving through the enemy, of dispatching them with ease.

What had Megatron said, kill the damned things, as many as you can, as fast as you can. Being a hybrid of hunter and striker in this moment let him actually do that. 

Even if they kept coming, he’d be able to do that. 

Mirage kept checking in, even as he lost track of time, their conversation kept to a minimum for focus, his focus was every way that he could pull these things apart and let Mirage get off a few shots. It was a flow, the moons moving across the sky together. 

When Hound saw the spacecraft break the atmosphere, he thought for a moment that it was more attack ships. Gun humming up and glowing brightly at his side, taking slow and deep breaths while he watched, “Oh slag.” Mirage broke him out of his trance, “It’s another attack ship?” With a shaky breath, Mirage shook his head slowly, “No, that’s the Prime’s ship.” Hound’s stomach sank.

Nodding slowly, he took a breath, “How long have we been fighting if he’s here so fast?” It felt like not that long ago he’d been stuck listening in on the couples spat, though now he saw it as more an argument between commanders. Mirage was quiet on the other side of the line, “Around, as you say it, a day and a half? Full solar cycle and some.” Hound closed his eyes for a moment, almost too ingrained in the suit he had to take the moment to check on himself and not the suit. 

He was starving, thirsty, and likely needed more than just food and water. Keeping his eyes shut, it was the only way he was able to physically control his actual body. Water pouch first, taking off the oxygen mask to drink, then down one of his dwindling stash of protein bars. None of the space food was fast enough. Readjusting the mask back to his face, he took a deep breath.

The small tanks were now cleaning the air available in the larger tanks, but it certainly smelled better than his cockpit did. 

“Sorry, so, day and a half… The fact that he’s here is a bad thing, right?” Mirage stared at the descending ship, “Very.” Hound sighed, “Fuck.” Biting back a smile, Mirage nodded, “Oh yeah, definitely.” Glancing back around, Hound stared at the horizon instead before getting back into his coding.

Gun humming again, he scanned the horizon, closing his eyes for another moment before adjusting the cameras again, screens becoming like lenses as he stared. 

—

The ship wasn’t the largest in the Cybertronian fleet, far from it when compared to some of the older ships, but this one was energy efficient and fast. Megatron had been watching its descent, knowing exactly who was on board and dreading every moment of it. Adjusting several of his soldiers' positions gave him enough room to go back to command and likely shout at his conjunx for his endless idiocy. 

Command was practically empty, most of those who would normally be here either in the field or back on Cybertron if they had not hopped aboard Optimus’s craft. He was developing a helm ache. 

Although energy efficient, it didn’t make it any less loud as it landed, and Megatron lowered his helm for a moment before straightening. Heading outside with his helm high and a scowl on his face. 

Optimus looked different, significantly different, and it almost brought him to a stand still. Since the peace treaty, they had both been lucky enough to keep their paint fresh, weapons lowered, and not wear horrible expressions. 

Megatron could remember the early days of peace, how before they started speaking he’d see Optimus itching at the gold filigree that littered his frame. How he struggled to keep his battle mask open during important moments, and how relieved he seemed to be to not carry a gun or his axe.

Far from the claims that he was a gentle soul who hated violence, more so the relief of a soldier who could finally lower his pack to the floor. Still within reach, always ready to grab it, but able to let some of the weight slide off his shoulders.

Now however, he was distinctly reminded of who had been across that battle field from him for eons. 

Optimus looked like that hated enemy in this moment, but different, so different it tugged at Megatron’s spark. He had grown used to the mech looking like his Prime, his conjunx, that Optimus looking like his old enemy almost made his tanks turn. 

Taking a vent, Megatron moved forward as the bay door to the ship opened, “Optimus—“ Optimus looked at him and it almost burned, “Ah, Lord High Protector.” Frowning slightly, Megatron moved forward, “Optimus,” Who held up a servo and turned to Elita at his left, “Elita, if you don’t mind I would appreciate you heading into command, the Lord Protector and I will join you shortly.” She bows her head slightly and moves inside. Not sparing Megatron a glance, which made his tanks sink.

Optimus waited for her to be within command before looking back to Megatron, “Since you insisted that I not bring the United Cybertronian Army, nor open the space bridge, I thought I would offer that helping hand in person.” Megatron stared, and thought one thing, frag.

Clearing his vocalizer, Megatron hoped to smooth this over, “Optimus—“ “I did not fly all the way from Cybertron to talk, Lord Protector. You mentioned that I should not waste your time with trivial matters, we can go into command and speak of strategy with my commanders once they have both arrived.” Megatron frowned again, shaking his helm slightly, “Both?” Optimus started into command, paint not quiet shining but also not dull, just different.

”Ironhide is not far behind, he will land within the Joor.” He threw aside the trap that was the door for command, moving in and standing at the active battle map, frown evident in his optics. 

Taking a vent, Megatron followed and moved to stand at the table as well, glancing towards Elita briefly. She did not look entirely happy to be here, “My Prime, I am going to retrieve our supplies and the unit.” Optimus nodded, “Of course, I would suggest sending Breakdown to the line or to Knockout, whichever you deem necessary.” She nodded and moved out quickly.

Megatron cleared his vocalizer yet again, “Optimus, I fear there was a misunderstanding.” Bowing his head slightly, Optimus looks at the table and starts drawing adjustments, “I understood you perfectly fine Lord Protector, my audial passed to spec during their last check. There was no misunderstanding other than perhaps your stance in this war.” Megatron’s mouth went dry.

Shifting at the head of the table, Optimus circles several locations, “I will place Elita, Ironhide, and myself incharge of these regions. Since we are going to have three humans planet side I am going to request that they be placed under the watch of my commanders.” Megatron slowly lowered a hand to the table, “Optimus, Hound is under my command.” “And I’m sure that he has been listening to your orders and following through with precision.” Megatron growled lightly. 

“Optimus, what is going on? What do you want from me?” The other mech looked up from the table, “For you to follow through with the expectations of your position.” Megatron balled his fists, “I have been doing just that, protecting Cybertron and overseeing this conflict.” Optimus tilted his head slightly, “And here I thought your sole focus was on New Kaon and your people.” Taking a slow vent, Megatron looked away.

His mouth was drier than the sand outside, “And here is where I believe we had our misunderstanding.” Optimus scoffed, “And yet you proclaimed yourself sovereign of New Kaon, which you are not. You are Cybertron’s Lord High Protector, which does not align with what you proclaimed meer joors ago.” He took a deep vent as Elita returned, “Ironhide’s ship is breaching the atmosphere.” Nodding again, he bent back over the map, “If you will excuse me Lord Protector, we will reconvene once Ironhide and his unit have landed. You are dismissed.” 

Megatron stared for a long moment, servos still fists before storming out.

Optimus sighed deeply and lowered his head for a moment, optics off, venting slowly. Elita stood there, silent as always, until he needed her to say something or she needed to intervene. Glancing back up, he looks to her, before back to the table, “How would you redesign the line commander? And where do you think will be the best placement for the humans?” She moved forward, “Well, it depends on how well they will listen.” It was a familiar comfort, the pair of them in a command room, where Ironhide would join them shortly. A much needed comfort. 

—

Hound’s comm crackled, “Hound, you might want to return to command.” He really didn’t, gun firing very loudly at a distant Quintesson, “Breakdown and Sunstreaker are here.” The voice was Red Alert, he almost didn’t recognize the mech over comms. 

Looking back, the small encampment that was command was the only thing that was lighten up yet, a bright green in his vision, “Breakdown is supposed to be resting for another few days.” His voice only wavered slightly, “He arrived with the Prime. Fall back in the next minute, seekers are going to fly overhead.” Sighing slowly, he nodded and started backwards.

Once he heard the screen of seeker engines he ran, briefly glancing towards where Mirage was before focusing on reaching command safely.

He could make them out as he deactivated the night vision, yellow standing out more than the blue, but the pair were clearly talking. He couldn’t help but smile, having been away for longer than either of them have. It was nice to know there were some of your own kind nearby. 

“Ah! As it’s said, look what the tide brought in.” Breakdown waves at him, both him and Sunny pinging him with video comms. He quickly answered and turned on his own camera, Sunny immediately winced, “Damn Hound, when was the last time you slept?” Hound tried very hard not to roll his eyes.

Though Breakdown was nodding, “You look incredibly tired.” Hound came over and rested a hand on each of their shoulders, “I’m fine. I slept sometime yesterday, ate a little bit of go.” Probably a few hours before, but it was alright.

Sunstreaker shook his head a bit, “Come on Hound, don’t be like that.” Breakdown nodded, and Hound sighed, “And to think, I missed you guys.” He smiled and so did they.

“So, what are the two of you doing here? BD, you’re supposed to be resting and Sunny, I thought you were placed with Ironhide.” Sunny nodded, “Oh I was, Joan called him in.” Hound nodded slowly, “I think calling the Prime that on private comms is fine, but we should refer to him as the Prime otherwise.” 

Breakdown nodded slowly, “He is a very interesting man, one of his commanders, Elita-One, came to retrieve me after Jazz called to clear my health. I was cleared, but we were on the shuttle over here together. He kept making sure that I was alright before he got quiet.” Hound hummed.

He couldn;t help but glance over towards command, “Yeah, he had an argument with Megatron.” He sighed slowly, shaking his head, “Come on, we’ll sit and talk, eat. Unplug for a minute.” Sunstreaker was nice enough to rest a hand on his back, walking him towards a nearby heater.

”How’s the oxygen here?” Breakdown lifted a hand, likely tapping at a screen, “Not bad, but certainly not good. I would stick to tanks.” Sunstreaker groaned, “I just got off a toxic planet.” And Hound laughed, sitting down, “Welcome to New Kaon.” Sunny grumbled as he sat down.

Hound finally unplugged, shivering as his implants had left his skin wet and now cold. He pulled his helmet off and then the oxygen mask, wrinkling his nose, “Oh god.” Sunstreaker looked away and Breakdown looked sympathetic.

Leaning forward, he tried not to throw up again, “Drink some water Hound, take a rest. You look pale.” Breakdown kept his voice quiet and slowly, Hound nodded and grabbed his water pouch. Drinking slowly. 

—

Ironhide almost stormed into command, “And how did the Quints get this far into Cybertronian space with this many ships? One or two on Cybertron, sure, but this is ridiculous.” His fist collided with the table.

Barely sparing him a glance, Optimus was still drawing out strategy, “Welcome to New Kaon, Ironhide, I would appreciate it if you could retrieve the Lord High Protector from wherever he slunk off to.” Frowning, Ironhide leaned on the table, “And why can’t you—“ Elita was glaring sharply and he was quick to shut his mouth, “Uh, yes, My Prime.” He turned on the spot and went back outside. 

Seekers were still screaming through the air, the only light available was those of optics or explosions and blasts.

He wasn’t far, having taken control of a distanced cannon and had tried blowing off steam firing on the enemy. Ironhide clears his throat, “Lord High Protector, the Prime requests your presence.” Megatron looked over, nodded, “Of course.” They were all slagged if those two were fighting.

Moving back into command, they were joined by Knockout and Flatline, who were talking intensely in the other half of command, “It’s just shattered and he seems totally fine with it!” Knockout vented deeply, “Welcome to life with humans, we will repair it after this is dealt with.” They moved through to the other half of command, dropping the tarp over the door. 

Now it was just Optimus, Megatron, Elita, and Ironhide standing around the command table. Projection map marked up with adjustments made by Optimus and Elita. Megatron scowled down at it before looking back to Optimus, his spark aching. 

Taking a vent, Optimus gestures towards the table, “Here is the plan, for the moment, I would suggest that we institute it as soon as possible.” he rocked back lightly on his peds, an old habit from the war, “Optimus, if I may?” He barely spared him a glance. “You may not, Lord Protector. We lack the time and some of us the patience to listen to your attempts to placate my ‘emotions’ as you said, they are not my probity nor should they be yours.” 

Optimus paused and looked at Megatron, “Or would you rather, how did you say it, be content to lose this war?” All the warmth drained from Megatron’s face, his energon running cold. Ironhide was gawking, taking a moment to look at Elita who briefly shook her head, he gulped and looked back to the table. 

Glancing around the table, Optimus took in his commanders for a moment before looking back, “Ironhide, I want you and half of your unit to take the north side. Elita, to the south with the other half of his unit. Wherever Mirage is placed, I want Bluestreak on the opposite. I need to speak with Hound, Sunstreaker and Breakdown before they reenter the field. I will take the west with this group here.” He lightly circles a unit on the map.

”And Megatron will take the east, the seekers will continue to fire from above but have them cycle out more often, less they will exhaust themselves.” His servos were shaking lightly, “The sooner we get out there, the better off we will be since there are no more reinforcements.” Optimus shot a brief glare at Megatron before straightening, “You have your orders. I suggest that you follow them.” He spared glances around to Ironhide and Elita before they both were quick to leave.

Muttering to each other as they went, Optimus tried incredibly hard not to roll his optics, even as his helm pounded. His servos were still shaking ever so slightly. 

They all maintained some things from these from the war, one of Optimus’ were the tremors. 

Megatron was watching his hands, so he folded them comfortably behind his back, “Well?” Optimus’s tone was not quite cold, but certainly not filled with warmth either, “I would suggest, unless you need fuel, returning to the field. As not to waste ‘precious time’.” Optimus moved away from the table, grabbing up an all too familiar blaster before leaving command himself, not sparing Megatron a second glance.

His mouth was still incredibly dry and he likely did need to fuel, but it would be impossible to keep it in his tanks. With a growl, he stormed out after Optimus, but the mech was already gone. 

———

A/N

I thought this chapter was 4.5k, its actually 5.2 so uh… enjoy?

But in all seriousness, the megop in this chapter is probably the longest you’re going to get. If it weren’t important to the story it would have happened behind the scenes.

But this chapter feels wild to me, it’s long and now I’ve written probably right around 100k words for Arcturus as a whole though that does include stuff I haven’t posted yet. But that’s still a lot.

Than you all so much for your kind words, questions, likes, all of it.

Tags

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @blue-wrens @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children 

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU!

Also thank you @sightseertrespasser for your help with the mech suit class stuff, it gave me the right thing to fill a plot whole I was writing myself into.

[bwat5-blog]

Caitlyn Kiramman's Trauma Leading Up To Becoming Commander: Quick Reference Guide

(A Dear Stupid People Publication)

**Spoiler Warning For Arcane**

In today's busy world it is tough to keep with the responsibilities and demands of our daily lives. We here at Dear Stupid People understand that. Sometimes you just want to hop online and run your mouth without having seen the material, or even better without being smart enough to understand it. You know what we say?

AS. YOU. SHOULD!

So today, we are proud to unveil our first of possibly many reference guides to help those of you who want to discuss Arcane without the effort of having watched it or the ability to comprehend it! And even better, we are doing this for.............................

TOTALLY FREE!

So the next time you feel the urge to log in, put your booger covered fingers on the keyboard, and let the diarrhea you pass off as intellectual discourse flow, have this guide at the ready so you can attack Caitlyn Kiramman with all the detail you need.

Lured into burning building by Jinx using child's voice then blown up. Explosion kills several of her peers and injures her

2. Has to shoot Sevika to save Vi's life

3. Survived encounter with Silco and shimmer addicts

4. Survived meeting Jinx/Fight with Firelights

5. Head of her organization shoots Ekko and is going to kill her while other Enforcers do nothing

6. Survives Jinx's attack on the bridge

7. Abducted by Jinx from childhood bathroom, while nude, forced to dress in Enforcer uniform, held for at least a day, possibly tortured

8. Forced to listen to Jinx try to convince Vi to murder her while bound and gagged

9. Spares Jinx at Vi's pleading and is violently knocked out (sorry couldn't find the gif)

10. Jinx kills Caitlyn's mother, 2 other councilors, maims 2 others, and blows up the council chamber when Caitlyn could have stopped it

11. Caitlyn survives memorial attack carried out by Chem Baron and her foot soldiers

12. Survives Strike Team Mission In Zaun

13. Survives brutal fight with Sevika

14. She held her shot for Vi the first time, Vi promised she would end it this time, then Vi (no matter how good her reasons) stopped her

We here at Dear Stupid People hope you can make use of this reference guide the next time the urge strikes you to use any variation of the following statement:

"Caitlyn lost her mom and goes full dictator!"

Be on the lookout for our forthcoming exciting new additions!

Being rich isn't a magic shield against suffering!

Yes of course Ambess's manipulation mattered you diesel drinking paint eater!

Experimenting on your own people with a dangerous drug for money and power is a bad way to fight for them!

And More!

[saphronethaleph]

Rushing the boomer

“How long?” Palpatine asked.

“Do not strain yourself, lord,” one of the cultists said. “Your attempt to possess the Snoke body will have weakened you-”

“I am well aware of my limitations,” Palpatine snapped, then turned to the Final Order engineer. “How long, commander?”

“That depends, my lord,” the engineer replied, his voice firm. “For the whole fleet… fourteen years. A single ship could be completed in eight. One ship coming online at a time in sequence, the first ship will be finished in nine years and the whole fleet in sixteen.”

Palpatine frowned.

“The whole fleet, then,” he said. “The might of the Final Order will blaze a path across the galaxy, and all will obey the Sith or perish.”

“It is as you command, my lord,” the engineer said, saluting.

Palpatine waved him away, then gestured, and a hologram of the Star Destroyers currently under construction formed in the air above him.

They were vast ships, for line vessels, and the Sith Eternal were building one thousand and eighty of them.

One thousand and eighty!

Never again would rebels exploit a single point of failure and destroy his most powerful and only superweapon… a fate he had experienced twice, now, and each one burned like a canker in his heart, the fury suffusing him and lending him strength.

At his insistence, Palpatine’s spies in the wider galaxy, outside Exegol, had found for him the names of every single person who had been directly involved in the attack on both Death Stars.

Han Solo, Chewbacca, Leia Organa Solo, Evaan Verlaine… all of those names were of people he hated. And Palpatine would see them destroyed, one way or another.

But there were four names for which the Dark Lord of the Sith reserved his greatest hatred. The true, simmering passion that Palpatine held for those who had truly thwarted his plans.

Landonis Balthazar Calrissian. Nien Nunb. Wedge Antilles… and, more than anyone else, Luke Skywalker.

If there was anyone who Palpatine wanted to destroy, it was Luke Skywalker… not merely to see him dead, but to humiliate him. To tear him down. To reduce all his triumphs to smouldering ruins.

Break the New Republic. Destroy the New Jedi Order. Turn his own family against him. Shatter his will.

That was what Palpatine would do, to Luke Skywalker.

And then – and only then – would the galaxy burn, worlds submitting to the rule of the Sith or being destroyed.

Thinking such pleasant thoughts, it took a moment for Palpatine to notice the flashing red alert on the side of the holodisplay.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Explain it!”

“We’ve picked up ships, incoming,” an officer said, looking up from his displays on the other side of the room. “Lots of them – Rebel ship classes!”

Palpatine’s hand waved, and the holodisplay reconfigured to show the Red Honeycomb Zone and the tactical displays.

Sure enough, ships were coming through. Two Mon Cal star cruisers, first, then frigates and cruiser class vessels, disgorging a cloud of snubfighters from their hangar bays.

Sith Eternal TIE Fighters were already taking off, but Palpatine could see the difference between the two forces – the Sith Eternal was a secret military and had never actually fought in battle, and it had been aiming for a projected readiness date over a decade in the future.

The New Republic fighter corps was no such easy target. Even without their shields, their skill and training were clearly superior, and the first pass saw a dozen Sith fighters go down in blazing, burning wrecks. A dogfight was already beginning, but it was a dogfight that could only go one way.

But how had this happened? Exegol was secret! With the hyperspace anomalies protecting it, the only way to visit the planet would be to not only know where it was but be shown…

...unless, that was, someone had a Sith wayfinder.

Suddenly gripped by a cold rush of fear that prompted a surge of utter hatred, Palpatine reached out with his mind towards the New Republic strike force as it became haloed in laserfire and explosions.

He could sense a Sith Wayfinder. HIS Sith Wayfinder! The one that had been in his throne room during the Battle of Endor.

Pushing harder, Palpatine located the dancing spark of the wayfinder, alongside a sickeningly familiar presence – a presence ducking and dodging and rolling, as it locked onto and destroyed one TIE Fighter after another.

“Skywalker!” Palpatine shouted, then coughed. “SKYWALKER!”

“Watch out, there’s another fighter flight taking off from the hangar system to port,” Nien Nunb said, pointing.

“Got it, keying them in,” Lando agreed, his gaze flicking between the displays of the Raddus flag bridge. “Hey, Wedge, you want to take those fighters and the battleline will kill the hangar for you?”

“Copy that, General,” Wedge agreed. “Red leader to Red Alpha flight, follow me in!”

Six X-wings rolled to follow Wedge in, and Lando checked over the displays again.

“Well, I’m no expert but I think we caught them with their pants down, Admiral,” he said, glancing back at Leia. “No more than one in fifty of the capital ship turbolasers are working, and most of them seem to still be under construction.”

He whistled. “It’s a damn good thing we caught them when we did, though, I’m reading over six hundred ships in states of construction and there’s hundreds more building slips.”

The Raddus jolted as a volley of turbolasers hit, then the radio crackled.

“Gold leader here,” Verlaine called in. “Princess, I’ve got eyes on where that fire’s coming from, looks like a turbolaser testing facility with some working cannon. My boys and girls will fix that little problem.”

Nien made the adjustment before Lando got to it, and a double volley of proton torpedoes blasted the facility to pieces.

“It’s certainly a damn good thing we found them before they finished,” Leia agreed. “How did you do it?”

“Well, our lead ran out on Kijimi,” Lando said. “Then I realized nobody had actually checked the wreckage of the Second Death Star, and unlike the first the second’s armour wasn’t in place to contain the explosion. I thought it was likely some of it had come down intact, so Luke and I went over to find it and that’s how we got here.”

“I’m picking something up-” Nien reported, then they all looked out the window at once as a flare of lightning crackled up from a hole in the ground. It gripped a New Republic corvette, lightning crawling over the surface and ripping chunks out of it, and when the bolts stopped the engines had been disabled and most of the CR90 crashed seconds later.

“Skywalker here, I’m on it,” Luke said, his X-Wing shooting past and shooting down one of the last enemy TIEs. The Jedi Master’s snubfighter kept going, rolling into a complex manoeuvre and spitting laserbolts down the chasm, then the lightning came back up again – and Luke’s ship absorbed it, glowing bright white as the energy was corralled and neutralized.

“I don’t know about you, but that looks like the main event as far as I’m concerned,” Lando noted.

[todropscience]

DISCOVERING THE GIANTS OF THE DEEP: BATHYNOMUS JAMESI

A newly discovered species of giant isopod, Bathynomus vaderi, has recently been described from the deep waters around Spratly Islands, off Vietnam. The species, named after the infamous Sith Lord, Darth Vader, due to the striking resemblance of its helmet-like head, adds to the growing diversity of the Bathynomus genus. Bathynomus vaderi is characterized by several unique features, including a parallel-margin clypeal region, a raised dorsal surface on its pleotelson, and upwardly curved pleotelson spines.

Giant isopods like Bathynomus vaderi have become an expensive delicacy in Vietnam. Until 2017, local fishermen only sold them as an incidental product at low prices, but in recent years the media has drawn the public's attention to this unusual seafood. Some even claim that it is more delicious than lobster, the "king of seafood." This new species is described from several individual found at seafood markets in Hanoi, Vietnam.

-Seafood market in Hanoi, Vietnam, selling the newly described Bathynomus jamesi. Large specimens exceeding 2 kg in weight command premium prices.

In Vietnam, Bathynomus species, are often referred to as "sea bugs". Their unique appearance and large size make them a delicacy, and they can command high prices, with larger individuals of B. vaderi reaching up to 2 kg. In recent years, demand for these creatures has risen, especially in urban centers like Hanoi and Hồ Chí Minh City, where they are displayed in restaurants and sold through online seafood markets. This growing industry highlights the continued fascination with deep-sea species and the need for ongoing research to better understand their ecology and conservation.

Main photo: Bathynomus vaderi, male, colour in life. Photo by Nguyen Thanh Son

Reference (Open Access): Ng et al., 2025. A new species of supergiant Bathynomus A. Milne-Edwards, 1879 (Crustacea, Isopoda, Cirolanidae) from Vietnam, with notes on the taxonomy of Bathynomus jamesi Kou, Chen & Li, 2017. ZooKeys.

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Shoshana Bryen

The Assad regime is gone. Sadynaya Prison is liberated, and the depth of the Assad family’s depravity is becoming clear.

While the West seems to hold out hope that the transition will lead to something better for the Syrian people, the saying in the Middle East goes, “The enemy of my enemy can also be my enemy.”

The incoming warlords are the HTS — a Sunni, ISIS-adjacent, Taliban-adjacent, Turkish armed and funded organization on the US and UK terrorist lists. If you Google them, the stories would be accompanied by graphic, hideous videos of revenge killings. I am choosing not to link to the horrific murders here, but you can find them online, and just know that they are a tiny fraction of what’s out there.

HTS leaders and militants said, upon entering Damascus, “This is the heart of the Abode of Islam. This is Damascus, the [land of] Umar ibn Abd al-Aziz, the land of Islam … This is the camp of the Muslims. From here we are coming to Jerusalem. Be patient, oh people of Gaza. Say Allah Akbar!”

One fighter added: “Just like that, Allah willing, we will enter the Al-Aqsa Mosque, the Prophet’s Mosque [in Medina], and the Kaaba. We will enter these [mosques], Allah willing.”

In this context, Israel has offered the world a gift, decimating the Russian-Iranian arsenal Assad left behind before HTS can get its hands on it.

The first IDF strikes were on Syrian chemical weapons depots and “research facilities.”  (You know, the ones President Obama declared 96 percent destroyed in 2014.) Then, according to @IDF on X:

Israeli Navy missile ships struck the Al-Bayda and Latakia ports, where 15 Syrian naval vessels were docked. They took out dozens of sea-to-sea missiles with ranges of 80–190 km. Each missile carried significant explosive payloads posing threats to civilian and military maritime vessels in the area.

The Air Force conducted more than 350 strikes on targets including anti-aircraft batteries, Syrian Air Force airfields, and dozens of weapons production sites, neutralizing Scud missiles, cruise missiles, surface-to-sea, surface-to-air and surface-to-surface missiles, UAVs, fighter jets, attack helicopters, radars, tanks, hangars, and more.

The IDF conducted air strikes on 130 ground assets in Syria, including weapons depots, military structures, launchers, and firing positions.

No civilians or homes — or anything besides destructive weapons — were targeted.

[girlactionfigure]

🚨EXCLUSIVE NEW DETAILS ABOUT THE PAGERS - A THREAD:

Just when you thought it couldn't get crazier, Reuters released brand new details about Mossad's brilliant pager operation against Hezbollah in September. I will break down the most important parts and the exciting moments. 

Let's start with the construction of the pagers themselves. The explosive component, Pentaerythritol tetranitrate (otherwise known as PETN), did the most damage. Mossad technicians found a way to insert a very thin square sheet of PETN between two battery cells and a strip of highly flammable material to act as a detonator. This entire package was placed into a plastic sleeve, which was encapsulated in a metal case roughly the size of a matchbox. 

When the command was given, the flammable strip generated a spark to light the detonator and trigger the PETN to explode. The explosives took away some of the battery's power, which Hezbollah noticed when the battery would drain faster than expected. However, they never put two and two together and continued to use and issue the devices. 

The complexity of this construction is essential for one primary reason: without metal components like a standard detonator or wires, the explosive element was utterly undetectable by X-ray. Israel knew that upon receiving the pagers, Hezbollah would likely check them for tampering or explosives, which is precisely what happened. Using airport-style security scanners, Hezbollah did indeed check the pagers, but thanks to Mossad's ingenuity, the explosive was not detected. 

Now we get to the really interesting part, which is the lengths the Mossad went to create a cover story for their ruse. The PETN battery pack that Mossad constructed had a label on it: LI-BT783, and this was an issue because that specific battery did not exist. The Mossad started by creating a custom model for the entire pager, AR-924. They approached a renowned Taiwanese brand, Gold Apollo, to add it to their catalog. 

Hsu Ching-Kuang, the chairman of Gold Apollo, was approached by a former employee and her new boss named "Tom" to inquire about adding the model. Ching-Kuang said that while he wasn't impressed by the AR-924 when he saw it, he agreed to grant a license under the brand and add photos and a description of the product to his company's website, thus unknowingly establishing the legitimacy of the Mossad's pager. 

In September 2023, a website named came online with the AR-924 listed as a product. The site was tied to a Hong Kong-based company, Apollo Systems HK, of which no record exists today. In late 2023, two additional online states came online with the LI-BT783 battery listed in their product list, amongst other legitimate units.

Users in two online forums discussing batteries even made posts about the LI-BT783 and the AR-924, praising its "great performance" and ruggedness for field use. When Hezbollah searched for a new pager, their procurement manager chose the AR-924. The salesperson who brokered the deal offered a "very inexpensive proposition" and continued reducing the price until the Hezbollah manager agreed. 

In the wake of the explosions, Hezbollah launched an internal probe of what went wrong. However, the senior official leading the investigation, Nabil Kaouk, was himself killed in an Israeli strike just 11 days after the pagers went off. The internal investigation is supposedly still in progress... 

@JewishWarrior13

[eretzyisrael]

by Meira Cowland Kolatch

Dictatorships cling to power through fear. But fear only functions so long as people believe in the myth of strength. Once that illusion is broken — once a regime is laughed at — the spell is broken. The emperor has no clothes, and worse, he has been turned into a meme with auto-tuned music and poor subtitles.

Which brings us to today. Israel, long accused of losing the PR war, has begun to win it in a most unexpected fashion. Not by out-explaining. Not by out-arguing. But by out-mocking.

The Islamic Republic of Iran has just watched its crown jewel of nuclear secrecy, the Fordow facility, get flattened — and what’s circulating online? Not solemn analyses. Not Security Council resolutions. But a thousand perfectly timed TikToks with dancing soldiers, laugh tracks, and slow-zoom edits of confused ayatollahs. One could almost feel sorry for them — if they hadn’t brought this all upon themselves.

This isn’t just cultural pushback. It is psychological warfare at its finest. Because terrorism — and its state sponsors – rely on a performative narrative. They need to be feared. They need to be taken seriously. A suicide bomber is only powerful when framed as tragic, not idiotic. A supreme leader only commands loyalty when he’s seen as divine, not daft.

And so, for once, the West — and particularly Israel — has grasped a crucial truth: mockery is deterrence. Not instead of military action, but in tandem with it. A drone strike may eliminate a general. A meme may eliminate a myth. It is, in its own way, the most subversive act imaginable: to make the tyrant funny. To expose the man behind the beard. To show that the most feared actors in the Middle East can, with a few edits, become as ridiculous as a washed-up villain in a low-budget film.

The Hamas leadership in Gaza must face similar humiliation. Their battle cries turned into Instagram reels. Their martyrs repurposed as cautionary punchlines. It is not for naught that we have seen the rise of the comedic Jewish influencer, the one able to infantalize their moral superiority.