#Massive Cargo Ship

[lynxfrost13]

Praps if I’m good I’ll post not only about Frau Wasserlinse!! But also the very prestigious and totally not falling apart Vinetan Defense Freighter crew and additional operations

[im-a-goat-in-disguise]

Images of despair [stellaris version]

[alpha-mag-media]

‘Massive’ cocaine seizure off west coast of Ireland as cops and customs search cargo ship | HSF5773 | 2023-12-28 08:08:01 | December 28, 2023 at 09:08AM

‘Massive’ cocaine seizure off west coast of Ireland as cops and customs search cargo ship | HSF5773 | 2023-12-28 08:08:01 Read More … Check full articles at Source: ALPHA MAG

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical violence, swearing, angst

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Part Twenty-Five of Ink & Needle

Price reveals three possible locations. Task Force 141 infiltrates.

Chapter Twenty-Four // Chapter Twenty-Six

ao3 // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Knuckles pop. Joints crack.

Simon is primed—nerves and muscles alive and firing.

Ready for action.

Ready for blood.

His old life is returning. Not as fragments but through muscle memory. The training never left. It still dwells within him, twisting around tendons and bone like vines strangling a trellis, awakening to revive the man that once was.

"Tell me what you see, Simon."

Captain Price's voice comes from behind, drifting around Simon like lingering cigarette smoke and dirty snow. Silently, Simon observes the spread of information before him.

"These are the possible targets?" asks Simon, his gaze moving from picture to picture.

A small burst of air before the balaclava becomes steam. The abandoned barn they’ve set up shop in is fucking cold even with the generator-backed heaters turned on. But the cold hardly bothers Simon. His bad knee might not like it but the ache is easy to ignore.

On the wall is a massive map of the world. There are pictures of people and places pinned in various locations. Some of the people are crossed out—marked dead. Others are untouched or painted over with a question mark.

"Yes," affirms Price. "Anything familiar?"

Simon shifts his attention away from the wall and to the table in front of him. There are more pictures here—more documents.

A muscle in his neck spasms. "No," growls Simon. "Walsh likely abandoned his old haunts."

Price shrugs. "Maybe. Maybe not."

Two pictures of Walsh stare back at Simon. One is an old photograph from before. Walsh's skin is perfect here—free from burn scars or blemishes. The second photograph is newer but slightly blurry. Walsh wears a black jacket, hood up, face in profile. Even with the burn scars, his face is unmistakable.

"Walsh is prone to paranoia," says Simon, bringing the newest photograph closer. "He had places even I didn't know about."

"That's my point," replies Price. "Walsh trusted you. And yet he still didn't tell you everything."

We are gardens now.

The two of us.

It's easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.

Simon's fingers twitch with the urge to crush the photograph. Shoving the compulsion down, Simon returns the picture of Walsh to the table. Focusing on the massive board before him, Simon observes each marked location, his mind flipping through the rolodex of information he obtained during his infiltration.

"What makes you think it's one of these three?" asks Simon.

He lightly taps the picture in front of him. It's an aerial photograph of a series of warehouses near the Port of Felixstowe. There are two other ports marked including those of London and Liverpool.

Unease slides like sludge in Simon’s stomach. “Not only are these major ports, two of the three are fucking tourist attractions.” Simon turns on Price, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can tour a naval vessel and then board a cruise ship in a single day at Liverpool. London is the fucking same. Walsh isn’t making moves there.” He points at the picture of Felixstowe. “This is the only plausible of the three. Privately owned. Recent docker worker strikes.” Simon drops his arm. “But I don’t fucking believe that for a bloody second.”

There are other ports marked across Europe and the United States. Walsh likes to move around, never staying in one place too long. Sometimes he’s moving drugs. Sometimes he’s moving weapons. Using the same place of entry is risky with dangerous cargo.

"We have surveillance," replies Captain Price.

Gaz hands Soap a laptop. Johnny takes a seat and taps away at the keyboard, bringing up several video feeds.

"This one is for Felixstowe." Johnny allows the feeds to run for a bit before clicking over to a new set. "Liverpool." He switches again. "And London."

Simon shakes his head, noticing nothing in the grainy footage. "It's too close to home. Too busy. Too regulated."

Price's face remains impassive. “Look closer." He glances at Soap. "Roll them again."

Simon steps up directly next to Johnny's shoulder. Placing one hand on the table, Simon leans in. Johnny pulls up the surveillance feed near Felixstowe first. As it plays, a tiny twist of anxiety curls in his stomach. Are his eyes going to shit?

"You see it now?" asks Price.

"No," says Simon sharply.

Johnny loops the feed and points. "Here, Lt."

Squinting helps but hardly makes things any clearer. "Zoom in."

Johnny pauses the feed and enlarges it enough to give a more focused picture but not enough to render the pixels worthless. From the back of an SUV emerges a man that looks like Walsh. With him is—a woman?

Like a punch to the solar plexus, the wind is knocked out of Simon.

Is that you?

"You see it, Lt?"

"I see it," growls Simon. "Show me the next one."

Johnny repeats each surveillance feed, pausing and zooming in. There is a woman emerging from an SUV in each one, that is unmistakable, but is it you? That part is unclear. The videos aren't distinct enough to show details.

"We think this is her," says Price.

"In three different places?" asks Simon, skeptical.

Hope is a fragile thing. He wants to cling to it, to imagine that this is you he's seeing in all three feeds, but he cannot allow himself to latch onto an idea that may not hold any reality.

The middle of Price's brow creases. "You need to look again, Simon."

Simon slowly straightens himself. All of this feels like a game—Walsh's game.

"The timestamps don't make sense," growls Simon. "They're not even hours apart!"

"Exactly," says Price, stepping closer. "All of them are the same. Except one." Price lightly squeezes Johnny's shoulder. He brings up the first video feed again, the one from Felixstowe. "This one is different," murmurs Price, his gaze focused on the computer screen.

The feed plays and Johnny pauses the image. A small light flicks on in the dark recesses of Simon's mind.

"You see it now, Simon?"

"I see it, Captain."

Of the three, the woman is always alone in the Liverpool and London feeds. In Felixstowe, she isn't. In Felixstowe, there's a man grabbing her upper arm. A man that looks very much like Simon's enemy.

"We don't have confirmation," continues Price, already seeming to know exactly what Simon is thinking.

It doesn't fucking matter if they have confirmation or not. This is a lead. This is something.

"We've already sent recon teams," adds Kyle, breaking his silence.

The pity isn't there anymore. There is only grim determination. They've seen Simon at his lowest, and yet that doesn't matter. They're doing this to take Walsh down but they're also doing it for him.

Gaz glances at the map but he addresses Simon. "Walsh wants us to focus on Felixstowe." He turns attention to Simon. "Which is why we sent recon."

"And recon said different," replies Simon.

Kyle winks. "Exactly."

"Felixstowe is staged." Price moves toward the map. "But Liverpool?" Price turns back to Simon, with a smirk. "Want to know who funded that little transfer for Walsh?"

Walsh has always moved behind the scenes. He always lurks in the dark. Pockets are lined and Walsh obtains what he wants. At its core, big business is greedy. They’ll happily look the other way if they can get what they want and get away with it.

Some of the earlier unease melts, adrenaline replacing the anxiety.

Simon’s question is immediate “Did you bag the fucker?”

“I have a tail on them as we speak.”

“Good,” growls Simon. “Walsh with them?”

“No.”

Even better. It means Simon can deal out his own justice.

Simon exhales, trying to find a sense of calm amongst all this new information. "All I want is Walsh.”

I just want her back.

Simon wants that fucking wanker alive. He wants Walsh to squirm. To suffer. To feed the man his own teeth before making him choke on them.

But even that won’t satiate what Simon truly desires.

You. Only you.

In his arms again. Warm and safe and all his. To know that you will never come to harm again.

Price’s smirk becomes a genuine smile. They’ve been after this man for fucking years, and now Walsh is truly in their grasp.

Nodding toward the map, Price gestures toward it. "Our best guess is this warehouse near the Port of Liverpool."

"Why?" asks Simon. “It’s a haven for tourist.”

“It caters to tourist and occasionally houses the Royal Navy just as much as it brings in and sends out goods.” Price exhales. “It’s busy, yes. But it’s unsuspecting.”

"It's also the only place we've seen Walsh arrive to and leave from," adds Kyle.

Simon shrugs. “Could be a distraction. Make it obvious so we aren’t looking at other possible targets.”

“Could be,” replies Price casually.

“We’ve got him, Lt. And not on surveillance footage.”

"The recon team did," continues Gaz. "Real subtle, too. Like he didn't want to be seen."

Diversion has always been Walsh's specialty. His most devoted followers will do whatever he asks from shooting up a corner store to acting as a body double. The man is a manipulator. A friendly face that says exactly what you want to hear to reinforce your own confirmation bias.

He does it all in the name of power and personal superiority.

Simon turns toward Price. "Are we going after that warehouse?"

Price nods. "Tomorrow."

Darkness is a friend.

A companion. A trained beast. A silent killer.

Simon looks into his scope, checking and rechecking the perimeter of the building. Soap has already disabled the surveillance camera on the western side of the building. To the person watching, they're seeing a continuous loop of nothing.

The building itself isn’t one of those boxy metal buildings you find all over the States. This warehouse is old, made from brick and stone, built when ships were still only made of wood. Marked as a historical location, and yet currently closed to the public.

How bloody fucking convenient.

While the night is cold, the port isn’t empty. There are no cargo ships unloading but there’s a docked Destroyer all lit up across the River Mersey. Tourists and locals move along pedestrian areas, and the nearby arena is awash with light as some musical artist performs.

Life moves. Uninterrupted.

As it should be.

And not one of those souls realize what lurks in the dark.

“Soap. We ready to breach?” comes Price’s voice over comms.

Johnny’s answer is laced with slight static. “You have five minutes until the loop ends.”

Price turns back to look at Simon and Kyle, silently pointing in the direction of the door they’re entering the building through. Johnny is on the roof with two members of the recon team sent earlier.

With rifles raised, the trio move silently across the concrete. Price forms the front while Gaz and Simon take the sides and back. They stay on a swivel, watching Price’s rear as he approached the door.

“Three minutes, Captain,” comes Johnny’s voice over comms.

Behind Simon, there’s a clink of metal meeting metal. Something rattles. Then a soft creak as the service door opens.

“We’re in,” replies Price.

Price eases the door open. He keeps his gaze forward, hand coming up to signal that everything is clear. Simon enters behind Price with Kyle on his heel.

“There are three down the hall,” crackles Johnny’s voice over comms.

Price, Gaz, and Simon move silently down the tight hallway. One side is solid brick, the other treated wood. They pass breakers and switches but no doors. There are a few wall hangings but they’re for the workers who would handle the upkeep.

At a tight turn, Price presses himself against the wall. Simon and Kyle crouch as Price eases a small handheld mirror around the corner. There are only a few feet of hallway remaining before it meets a door that says “EXIT.”

“Where are they, Soap?”

A pause. “Just outside the door. Left.”

Price turns the corner and stops at the door. They form a line, switching off night vision. The door opens, and Price is moving. Simon is right behind him, blood roaring in his ears as he follows his captain.

Simon’s finger hugs the trigger.

A muted pop leaves the chamber.

Dark red bursts in the dim light, painting the wall and nearby mounted lamp. The three men never had a chance. They don’t even make a sound as the lead penetrates their heads and explodes in their skulls.

Price’s voice greets Simon in his earpiece. “Clear.”

“Two near the entrance. Follow the lights.”

The building is utterly silent. It’s all exposed brick and pipes. Distantly, Simon hears water dripping, but it is otherwise quiet like a slumbering monster.

Walsh is here. He fucking has to be. Simon senses it in his gut.

Price takes the two out near the entrance, Simon following behind with an extra bullet for each just to make sure.

“We’re coming up on your right, Captain.”

Johnny appears with one member of the recon team. The other remains on the roof, keeping an eye for any incoming vehicles.

“The bunker is through here,” says Johnny, aiming his weapon at the floor.

“The door is in the bloody floor?” asks Kyle.

Johnny crouches, his gloved hand gently probing the wood. They all watch until his hand pauses, his fingers lightly pressing downward.

There’s a hiss, and then Johnny is lifting, revealing a ladder and a dimly lit hall that Simon cannot see the end of.

Price squeezes the shoulder of the soldier from recon. “Keep a lookout here. Radio if you hear or see anything.”

“Yes, sir.”

Price releases his shoulder and descends first. Johnny heads down next followed by Simon and then Kyle.

They’re going in blind. They do not have the plans or layout of this part of the building. The strangest thing is that it looks brand fucking new. It doesn’t make any sense.

Walsh doesn’t build. He utilizes what’s available and goes from there.

There’s only just enough light to see by and there are no doors except the one at the end of the short hall. They might find a maze. They might find a singular room. There could be walking into a trap or nothing at all.

Simon isn’t sure what worries him more.

But you have to be here. Somewhere.

Price counts down starting with three fingers. At one, he raises his rifle and kicks in the door, charging forward. Heartrate spiking, Simon heads in after him, finger tight on the trigger, ready to burst skulls and shatter bone.

The adrenaline peaks, swarming Simon’s senses.

And then it comes crashing down.

As if falling from a great height, Simon is presented with an entirely different outcome.

The firing end of the rifle drifts downward, his gaze focusing on the singular object in the entire room. It’s a box. A metal tackle box like you’d take on a fishing trip. Above it is a bulb hanging from the ceiling. The light it emits is warm and low like it’s been on for years and is just about ready to give out.

Price, Johnny, and Kyle all walk the perimeter of the room.

“It’s solid fucking concrete!” shouts Johnny, his steps increasing as he drags one gloved hand along the wall.

Price slowly spins. “What the fuck is this place?”

“It’s not a storage warehouse,” says Kyle. “There’s nothing here.”

“A hideout, then?” suggests Johnny. “A bunker?”

“Then where’s the bloody bed?” replies Kyle, voice rising slightly. “There isn’t even a table!”

Simon’s focus is narrowing to a pinpoint.

The tackle box is a deep forest green, the handle black, the latch gold.

He takes a step toward it.

“Don’t touch that, Simon.”

Simon ignores Price’s command. He moves closer.

“Simon!”

“Lt! Don’t touch it!”

It’s a game. This is all Walsh’s game.

Simon comes down to one knee beside the tackle box. It’s old—a little banged up. Somehow, he recognizes it.

His gloved thumb brushes over the metal latch.

“Simon!”

It’s Johnny, but Simon is already moving—already releasing the latch and lifting the lid.

Memory resurfaces, and cold dread twists Simon’s stomach. Scratched into the interior of the lid is a name.

It’s Simon’s father’s name.

The tackle box is his father’s, a relic from a time when there was no abuse and no alcohol. Simon remembers going on fishing trips as a young boy carrying this exact box even though he was far too small to hold it properly. He’d always walk leaning to one side due to the weight.

Then it collected dust in a closet as his father became a monster.

But the box isn’t empty.

There are no fishing hooks or plastic dividers. All of that is gone.

In its place is your hair.

Not much, just a cleanly cut portion no larger than Simon’s pinky. It’s neatly tied with red string. Beneath it is a filmy scrap of paper.

The words face him. Clear and obvious.

She’s not here. Try again, friend.

“Simon.”

A crater in the Earth opens up, swallowing Simon whole. He is descending, falling through an endless hell. Spiraling down, down.

“Simon.”

Johnny’s voice is a distant thing. It’s trying to penetrate, to worm inside and pull Simon out but his mind is flipping.

She’s not here.

Your lock of hair is delicately tied, a regretful solace that rings out into Simon’s subconscious.

Try again, friend.

“Simon!”

Following his name is a rattling of gunfire. It’s not distant. Just over his shoulder. In Simon’s earpiece, someone is rattling off a series of numbers and positions, but Simon isn’t paying attention.

You are not here.

You are—elsewhere.

Lost.

In a place where Simon cannot tread.

An instant passes. Then another. The darkness around him transforms, flipping end over end until everything that Simon knows about himself slips away.

You were supposed to be here. He’s supposed to find you. To bring you back.

But this is a task that Simon clearly cannot handle.

Fingers claw up his esophagus, creep over his tongue, and press against his teeth. It emerges, breaking joints, allowing the darkness Simon feels to burst forth and wrap around him, enshrining him in a bloodlust he hasn’t felt in years.

The rifle tip rises. Simon is running on autopilot, allowing Ghost to take over, to consume every ounce of sanity.

Price, Soap, and Gaz are holding down the door, firing at an enemy that Simon cannot yet see.

His feet are not his own. His hands belong to someone else.

Charging forward, the firing end of the rifle explodes. The enemy on the other side are surprised by his sudden appearance. They faulter for a second, their eyes widening slightly in fear. But it’s enough.

It’s enough.

They are cut down, reaching out, hands pressing against the holes in their bodies as blood pools on the floor.

Simon unloads until he’s empty. Reloads. Empties again.

“Simon!”

The rest of his team follow, but Simon is hungry. A blood beast.

When the lead isn’t enough, he uses his hands.

There are bodies all around him, a trail for Price, Gaz, and Soap to follow.

On he moves, devouring. Slicing and gutting until the blood of his enemies begins to soak into his clothes.

He doesn’t remember ascending. Doesn’t remember resurfacing only to dive right back into the void. With ears ringing and a hint of metal on his tongue, Simon destroys everything in his path.

He is aware of Price, Johnny, and Kyle. They move around him, guns high, picking off everyone they can. Simon moves from enemy to enemy, uncaring of how he kills them. He breaks bones. Breaks teeth. Breaks soul. He stabs and slices, relishing in every anguished sound they make.

It is only when so many have fallen that Simon digs in, wanting to draw out a final blow as if the man before him is Walsh and not a nameless crony. The man sobs, his eyes replaced with Simon’s burrowing thumbs.

“Where is she!” screams Simon. He doesn’t even recognize his own voice. “Where the fuck is she!”

The sob becomes a garbled cry. Bloody. Crimson pools and dribbles from the man’s open mouth.

“Tell me where she is!”

Unresponsive. Dead.

Simon slams the man’s head against the floor.

But it isn’t enough. It will never be enough.

A strangled scream is ripped from Simon as he repeatedly bashes the man’s head into the floor.

Hands are on him, grabbing at his arms, tearing him away. Simon swings, clipping Johnny in the chin.

“Enough!” Price wrestles Simon to his feet, pushing him hard against the wall. “They’re dead, Simon.”

His head pounds, the balaclava moving rapidly into and out of his mouth as he gasps for air.

You’re not here.

You’re not here.

It’s all slipping away. Piercing and sharp and yet so dull that Simon begins to feel numb.

“Simon,” murmurs Price, the middle of his brow creasing.

Try again, friend.

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[wheelsgoroundincircles]

Massive cargo ship Felicity Ace, laden with as many as 4000 “luxury” cars bound from Germany to the US, sank in the mid-Atlantic, in March 2022.

[pretzel-box]

-2- THE WALLS WHICH WILL EAT US

word count: 5,2k

tags: GN!reader, graphic mentions of panic attacks, getting attacked

summary: You get shipped to the Hadal Blackside and start your new mission to get the crystal and Z-13, Sebastian Solace. But it seems like the visitors of the Blackside are getting you first.

The sharp scent of various chemicals invaded your senses the moment you arrived at the dock, where Urbanshade housed their high-tech submarines for underwater expeditions—expeditions much like the one you were about to embark on. The dock itself was a massive, bustling hub, with staff members moving swiftly through the vast hall, each absorbed in their own tasks. Cargo was being transported, machines were being meticulously maintained, and the air was filled with the constant hum of activity, all contributing to the strange, industrial rhythm of the place.

The dock was located within a closed hall, nestled just below water level in one of Urbanshade’s many sprawling facilities. From where you stood, you could see the vast array of technology they had developed, each piece funded by the considerable wealth of people like your father. It was impossible not to feel a sense of awe at the sheer scale of their operations. Urbanshade’s business was far more than you had imagined; mining oil from the ocean depths seemed like it was just a side hustle for them, a mere footnote in their grander, more mysterious endeavors.

As you took in your surroundings, the reality of Urbanshade’s reach began to sink in. The size of the submarines alone was staggering, each one a marvel of engineering, designed to withstand the crushing pressures of the deep sea. Workers in identical uniforms moved like clockwork, each performing their duties with practiced efficiency. The atmosphere was one of cold, calculated precision, a far cry from the chaotic hustle you had expected.

“Hey, over here.” A voice cut through your thoughts, snapping you back to reality. A tall man, dressed in the same standard-issue uniform as the others, stood before you. His demeanor was strict, his expression unreadable. He was clearly used to the environment, his posture rigid and commanding. This man was your guide, assigned to escort you through the facility, ensuring you didn’t stray from the carefully laid path Urbanshade had set for you.

“Follow me,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned on his heel and began to walk, expecting you to follow without hesitation.

You fell into step behind him, your mind racing as you tried to absorb everything at once. The guide led you through a series of corridors, each more sterile and unwelcoming than the last. The walls were lined with thick metal plating, a stark reminder of the underwater pressures that lurked just beyond. Occasionally, you caught glimpses of other workers, their faces blank as they passed by, absorbed in their own duties.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly Urbanshade was preparing you for. The deep levels of the ocean were a place of mystery, danger, and unimaginable pressure, both physically and mentally. And yet, here you were, about to be plunged into its depths with little more than a vague idea of what awaited you.

The guide finally stopped in front of a heavy, reinforced door. He glanced at you, his expression softening ever so slightly, before pressing a button on the wall. The door slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing the medical station beyond.

"Standard procedure," the guide said, his voice less harsh now, as if trying to offer some semblance of comfort. "They just need to make sure you’re fit for the journey ahead. Nothing to worry about."

You nodded, stepping through the doorway into the sterile, clinical environment of the medical station. The room was starkly lit, with white walls and gleaming medical equipment arranged neatly along the perimeter. A team of doctors and nurses, all dressed in pristine white uniforms, waited for you inside. Their faces were a mix of professionalism and mild curiosity, as though you were just another specimen to be examined before being sent on your way.

As the door closed behind you, sealing you in the room, the reality of your situation began to weigh heavily on you. You had to pass this final checkpoint, a thorough examination to ensure you were physically prepared for the journey ahead before getting the one-way ticket to hell.

The doctors gestured for you to sit on a cold metal chair in the center of the room. You did so, feeling the coolness seep through your clothes as they began their work, checking your vital signs, drawing blood, and performing a series of tests designed to assess your fitness for the perilous journey.

All the while, your mind kept drifting back to the massive submarines and the dark, unknown depths they were built to explore. You couldn’t shake the feeling that once you boarded one of those vessels, there would be no turning back. The only way out was through, and whatever lay ahead in the deep ocean was as vast and unknowable as the abyss itself.

As the medical team finished their assessment, the door slid open again, and your guide reappeared. His expression was as stern as before, but there was a slight nod of approval as he looked at you.

“You’re cleared,” he said simply, stepping aside to let you exit the room. “Now, let’s get you suited up. It’s time.”

With a deep breath, you followed him out of the medical station.

After the medical examination, the guide led you back through the labyrinth of hallways, deeper into the heart of the facility. Your mind raced as you walked, the sterile environment doing little to calm your nerves. You were heading toward something monumental, something that would change the course of your life, but the details were still murky, shrouded in the secrecy of Urbanshade’s operations.

Finally, you arrived at another reinforced door, larger and more imposing than the last. The guide swiped a keycard through a panel, and the door slid open with a deep, resonant hiss. Inside, a small team of technicians was bustling around a large metal chamber—your submarine. The sight of it sent a shiver down your spine. It looks like a giant dark prison that would suffocate you slowly once you step inside.

“Suit up,” the guide instructed, gesturing toward a nearby rack where a diving suit hung waiting for you.

You approached the suit, eyeing it with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. It was sleek, made from a dark, heavy material that felt both flexible and incredibly durable. The suit was designed to withstand the crushing pressures of the deep sea and most of the things that were swimming in the water such as tiny bacteria, and as you ran your fingers over it, you could feel the quality of the suit.

With some help from the technicians, you began the process of donning the suit. They worked with swift efficiency, guiding your arms and legs into the suit’s sleeves, adjusting the fit, and sealing it tight around your body. The suit clung to you like a second skin, the material warming slightly as it activated, responding to your body heat.

Next came the helmet, a heavy, reinforced piece with a full visor that provided a wide field of vision. The technicians lowered it carefully onto your head, locking it into place with a series of metallic clicks. The moment the helmet sealed, your world became slightly muffled, the sounds of the facility fading into a low hum as the suit’s internal systems took over. A heads-up display flickered to life on the visor, showing a stream of data—your vitals, oxygen levels and a myriad of other readings you couldn’t yet decipher.

The last piece of your equipment was a utility belt, which the technicians fastened securely around your waist. The belt was lined with pouches and compartments, each designed to hold the tools you’d need for the mission. You noticed a small pouch containing a syringe—likely the medication to knock out Sebastian. It had the same color as the syringe in Mr.Wiltshires office. Another compartment held the USB stick, its purpose still lingering in your mind and clearly important given its inclusion in your gear. There were other items as well—what looked like a flashlight and a single medkit.

As the final adjustments were made, the guide stepped forward, his expression as unreadable as ever. “This suit will keep you alive down there,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “But it’s not invincible. Be smart, and don’t push your luck.”

You nodded, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. The weight of the suit was beginning to settle in, both physically and mentally. You were about to be sealed inside a metal capsule and sent into the darkest reaches of the ocean, a place where few had ventured and even fewer had returned from. But there was no turning back now.

The guide led you toward the submarine’s entry hatch, which stood open like a gaping maw, waiting to swallow you whole. The technicians handed you a pair of thick gloves and a small pack containing a few rations and basic batteries for the flashlight—just in case.

With everything in place, you took a deep breath and stepped into the submarine. The interior was cramped, with barely enough room to stand upright. Every surface was lined with panels of blinking lights, screens displaying data, and rows of buttons and switches whose functions you could only guess at. It was a far cry from the spacious, sterile halls of the facility above.

The guide climbed in after you, maneuvering with practiced ease in the tight space. He gestured for you to sit in one of the reinforced seats bolted to the floor. You complied, feeling the seat’s harness click into place around your suit. The guide moved to the controls at the front of the vessel, flipping switches and pressing buttons with the confidence of someone who had done this many times before.

“This is it,” he said without looking back at you. “Once we close the hatch, we’ll begin the descent. The sub is fully automated, so you won’t need to do much. Just keep an eye on your vitals, and stay calm.”

The hatch began to close with a heavy clang, the last sliver of light from the outside world disappearing as the metal door sealed shut. A dull thud echoed through the chamber, followed by a series of mechanical whirs and clicks as the submarine’s systems came online.

You felt a slight shift as the vessel detached from its moorings, the faint sensation of movement signaling the start of your journey. The submarine began its slow, steady descent into the depths, the hum of the engines the only sound breaking the silence.

You glanced at the small viewport beside you, watching as the murky waters of the facility’s dock gave way to the inky blackness of the deep sea. The light from the sub’s exterior lamps cut through the darkness, revealing the occasional flicker of marine life darting past. But as you continued to descend, even those fleeting glimpses faded away, leaving you surrounded by a void so absolute it felt like you were sinking into nothingness.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours as you descended deeper and deeper. The pressure increased with every meter, the submarine creaking and groaning in response. You kept your eyes on the HUD inside your helmet, watching the readings carefully, trying to stay calm.

Suddenly, a voice crackled through the comms, pulling you from your thoughts. “We’re reaching the operational depth,” the guide said, his voice sounding distant. “Everything’s looking good. We’ll be in position shortly.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, and took a deep breath to steady yourself. You were about to reach the point of no return, the depth where Urbanshade’s mysteries lay hidden.

As the submarine settled into position, the guide turned toward you, his face illuminated by the dim glow of the controls. “From here on out, you’re on your own,” he said, his tone serious. “Follow your mission, and you’ll be fine. And remember—whatever happens, stay focused. This isn’t just some walk in the park. What you find down here could change everything.”

With that, he pressed a final button, and the submarine’s systems hummed to life in full force. The hatch beside you opened with a loud hiss, revealing a narrow passage leading out into the deep.

It was time. You unbuckled your harness, your gloved hands moving with a new sense of purpose. The small pouch on your belt containing the syringe and USB stick felt heavier than before, a constant reminder of the stakes. You adjusted your gear one last time, ensuring everything was secure.

Then, with one final look back at the guide, you stepped out of the submarine and into the unknown.

The submarine’s departure was swift and final, leaving you standing alone in the small, dimly lit underwater dock. The hatch closed with a deep metallic thud, and the vessel immediately began its descent back into the depths, the sound of the engines fading into the surrounding water until there was nothing but silence. You were left to take in your new surroundings.

The dock itself was smaller and far more utilitarian than the one you had departed from. Heavy cargo boxes were stacked neatly along the walls, each labeled with codes and symbols you couldn’t decipher. Metal shelves held various tools and equipment, their contents slightly askew, as if someone had left in a hurry. A few tables were scattered around, covered with open crates, maps, and other items left behind by whoever had last used this space. Everything had a layer of dust on it, giving the place an eerie, abandoned feel.

As you took a cautious step forward, your boots echoed on the metal floor, breaking the stillness. The air was thick with the scent of saltwater and oil, mingled with a faint metallic tang that made your skin prickle. The lighting was low, casting long shadows that danced across the walls with each flicker of the overhead lamps.

You moved toward one of the tables, scanning its contents. A few scattered documents caught your eye, their pages yellowed and brittle. Most of the text was smudged or faded, but you could make out references to “Navi-Paths” and “Asset Collection,” terms you recognized from your briefing. Whatever had happened here, it was clear that this facility had been operational once—before it was abandoned to the deep.

Suddenly, a crackle of static filled the air, making you jump. After a moment, a voice from Urbanshade HQ cut through the noise, calm and authoritative.

“Welcome to the Hadal Blackside,” the voice began, echoing in the empty dock with an unsettling clarity. “You are now within one of the most classified zones in all of Urbanshade’s operations. Your objective is simple: collect all assets and follow the designated Navi-Path. The resources you gather here are invaluable to our continued efforts, and your success is imperative.”

The voice paused, letting the weight of the words sink in before continuing.

“The Navi-Path has been mapped out for you. Follow it closely. It's the door signs. Straying from the path may result in disorientation, loss of communication, and even death. You are on your own out there, but we expect nothing less than full compliance. Remember: your mission is the priority. All other considerations are secondary.”

The transmission ended abruptly, leaving you alone once again in the oppressive silence of the dock. The weight of their words hung heavy in the air, the enormity of your task settling in. You adjusted the belt strapped around your waist, securing the small pouches that held the few tools you’d been given—some basic equipment, the small syringe for “emergency” use, and the USB stick that would prove vital to your mission.

Steeling yourself, you moved toward the exit, your path uncertain but driven by necessity. The first room beyond the dock was a wide, cavernous space, lit only by a few dimly lights that barely cut through the darkness. The walls were lined with more shelves, some of which had toppled over, spilling their contents onto the floor. Papers, tools, and unidentifiable scraps of metal were strewn everywhere, evidence of some past chaos.

You stepped carefully around the debris, your eyes scanning the room for anything useful. You found a few more documents, some partially legible, others completely ruined by time and moisture. Most were mundane—logs of inventory, maintenance records—but you stuffed a few into your pouch, just in case.

As you moved deeper into the room, your flashlight beam landed on a closed file cabinet in the corner. You approached it cautiously, the handle cold and slightly rusted under your gloved hand. With a bit of effort, you managed to pry it open. Inside, you found a stack of neatly organized files, most of them still in decent condition. You quickly flipped through them, noting the keywords: “Expedition Logs,” “Resource Acquisition,” “Subject Analysis.” These were the assets you were here for. You stuffed as many as you could into your pouch, the weight pressing against your side as you continued your search.

The next room was larger, with a vaulted ceiling that made the space feel even more ominous. Large machines sat dormant along the walls, their purposes unknown but their sheer size intimidating. The sound of dripping water echoed through the chamber, each drop amplified in the silence.

As you moved cautiously through the room, you spotted another item of interest—a small metal case half-hidden under one of the machines. You pulled it out and carefully opened it, revealing a series of USB sticks neatly lined up inside. Each was labeled with codes similar to the ones on the files you’d found. You didn’t know what they contained, but they were clearly important. You took the entire case, securing it in one of your larger pouches.

Suddenly, the lights flickered, sending a jolt of fear through you. You blinked, trying to shake off the unease. The facility was old, after all, and flickering lights were just another sign of its decay—nothing to worry about. At least, that’s what you tried to convince yourself, brushing off the creeping dread that began to settle in.

But then, the sound hit you—an ear-piercing, bone-chilling scream that reverberated through the walls, freezing you in place. It wasn’t human, not by any stretch of the imagination. The sound clawed at your nerves, each second amplifying the terror gnawing at your gut.

Before you could even process what was happening, a massive black cloud of smoke burst into the room, swirling with unnatural speed and intensity. The sight of it sent your mind into a frenzy. This was no ordinary malfunction. Panic gripped you like a vice, your instincts screaming at you to run, to hide, to do anything to escape whatever horror was hurtling toward you.

Without thinking, you bolted toward the nearest hiding spot—an open locker tucked away in the corner of the room. You flung yourself inside, pulling the door shut just as the cloud surged closer, filling the room with darkness and a suffocating sense of dread. You held your breath, heart pounding in your chest as you tried to stay as still and quiet as possible.

Inside the cramped locker, you could hear the creature—or whatever it was—moving through the room, the sounds it made more akin to a swarm than a single entity. It hissed and crackled, its presence oppressive, as if the very air was being sucked out of the space. You could feel the vibrations of its movements through the metal walls of the locker, each shift causing you to tense up even more.

Time seemed to stretch out, every second an agonizing eternity as you waited, hoping that the creature would pass you by. Your mind raced with a thousand thoughts, none of them comforting. What was that thing? Why was it here? And, most terrifying of all—would it find you?

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to quiet your breathing, hoping against hope that the locker would be enough to shield you from whatever nightmare had been unleashed in this forsaken place.

The giant monster rushed past as quickly as it had appeared, leaving you trembling in the confines of the locker. Your chest heaved, desperate for air, but it felt like no oxygen was reaching your lungs. Panic gripped you tightly, each breath coming out as a shallow gasp. Your thoughts spiraled, the terror of what you’d just witnessed crashing over you in waves.

Your hands shook uncontrollably as you fumbled with the helmet of your diving suit, the need to get it off suddenly overwhelming. The locker felt suffocatingly small, the walls pressing in on you from all sides. You could feel the cold metal against your back, your fingers finally finding the latch on the helmet. With a frantic jerk, you ripped it off your head, letting it fall with a clatter inside the cramped space.

Gasping, you sucked in the stale, metallic-tasting air of the locker, but it wasn’t enough. Your heart pounded furiously in your chest, the sound of your own pulse deafening in your ears. It felt like the walls were closing in, squeezing the breath out of your lungs. No matter how much air you took in, it wasn’t enough to calm the storm raging inside you.

Your vision blurred as tears welled up in your eyes, your mind replaying the sight of that monstrous cloud over and over again. The sheer horror of it, the way it had filled the room with darkness and dread, it was too much to handle. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force the images out of your head, but they wouldn’t go away. The locker felt like a cage, trapping you with your fear, and your thoughts spiraled further out of control.

Your breaths came faster and faster, each one shallower than the last. You tried to steady yourself, to get a grip, but your body wouldn’t listen. You felt like you were drowning in your own panic, every nerve in your body screaming for escape, but there was nowhere to go. The fear had taken over completely, locking you in a vice grip of terror.

For what felt like an eternity, you sat there, struggling to breathe, your body shaking with the intensity of the panic attack. Eventually, the sheer exhaustion began to slow your frantic breaths, but the fear still lingered, clawing at the edges of your mind. You knew you couldn’t stay in the locker forever, but the thought of stepping back out into the darkness, where that thing might still be lurking, was almost too much to bear.

But you also knew you couldn’t stay in this state, trapped in a locker, paralyzed by fear. You forced yourself to take deeper breaths, to focus on the sound of your breathing, the feel of the cold air filling your lungs.

In the end, you couldn’t stay in the locker any longer. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, suffocating you with your own fear. With shaky breaths, you finally gathered the courage to push open the door and step out into the dark, disorienting space. The room was eerily silent, the absence of light making it impossible to see where you were going. You hesitated, trying to get your bearings without crashing into any furniture or walls.

Then it hit you—you had a flashlight. Relief mingled with your lingering panic as you remembered. Quickly, you fumbled for it, plucking it from your belt and flipping it on. The beam cut through the darkness, revealing the room around you. The light danced over scattered documents, overturned furniture, and… a strange, human-shaped hole in the wall.

You blinked, trying to make sense of it. The edges of the hole were jagged, as if something had forced its way out of the wall. Unease prickled at the back of your neck as you stepped closer, the flashlight’s beam trembling in your hand. You leaned in to get a better look, your mind racing with possibilities, none of them good.

Suddenly, a soft, almost imperceptible sound echoed through the hall—a faint shuffling, like something dragging across the floor. You froze, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. The sound was close, too close, and it sent a chill down your spine.

You swung the flashlight around, its beam sweeping over the room, desperately searching for the source of the noise. The light caught movement—just a flicker at the edge of the beam, but enough to send your heart racing.

Your breath hitched as you slowly turned toward the direction of the movement. Your flashlight illuminated a figure emerging from the wall itself, its form eerily human but distorted in unsettling ways. The Wall Dweller moved silently, its dark, gaunt shape blending seamlessly with the shadows. It was halfway out of the wall, its empty eyes locked on you with a chilling intensity.

For a moment, you were paralyzed by fear, your body refusing to respond as the Wall Dweller slithered free from the wall. But as the flashlight beam lingered on it, something unexpected happened—the creature froze. Its body stood still against the light, and for a brief second, it seemed almost uncertain.

Then, with a sudden, jerky motion, the Wall Dweller recoiled. It shifted back, retreating toward the open door you came from as if the light had unnerved it. You watched in shock as the creature sprinted back through the hallway, its gaunt figure slipping away into the darkness from which you came. The shuffling sound faded as quickly as it had begun, leaving you alone in the quiet room once more.

You stood there, heart pounding in your chest, flashlight still pointed at the now-empty wall. The encounter had left you rattled, but relief washed over you as you realized the Wall Dweller had fled, seemingly more afraid of you—or perhaps of the light—than you were of it.

Slowly, you lowered the flashlight, trying to steady your breath. The room was silent again, but the tension in the air had lessened. Whatever that thing was, it was gone now.

You took a moment to steady yourself, the flashlight still clutched tightly in your hand. The room was quiet, the Wall Dweller gone, but your nerves were frayed. You couldn’t afford to stay here any longer, not with the darkness pressing in and the uncertainty of what might be lurking nearby. You needed to keep moving.

Cautiously, you stepped out of the room and into the hallway, the beam of your flashlight leading the way. The hall stretched out before you, lined with doors that seemed to go on forever. You chose one at random, the door creaking open as you pushed it with trembling hands. The room beyond was an office, eerily quiet and dimly lit by the emergency lights flickering weakly overhead.

You scanned the room, your eyes falling on several desks cluttered with papers and office supplies. You knew what you were here for—files, documents, anything that might be of value or contain information. Your heart was still racing, but you forced yourself to move forward, sweeping the flashlight over the desks and shelves.

As you approached the nearest desk, you noticed a stack of files haphazardly piled on top. Quickly, you started rifling through them, your eyes scanning the labels and dates. Some of them seemed important, so you grabbed what you could, shoving the files into the small pouch at your waist. The rest of the room yielded more documents, USB sticks, and other bits of data that you added to your growing collection.

The more you found, the more you realized how vital this information might be. But as you continued to search, the lights above you flickered, sending a jolt of fear straight through your chest. You froze, staring at the ceiling as the light stuttered again, threatening to plunge you into darkness.

Panic gripped you. The memory of the Wall Dweller was still fresh in your mind, and the thought of being caught in the dark again was unbearable. Your breath quickened, the room suddenly feeling far too exposed, too open. You needed to get out, and fast.

There was no locker here, nowhere to hide. You glanced around frantically, searching for another exit, another room—anywhere that might offer safety. The lights flickered once more, this time staying off for a fraction too long. It was enough to make your decision.

Without thinking, you bolted from the office, your footsteps echoing loudly in the deserted hallway. You didn't care about the noise, didn't care about anything except getting to a place where you could hide. The hallway seemed endless, but you pushed yourself forward, heart hammering in your chest.

Finally, you spotted another door ahead, slightly ajar. You sprinted towards it, not slowing down until you reached it. Your hand shot out, wrenching the door open as you stumbled inside, slamming it shut behind you.

Panting heavily, you leaned against the door, trying to catch your breath. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of your flashlight, but it felt safer—more enclosed. You aimed the beam around, revealing another small office. This one was more cramped, with just enough space to move around.

Relief washed over you as you noticed a locker in the corner, its metal surface gleaming dully in the light. You wasted no time, crossing the room and throwing open the locker door. It was empty, just big enough for you to fit inside. You clambered in, pulling the door shut behind you as you crouched down, trying to quiet your breathing.

The darkness of the locker felt strangely comforting now, a shield against the unknown. You hugged your knees to your chest, listening intently for any sound outside. But there was nothing—just the pounding of your own heart and the faint hum of the building’s dying lights.

And then a heavy force rushed into the room before smashing itself against the metallic locker, the force pressing a dent into the double doors, making you scream as your space went smaller and smaller. You pushed your shaking legs against the doors with full force, keeping the dent and the monster from squishing you to death but whatever the creature was, wouldn't stop and rammed more against the poor locker that would soon give up.

Your heart pounded in your chest as the relentless force continued to crash against the locker, each impact louder and more violent than the last. The cold metal bent inward with every strike, the sound of creaking steel and the screech of the creature echoing in your ears. The small space grew unbearably tight, the walls closing in as you pushed back with all your might, your legs trembling under the strain. Fear clawed at your throat as you realized the locker wouldn't hold much longer. Desperation surged through you as you searched frantically for any possible escape, knowing that the next impact could be your last.

The relentless assault finally ceased, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. You gasped for breath, your body trembling from the strain and adrenaline. The creature had retreated, its monstrous presence fading into the distance. The metal locker, now warped and twisted, barely provided any protection, but it was over.

Your legs were numb, a dull ache spreading through your entire body. Bruises throbbed on your skin where the locker had pressed into you, and the terror of the encounter left you drained, every ounce of energy spent. As the adrenaline ebbed away, the pain intensified, overwhelming your senses.

With a final, weak breath, your vision blurred, and you slipped into unconsciousness, your body slumped behind the battered double doors.

[whereserpentswalk]

You live on a space station. It's several light years from the nearest star. Even with the best travel possible it would take about ten years to get there. And most stars people go to have even longer travel times.

The station acts as a rest stop between star systems. Mostly for generational ships that are passing through. Though rest stop is a strange thing to say. At this scale, the ships are the size of small cities, and the station is the size of a metropolis, if not in size then in population and function. Ships will dock for a few years, and people will have the chance to come out, of their ships and explore somewhere new, alongside getting new supplies.

It's always exciting whenever a new ship comes along. It's almost always a new culture you're meeting. Useally humans but sometimes something else. You get to find out about an entirely new culture, and live with them, and meet new people. There have been a lot of interesting variations on humanity alone you've met. A civilization that used biotech. Pilgrims on a journey to a planet that probably doesn't exist. A civilization of almost entirely cyborgs. Your ship always ends up with a neighborhood or two populated by every culture that stops by. Some people always choose to move to your station, some people choose to move to the ships from your station, when humans are the most valuable cargo, it's important to do what you can to up your diversity.

And beyond that, it's just nice for both groups to be able to explore eachothers ships when they're attached, getting to see so many new things. It's lonely out between the stars. You're always aware that even while you're in these massive cities that there's still only nothingness beyond you. That you're a small dot of light out in space. Even in the warmest and most cozy spaces you can't help but know that the cold is around you. It's all you've ever known, and all you'll ever know. The one time you met a ship that had been to a planet in living memory they found it disturbing that you only knew this world of floating cities, that you've never seen nature, but to everyone else it's normal. You have a few artificial environments, but for the most part it's just these cities in space, and that's fine for you, you like having people, you like being with the people you're with.

It's strange. Sometimes a ship won't have as many people. Sometimes it'll just be cargo and robots who manage the cargo. Sometimes most of the people will be in hypersleep. Sometimes it'll be a smaller ship with a smaller crew. One time a ship looked like a normal generational ship but it was entirely empty. The ship leadership made sure that one left fast, there was something deeply wrong about that one.

It's always sad when a ship leaves. You know it has to happen but that doesn't make it any less sad. It's something worth grieving for most. You have people who you knew for years who you'll never see again. People leaving forever on both sides. Entire streets and neighborhoods you'll never get to go to again. You'll spend your time with those who you know are going, do what you will for your last days. You'll see parents and children, freinds and lovers, split forever. And when you watch the ships go, you'll wish for some tragedy to turn them around, but there won't be, there won't be...

[squibsformers]

Feral Fears, Ch. 1

Human x Transformers fic

MTMTE/Lost Light, First Contact AU

Rating: M

Word Count: 1,004

Desc: After needing to stop off for more supplies, the Lost Light gets a strange, displeased, new passenger.

AN: Hi hi hello I hope you like this! This was the poll winner, maybe I'll do another chapter soon. If you like it let me know! I enjoy reading tags and comments on my things a lot. This one's short to kinda get me back into the swing of writing.

[Next]N/A

“How in the pit have we gone through this much energon so quickly…?” Yellow servos tapped rapidly against the owner's desk, glaring at the report from Ultra Magnus. 

“If you bothered to pay attention, you would have heard me when I said the breach in the ship had us LOSE much of our stock, as well as how quick we went through our repair supplies... We can refuel and pick up more once we hit the next stop off, but we may be stationed at the outpost longer than you'd like.”

The prime sighed. “Longer as in a few vorns or-”

“Cycles. We have to wait for them to get us what we want if they don't have it.”

“Slag. Well… Damn. Okay, I guess we don't really have a choice- Set a course for the nearest outpost, tell the crew they're getting a… surprise few days of tourism to go run around and do whatever it is they please.”

“...That's not-” Ultra Magnus sighed. “That's bound to lead to trouble.”

“You wanna explain to everyone they're grounded to their rooms while we're parked and picking up supplies?”

Ultra Magnus sighed. “No…”

“That's what I thought. Plot a course! Let's get moving, the ship isn't gonna fuel itself!”

–---

Legs carried them desperately, ducking and weaving along unshipped cargo and barrels of fuel.

They had to keep moving. Keep moving, keep quiet, keep running. Your lungs burned, feeling like hot embers were popping in your bronchial tubes, making them hiss and whine quietly as they flex, their feet thumping quietly, trying to run on the balls of their feet as they scurried through the shipping bay.

They had to keep moving. Keep moving, keep running, keep pushing and going, it can't stop, if they stop they're FUCKED so utterly fucked-

“♠︎£°▪︎¤#%¡¡¿ ~×&%ꕥ˚꒦꒷꒷﹆¡¡”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck-

They ducked down between two shipping containers that barely had enough space that they could squeeze between, cutting down the row and looking around.

Where to go. They had to hide, running wasn't going to work, they were so much bigger, so much stronger and faster and smarter- but they could be crafty. Ohoho and could be sneaky.

….I mean they couldn't see shit but. Well. That would just be an obstacle to work past.

The organic looked around, squinting while leaning back against a crate… and stumbled some, feeling the massive box's frame was warped. Frowning, it looked up, and noticed a small, dark spot waaay up at the lid.

….Hole. That had a hole.

Hopefully, a hole the human could wedge itself into.

To the right, they spotted some metal pallets…and started climbing, grunting and huffing with effort. The makeshift knapsack weighed them down some, but they kept moving, desperate for an escape, for freedom. The fleshy's hands slip at one point and they drop, letting out a pain-filled wheeze and hearing a nasty, wet crack.

Don't think about it. Don't think about it, don't do it. Barely even slowing down, the human heaves themself up, panting. Their free hand reaches over…and they whine as they clench the break, sliding the bone into…relative place. It looked…okay. Perfectly fine. Yes.

Absolutely. Couldn't even tell it had a staircase break.

….Time to climb again.

The human sighed and began scrabbling up, wincing and trying to ignore the obvious injury it had. They didn't have time to worry about that, and they needed to get to safety-

“^^□●₩◆°°°▪︎°%”

Fuck. Those fucking robots were close.

One pallet, two, three, four, six, eight-

When the organic reached the top of the pallets stack, they looked over to that crate, judged the little distance you could out…

And leapt across the gap, purposefully overshooting the edge so it wouldn't miss but stumbled and landed hard, cracking their already damaged arm, letting out a yelp of pain.

“!#$♤♤□♡°•°¡¡”

Time to hurry. That sounded very aggressive.

Feeling along the edge of the crate, they finally found the hole… and blindly smushed themselves inside, falling a small distance onto a pile of…something.

Cabling? It felt like cables, it had the outer layer of rubbery plastic…

Geez it was dark.

……Geez it was really dark.

They heard metallic footsteps storm closer, and the little organic being covered their mouth, taking slow breaths to try and stifle the sounds of being… well, alive.

They stayed that way for what felt like hours, the dark slowly pressing more and more in on you, stifling and terrifying but at the same time a sanctuary, a safety net. They listened as those pedes paced about, searching, scouring, seeking them out. They heard the strange “Vrr wrr chtcht chitter krr bzrtkr krrrzst” that was their strange natural language. Aggressive tones. Still mad. They heard…

….

They heard beeping. Something is getting closer, beeping is getting louder. Heard new footsteps, old ones fleeing once the shouting began. Heard the beep directly outside their cable sanctuary.

And then… felt movement. The crate jostled and shook, and you held your breath, waiting for the lid to be ripped off and you to be found….

But…that didn't happen. Instead…. the crate moved. And you were moving along with it, whether you wanted to or not.

There was chatter, again. Lots of chatter. Then there was an obnoxiously loud beep near one side of the crate, another more.. blippy-beep next to that spot…And the crate moved once more, rattling a bit, before there was a hiss, a soft thud and the sound of pedes leaving.

The little human stayed in that crate. Stayed in it for hours. 

And then there was a new noise. A louder noise. A deep, thrumming, hum, that evolved into a bone and brain rattling roar, of impossible machinery kicking in, engines revving, turbines whirling, and a feeling like, for a brief moment, their soul was pulled from their body.

When they felt relatively normal again, the human slowly peeked out from the hole in the crate, and squinted.

They had a feeling they were on another stupid ship.

[jpitha]

New and... Improved?

This is a continuation of the universe in

Voiding the Warranty

Whatever Happened to Lauren Ingram

They Can't Edit All of Us... Can They?

The shipyard was gigantic. Humans always built large, even when they didn't have to. Spindly, long beams reached out through the midnight blue of space, illuminated with harsh shadows by massive lights. When the shipyard was in sunlight sharp double shadows were cast, which caused an optical illusion about how many beams there really were. Well, for humans at least. Most other Coalition species didn't have the same issues with their brains lying to them like the humans did. Peme wondered if that was part of the reason for why they acted the way they did. If you couldn't even believe your own eyes, it makes sense you'd want to verify and experiment and prove everything you saw.

There were only three ships currently under construction in the shipyard. Even if they never built more than two or three ships at a time, the shipyard could support the construction of more than a hundred. When asked why, the Humans would do that annoying half smile they do and say something pointless like "You never know."

Agent Peme stood in the runabout, behind the pilot as she was shuttled to a ship in the rear of the shipyard. It was about Frigate sized - small for humans - but still about the same size as most of the cargo ships Peme used to command before signing on with HIDA. She didn't know what to expect when the human agency extended an offer of employment to her, but with what she had seen, she felt like she couldn't go back to her old life.

They were surprisingly welcoming and she had quickly learned that there were quite a few other non-humans employed by the Human InterDimensional Authority. She even had the card that explained that she could commander any Coalition vessel at any time if she felt that it was necessary for the "dimensional integrity of the Coalition's existence" like all the other Agents. It weighed heavily in her uniform pocket. She still couldn't believe that the Coalition agreed to them.

Her Mentor, Victor Henrick lounged in the passenger seats a few meters back from the pilot. "Come on, Peme, there's no need to loom over the pilot. They know where we're going." He said, smiling. Peme walked back and sat heavily in the seat that was just a touch too small for her - human designed.

"Victor, I don't like it. Why are we all going to see this ship? HIDA hardly ever sends more than one agent, and Dispatch has sent three of us."

As she spoke, Shimmering Heat, one of the other nonhumans in HIDA glanced up from his pad and regarded Peme. "If you read your brief, Peme, you'd know why we're going." Even speaking Belanic, his voice was musical, lilting.

Peme's fur bristled. "I did read the brief, Shimmer. You know what I mean. Why are three of us going - specifically two who have witnessed an Editing and one who probably knows the most about them?"

Victor raised his hands, making a conciliatory gesture. Victor was raised in space, and grew up in a pressure suit. As such, a lot of his speech was peppered with spacer gestures. When you can't read body language, you develop other ways to subtly express things. "Friends, please. Shimmer is right in that the broad strokes of why we are here are in the brief-" Shimmer's crest flicked, like a smug smile "-but Peme is also correct that the true details were left out for security reasons." Peme's fur lowered slightly. "Now." Victor looked down at his pad and touched it a few times. The Pilot raised his right hand without turning to look at them, and unplugged his headset. "We can speak freely. You are correct that there is a reason why you two are coming to see this ship, especially since you are a freshly minted Agent, Peme. You two have witnessed the consequences of when a human tinkers with a FlashWarp drive."

Shimmer's feathers rippled. He was the only person in existence who remembered his human. She had upgraded the FlashWarp drive on his ship and was rewarded with being edited out of reality. Peme's human survived, but only with the help of a HIDA agent who was onboard.

"The ship we're going to tour - the Terms of Service - has been outfitted with a new kind of FTL drive."

Peme stared at Victor, and then out the window at the ship they were approaching, and then back to Victor. "A FlashWarp drive? I thought humans could not use them?"

Victor grinned. "Well, we weren't licensed to use them. No matter who they think are, the owners of the FlashWarp drive can't limit physics - as much as they'd like to. But no, it's not a FlashWarp drive as such. We're calling it a FlipWarp drive. Ideally, it combines the speed of our Flip drive, with the reliability and ease of use of the FlashWarp drive. Most importantly, if it works, We're releasing it to the Coalition, open source. We're going to break their monopoly."

****

Shimmering Heat didn't like The Terms of Service. It had a smell. A sharp, chemical smell, overlaid with some kind of odd artificial floral scent. Shimmer tried to close his nostrils to it, but it didn't really help. He never spent a lot of time on human starships, and had never been on a new one, let alone one that wasn't finished being built; it was unpleasant. It was too bright, the decorations were the wrong color, the floor clanged oddly, and the beds looked uncomfortable.

The three of them received a tour from the acting captain, a tall woman with a no nonsense attitude. She was wearing the same overalls as the rest of the construction crew and the only sign of her rank was some bars on her collar. Shimmer was only mildly interested in what he was being shown; the unpleasantness of the ship was a distraction. It was a ship. The shape of things and the colors might be different, but it still had Environmental systems, still had thrusters, still had crew quarters, still had weapons. Peme - who had only ever been on cargo ships and tramp freighters - was much more impressed with the Human built Naval frigate.

The Captain led them to the command deck. "And here we are, the heart of the TOS, and where you will conduct the shakedown cruise." She turned towards the three of them. "Before I relinquish command, do you have any questions?"

Victor turned to Shimmer and Peme. They locked eyes with him and said nothing. "I don't think so, thank you for your hard work, Captain. I will assume command."

She saluted sharply. "Captain. you have the ship." immediately her demeanor changed. She loosened up and smiled widely. "Glad that's done. Watch out for the hab, the climate still needs to be dialed in, and the grav over in Weapons makes me nauseated. Other than that, we need a half a solar day to button things up, and then we'll leave."

"What about the crew?" Shimmer asked, looking around the command deck. Even though it was a small human ship, it was still larger than most Coalition ships Shimmer had ever been on. Hundreds could live and work here.

"Oh, you'll be receiving a skeleton crew for the shakedown cruise. All HIDA members and contractors if I am not mistaken." she said, looking at Victor. He nodded. "Well then. You have the place to yourself until tomorrow and then the crew will embark."

She left and the command deck felt empty. The new stations, still with plastic on their seats felt impersonal, clinical. Shimmer thought back to the ships he used to operate. They were all many solar cycles old, some generations old. His favorite was new centuries before Peme's people even joined the Coalition. A new ship felt wrong.

True to form, the construction crew finished cleaning and putting paneling and flooring in place, and without any fanfare left the ship, leaving the three of them to it.

****

Victor didn't like the skeleton crew. They gave off an aura of misplace competence. Victor walked around the ship, inspecting in person before departure and watched how they moved, how they worked. Everyone could to the job - that was not in question - but they moved with the robotic precision of people who were digitally trained. He had read all the reports, digital training was equivalent, implanted muscle memory was just as good as natural, et cetera et cetera. They didn't move like a well oiled crew though. He also didn't like how each one was not-so-subtly armed. Shoulder holsters, small of the back holsters, everyone on the skeleton crew carried a gun and - worrying Victor - a knife. The armory was completely stocked as well, and the Capital weapons were completely operational. They didn't even have more than portable rations for the shakedown cruise, but they had enough firepower to take down a quarter of the Coalition. Someone was expecting Trouble and Victor didn't like it.

"Is this related to what I saw on my ship?" Peme asked. They were in a conference room right off the command deck. It was just the three of them and the door was locked. Victor was the captain officially, but he still locked the door behind them.

"It is. We don't know what will happen when we activate the FlipWarp drive. It's not a FlashWarp drive per se, but we did do a little bit of reverse engineering and a slight amount of license violation. Now, humans were specifically prohibited from signing the license agreement, so technically we are not beholden to the agreement, but we don't know how much the license holders care about that. They seem to have it out for us."

"Why is the crew so heavily armed?" Shimmer glanced at the locked door, and a ripped passed through his feathers.

"HIDA ordered it. Everyone has been loaded with skillsofts for how to run the ship, but they're all soliders through and through."

"That explains why the armory and weapons are complete, but we don't even have a kitchen yet." Peme frowned. She didn't know that there wasn't going to be a kitchen and was going to have to live off generic Coalition nutrient bars for the week. There was very little human food she could safely consume. Shimmer was better off, but only slightly. Food was going to be boring for a while.

Victor nodded. "I don't like it either, but this is an order over my head. HIDA thinks that there is going to be Trouble when we activate the drive and wants to be ready."

"But why are we doing this then?" Shimmer flapped his arms once in exasperation. "It seems like we would have been fine to just let the FlashWarp drive be and keep you using your Flip drive. We're inviting trouble, for what?"

"For a few things Shimmer. One, the FlipWarp drive is going to be better - if it works - and we're always trying to shrink interstellar space. Anything we can do to bring the Coalition peoples closer is a net good. Two, we don't like that they have a monopoly on FTL and won't let anyone else even look at it. The prohibition specifically mentions humans, but we have records of other Coalition people's being Edited. It just happened more to us because we tinkered more. Three, humanity in general doesn't like bullies. They're using the FlashWarp drive to artificially limit Coalition Space and stymie growth."

"Humanity doesn't like bullies unless they're the ones bullying." Peme said, her ears twitching.

"Hah, that's fair." Victor said. "But regardless, humanity is doing this, HIDA is at the forefront and you work for HIDA. We're not stopping now." Victor stood. "We're going to depart the shipyard in a few minutes and then run the FlipWarp drive. The rest of the command crew is going to be armed, do you two want a weapon?" Peme and Shimmer blinked in surprise, and Peme's laquered claws slid out of their sheaths just a bit.

"N-No thank you, Victor. I'll stay unarmed." Peme said, sliding her claws back in.

"Actually, yes Victor. Do you have a weapon that I can use?" Shimmer's eyes shone, and his nostril holes in his sharp beak opened more.

"I do, Shimmer; one moment." Victor went over to a cabinet and took out a case. Placing it on the table, he took out a small pistol with an odd grip, designed for Shimmer's claw like hands. There was also a belt that went around his shoulders - Victor showed him how to put it on - and the pistol hung under his left wing/arm. "It's a human design, modified for your use. Let me know how you like it. We are thinking of selling them."

Shimmer scoffed. "Of course you are. Still-" He grasped the pistol in his hands. "-It is comfortable. I'll take some time at the range and let you know how I like it."

Victor unlocked the conference room and the three of them re-entered the command deck. The skeleton crew was in place at their stations as Victor sat in the commander's chair and Peme and Shimmer took up station behind him. "Helm, are we ready to depart?"

"Aye Captain. We have been unmoored from the shipyard and are free floating." The helmsmen was a young human, with a very closely cropped haircut. Peme noticed what Victor had said. Everyone on the skeleton crew looked more like a shock trooper than a ship's crew.

"Take us out of the yard, and then engage the FlipWarp drive then."

"Aye Captain. Destination?"

"Hey Shimmer, any requests?" Victor turned in his chair and grinned wildly. "Wanna go home and show off?"

Shimmer's feathers poofed out in surprise. "S-Sure? I haven't been to our homeworld since I fledged, but... yes, I would like to go there. Set course for Belanium, Helm."

"Aye. Course set. Estimated time of arrival is two human hours."

"Two hours? It's weeks away?" Shimmer said.

"It was weeks away. If all goes well, we'll be there in two hours." Victor winked at Shimmer. "Helm, execute."

****

Peme had Flashed many, many times. It was completely routine. They'd set the course, activate the drive, there would be a prismatic flash of color out the window for the duration of the trip, and then it was just a battle against boredom until they arrived.

This time was different. There was still the prismatic flash, but it was... colored different? It was hard to describe. It felt different. There was also a sensation of motion, that was unusual. Maybe that was the Flip drive part? Still other than the different colors and the feeling of motion, it looked to be - once again - a boring trip. At least it wouldn't take too long.

It seemed like the whole crew exhaled as they soared through Flashspace. Maybe nothing would happen after all. Just as Victor leaned back in his chair and flipped his display out to monitor the systems, there was a noise like tearing cloth and before them... was a being.

Peme recognized them. It was the same bilaterally symmetric type of person she saw before. Two arms, two legs, covered in a prismatic field - one that was colored the way she expected. The being crossed their arms as the rest of the crew drew their weapons and trained the guns on them.

"Really? Guns?" They scoffed. "As if those are going to stop me." They paced across the room as they spoke. "I can't believe you had the temerity to reverse engineer the FlashWarp drive! We warned you not to do it, and you did it anyway. We told you what would happen if you did."

Peme remembered. Last time they did something to annoy the creators of the FlashWarp they had threatened to revoke everyone's license to use the technology, stranding them wherever they were in space.

Victor didn't seem worried. He slowly closed the display he was using, and looked up at the being. "You did not ask permission to board."

"I don't need permission! When you are in Flashspace you are in our realm."

"Technically, we're not in your Flashspace. This is an amalgam of the Flip drive and the FlashWarp drive."

"It's a distinction without a difference! You would not have been able to generate the field without reverse engineering the metacompensator. That is proprietary and you are in violation of the license agreement!"

"Humanity wasn't allowed to sign the license agreement, remember?"

"Humanity is a Coalition species and as such is held to the license agreement previously signed. We do not require every new Coalition species to sign it again." The being pointed at Victor "Do not get clever with me, human. We know about your lawyers and we are not impressed."

"Okay, fair." Victor touched something on his wrist. "Does this impress you then?"

Peme wasn't sure what he did, but what she saw was another prismatic flash and then there was... just a person standing before them. The prismatic field that they were covered in was gone, and they looked much less impressive. They honestly looked... kind of...

"You're human?" Peme's claws slid all the way out as her fur bristled. Shimmer's eyes locked onto the person and his head tilted in a very old way so that his eyes could both see what was in front of them. To their credit, the humans did not waver, their weapons still pointed at the humanlike person in front of them.

"I am not human, and I am frankly insulted that you lumped me in with those primitives!" The being, who looked like a human male said, as he crossed his arms - a very human gesture - and leaned against an empty seat.

"But you look like one." Shimmer pointed out.

"He's right you know. You do look very human." Victor said. He was clearly enjoying this immensely.

They tisked. "Maybe, at one point, deep in our past we might have been human, but we have evolved beyond mere base humanity. We are the next evolution. We are your future."

This time, Victor scoffed. "Next evolution my ass. You are a bunch of humans who found - or stole - some precursor's technology and you're using it to fleece the Coalition and extort wealth from them."

"I never! I cannot believe you are making this accusation of us! We-"

"Peme, do you remember the voice of the FlashWarp being you heard when you prevented your human from being Edited? Does it sound like this person?" Victor turned and looked at Peme, ignoring the - seemingly - human in front of them.

"Yes, they sounded just like this person. Almost identically."

"I thought so. We estimated that there are only a dozen of them or so, and they have only one precursor ship."

"You knew this would happen?" Shimmer's beak is agape.

"We had a hunch. Remember Shimmer, there are levels of secret. There are things that even I don't know in HIDA." This time Victor crossed his arms. "Here's what is going to happen. You're going to go back to your crew, let them know the charade is over, and relocate back to human space. You will turn over your precursor ship and technology to humanity and we will share it with the Coalition. You will disable the tamper prevention on all FlashWarp drives, and will release the Coalition from their contract. If you do this we won't look too hard into the wealth you've extracted from the Coalition."

"And if we refuse?" All pretense dropped, he looked much more human. Peme thought he looked young for a human, younger than Victor at least. His body language was puzzling though. Like he was almost pleased he was figured out.

"If you refuse, then we will continue to reverse engineer FlashWarp, we will disable the tamper prevention ourselves, and we will cut you off from returning to Coalition space. You will be marooned with your ship and your crew."

"L-Let's not be hasty here! There's no need to threaten us with starvation. I'm sure we can come to an agreement." His body language immediately changed, Peme was impressed. He went from confident to worried for his own life in practically no time at all.

"We sure can. Agree to my terms, and Flash back to Sol."

"...Dammit. It was nice while it lasted." The human shrugged. "Okay, we agree. We'll Flash back to Sol and explain everything. No jail time?"

"Probably not."

"Probably?"

"Depends on how you got ahold of the ship in the first place and who you fucked over to keep it."

"Fine." He touched a glassy square on his wrist, frowned, and tapped it again and looked up at Victor.

"Oh, sorry." Victor gestured to one of the soliders. He pressed a few buttons, and the human's prismatic field snapped back into place. With another sound like cloth being torn, he disappeared.

"There we go." Victor stood from his chair and inclined his head towards the door. "Now that's finished, let's go get something to eat."

****

"How did you know he was human?" Shimmer said around his dinner. The three of them were alone in the canteen. Once they arrived at Belanium, Shimmer had signaled that not only did they have a new FTL drive to demonstrate, but that they had a need for takeout. The humans could eat their food, so dinner was brought for everyone. Shimmer attacked his with gusto and even Victor had to admit, it was pretty good, if a bit fishy.

"Like I said, we had a hunch. Given Peme's description of them, and the words and phrases they used, we had an idea who they were."

"And the Precursors?"

"Don't know much about them. We found one station in space we think was theirs and some ruins on an otherwise empty planet. Looks like they had a pretty large territory if were we found their stuff is to be believed."

"And you didn't tell the Coalition?" Peme said, surprised that she wasn't surprised.

"Come on, Peme. You're working for HIDA. We're not unique among Human Authorities. You know how we work. Secrecy is our stock in trade." Victor took a sip of water. The Belanic food was pretty dry.

Shimmer swallowed quickly and gestured with is implement. "What I don't understand is how they set up Flash Incorporated and sold the Coalition FlashWarp technology more than two thousand solar cycles ago. Way before we met humanity."

"They have a time machine." Victor said simply.

Shimmer started coughing. Peme jumped up and thumped his back. He put up a hand, and took a sip of water.

"They do not. That's a fantasy. The math never works." Peme said, firmly.

"It works if you ignore some certain parts of vacuum theory." Victor said carefully. "We know about it."

"You're telling me humanity has a time machine? Shimmer had awe in his voice.

"No, I am very definitely not telling you that." Victor said. "I am saying that we know about the technology, and we surmise that the precursors had it and that the folks with their ship used it to jump back and sell FlashWarp to the Coalition. Regardless-" Victor stood. "We're going to FlipWarp back to Sol and wait for our friends to arrive, and we can write our reports to HIDA." He smiled and patted them on their backs as he walked out. "Nice work, you two. I'm proud to work with you.

[spliqi]

spliqiii hi!! i remember seeing you talk about a theory regarding higuchi's ability and i was thinking about that now. with innocent purposes. so i wanted to ask if you can redirect me to the posts you made about it? (and/or elaborate when you answer this ask!) no pressure of course <3

aaaa hello!!! here are the main posts i made about it. but i can absolutely just explain everything again because i love to yap and i have even more thoughts on this now than i did back then

it's difficult to say for certain what her ability could be since we know literally nothing except that she has/will have one (thanks to asagiri's vagueposting on twitter). in my opinion it would be pretty strange for her to be the one exception to the 'all authors have cool abilities based on their works' rule when she's such a recognized figure in japanese modern lit. so. here's where i fell down a rabbit hole of trying to figure it out with nothing but crumbs and a dream.

for starters there's a lot of unanswered questions around higuchi. the problems she faces with belonging in the mafia seem normal on the surface but when you look into how highly she's ranked it gets ?????. she leads the command unit with akutagawa, a unit that sits directly below the executives and above the black lizard + the majority of the organization. if she doesn’t bring much to the table as mori and tachihara imply in chapter 14, how did she get so high up? she’s also one of the few characters that report directly to mori himself:

not to mention how she must have joined the mafia fairly recently and reached this position super fast, as her and dazai didn’t recognize each other in chapters 3-4:

she’s presented as a totally ordinary character with "relatable problems", and yet her rank doesn’t match this at all. i could see it if she were on the lower rungs of the mafia, maybe the level of a grunt like oda was, but since she isn’t, all i can think is she must have something that the mafia wants, something valuable enough to make mori look past her poor suitability and give her such a high position working as a bodyguard (bodyguard??????) for one of the strongest characters in the series. and of course the most logical conclusion to draw is that it’s related to her mysterious ability.

i’m assuming it’s not an ultra-powerful fighting skill (as cool as that would be), since that would kind of defeat the purpose of her struggle in chapter 14, and it would be odd in that case for her subordinates to look down on her so much:

plus asagiri denies it outright in this 2019 interview:

after digging around, examining each of her scenes down to the atom and bouncing ideas off of mutuals, i think it would make the most sense for her to have a life support or healing-type ability, especially one that comes with some kind of cost to her own wellbeing. it fits the caring and self-sacrificial nature of her character, and her acting as a "nurse" figure would explain both her connection to mori, a doctor, and also her being assigned to work with the terminally ill akutagawa, despite the seemingly massive gap in their capabilities as mafiosi. if her ability is directly linked to treating his illness it could also give us an explanation as to why it’s been a secret for such a long time, as asgr would have to reach the point in the story where akutagawa's illness is revealed first, and timeline-wise the cruise ship scene where that happened was like. a few days ago lol

we only see her around injured people that she could potentially heal a couple of times, but both of these scenes are interesting. the first is with akutagawa after the cargo ship battle in the first arc:

she reaches out to touch his hand with a little glowy effect, but hesitates when she remembers he doesn’t want her to help him. possibly a touch-activated ability? possibly because she’s conflicted about putting herself at risk when she knows he won’t even appreciate it? this takes place immediately after mori berates her about her worth to the mafia/in comparison to akutagawa, so if she does have a healing ability i imagine it's one she has to use sparingly, to the point that her usefulness is being called into question.

at the end of the chapter he apologizes to her and takes her hand, she starts crying and holds his hand back, and a few chapters later he reappears unscathed and stabbing nathaniel. despite having *checks notes* a broken jaw, a fractured spine and skull, first degree burns from head to toe and being in a coma 😭. which could just be animanga logic. but maybe… just maybe…

the second scene is with mori in cannibalism arc, and this one always gets me bc the direct parallel of higuchi at mori’s side and yosano at fukuzawa’s is wild !?!?!

higuchi and yosano are also both conveniently written out of the plot during the annihilation sequence in 55 minutes, when everybody gets hurt:

so. yeag. it makes sense to me. the healerguchi theory is probably the strongest i've seen for her ability by far lsjdjskjrkrj

i also think this theory links well into the irl author’s work - many of ichiyo's protagonists were "overlooked women" like maids, prostitutes, waitresses etc. if her job does involve her being a nurse to akutagawa you can see the clear nod to ichiyo's stories about vulnerable girls in roles of servitude. plus the concept of her ability physically draining her... dying as a result of caring for someone... (<- guy who's trying so hard not to mention flowers at dusk. and failing):

if higuchi has the ability to transfer her lifespan/life force/whatever based on one of her own characters who died slowly due to her unrequited love for a man with the same name as akutagawa… i fear asagiri’s pen game may have been fire all long

[probablyasocialecologist]

In Istanbul, a flotilla of ships is preparing to depart with 5,500 tonnes of aid and around 1,000 medics, lawyers, senior politicians and human rights observers. Its destination: the Gaza Strip. On Sunday, the Gaza Freedom Flotilla will begin making its way to the besieged strip, its fifth voyage in 14 years. While the journey would normally take three to four days, it is expected that the flotilla – initially comprising three vessels, one cargo and two passenger ships, with further vessels expected to join later – could be waylaid by Israeli forces. 

[...]

The flotilla is organised by the Freedom Flotilla Coalition (FFC), which brings together 12 national groups from Canada, Malaysia, Italy, Norway, the US, Sweden, Spain, Turkey, South Africa, New Zealand, the UK and France. Altogether, delegates from over 30 countries will be represented on board. The flotilla’s crew and passengers – among them Che Guevara’s daughter Aleida and Nelson Mandela’s grandson Zwelivelile – will be unarmed. Their peacefulness will not guarantee their safety, however, as the Israeli state has a long and bloody history of targeting humanitarian groups. The flotilla’s first voyage to Gaza in May 2010 was a bloodbath: Israel sent a naval ship to meet it, killing 10 crew members (all of them Turkish, including one Turkish American dual national) and injuring 30. A UN report later found that Israel appeared to have executed at least six people in an “extra-legal, arbitrary and summary” manner; a Turkish state autopsy found that five had been shot in the head at close range.  Israel subsequently apologised to Turkey for the raid and agreed to compensate the bereaved families $20m. Further voyages in 2015, 2016 and 2018 saw Israel seize the FFC’s ships and detain and deport those on board. Israel has also targeted humanitarian workers on land. Earlier this month, the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) killed seven World Central Kitchen (WCK) food aid workers, among them three British citizens, in a drone attack on a marked convoy whose movements had been coordinated with the IDF. An Israeli investigation blamed “grave errors”, a finding WCK rejected.

[vodika-vibes]

Hello Vod'ika, congrats for your followers!!

If possible (in advance sorry for my English) I wanted to ask you a Crosshair x Jedi!Reader (angst with happy ending from Cross view?) in a soulmate au (you can't hurt your soulmate kind of au) where chipped!Crosshair supposelly killed reader (then much much later he founds her again, maybe fallen-scarred or something but not heartshoted dead) (they where crushing each other but tightliped/proud/nothing officially stated)

Noble Maiden Fair

Summary: She was his. And He was hers. They were both just too proud to admit it, even to each other. When the order came out, Crosshair shot her. A blaster blot between her eyes. She fell. She died. Crosshair handled the guilt by staying on the move, by not thinking about it, about her. And then he murders an Imperial Officer and his only option is to run, not to his brothers, who abandoned him, but somewhere else.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x Reader

Word Count: 1849

Prompt: Soulmate AU - Soulmates can't hurt each other

Warnings: Some angst

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Thanks! And thank you for your request! I've been bouncing between ideas on this one, and I finally had one that I liked, so I hope you like it too!

“Welcome!” Crosshair frowns at the large Trandoshan man standing just off the landing bay, “It’s been quite some time since we’ve gotten a visitor! Are you the person bringing the seed delivery?”

“Aa, that’s me,” Crosshair replies as he straightens from where he’s checking that his cargo is still in one piece. Honestly, the demotion from soldier to delivery boy annoys him to no end, but it’s better than the alternative. “You’d be the mayor then?”

“Oh, no. Not me.” The Trandoshan says with a laugh, “We’re a bit too small of a community for someone like that. I’m Grrog.”

“I…see.” He doesn’t, not really. But NatBorns have always been weird, “Anyway, where do you want the stuff?”

Grrog gestures to a flat cart near the door, “We’re going to have to make a couple of trips! I hope you’re not on a time crunch.”

Crosshair sighs, “You don’t have any droids?”

“Oh no! Awful things, droids.”

“Of course.” He rips off his work gloves and throws them inside the ship, “I guess we’d better get to work then.”

The Trandoshan looks thrilled and almost bounces over one of the massive pallets of seeds. “Look at it all! Ooh, the farmers will be thrilled!”

“I don’t just have crop seeds. There are also some seedlings for fruit trees. They’re still inside since they’re a bit more delicate.” Crosshair replies as he walks over to the cart and moves it closer to the pallet.

“Perfect! There’s always room for more seedlings!”

“You really are all about this life, aren’t you?” He asks. 

“Oh, yeah. Most of my people are hunters, but, well,” Grrog gestures to himself, and his wide girth, “I’m not made for hunting.” He jokes, “Fruits and Veggies don’t run away at least.”

“Well, there is that.”

“We have a population of a couple hundred people, from all walks of life. We don’t get many new people, though.” 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. People don’t want to be farmers, y’know.” Grrog hoists a couple of bags over to the cart, and then straightens with a groan, “The AgriCorps used to run everything here, but they were wiped out to the last.”

“That right?”

“They were Jedi, you know.” He shakes his head, “Could work miracles with dying planets. Such a shame.”

Crosshair doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. 

But, for half a second, he sees her. He sees her smile and the way her eyes crinkle when she’s happy. He hears her laugh; loud and bright and unashamed. 

His jaw clenches, and he roughly shoves the memory of her away. He doesn’t want to remember her…or the look of confused disbelief when he shot her. Or the way his name fell from her lips as she fell into the ravine.

Still, even though he doesn’t want to remember, it doesn’t make the ache in his chest go away. Or the guilt that threatens to strangle him. 

“You alright?”

Crosshair is ripped from his guilt at the concern in Grrog’s voice, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

He nods, “Sometimes when I think about the Jedi, the grief threatens to overwhelm me too.” He confides, “You’re not alone there, friend.”

“I’m fine.” Crosshair repeats, “Where am I taking this cart?”

Grrog gazes at him thoughtfully, “It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that it’s okay to not be okay, friend.”

Crosshair sighs, “You are incredibly nosy.”

“My wife says that it’s my best feature.”

“I don’t like talking about it. Where am I bringing the cart?” Crosshair bites out.

“Alright, alright. There’s a general store. It’s called General Store.” Grrog says, “The employees there know what to do when you deliver it.”

Crosshair stares at him blankly.

“Ah, right! You’ll go through the spaceport, follow the road until you reach the fountain, and then turn left. The General Store is the first shop on the right. If you see the greenhouses, you’ve gone too far.”

“Alright.” Crosshair pushes the cart through the spaceport, easily side-stepping people. Not that there are many people for him to side-step. Honestly, he’s surprised that this place is big enough to have a spaceport. 

But, then again, they probably sell the excess fruit and vegetables to other planets. 

He pushes the carts through the open doors and stops.

The planet is very green. He should have expected it, it is a farming planet after all. But, for some reason, he wasn’t expecting it to be this green.

For a moment, time slips, and he can hear his kitten’s voice.

“I think, after the war, I’d like to retire.” His kitten says as she absently braids a strand of her hair, her voice soft and thoughtful, little more than a murmur to not wake his brothers.

“Retire?” Crosshair asks, his voice just as quiet, “And what does a Jedi do when they retire?”

She laughs, dropping her braid and resting her chin on the palm of her hand, her eyes glitter with an emotion that Crosshair doesn’t dare name, because naming it would mean that he has to acknowledge it.

“Maybe I’ll become a farmer, move someplace green and alive.”

“You’ll be bored in a week.”

“I think we deserve a little boredom, don’t you?” Her smile is warm and soft, and Crosshair thinks, for a moment, that he would burn the galaxy if it meant that she’d never stop looking at him like that.

With great difficulty, he pushes the memory away.

As much as he’d give anything to go back to that night, with her smiling at him like he hung the stars in the sky for her and her alone. He can’t. 

His kitten is dead.

He killed her.

And the Galaxy is a much darker, and lonelier, place for her absence. 

Crosshair heaves out a sigh and grabs the cart again. He’s not going to stay here. He can’t stay here. All he has to do is deliver the seeds and seedlings, and then he can go somewhere else.

Maybe he’ll move to a desert planet. No green at all.

Not that it’ll help. After all, it won’t change anything. 

He still killed his soulmate.

There’s no coming back from that.

Several hours later, all of the seeds and seedlings are off of his ship, and Crosshair is filling out the last of the paperwork with Grrog. Not to mention, adding some additional fees since he had to unload the ship on his own.

“You sure you don’t want to stay? This place is a lot more welcoming than the rest of the Galaxy.” Grrog offers with a grin.

“I’m sure.”

“You might like farming.”

“I can just about promise you that I won’t.” Crosshair fills the last bit of information on the datapad and then hands it to Grrog, “This looks right?”

“Hm…yep. All of the information is here.” Grrog replies as he scrolls down the information, “Though some of the counts are off, I think. Let me get a count.”

Crosshair rolls his eyes and leans back in the chair, “As you like.”

There’s the sound of a bell behind him as the door to the General Store opens. Grrog beams at the person who just entered, “There you are! We go the seedling shipment in!”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

A voice, soft and female, and so achingly familiar that Crosshair drops the toothpick he’s about to put in his mouth. His head snaps around and he stares, stunned, at the woman standing in the door.

It’s her.

Her hair is longer, braided over her shoulder, and she’s wearing more casual clothes than he’s ever seen her wearing before. 

But it’s still her, his Kitten.

She turns her head slightly and catches sight of him. Her eyes widen, likely just as surprised as he is. Though she doesn’t look afraid, she mostly just looks confused to see him there.

With seeds.

Which, okay, that’s valid.

Grrog vanishes into the back of the shop, and she hesitates, before she turns and walks over to him. 

“Crosshair,” Her voice is soft, and her eyes scan his face. “This is new,” Her fingers, still slightly calloused from years of lightsaber use, brush against the scar on his temple.

He stands and he lightly grips her chin to tilt her head back, “I shot you.” He breathes out.

She meets his gaze evenly, “Yes.”

“You don’t even have a scar.”

She hesitates for a moment, “I figured out what our soul bond is.” She finally says.

Crosshair is silent for a moment, “We can’t hurt each other.”

“No, we can’t.”

He releases her chin, “That’s convenient for us, I suppose.”

“I…” She pauses and then reaches up and presses both of her hands against his cheeks, “We didn’t talk about it. About us. And I know it’s because you were ashamed or—”

“Proud. Not ashamed.” Crosshair corrects, “I was too proud to admit what everyone else already knew. Proud and…a little afraid.”

“Why would you be afraid, Cross?”

“Because. You were so good, Kitten.” He brings his hands to cup her face, “You’re so good and I know you deserve better than me. You always have. Someone as good as you are.”

“I don’t think that’s your choice to make.” She says slowly, thoughtfully. “Not when I’ve been choosing you since the first time we met.”

Crosshair sighs, “You should hate me. I tried to kill you.”

“You didn’t, though.”

Slowly he leans in and bumps his forehead against hers. Crosshair can feel her breath against his face, warm and alive in a way that he never thought that he would feel again.

“I’m sorry.” He says, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please—”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Her voice is soft, yet there’s steel underlying her words, “You did nothing wrong. You and your brothers are as much victims of this war as we were.”

“They made us as weapons,” Crosshair says, his voice thick with grief that he’s never had the chance to put into words, “They made us to be weapons against the Jedi.”

“That’s not your fault.” She whispers, “It’s not your fault, and I can’t think of a single Jedi who would blame you for it. Not when they learned the truth.”

Crosshair shudders, and his forehead falls to her shoulder. 

Gentle arms slide around him and brush through his hair. “Come home with me, Crosshair.” Her offer is soft and warm and so, very, tempting. 

Nothing would make him happier than following her home and making her home. But he can’t put her in danger. He can’t.

“The Empire—”

“—will hunt me whether you’re here or not.” She interrupts, “Don’t leave me again, Crosshair. Please?”

Crosshair melts on the spot, “You don’t play fair, Kitten.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t reply. There’s nothing for him to say. So, instead, he pulls her into a kiss. A kiss that’s been a long time coming. It feels like a missing piece of his soul snaps into place, and his arms slide protectively around her.

He’s never going to let her go again. Ever.

[thebisexualdogdad]

Smutober day 8: Smoker (one piece) x Male!reader - Take it out on me

“God damn it! I can't believe they got away,” Smoker shouts, stomping around the cargo deck of the marine ship.

“It's okay Captain, we'll catch the strawhats,” you tell him trying to comfort him after Luffy and his crew narrowly escaped your grasp in loguetown.

“We were so close but that stupid kid got the best of me,” he huffs.

“Smoker,” you say, stopping him in his tracks, “I know you're angry but there's a better way to get your frustration out.”

“And how is that,” he grunts.

“You can take it out on me,” you say bluntly.

Smoker smirks, taking a puff of his cigars and blowing the smoke around you before picking you up with ease, roughly pressing you up against the wall and kissing you sloppily.

“I'm gonna fuck you till I forget about that little brat,” he growls into the kiss.

You're grinding your crotch into Smokers bare abs as he carries you over to a barrel and places you on top of it.

He drops his pants and you take him in your hand, even soft he's huge.

Smoker is grunting and huffing as you jerk him off, his massive cock getting harder by the second.

Fully erect he's now ten inches, maybe even more so you have to use both hands to stroke him as he ravages your neck surely leaving bruises on your skin.

“Take your pants off,” he orders and you quickly kick your shoes off and fling your pants towards a couple of wooden boxes of cargo.

He lifts your legs over his shoulders, giving him better access to your hole, spitting into his hand and lubing his cock before sliding it in.

“Fuck you're cock is so big,” you tell him to feed his ego, “I've never been fucked by someone as big as you.”

Smoker grins proudly, rolling his hips slowly to let you adjust to his girthy cock inside you.

When he starts fucking you properly he enjoys the sight of your cock swinging around, slapping your stomach with pre cum running down the shaft.

Your arms are above your head, tightly gripping the edge of the barrel as he teases you by pulling all the way out and slamming his cock back into you.

“Holy fuck!” You yelp and he does it once more for good measure.

“God you take my cock so well,” he grunts puffing on his cigars again now fucking you at a steady pace.

He's gripping onto your thighs while listening to every sigh and moan you make, you don't know how the barrel under you hasn't broken into pieces the way he's pounding into you.

“Touch yourself for me Y/N,” he demands and you begin to stroke your cock.

Your stomach tightens and string after string of cum shoots out, painting your uniform as you scream his name so loud your fellow marines could definitely hear you.

His thrusts never falter giving you one of the most intense orgasms of your life and to top it off he fills you to the brim when he soon cums too.

“You feel better?” You chuckle, Smoker slowing his movements but keeping his cock deep inside you.

“I do but I'm certainly not done with you yet, first your gonna suck my cock and then I'm gonna bend you over that table over there and fuck you so hard you wont be able to walk right for days,” he smirks.

“Anything for you captain,” you smile.

[alpha-mag-media]

‘Massive’ cocaine seizure off west coast of Ireland as cops and customs search cargo ship | December 27, 2023 at 09:08AM

‘Massive’ cocaine seizure off west coast of Ireland as cops and customs search cargo ship Read More … Check full articles at Source: ALPHA MAG

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

🎃 Kinktober 2024: Siren Song

Siren Song: The ship you are on while pretending to be boy breaks apart in a storm, your saviors are not what you expected. Like, at all.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Material, MFM, MMF

To Note: Octo!Morpheus + MermanHob Gadling x AFAB!Reader

Prompt: Tentacles

Word Count: ~6.9k

The storm roars around you, a beast of wind and water. Waves repeatedly slam against the wooden hull of the ship, sending sprays of saltwater into your face. You grip the thick rope tighter, your knuckles white under the strain. The captain barks orders from the helm, his voice barely cutting through the chaos.

"Reef the mainsail!" he shouts, pointing toward the mast.

You scramble toward the rigging, feet slipping on the slick deck. Rain lashes at your face, blurring your vision. You reach the base of the mast and began to climb, hand over hand, each movement deliberate and forced against your inner voice shouting at you to take cover. The wind howls louder as you ascend, whipping your clothes against your skin.

"Faster, Henry!" one of the crew yells below you, his face shadowed with worry and exertion.

The sails flaps wildly above you, like great wings struggling to break free. You reach the top and started to tie down the sail with deft fingers, ignoring the sting in your palms from the rough rope. The ship groans beneath you, creaking under the weight of each monstrous wave.

"Watch out!" someone bellows.

You glance down just in time to see a massive wave cresting over the side of the ship. It crashed onto the deck, sweeping several crew members off their feet and washing them toward the railing. Heart pounding, you finished securing the sail and began your descent.

Your boots hit the deck hard as you landed, sending a jolt through your legs. The storm showed no sign of relenting. You made your way to help a fellow sailor who had been thrown against a barrel, dazed but conscious.

"You alright?" you asked, grabbing his arm to pull him to his feet.

He nodded, wiping blood from his forehead where he'd hit it.

"We've gotta secure those crates," he said, pointing to a stack of cargo shifting dangerously with each roll of the ship.

Together, you hurry over to stabilize them. The deck is a chaotic dance of men and water; every step had to be calculated or risk being thrown overboard. Lightning splits the sky in jagged streaks, illuminating faces drawn tight with fear and determination.

The captain's voice cuts through again: "Brace for impact!"

Another wave loomed ominously ahead. You barely have time to grab onto a rope before it hit. The force lifts you off your feet for a moment before slamming you back down. Your chin takes the brunt of your fall before you are able to catch the rest of your body.

"Henry! Get inside and report our position," the captain bellows over the howl of the storm. You don't bother replying, knowing your voice will never cut through the screams of the storm. You just go.

You stumble toward the hatch, your legs unsteady beneath you. The storm's fury makes every step a battle. You grip the edge of the hatchway and haul yourself down into the relative safety of the ship's interior. The noise outside is muffled but still ever-present, a constant reminder of the chaos above.

Inside, lanterns swing wildly from their hooks, casting eerie shadows on the wooden walls. The air is thick with the smell of saltwater and sweat. You make your way to the navigation room, where the ship's maps and instruments are kept.

The navigator, an older man with a grizzled beard, looks up as you enter, his eyes wide with concern.

"Henry, what's our position?" he asks without preamble.

You move quickly to the charts spread out on the table, your fingers tracing lines and markings as you calculate your location. The ship rocks violently, nearly throwing you off balance, but you steady yourself and continue your work.

"We're just north of Dead Man's Reef," you say, your voice steady despite the turmoil outside.

The navigator nods grimly. "We'll need to steer clear of it. The captain's orders?"

"Hold course for now," you reply. "Still going to Barbados… but we need to be ready to adjust if things get worse."

The navigator grunts in acknowledgment and turns back to his instruments. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. The ship groans again, a low, ominous sound that seems to vibrate through your bones.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoes from above, followed by shouts and hurried footsteps. Your heart races as you rush back up the ladder to the deck. Emerging into the storm once more, you see a large section of the mainmast has splintered and fallen across the deck.

Crew members scramble to clear the debris and secure what's left of the mast. You spot the captain near the helm, his face set in a grim expression as he barks orders to keep control of the ship.

"Henry! Get over here!" he calls out when he sees you.

You weave through the chaos to reach him.

"We need more hands on that rigging," he says, pointing to where several crew members struggle with ropes and sails flapping wildly in the wind.

You nod and rush over to help. Together with the others, you fight against the storm's relentless force, pulling ropes taut and securing what you can. Your muscles ache with effort but there's no time for rest.

You pull on the ropes, your muscles burning with the effort. The storm's fury is unrelenting, each gust of wind threatening to tear the sails apart. You grit your teeth, focusing on the task at hand.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a crew member struggling with a particularly stubborn knot. You shout above the wind, "Need help?"

He nods frantically, and you move to assist him. Together, you manage to secure the line just as a deafening crack splits the air. You look up in time to see a large piece of the broken mast flying through the storm-tossed air.

It happens in an instant. The jagged wood slams into your chest with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs. Pain explodes through your body as you're lifted off your feet. For a moment, you're weightless, suspended in the chaotic whirlwind of rain and wind.

Then gravity takes hold, and you plummet over the side of the ship. The world spins around you, a blur of dark water and flashing lightning. The warm sea rises up to meet you, and you crash into its depths with a bone-jarring impact.

Your consciousness flickers back to life like a guttering candle. Warm water laps at your skin, the sound echoing softly in your ears. You try to move but pain sears through your chest and you groan.

Hands are tearing at your clothes. You struggle to focus, blinking rapidly against the light filtering through a grotto's entrance. Someone's ripping open your shirt, revealing the tightly bound corset beneath. Panic surges through you as you realize what this means.

"No... stop," you manage to croak, weakly trying to push the hands away.

"Easy now," a soothing voice cuts through your panic. "You're safe."

The words are gentle, almost melodic, and they help calm the storm of fear inside you. The hands move with practiced ease, loosening the bindings that have hidden your true form for so long. The pressure on your chest eases as the corset is peeled away, and you draw in a shaky breath.

"Who... who are you?" Your voice trembles, but you're too weak to keep it steady.

"Rest now," he says, his tone calming and sure. "You're injured."

You finally manage to look up at him through bleary eyes. His face is rugged but kind, framed by damp hair that clings to his skin. There's something otherworldly about him, something that doesn't quite fit with what you've known.

Your vision swims, and you're vaguely aware of his hands moving to support your head as he continues speaking in that same reassuring tone.

"Everything will be fine. Just rest."

The last thing you see before darkness takes you again is his serene expression and the glint of scales where legs should be.

You awaken to the sound of a soft song, a melody that seems to wrap around your mind and cradle it. The tune is ethereal, weaving through your consciousness and making you feel strangely at ease despite the throbbing pain in your chest.

Your body feels limp, weightless, and you realize you're floating in warm water. You try to move but find yourself unable to muster the strength. Instead, you lie there, cradled by something soft and comforting.

Opening your eyes, you see tendrils—dark and fluid—holding you gently. They shimmer in the dim light of the grotto, moving with a life of their own. Panic bubbles up inside you, but the song keeps it at bay, soothing your fear and urging you to relax.

Voices drift through the air, breaking through the haze of the song.

"Quite a find," says one voice, calm and measured.

"Indeed," replies another voice, this one warmer and filled with curiosity. "A gift, perhaps."

You struggle to focus on their words, but the song keeps pulling you back into its lullaby. You manage to catch glimpses of their faces—one pale with eyes like distant stars and another rugged yet kind.

"Will they survive?" The warmer voice again, tinged with concern.

"They will," comes the assured reply. "For now."

The words swirl around you as your eyelids grow heavy once more. The melody seems to intensify, each note wrapping around your consciousness like a silken thread.

You feel yourself slipping back into unconsciousness, the voices fading into the background as darkness takes over once more. The last thing you sense is the gentle caresses of those strange tendrils and the lingering notes of that haunting song.

You waken to soft touches on your body, each caress sending shivers through your skin. Your mind feels clouded, wrapped in a haze as you float in the warm water. You struggle to piece together where you are, what has happened, but the fog in your head refuses to lift.

Hands—gentle yet firm—work to pull the remnants of your clothes from your body. You try to resist, to pull away, but your limbs feel heavy and unresponsive. Panic flickers at the edges of your consciousness but is quickly smothered by the overwhelming sense of calm that permeates the air.

As the last of your clothes are removed, you become acutely aware of how exposed you are. Naked and vulnerable, you try once more to pull yourself out of the daze, but it's as if an invisible force keeps you docile and compliant.

A face appears above you, framed by damp hair that clings to his forehead. His eyes are kind yet filled with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

"I'm Hob," he says softly, his voice is soothing against your frayed nerves. He holds you against his body, the warmth of his skin contrasting with the coolness of the water. "You're safe now."

You try to speak, but no words come out. Your mouth moves soundlessly as you gaze up at him, searching for any sign that this is real and not some fevered dream. Hob's face inches closer, his breath warm against your skin. You feel his laughter more than you hear it, a rumble in his chest that vibrates through your body.

"What? You’ve never seen a merman before?" His voice carries a teasing note, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

Your mind struggles to process his words, the fog of pain and confusion making everything feel distant and surreal. You manage to shake your head slightly, your voice barely more than a whisper. "No… I haven’t."

He chuckles again, the sound light and comforting in the strange stillness of the grotto. "Well, there's a first time for everything."

His fingers brush against your temple, gentle and reassuring. You can feel the strength in his touch, tempered by a surprising tenderness. "You're lucky I found you when I did," he says, his tone turning more serious. "The sea isn't kind to those who can't fend for themselves."

You try to move again, but your body refuses to cooperate. A groan escapes your lips as pain flares up in your chest.

"Easy now," Hob soothes, his hands steadying your body against his in the water. "You've been through quite an ordeal, try not to move. Let us take care of you."

"Us?" you question with a scratchy voice. Tentacles slither across your body from behind, cradling and caressing you as you gasp.

"You've forgot to introduce me, my love," a deep timbre comes from behind you. Your breathing quickens and your head slowly turns to look over your shoulder. Behind you is an inhumanely beautiful creature. He has eyes full of stars, dark black hair, and shimmering pearl white skin… and a mass of tentacles where his legs should have been.

"What are you?" you ask before you can help yourself. You feel the soft caress of his fingertips on your bare shoulder. The touch is feather-light, but it sends a jolt through you, as if you've been struck by lightning. You turn to look at him in Hob's arms, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. He was so beautiful.

"I am Dream of the Endless," he says, his voice a melody that is almost hauntingly beautiful. “But you may call me Morpheus,” his eyes, a pair of distant stars, hold yours with an intensity that makes it impossible to look away. You still have no idea who he is. Your mind doesn't care.

Morpheus moves closer, his body brushing against yours, and you feel a shiver run down your spine as you're sandwiched between the two beings. His words echo in your mind, "You are ours now, and you will never have to hide your exquisite body ever again." The declaration makes a quiver of fear run through your body. But you can't react, your body melting within their grasps.

Morpheus' hand slides along your side, his touch cool against your feverish skin. His fingers trace the curve of your hip, and you can't help but squirm at the sensation. His eyes never leave yours, holding your gaze with an intensity that makes your heart race.

Then, he lowers his mouth to your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. You feel the flick of his tongue, a warm, wet caress that sends shivers cascading down your body. His kisses are soft at first, exploring the sensitive skin of your neck, each touch sending jolts of pleasure through you.

You react perfectly for them, your body arching into Morpheus' touch as a moan escapes your lips. Your hands instinctively reach out, grasping at Hob's bare shoulders for support as undiscovered pleasure blooms within your body.

Hob watches the flickering emotions on your face with a heated gaze, his eyes dark with desire. He was jealous that Morpheus could make you react so beautiful. So he reaches up, his hand cupping your cheek in a gentle yet firm grip. His fingers thread through your hair, pulling your head towards his.

Hob's mouth meets yours with a surprising gentleness, his lips warm and soft. The kiss is slow at first, exploratory, as if he's savoring the moment just as much as you are. Your mind races, struggling to process the sensations flooding through you. Your body responds instinctively, lips parting slightly as you yield to his touch.

At the same time, Morpheus continues his assault on your neck and shoulder. His kisses are more insistent, each press of his lips making you squirm just a bit more. His hands move with a deliberate slowness, fingers tracing the contours of your chest with a feather-light touch. Each caress ignites a fire within you, your skin tingling under his ministrations.

You whimper into Hob's mouth, the sound muffled by the intensity of the kiss. Your inexperience is laid bare, each gasp and shudder a testament to your virginal innocence. Hob deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that makes your knees weak. The sensation is overwhelming, a dizzying blend of pleasure and desire that leaves you breathless.

Morpheus' hands roam lower, his touch igniting new sparks of sensation with each pass. His fingers dance over your nipples, drawing soft moans from your lips that Hob eagerly swallows. Your body arches into Morpheus' touch, craving more of the delicious friction he provides.

Every movement is heightened by your lack of experience, each touch and kiss more intense than anything you've ever imagined. The pleasure builds inside you like a rising tide, threatening to sweep you away in its current.

You whimper again as Hob's lips leave yours to trail kisses along your jawline. The loss of contact makes you ache for more, but Morpheus is there to fill the void. Morpheus' tentacles swirl around your legs, their touch both unexpected and stealing your attention. Each gentle stroke sends ripples of pleasure up your thighs, your body responding with a fervor you've never known.

His hand then slips deftly between your legs, the contact making you gasp. The shock of the unfamiliar sensation makes your heart pound in your chest. You've never been touched there before, never even considered it. Yet here you are, lost in a sea of newfound desires, your body awakening to sensations you never knew existed.

Hob's mouth returns to yours, drawn by your sweet sounds to assault your lips once more, his tongue teasing and tantalizing as he explores the depths of your kiss. His hands roam across your body, fingers tracing the lines of your chest and stomach, each touch a spark that ignites the fire burning within.

Morpheus' tentacles, with a life of their own, find their way to Hob's tail. They slide over the scales, stroking and teasing, as they inch closer to the notch nestled at the base of his tail. You feel the subtle vibrations of Hob's moans against your lips as the merman squirms in Morpheus' grasp, his own pleasure adding to the erotic symphony that envelops you all.

The Dream Lord's fingers continue their exploration, his touch light yet insistent as he navigates the slick folds he finds between your legs. A bolt of pleasure shoots through you as he strokes a particularly sensitive spot, your body arching into his touch as a cry is torn from your throat.

Hob pulls back from the kiss, his eyes dark with desire as he watches your face contort with pleasure. His hand joins Morpheus' between your legs, his fingers sliding against the Dream Lord's in a gesture that is both intimate and arousing. The dual sensation of their touch is overwhelming, each movement sending waves of ecstasy crashing over you.

Morpheus' tentacles delve deeper into Hob's notch, stroking and probing with an expertise that leaves the merman trembling in your arms. His cries of pleasure mingle with yours, a chorus of need and desire that fills the grotto with its intensity.

Your body moves of its own accord, writhing against their hands as you chase the elusive peak of pleasure. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your heart pounding in time with the rhythm of their touch. The world around you fades into insignificance as you give yourself over to the relentless pursuit of ecstasy. The grotto, the storm, your former life—all are forgotten in the face of the overwhelming passion that consumes you.

As the first tremors of release begin to ripple through your body, you surrender to the tide of pleasure, allowing yourself to be swept away by the powerful currents of desire. Your cries echo off the stone walls of the grotto, a symphony of evidence supporting your climax as you shatter into a thousand pieces in their capable hands.

Floating there, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your release, you watch through half-lidded eyes as Morpheus withdraws his touch from the sensitive notch at the base of Hob's tail. The merman shudders, a low moan escaping his lips as the Dream Lord's tentacles slip away, leaving him aching for more.

Morpheus turns his attention back to you, his starry eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the fluttering pulse in your neck. His lips linger on your skin, the sensation sending a fresh wave of shivers through your body.

"Would you like the pleasure of having her first?" Morpheus asks, his voice a low purr that resonates deep within your chest.

You feel Hob's body tense against yours, his eyes darkening with desire as he looks at you. His hand, still resting between your legs, gives a gentle squeeze, a silent reminder of the pleasure he can give you.

"I think that would be more than fair," Hob responds, his voice husky with need.

You can only just quiver where you float in their arms, your mind struggling to process their words. The idea of being "had" by either of these immortal beings is terrifying, but your body betrays your confusion with a fresh surge of arousal.

Morpheus chuckles, the sound like the rustling of silk against your senses. "I thought you might agree," he says, his eyes never leaving your face. His fingers trace the line of your jaw, the touch feather-light but filled with a dark promise that makes your heart race. You feel Hob shift slightly, his body tensing as he moves into position. The anticipation is almost too much to bear.

Hob's cock emerges from his notch, the thick length slipping out in a slither to press against your folds with desirous curisosity. Your body responds instinctively, your hips arching towards him even as a flicker of fear runs through you. You've never done this before—never been touched like this—but Hob's is reassuring.

"Easy, precious," Hob soothes you, leaning forwards to press his forehead against yours. "We'll go slow."

You feel the blunt head of Hob's cock nudge against your entrance, the sensation foreign and scary. Your breathing speeds up and you tremble while tears develop at the edges of your lashes. Hob hushes you, running his lips over yours to create electric pleasure along your trembling mouth.

As Hob's tentacle cock slithers through your folds and presses against your virgin entrance, you can't help but tense up. The fear of the unknown, the anticipation of pain, it all crashes over you like a wave. You cling to Hob, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Hob's eyes are soft, full of understanding and concern. He murmurs words of comfort, "shh, it's okay, love. We've got you."

With a tenderness that overshadows his strength, Hob begins to push inside you. There's resistance at first, a sharp sting that makes you gasp and your body stiffen. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, silent evidence the pain that blooms within you. Your lip wobbles. Yet Hob is patient, his movements slow and deliberate as he gives you time to adjust to the intrusion.

Morpheus' hands are there to comfort you, his touch a gentle contrast to the burning stretch between your legs. His fingers brush away the tears that escape down your cheeks, his starry eyes filled with a warmth that offers solace amidst the pain.

"Breathe, beloved," Morpheus whispers, his voice a distant echo that somehow manages to relax your body. "Let your body open up for him. For us, allow us to revere you in the ecstasy of bodily pleasure."

You draw in a shaky breath, forcing your muscles to relax as Hob continues his slow advance. The pain doesn't disappear, but it morphs into a dull ache that's more bearable. You feel yourself yielding to him, your body reluctantly accepting the thick length of his cock worming it's way further into your body.

Hob's lips find yours in a tender kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth in a silent plea for entry. You part your lips, welcoming the distraction as he explores the depths of your mouth with a passion that leaves you breathless.

As Hob begins to move within you, the discomfort gradually gives way to a new sensation. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through your veins, a stark contrast to the initial pain. You find yourself moving with him, your hips meeting his for more to the tingling pleasure that is slowly consuming you.

Morpheus' tentacles wind around your body, caressing your skin with a lover's touch. They explore every part of you, their movements synchronized with Hob's thrusts. A sucker finds the little space above where Hob's cock repeatedly plunges in and out and strokes.

Your breath hitches as Hob's cock thrusts deeper inside you, filling you in a way you've never experienced before. Any burning sensation that lingers disappears, replaced by a burgeoning pleasure that steals your breath. Each stroke of his cock sends shivers of delight coursing through your veins, your body responding instinctively to the rhythm of his movements.

Morpheus' sucker then latches onto your clit, the sensation jolting you with a bolt of electric pleasure. You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily as it begins to suck in earnest. The relentless pull of his sucker drawing raw pleasure with Hob's steady thrusts drives your body to the edge, your body aching for the release of this unchained and thrashing pleasure.

You cry out, your voice echoing off the stone walls of the grotto. Your body is aflame with sensation, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. The dual sensations of Morpheus' sucker on your clit and Hob's cock inside you are almost too much to bear.

As if sensing your mounting pleasure, Morpheus chooses that moment to press a tentacle against Hob's ass. The merman stiffens, a groan torn from his throat as the Dream Lord begins to tease him with slow, deliberate strokes. You watch the play of emotions across Hob's face, the mixture of surprise and pleasure painting a vivid picture of his arousal.

Morpheus' tentacle pushes into Hob's ass, sliding within him to spur on both your pleasures. The merman cries out, his body shuddering in your arms as he's pleasured on both ends. The sight of him being fucked by Morpheus' tentacle while he's inside you is the most erotic thing you've ever seen. And you can feel the change.

You feel the ripple of pleasure as it passes through Hob's body, the sensation enhancing your own arousal. His thrusts become more erratic, each stroke of his cock, growing in size and throbbing harder, hitting new depths within you. The feeling is overwhelming, a maelstrom of pleasure that becomes too much for you.

Morpheus' tentacle moves in tandem with Hob's thrusts, the rhythmic fucking driving both you and Hob to the brink of madness. You try to thrash and squirm away from the painful pressure of pleasure burning away in your abdomen, but it's no use. Neither being plans on letting you go.

Hob's lips find yours in a desperate kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth as he loses himself in the pleasure. His body moves with a fervor that borders on desperation, each thrust of his cock teetering you closer and closer to collapse. Scales rub against your pelvis every time Hob ruts into your body, and with each thrust if feels as if his cock corkscrews within your body to draw out the most intense pleasure.

With a final, powerful thrust, Hob buries himself deep inside you. The sensation of his cock slithering and pulsing within your body triggers the pressure within your abdomen to finally burst, a cascade of pleasure that sweeps through you with the force of a tidal wave. A symphonic cry rips itself from your lips, pleasure rippling out from your pulsating and clenching cunt in waves.

At the same time, Morpheus' tentacle withdraws from Hob's ass, only to slam back in with a force that leaves the merman shuddering against your body and him moaning against your nearly paralyzed lips. Hob's eyes roll back in his head, a low moan escaping his lips as he succumbs to his own release, filling your body with an electric heat that makes you twitch and whimper.

The echoes of your climax still reverberate through your body as you go limp within Hob's embrace. His cock softens inside you, yet remains nestled within your folds, a warm reminder of the pleasure you've shared. You're dimly aware of Morpheus' tentacles withdrawing from your body, their absence leaving you feeling strangely bereft.

Hob holds you close, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he nuzzles your neck. You can feel his heart pounding in time with your own, the rapid beat gradually slowing as you both come down from the high of your shared ecstasy. The warmth of his seed inside you feels strange, yet comforting in its own way.

Morpheus' hands stroke your hair, your back, your sides—everywhere he can reach. His touch is gentle now, soothing after the intensity of your lovemaking. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering on your skin as he gazes down at you with a look of pure satisfaction.

"You were exquisite, beloved," he murmurs, his voice a low purr that sends shivers down your spine. "Next time, I wish to be the one to make you scream so deliciously."

Your body quivers at his words, the thought of experiencing such pleasure at his hands sending a fresh wave of arousal coursing through your veins. Yet even as your mind reels from the implications of his promise, Hob's voice cuts through the haze of your desire.

"Only if I get to fuck you, my love," he challenges, a wicked glint in his eye as he meets Morpheus' gaze over your shoulder.

A slow smile spreads across Morpheus' face, the stars in his eyes twinkling with amusement and anticipation. "A fair trade, I concur,” he agrees, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheek. "But for now, let us simply tend to our little human. We seem to have worn them out quite thoroughly."

You nestle closer to Hob, your body still sensitive from the intensity of your first sexual experience. Morpheus' arms encircle you both, his presence a comforting weight against your back. Together, the three of you float in the tranquil waters of the grotto, your bodies intertwined in a tangle of limbs, tentacles, and tail.

Your body is suspended in the water, held aloft by Morpheus' tentacles. They coil around your torso, your hips, your thighs—each one exerting just enough pressure to hold you in place without causing discomfort. His grip is firm yet yielding, a testament to his control over his own form.

Morpheus' tentacle cock, slick and unyielding, is buried deep within your cunt, its presence a constant reminder of his dominion over your body. With each undulation, it thrusts into you, stretching you in ways you never thought possible. Your stomach bulges with each thrust, the sight of it fascinating Morpheus as he watches his cock disappear into your body. One day he hopes to see you round with his and Hob's children.

You can feel the ripples of each movement throughout your entire being, a sensation that is both overwhelming and addictive. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps as you struggle to adjust to the relentless fucking. Your body is a mass of nerve endings, each one singing with the electric charge of Morpheus' touch.

His tentacles find your nipples, the suction of their tips drawing the sensitive buds into tight peaks. You cry out as pleasure mingles with pain, the sensation sending jolts of electricity straight to your core. Each pull of his tentacles sends waves of pleasure coursing through your veins, the feeling so intense that it borders on the divine.

Your body writhes within his hold, a puppet dancing on the strings of desire. You are helpless against the onslaught of pleasure, your every movement dictated by the rhythm of his fucking. Your cries echo off the stone walls of the grotto, a symphony of ecstasy that fills the air with its intensity.

Babbling incoherent pleas, you can't tell if they're for Morpheus to stop or to never cease. Your mind is a whirlwind of sensation, each thrust of his cock pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You can feel the pressure building within you, a tide of pleasure that threatens to sweep you away.

Morpheus' starry eyes bore into yours, the silver depths swirling with a mixture of desire and satisfaction. He watches you with rapt attention, his gaze never wavering from your face as he continues his erotic assault on your body. Each gasp, each moan, each shiver that runs through your body only serves to fuel his arousal.

As his tentacle cock pistons in and out of your body, you can feel your orgasm building. It starts as a slow burn deep within your cunt, gradually growing in intensity until it threatens to consume you whole. Your body tenses, your muscles coiling like a spring as you teeter on the brink of release.

And then, with one final thrust, Morpheus sends you tumbling over the edge. Your body convulses, your back arching as the most intense pleasure you've ever experienced rips through you. Your screams of ecstasy echo off the stone walls, the sound a testament to the power of your climax.

As the waves of your orgasm begin to subside, Morpheus withdraws his tentacle cock from your body. You sag in his hold, your body limp and sated as you float there, surrounded by the warm waters of the grotto. His tentacles release their grip on your body, their tips sliding away from your nipples with a final, lingering caress.

He draws you to his chest and brushes his lips over the crown of your hair. You happily float in the Morpheus' embrace, the echoes of your cries still lingering in the air when the water stirs with the arrival of Hob. He surfaces beside you, a playful grin on his face as he holds up a string of fish. The sight of his catch makes your stomach rumble, a reminder that pleasure alone cannot sustain you. A rather piteous fact.

"Got started without me?" Hob teases, his gaze flicking between you and Morpheus. There's a twinkle in his eye that suggests he's not truly annoyed. The way his tail flickers beneath the water's surface betrays his arousal at the sight of you flushed and sated by Morpheus' attentions.

Morpheus merely smirks, the corners of his lips curling into a knowing smile. "Hob, my love, you are always welcome to join us. I am far from finished with our beloved." His voice is a low purr that sends a quiver running up your spine, a reminder of the pleasure he can wring from your body.

A whisper of rebellion escapes your lips, the words barely audible. "When do I get my turn?" Both men turn to look at you, their expressions softening at your question. You see the flicker of surprise in Morpheus' starry eyes, while Hob's grin widens.

"Later, love. Promise. Let us take care of you for now," Hob assures you, his voice warm and soothing. Morpheus echoes his sentiment, his tentacles stroking your skin with a lover's touch. "Patience, beloved. We have eternity to explore each other's bodies. For now, allow us to pleasure you in ways you've never imagined."

You can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment at their words, but it's quickly forgotten as Hob swims closer. He presses a kiss to your lips, his tongue teasing the seam of your mouth in a silent promise of the pleasure to come.

As you float, you watch with rapt attention as Hob moves behind Morpheus. His cock, slick and gleaming with the water's touch, slides free from its protective notch. You can't help but lick your lips at the sight of it, your body responding to the primal display before you.

Hob's eyes meet yours, a wicked glint in their depths as he positions himself behind the Dream Lord. You watch, entranced, as he grips Morpheus' hips and hick cock slithers itself into Morpheus' mess of tentacles. With a single, powerful thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his groan of pleasure echoing off the stone walls.

Morpheus' tentacle cock slithers toward you, its slick surface still glistening in the dim light from your earlier copulation. You part your lips obediently, your body instinctively understanding his silent command. The thick length of his cock slides past your lips, filling your mouth with its alien presence. You swirl your tongue around the bulbous head, eliciting a low moan from Morpheus' lips.

As Hob begins to move within Morpheus, the Dream Lord's tentacles find their way back to your body. They stroke your skin with a lover's touch, the suction cups on their tips teasing your sensitive flesh. One wraps around your thigh, pulling you closer, while another slides between the folds of your cunt.

You gasp around the girth of Morpheus' cock as his tentacle begins to fuck your mouth in earnest. Each thrust pushes him deeper into your throat, the sensation overwhelming yet strangely exhilarating. Your eyes water, your gasps for air mingling with the wet sounds of Morpheus' fucking.

Meanwhile, his other tentacles tease and toy with your cunt, their movements synchronized with the rhythm of Hob's thrusts. You can feel your arousal building, a slow burn that ignites in the pit of your stomach and spreads outwards to every nerve ending in your body.

As Hob's pace increases, his hips slapping against Morpheus' ass, you find yourself lost in the rhythm of their fucking. The sound of wet flesh meeting wet flesh fills the grotto, punctuated by the guttural moans and grunts that escape Morpheus' lips. His starry eyes are hooded, his mouth parted in a silent cry of pleasure as Hob claims him with wild abandon.

Morpheus' tentacles continue their erotic assault on your body, their movements growing more frenzied with each passing moment. His cock still fucking your mouth thrusts in time with Hob's strokes, the sensation of being filled so completely sending jolts of pleasure straight to your cunt which clenches. You can feel your body responding to their dominance, your arousal dripping down your thighs in a shameless display of your need.

The tentacle inside your cunt curls and twists, its slick surface rubbing against your sensitive walls with each thrust. You let out a muffled scream against Morpheus' slithering cock pressing against your throat. You can feel it exploring the depths of your body, its movements mimicking the rhythm of Hob's fucking. The sensation is a relentless tide of pleasure that threatens to sweep you away.

Your body trembles, your muscles clenching around tentacles while on the brink of release. You can feel the sharp pressure building within you, threatening to consume you whole. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps around the girth of Morpheus' cock, the sound mingling with the wet slap of Hob's hips against Morpheus' mess of tentacles.

Morpheus' starry eyes lock onto yours, the silver depths swirling with a mixture of desire and satisfaction. He watches you with rapt attention, his gaze never wavering from your face as he continues his erotic assault on your body. Even as he grunts and moans. Each gasp, each moan, each shiver that runs through your body only serves to fuel his arousal.

Hob's thrusts grow more erratic, his body tensing with the approach of his climax, you can feel your own orgasm cresting. It starts as a slow burn deep within your cunt, gradually growing in intensity until it threatens to consume you whole. Your body tenses, your muscles now rippling.

And then, with one final thrust, Hob sends you all tumbling over the edge. His cock pulses within Morpheus' ass, the sensation triggering the Morpheus' own release. His tentacle cock swells within your mouth, a flood of warm, salty fluid spilling down your throat as he comes with a low, guttural moan.

The taste of him, combined with the sight of Hob and Morpheus lost in their own pleasure, pushes you over the edge. Your body convulses, your back arching as the most intense pleasure you've ever experienced rips through you.

As the last waves of your orgasm ripple through you, your body goes limp, floating in the warm embrace of the grotto's waters. Hob and Morpheus, sated and spent, hold you close, their breaths gradually slowing to match the rhythm of your own. The taste of Morpheus still lingers on your tongue, a reminder of the pleasure you've shared.

Yet, as the haze of your climax begins to clear, a flicker of dissatisfaction stirs within you. You've been the recipient of their desires, a vessel for their pleasure, but now, you find yourself yearning for more. You want to be an active participant, to explore and to take what you crave.

With a newfound sense of determination, you push against Morpheus' chest, creating enough distance to meet his starry gaze. "I demand my turn," you assert, your voice echoing off the stone walls. The words hang in the air, a declaration of your own needs and desires.

Hob, still buried inside Morpheus, raises an eyebrow at your proclamation. A slow grin spreads across his face, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Demanding, are we?" he teases, his hips giving a playful thrust that elicits a low moan from Morpheus.

Morpheus' eyes, soften at your words, a look of understanding crossing his alien features. "Of course, beloved," he murmurs, his voice a low purr that sends shivers down your spine. "We have indulged in our desires, and now, it is your turn to take the lead." You'd make them regret torturing you for their own delights.

Date Published: 10/8/24

Last Edit: 10/8/24

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Kinktober 2024