#Sheds Hull

[down4caitlin]

So… now what? Those people on here said that fever won that mercury game bc the vets were tired but now what? THE FEVER IS HERE TO STAY y���all can be mad but y’all’s teams don’t even play entertaining basketball & make it efficient now too😙 fever on top I’m gonna love that playoff upset fr

[mariacallous]

The Ocean Sciences Building at the University of Washington in Seattle is a brightly modern, four-story structure, with large glass windows reflecting the bay across the street.

On the afternoon of July 7, 2016, it was being slowly locked down.

Red lights began flashing at the entrances as students and faculty filed out under overcast skies. Eventually, just a handful of people remained inside, preparing to unleash one of the most destructive forces in the natural world: the crushing weight of about 2½ miles of ocean water.

In the building’s high-pressure testing facility, a black, pill-shaped capsule hung from a hoist on the ceiling. About 3 feet long, it was a scale model of a submersible called Cyclops 2, developed by a local startup called OceanGate. The company’s CEO, Stockton Rush, had cofounded the company in 2009 as a sort of submarine charter service, anticipating a growing need for commercial and research trips to the ocean floor. At first, Rush acquired older, steel-hulled subs for expeditions, but in 2013 OceanGate had begun designing what the company called “a revolutionary new manned submersible.” Among the sub’s innovations were its lightweight hull, which was built from carbon fiber and could accommodate more passengers than the spherical cabins traditionally used in deep-sea diving. By 2016, Rush’s dream was to take paying customers down to the most famous shipwreck of them all: the Titanic, 3,800 meters below the surface of the Atlantic Ocean.

Engineers carefully lowered the Cyclops 2 model into the testing tank nose-first, like a bomb being loaded into a silo, and then screwed on the tank’s 3,600-pound lid. Then they began pumping in water, increasing the pressure to mimic a submersible’s dive. If you’re hanging out at sea level, the weight of the atmosphere above you exerts 14.7 pounds per square inch (psi). The deeper you go, the stronger that pressure; at the Titanic’s depth, the pressure is about 6,500 psi. Soon, the pressure gauge on UW’s test tank read 1,000 psi, and it kept ticking up—2,000 psi, 5,000 psi. At about the 73-minute mark, as the pressure in the tank reached 6,500 psi, there was a sudden roar and the tank shuddered violently.

“I felt it in my body,” an OceanGate employee wrote in an email later that night. “The building rocked, and my ears rang for a long time.”

“Scared the shit out of everyone,” he added.

The model had imploded thousands of meters short of the safety margin OceanGate had designed for.

In the high-stakes, high-cost world of crewed submersibles, most engineering teams would have gone back to the drawing board, or at least ordered more models to test. Rush’s company didn’t do either of those things. Instead, within months, OceanGate began building a full-scale Cyclops 2 based on the imploded model. This submersible design, later renamed Titan, eventually made it down to the Titanic in 2021. It even returned to the site for expeditions the next two years. But nearly one year ago, on June 18, 2023, Titan dove to the infamous wreck and imploded, instantly killing all five people onboard, including Rush himself.

The disaster captivated and horrified the world. Deep-sea experts criticized OceanGate’s choices, from Titan’s carbon-fiber construction to Rush’s public disdain for industry regulations, which he believed stifled innovation. Organizations that had worked with OceanGate, including the University of Washington as well as the Boeing Company, released statements denying that they contributed to Titan.

A trove of tens of thousands of internal OceanGate emails, documents, and photographs provided exclusively to WIRED by anonymous sources sheds new light on Titan’s development, from its initial design and manufacture through its first deep-sea operations. The documents, validated by interviews with two third-party suppliers and several former OceanGate employees with intimate knowledge of Titan, reveal never-before-reported details about the design and testing of the submersible. They show that Boeing and the University of Washington were both involved in the early stages of OceanGate’s carbon-fiber sub project, although their work did not make it into the final Titan design. The trove also reveals a company culture in which employees who questioned their bosses’ high-speed approach and decisions were dismissed as overly cautious or even fired. (The former employees who spoke to WIRED have asked not to be named for fear of being sued by the families of those who died aboard the vessel.) Most of all, the documents show how Rush, blinkered by his own ambition to be the Elon Musk of the deep seas, repeatedly overstated OceanGate’s progress and, on at least one occasion, outright lied about significant problems with Titan’s hull, which has not been previously reported.

A representative for OceanGate, which ceased all operations last summer, declined to comment on WIRED’s findings.

[sinceileftyoublog]

Manchester Orchestra & Jimmy Eat World Live Preview: 8/16, The Salt Shed, Chicago

Photo by Shervin Lainez

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Manchester Orchestra and Jimmy Eat World co-headline The Salt Shed tonight, so what have they been up to since we last caught up with them? The Atlanta rockers went right back to work after their 2021 career best The Million Masks of God with a song for a video game soundtrack, a non-album single, and most notably, an EP of songs from The Million Masks of God's recording sessions. The Valley of Vision (Loma Vista) is heavy on balladry, though in true Manchester Orchestra fashion, the songs build admirably, something which should shine live. Though lead single "The Way" is filled with five dollar metaphors, the song shines more due to its initially quiet piano and drum machine beats, exploding with synthesizer flashes and Andy Hull's expansive vocal performance. The pulsating "Quietly" is perhaps the album's best track, whispered vocal harmonies and rubbery bass lines snowballing into a barrage of panning keyboards and percussion and sharp electric guitars. Elsewhere, songs like "Lose You Again" and "Rear View" are comparatively raw, focusing on wiry fingerpicking and Hull's vulnerably creaky falsetto, respectively.

Photo by Jimi Giannatti

As for Jimmy Eat World? We're still waiting on a successor to 2019's Surviving (RCA), though they did follow the life-affirming standalone single "Something Loud" with the creeping "Place Your Debts". And though they probably won't play either tonight, the Arizona band and Manchester Orchestra celebrated this tour (appropriately dubbed The Amplified Echoes tour) by covering each other. Jimmy Eat World turned Manchester Orchestra's gentle "Telepath" from The Million Masks of God into a certified barnburner, while Manchester Orchestra stayed relatively faithful to the spaciousness of Clarity's "Table For Glasses". What they most certainly will play are highlights from each band's solid back catalog.

Tickets are still available at time of publication. Doors at 6:00 P.M.

[iguanodont]

I did say I would post more oc stuff so here’s some old sketches of Ahab; the first and second time he saw other kuo toa. Ahab was raised by humans, and never came close enough to speak to another of his own kind until his 20’s. Their communities are small and remote, and after centuries of conflict and persecution by the land races they tend to avoid contact with all outsiders.

There are multiple reasons kuo toa seldom integrate in land race societies, and a lot of them have to do with lack of accommodation for their amphibious bodies. Their skin needs to be at least slightly damp at all times or they experience severe discomfort, and Ahab is prone to scale shedding and skin infections where clothes chafe away his mucus layer. Kuo toa are also nocturnal, with eyes that see poorly in bright light, and do not tolerate warm environments well. Ahab really only survived because he grew up on a ship, and after learning to speak common found use as go-to nightwatchman and hull scraper (he often eats the barnacles and other foulers to supplement ship rations, much of which he doesn’t digest well).

[safewayroofing]

You must have had experiences with various roofers in York in the past, but Safeway roofing Yorkshire ensures that your experience with us will be nothing less than perfect. We guarantee everything from your chimney to your gutter systems are appropriately taken care of.

[driverlando]

Port authority finding you and Max skinny dipping (and Max is protecting you from them seeing anything they should not) and Max brides them not to report the two of you

The moonlight danced on the water’s surface, casting a silvery glow over the sleek yachts lined up along the port. The night was quiet, save for the gentle lapping of waves against the hulls and the occasional distant hum of an engine. You and Max walked along the dock, the cool night air a welcome relief after a hot day.

You paused, glancing at the calm water with a mischievous glint in your eye. “How about we make this night a little more exciting?” you suggested, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

Max arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “What did you have in mind?”

You leaned in closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “Skinny dipping,” you whispered. “Just us and the water. No one around to bother us.”

Max chuckled, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “You’re trouble�� But there was no hiding the spark of excitement in his eyes. “But I like the way you think.”

Without further ado, the two of you shed your clothes, leaving them in a heap on the dock. The cool breeze sent a shiver down your spine, but it only added to the exhilaration. You took Max’s hand, and together, you slipped into the water, the initial shock of the cold quickly replaced by a delicious feeling of freedom.

Max surfaced with a gasp, shaking water from his hair and grinning at you. “This was a great idea,” he admitted, splashing you playfully. “Though, you might have to fend off all the photographers if they find out about this.”

You laughed, splashing him back. “Maybe, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

The two of you floated in the water, enjoying the peacefulness of the night. But just as you were starting to relax, the soft thrum of an approaching boat reached your ears. You turned, heart racing, as a small boat with “Port Authority” painted on the side came into view, its searchlight sweeping across the water.

Max immediately positioned himself between you and the approaching boat, his expression shifting to one of focused determination. “Stay behind me,” he whispered, his tone protective yet amused. “Guess we’re about to make someone’s night interesting.”

The boat slowed to a stop a short distance away, and the spotlight fixed on you both. An officer’s voice crackled over a loudspeaker, breaking the night’s tranquility. “This is the port authority. What are you two doing out here?”

Max, ever the cool-headed racer, raised a hand in greeting, keeping his other arm around your shoulders to shield you. “Just taking a swim,” he called out casually, his voice carrying that familiar confident edge. “Didn’t realize there were rules against enjoying the water.”

The officer narrowed his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “This is a restricted area after dark. You can’t be swimming here, especially not like… that.”

Max shrugged, feigning innocence. “Hey, it’s a beautiful night. We couldn’t resist.” He glanced back at you, giving you a quick, reassuring smile. “We didn’t mean to break any rules.”

There was a moment of tense silence, and then the other officer leaned forward, squinting through the spotlight. “Wait a minute… aren’t you… Max Verstappen?”

Max sighed, a small smile playing on his lips. “Guilty as charged,” he admitted. “But listen, how about we make this a fun story instead of a headline?” He reached back to the dock, where his clothes were, and pulled out his wallet from his pants. Holding up a few large bills, he grinned at the officers. “How about we forget you ever saw us here? We’ll be gone before you know it.”

The officers exchanged looks, clearly tempted by the offer. The one with the loudspeaker finally nodded, though he couldn’t hide a smirk. “Alright, Mr. Verstappen. We’ll let you off this time, but get dressed and get out of here. We don’t want to see this in the tabloids tomorrow.”

Max gave them a playful salute. “You got it, officers. Thanks for the discretion.” As the boat began to turn away, he called out, “And hey, maybe come to a race sometime! I’ll make sure you get the best seats.”

Once the boat had disappeared into the darkness, you and Max burst out laughing, the adrenaline mixing with relief. “That was close,” you said, still grinning as you swam back toward the dock.

Max helped you out of the water, keeping his eyes on yours with a cheeky grin. “That was too close,” he agreed, wrapping a towel around you before grabbing his own clothes. “But I think we handled it pretty well. Not every day you get caught skinny dipping by the authorities and get away with it.”

You shook your head, amused and a little breathless. “You do if you’re Max Verstappen”

He chuckled, pulling you into a quick kiss. “You make life exciting, I’ll give you that,” he murmured, his voice full of affection. “But maybe next time, we pick a less risky spot. Just a suggestion.”

You laughed, nodding in agreement as you both quickly dressed. “Agreed. But it was worth it, just for the story.”

Max grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Absolutely. And hey, if we’re going to get into trouble, might as well make it memorable, right?”

[dincrypt]

Hush

Summary: Din needs sleep, but it’ll take a bit of coaxing.

Content: Just sleepy fluff

He was rolling his shoulders again.

It was the closest thing to a tell Din possessed, and had taken you almost a year with him to decipher. He never yawned. Not that you had seen, anyway. Never complained. But the moment you noticed him straightening his posture, rolling his shoulders back as though it were nothing more than a stretch, you knew Din was exhausted.

All it took was a rut. Normally, he was wise enough to recognize when he needed sleep, and responsible enough to take it. He’d shed his armor, wrap himself around you in the warmth of your shared bunk, and soon be letting out the soft snores that lulled your own eyes into slumber.

Occasionally though, sleep was denied to him for one reason or another. An uncooperative quarry. A necessary but especially long haul through sub light. It didn’t matter what it was, the moment Din was denied his regular dose of rest, suddenly sleep was jettisoned off his priority list, and he was impossible.

Now, his tell was slipping through the cracks, thinly disguised amongst smaller unnecessary movements as he fiddled among the ship, tinkering with circuits that were in perfect working order. You looked up from Grogu’s bed, having finally coaxed him to sleep. Your eye roll went unnoticed by Din.

“Why don’t you get some rest?” You suggested softly.

‘Huh?” He mumbled without looking up from a very important lighting rig, imperative to the function of exactly six green and red buttons.

“I said you need some rest,” you tried again, crossing the hull to touch his pauldron softly. “Come lay down.”

“Oh. That’s alright, I’m not tired.”

You nearly let a laugh slip. You managed to turn it into a sigh, knowing the former would only aggravate him. “Well I’m tired. And you know I sleep better when you’re with me. Won’t you come lay with me, just for a bit?”

That, apparently, was more palatable. His frame drooped and you knew you had him. “Well…I suppose if it’ll help you…”

“It will. Absolutely.”

“Ok then…”

You led him away from the oh-so-vital light circuits and helped him remove his armor. This had always been one of your favorite things about your husband, getting to see his warrior exterior stripped away, leaving you with the soft man you knew and loved underneath. He was fully capable of doing it himself, of course. He had for years. But you loved to be the one to slip it off piece by piece, feeling his muscles relax beneath your touch. He knew this, so he let you.

You left his helmet for last, knowing he preferred to remove it himself. Once the last piece of metal was off his body, you brought him to bed.

Despite his earlier argument, he practically melted into the mattress. Your heart swelled as Din crawled over to you and laid his head on your chest without hesitation. His arm draped over your stomach as one of your hands stroked his back, the other climbing into his hair.

You had marveled at it a million times, and you would no doubt do so a million more, because you would never quite get over the fact that a battle hardened Mandalorian, who everyone saw as a merciless killer, trusted and loved you enough to relax in your arms and go to sleep. You were one of only two beings in the universe who could touch him without consequence.

He began to mumble. Another thing he did when exhaustion got the best of him.

“I love you so much…”

“I know. I love you too. Go to sleep.” You continued to run your fingers through his hair, soft and thick.

“You’re so warm.”

“So are you.”

“And so sweet.”

You chuckled, drawing your hand down to stroke his cheek with two gentle fingers. “Go to sleep my love.”

“M’trying…”

“No you’re not, you’re talking.”

“Mm…”

He slowly fell into silence, his breath deepening. You listened for the onset of snores. Before they came, he spoke again,

“You didn’t kiss me.”

You held a sigh. “What?”

“Kiss me…you didn’t…you always kiss me goodnight…”

You stroked his hair again, fingers digging softly in his scalp. “You’re too tired love, just sleep.”

“Can’t…” his voice was muffled in your chest, “Can’t until you kiss me…”

Your eyes rolled with a gentle smile. “Then come up here and get it I suppose.”

He raised his head, but his eyes stayed closed. He didn’t lean up, apparently lacking the energy. Instead he simply lulled his head to the side and presented his pursed lips. You grinned and craned your neck down to give him a soft peck on the mouth.

Instead of laying back down, he whined. “Another?”

“No,” you breathed through a laugh. “Go to sleep.”

“Mmmmm,” he complained, brow furrowing over still-closed eyes. “Please?”

“Huuuh…Maker…”

You humored him, lingering a little longer in hopes of satisfying him this time. It either worked or he lost the energy to hold his head up, because his face planted back into your chest. Your heart warmed with a mixture of love and mirth as you compared this sleepy eyed boy, begging for kisses, to the blood stained hunter who had shot down a quarry mere hours ago. Sometimes it felt like you were married to two different people.

You continued to work your fingers down his back with smooth, rhythmic strokes, humming softly. Your other hand ran down his hair to the nape of his neck, playing with the soft locks there. Din’s breathing gradually deepened, then slowed. But you knew he wasn’t asleep yet.

“Love you…” he murmured, “So much, darling…love you…love you…”

You tilted your head down to kiss his hair. “Sssh, I love you too. Sleep.”

“So warm…so soft…love you…”

The last syllable faded and you felt his mumbling lips finally come to a stop. Not a moment later, his soft and shallow snores graced your ears. You held him a little tighter, echoing his words of adoration as sleep finally overtook you.

[mayamidnightmelody]

In the gritty, expansive universe of "Battlestar Galactica," two women stand out not just for their striking presence but for the depth and complexity they bring to their roles. Tricia Helfer as the enigmatic Cylon, Number Six, and Katie Sackhoff as the fierce and rebellious pilot, Kara "Starbuck" Thrace, are more than just characters on a screen; they are embodiments of strength, vulnerability, and unspoken sensuality.

Tricia Helfer, with her statuesque figure and piercing gaze, captures the essence of Number Six—a being of both beauty and lethal precision. Her presence is magnetic, drawing viewers into a world where every glance and subtle smile holds a promise of seduction and danger. Helfer's portrayal is a masterclass in controlled intensity, where every movement is deliberate, every word carefully chosen to mesmerize and manipulate. Number Six is a complex tapestry of emotion, weaving together threads of love, loyalty, and the cold logic of her Cylon origins.

In stark contrast, Katie Sackhoff's Starbuck is a whirlwind of raw energy and defiance. Her character is a testament to resilience, embodying the spirit of a warrior who faces insurmountable odds with unyielding determination. Sackhoff infuses Starbuck with a blend of rugged toughness and hidden tenderness, creating a character who is as unpredictable as she is captivating. Whether she's piloting a Viper into battle or wrestling with her own inner demons, Starbuck's journey is a visceral experience, filled with moments of intense passion and poignant vulnerability.

Now imagine, in a rare moment away from the relentless fight for survival, Helfer and Sackhoff together, their characters shedding the weight of their respective burdens. They embark on a journey, a road stretching out before them under a vast, open sky. Both women are dressed in loose, flowing shirts, unbuttoned to reveal the smooth expanse of their chests. The openness of their attire speaks to a newfound freedom, a momentary escape from the rigid confines of their roles.

As they walk, the wind catches the fabric, billowing it out behind them like wings. The sun casts a golden hue on their skin, highlighting the contrast between Helfer's ethereal grace and Sackhoff's earthy allure. There is an unspoken bond between them, a silent understanding forged in the fires of their shared struggles. Their steps are in sync, a dance of shadows and light, where the line between Cylon and human, machine and flesh, blurs into insignificance.

In this tableau, there is a sensuality that transcends the physical. It's in the way Helfer's hand grazes Sackhoff's arm as they laugh at some private joke, the way their eyes meet in a moment of mutual recognition. It's in the gentle sway of their bodies, the rise and fall of their breaths, and the silent promise of companionship and understanding. This image captures the essence of their characters—two powerful women, finding solace and strength in each other's presence, if only for a fleeting moment.

The road before them is uncertain, much like their destinies within the battlestar's metal hull. Yet, in this instant, they are simply Tricia and Katie, Number Six and Starbuck, women who have seen the edge of existence and come back stronger, their spirits unbroken and their hearts laid bare.

[odiesdayoff]

Kinktober: Matthew Joy

Pair: Matthew Joy x fem!reader

Summary: The Essex has taken your ship and its crew. The captain finds out your secret.

Warnings: Dub-con (Virginity loss/Rough/Creampie)

im a little high and horny so happy third post of kinktober <3

The wind was unforgiving, as always. If it weren’t for the leather gloves covering your hands, your skin would’ve been broken by the sheer pull of the ropes that held the sails taut. Your hat nearly flew away. The rest of the crew scrambled around the ship to assess the damage.

From what you could see, the bow had caught fire from the blast and what was a small hole now threatened to sink the entire ship. The attackers, another whaling ship that flew the flag of Great Britain in the front and a black flag in the rear, already had their hooks in the hull of your ship.

Water was already seeping into the lower regions of the ship and it was only a matter of time before you all were submerged underwater. Your captain blew the whistle. The instrument was a precaution just in case of a situation like this one. It only meant one thing: All crew were to meet on the deck and prepare for the inevitable.

Cautiously, you let go of the rope and watched as the sail blew away into the sea. They had warned you of an event like this and dying at sea was only a crazy, yet rational fear until now. You climbed down the pole and stood on the deck with the rest of your crew. 

You couldn’t thank these men enough. They treated you like you were no different than them. Dying next to them would be an honor.

The attacking ship’s crew began to climb onto your ship with large guns in their hands. More advanced than you had ever seen in your lifetime. The man held up his gun, pointed at your captain, and shot. Bits of blood and gore splattered along the deck and on your uniforms. Your crew stayed still.

The other man pointed the gun at the rest of you and pointed to their own ship. Carefully, you followed the man’s instructions and gathered on the deck of the other ship, watching your ship sink along with the remains of your poor captain. 

You knelt in a line, the other ship’s captain standing in front of you all with his arms folded behind his back. “Welcome aboard the Essex. My name is Captain Matthew Joy and you will address me as such. Now, our ship cannot accommodate all of you, prisoner or not.”

He stands in front of the man at the end of the lineup. “Stand.” This was the cook. Even if you never particularly anticipated his meals, he was still a good man and a fine addition to the crew. He saved the end pieces of the loaves of bread for you on the occasion that you had fresh bread.

Captain Joy eyed the cook down. “Strip.” The guns were still aimed at him as he began to unbutton his uniform and drop the clothing until he stood bare in front of the Captain. “What are your skills?”

“Kitchen, sir.”

One by one, you watch your crewmates get undressed and assessed, then thrown off of the ship. You notice his shoes stop in front of you and you slowly rise to your feet. He raised a brow, noticing your features. “Skills?”

“I work the sails.” You interlock your hands together behind your back, trying to be as proper as possible. 

He narrowed his eyes. “Tell the truth.”

You shed your jacket, maintaining eye contact with him. “That is the truth.”

His eyes surveyed you. There was no way something your size would be able to handle the brutal job of maintaining the sails of a ship that size. That position was reserved for men twice your size...not a young boy, in his opinion. "Off with your clothes, then."

The act could only last a few seconds more as you stripped yourself of your outerwear, then shirt and pants, leaving you exposed. Under the outfit, there was reasonable doubt that you were a man. Without it, your breasts perked from the touch of the frigid sea air, and your womanhood couldn't be mistaken for anything else. You kept a cold stare on the captain, waiting to see how fast he would order you off the ship.

"Colour me surprised, love. Quite the beauty was hiding under all of those rags." He smirks, shamelessly checking out your body and reaching out to touch your collarbone. "A sweet thing like you really worked the sails? Or were you keen on more...indoor activities?"

He laughed, along with the crewmates of his ship. Your crew felt less fear for themselves and more for your safety. You knew all too well the dangers of being a woman all alone with men on a ship in the middle of the ocean. They did their best to protect you and treat you just the same.

"Get rid of the rest however you'd like." He took your arm and pulled you down the stairs to the quarters. His was the largest, as he was the captain. Secluded from all of the other men.

He shut the door behind the both of you and led you to sit on the edge of the bed. "They're good men. Good sailors. It would be a waste to kill them."

He pushed some of your hair behind your ear and cooed teasingly. "Don't worry about them, sweet thing. All that matters is that you're alive and you're job won't be with the sails any longer."

"What's my job, then?" A part of you knew already, but it needed to come from his mouth, in his words.

His soft smile had a sinister edge to it. "Serve the crew meals in the galley...and service them when they desire."

There it was. Exactly what you feared when you signed up to join the ship in the first place. Your luck had run out exponentially.

You kept your gaze on the floorboards, seemingly rotting within the ship as he stood on it. "I won't be able to do that as well as you hope."

"Why's that? Any whore can do the job just fine." He reached for the trousers of his uniform. You could already see the way his erection strained against the fabric. Men at sea typically only had their hands to work with unless they fancied other men.

You shook your head. "I'm not a whore. I'm a sailor. And I've...never done anything like that."

He quirked a brow, grinning now. It didn't stop him from freeing his cock. How was that going to fit? "Not only do I get to fuck a pretty girl, but I get to claim her as my own. I can't promise I'll be gentle when I deflower you."

You could barely react to his words before he pushed you back to lay on the bed, already straddling your hips and positioning his leaking tip in front of your entrance. He was far from unattractive and in any other circumstance, you might consider marrying a man that had his looks and confidence.

Now, you braced yourself as your walls stretched to accommodate his length. His hot breath burned against your neck as he pushed further inside and groaned in pure bliss. "Been months since I had pussy. Never had it this tight."

It wasn't supposed to hurt like this, right? If it felt so good for the man, then why did it feel like he was splitting you open just by being inside of you? Maybe the pleasure would come later, though it didn't feel like that later was anywhere close. You could feel every vein and ridge of his cock dragging against your walls, antagonizingly slow to make sure your pain was prolonged. Or, that's how it seemed.

"Fuck. Consider your cherry popped. Now, it's my turn." He pushed his entire weight on top of you and started to thrust faster as if he had a time limit. His tip repeatedly tapped so deeply into you, that what you think might've been an orgasm was coiling within your stomach.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you weren't sure if they were of pain or pleasure. He didn't bother to check if you were enjoying it, only focusing on getting as deep as he possibly could.

When the thrusts became more...quick, that's when you felt it. A warm sensation deep inside of you. He sucked on your neck and moaned, softly thrusting again to push his seed back into you. "Forget what I said about being the ship's whore. You're only mine now."

[cuprohastes]

Ludicrous speed.

Let me tell you about humans. They’re shit. No exoskeleton, they need to pour water into their face all the time, no plumage, they can’t even sense magnetism.

They’re wobbly squishy things who walk around looking at the world with jelly blobs, leaking their most important resource out of their skin.

And you hear that they’re the Galaxy’s most dangerous species.

And they’re not, they really aren’t.

The Ixnar are. The Ixnar will get halfway through a genocide before they start to wonder why they’re doing it. The Ixnar will fire relativistic weapons and not give a solitary nnuniq what they’ll hit later on down the line.

Humans? They start by coming up with a reason to be terrifying, and then they refine it as they go. See? They give you fair warning. They think about stuff. They’ll talk to you first, then do something horrifying.

But if you don’t give them that chance, then… well, that’s on you.

And I never believed that reputation. I’d worked with humans for years, and I’ve never seen them do anything more than carry stuff, sing songs, eat barbaric food and sleep. About what you’d expect from a pack animal - Useful, affable, but…. dangerous?

It is to laugh.

Anyway.

The Ixnar.

They sent a raiding party to my homeworld. I couldn’t believe it, I was in shock when their ships entered atmosphere and started firing on our cities.

I was ready to go down and help the survivors - Of course I was!

The Humans?

Well they got angry. Like angrier than they had a right to be. And they’re humans, right? They get angry, they do something with it.

They didn’t want to go down and help the survivors, they wanted to go down and murder the raiders.

You know… they actually hailed the Ixnar and asked them, begged them, even tried to trade with them to stop their attack.

The Ixnar hung up and… the Humans dropped hell on them.

In a cargo freighter. A human cargo freighter.

They love their aerobraking. So they have these huge shields and magnetic fields to manage plasma: They come in, and they trade speed for heat and then coast and shed the heat.

Not this time. I thought we were going to die - They pointed the ship at the planet, and they came down so hard I could hear the air through the hull.

We didn’t even need cabin lights.

And then… they lit the main drives. A thing no sentient would ever do in atmosphere. Because it’s suicide. Absolutely: We were already moving at fifty times faster than the speed of sound, and then they decided they needed to be faster.

And they got it. Because they were angry on behalf of people they never met. They just decided that physics didn’t matter. The hull wasn’t important. Fuel? Engines? Ha! Who cares, right? They’ll just get out and flap their arms if they need to, with a kitchen knife between their teeth.

You know what happens if a fighter skiff gets hit with a shockwave like that? They go away. They stop being anything you could call a thing.

And you know, Humans don’t send out Cargo ships without protection. I mean, their hulls alone are insane. But they also like to carry a little punitive hardware.

About as much as most species warships.

Beam weapons, ballistic slugs, missiles, Field spinners, and those fucking Polaron cannons.

Yeah, nobody has worked out how that works. They’re Polarons. And the humans figured out how to make them hurt.

And they were firing on these little warships from inside a cloud of plasma. And really that shouldn’t work at all, And they just did it anyway. It was terrifying, and I was on the inside, looking out and I was scared.

Then the humans aimed the nose at the mothership. The captain said… And I won’t stop hearing those words ever: “If the Polaron cannons won’t do it, let’s see if ramming speed will do the trick.”

And the crew cheered. They cheered!

I can only imagine the Ixnar command looking down and seeing a hole ripped in the atmosphere, seeing their skiffs flash into non existence and then a boiling finger of cloud just reaching up to point at them.

Did they even remember the human cargo ship that reached out to them? Did they even recognise the glowing white-hot dot of pure fury coming for them?

And when the Polaron cannon lit up, did they even recognise what was happening before their bridge melted?

I hope so. I hope that for a moment they realised they’d fucked up so badly that they got everyone killed and the humans were Big Mad at them.

Me? I was trying not to scream. I was pretty sure that I was going to die, but also? Die like a human. You really understand what blaze of glory means when you’re actually on fire and it doesn’t matter.

Anyway we didn’t have to kill the Ixnar by slamming into them, but the Captain had to eject the engines, and most of the hull because uh, well it was kind of on fire.

Two days later the rescue and relief team picked us up and let me tell you, we were all really drunk at that point.

But yeah.

Humans aren’t dangerous. And yes I would very much like another drink, most kind of you to offer.

[hugmekenobi]

S3: The Bad Batch (14)

Chapter Fourteen: Flash Strike

Gif by @chaioticcoffee

Hunter x femaleJedi!reader

Series Summary: Ever since Eriadu, Clone Force 99 had been a fractured squad. Months have passed but you're finally back with the Batch but Omega is still out there and you won't stop until you find her again.

Chapter Summary: The Batch try to get behind enemy lines as they arrive on Tantiss. Echo makes an unexpected ally and Omega has a plan of her own.

Masterlist for S1 and S2

<Previous Chapter

Genre: Friends (idiots) to Lovers (we're in the lovers stage now)

Chapter Warnings: Limited (Y/N), canon-typical violence, injury descriptions (blood cuts, blacking out and bruising), needles and injections, Hemlock, torture references, angst

Word Count: 5.1K

Author's notes: Not even a lovely bout of food poisoning swiftly followed by my period immediately after was going to stop me getting this out on a Wednesday lol so here it is! Can't believe the next on is the finale!

“We’ll be exiting hyperspace soon.” Hunter informed the group as he came down from the cockpit.

“The base’s scanners will detect us once we’re on approach.” Rampart fretted.

“Then we’ll detach from the science vessel’s hull before then and infiltrate on foot.”

“The jungle is deadly.” Crosshair said in warning.

“Yes, exactly. At least listen to him.” Rampart begged.

“Well, how is Echo gonna get off that ship?” Wrecker reminded his two brothers, not liking the idea of leaving Echo unaided in this mission.

Hunter couldn’t afford to let his mind worry about that too much. Echo was highly capable, and Hunter knew he could handle this. “He’ll find a way.” The alarm beeped to signal the impending hyperspace exit. “Get into position.”

The three of them donned their helmets again and readied themselves for what was to come.

--

Echo hid the trooper’s body in a supply closet and plugged into the ship’s system. He couldn’t look for long however due to the sound of droid footsteps approaching and so he had to go hide in the closet.

--

Hemlock walked into the control room. “What’s the status of the science vessel?” He asked Scorch.

“En route, but we have a potential security breach. Clone Force 99 infiltrated the orbital station with former Vice Admiral Rampart.”

“Where are they now?”

“They fled aboard a stolen shuttle when the science vessel departed. They could be tracking it.”

Hemlock debated the courses of action in his head before deciding, “Dispatch fighters to monitor airspace. I’ll consult with our… guest for any further information he can give on the strategies they may implement.”

--

As the vessel entered the atmosphere, Hunter got ready to act. “Disengaging.”

As soon as the shuttle released from the science vessel, they were immediately bombarded with a squadron of Imperial fighters. Reacting too quickly and too organised for it to be a coincidence- no, they were expecting them.

Hunter sped up the ship and carried out evasive manoeuvres.

--

Hemlock returned from the cells to get a status update. Unfortunately, the prisoner had been rather uncooperative this time around, but it was no matter, he understood clones and how they acted- especially this squad. He could handle this himself. And he was due a visit with you anyway so perhaps you could shed light on what they may do.

“Our fighters have engaged a rogue shuttle.” A technician informed Dr. Hemlock.

“Lock down the base. Neutralize the threat, Commander.” He ordered Scorch.

“Activate laser cannons.” Scorch directed.

--

Between the fire from the base laser cannons and the fighters, standard manoeuvrers weren’t cutting it. Hunter had to get a little bit creative with the flying now and he started with a divebomb towards the ground.

--

Omega and the kids sat bored around one of the tables as they played with the puzzles, but a deep rumbling echoed around the vault.

“What is that?” Eva asked nervously.

Omega rested her hand on the table as she listened and analysed the sounds. “Laser cannons.”

--

“Doctors, there is a base-wide security alert.”

Emerie and Dr. Scalder turned to the science tech who told them that news.

“Follow lockdown protocols. I’ll secure the lab. Monitor the children in my absence.” She said to Dr. Scalder.

Dr. Scalder sneered slightly at the request, “Your concern for the specimens is unwarranted.” But she did as she was told as Emerie walked away.

--

Omega took in the scene through the windows above her with deep intrigue.

“What’s going on?” Sammi whispered.

“They found us.” Omega breathed.

“Who?” Jax asked.

“My brothers.”

--

The ship took another concerning sounding hit.

“Deflector shields are failing.” Crosshair said hurriedly to Hunter from the co-pilots chair situated just behind him.

Hunter dived again, only this time he turned the ship around, so the ship’s weapons were facing the enemy fighters. He fired on them and managed to take out a couple before he slowed and pulled back on the engines and allowed the remaining ships to fly past him.

That moved allowed him to lose them for a second and fly the ship closer to the jungle terrain, but it wasn’t long before the fighters had regrouped and were right back on top of them. “There’s no time to land.” Hunter said. He engaged his comm, “Wrecker, prep the rappel cables.”

“On it.” Wrecker confirmed as he removed himself from the seat he was in.

“On it? On what?” Rampart asked anxiously.

Wrecker only chuckled as he undid Rampart’s over-the-shoulder restraint. “You don’t wanna know.”

“Autopilot engaged.” Hunter confirmed as he and Crosshair went down to join Wrecker.

--

Hunter readied the hatch and all four of them attached to a cable.

“What do you expect me to do?” Rampart questioned in disbelief as he worked on mentally preparing for whatever the clone had planned.

“Try not to hit anything on the way down.” Hunter advised unhelpfully as the floor opened up.

“Whoa! You’ve got to be kidding!” Rampart screeched as he worked out the intentions of this ill-conceived and hellish idea. This entire affair was getting worse by the minute. Suddenly, Erebus didn’t seem so bad.

“Lines ready.” Wrecker said before he and Crosshair made the first jump down and detached once they were in a clear enough space.

Seeing that they’d made it, Hunter gave the order for him and Rampart, “Now!” He yanked Rampart down before the Imperial had the chance to second-guess.

Hunter’s cable descended fine, but Rampart got stuck before he’d barely started to drop.

“Wait! The cable is jammed!” He shouted down to Hunter.

Hunter really didn’t have time to think of a delicate solution, nor did he care about finding one. He drew his blaster and destroyed the hoist that Rampart’s cable ran through. He caught the panicked and screeching Imperial by the forearm as he fell past him, and the shuttle being destroyed by the fighters took care of the rest of their descent into the jungle.

--

“Confirmed hit.” The technician stated. “The shuttle was shot down and crashed in the jungle.”

“Have patrols search the crash site.” Hemlock instructed.

“Sir, our science vessel is on final approach.” Scorch informed him.

“Have the entire ship searched and the crew scanned. No one leaves that hangar without authorisation.” Hemlock made his final order before he left the room.

--

Echo mused over ideas in his head. He knew he couldn’t stay hidden in here forever, but he didn’t exactly blend in. even if he got off the ship, sneaking around Tantiss would be no easy feat, especially with no cover to rely on.

He paced up and down the small closet space and he titled his head as he stared down at the trooper and a new idea began to take shape.

--

Donned in new stormtrooper armour, Echo exited the closet and scomped into the system again.

He’d managed to get more of a look this time before he heard the droid footsteps. He unplugged and casually walked away, acting as if he was patrolling the area but the droid’s voice stopped him.

“Wait. You are not authorised to be here. This area is under my jurisdiction.”

“Ah, well, I was, uh, checking the manifest.” But even to a droid he knew he didn’t sound convincing.

“What is going on here?”

Echo didn’t let the droid get any closer to him. He blasted it straight in the chest and as he looked between the droid and his scomp, he saw another opportunity to complete his new identity.

“Thanks for the hand.” He quipped as he exited the shuttle the same way he’d gotten in.

He joined on to a squad of troopers leaving the hangar.

Now, his infiltration could begin.

--

 Crosshair and Wrecker were making their way through the thick jungle terrain.

“I don’t see ‘em.” Wrecker groaned. “Should we break comm silence?”

“No. we continue toward the base. Hunter will head that way too.” Crosshair said as he took the lead.

“A-Are you sure we’re headed in the right direction?”

“I’ve been here before. It’s not a place you forget.” He shook his hand out as he felt the tremors return.

“You broke out of here once. At least this time you’re breaking in.” Wrecker said, doing his best to provide some comfort.

“I’d rather not do either. But Omega didn’t leave me behind when she could have. I owe her. And (Y/N), she’s one of us too. I have to do this.”

“Plus, we’d never hear the end of it from Hunter if we didn’t.” Wrecker said with levity.

Crosshair managed a short chuckle, “Hmm, that too.”

The rustling of leaves and sounds of footsteps approaching caused them both the sharpen up again as they readied their blasters but the person that emerged was their brother so they could relax.

“See? He found us.” Crosshair stated smugly.

“Did, uh, Rampart make it?” Wrecker asked.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Hunter replied dryly.

“I heard that.” Rampart came panting into view. “You three truly are defective clones.” He grumbled. “If you had any common sense, you wouldn’t have come here. You won’t get out of this alive.”

Hunter squared up to Rampart. “We’ll take our chances.” He glanced up. “Incoming.”

The four of them took cover by a rock as a scout shuttle flew overhead. Only when is passed by, did they start walking again.

--

“Why haven’t our vitals been taken today and where did everyone go?” Eva asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she clutched the straw doll tightly.

“I don’t know. This is weird.” Jax stated quietly.

Omega matched their volume so as not to arouse suspicion. “I need to scout out what’s going on and see if I can find my friend.”

“Your friend?” Eva asked.

“You didn’t arrive alone?” Sammi inquired.

Omega shook her head, but she didn’t know how much to let them in on, especially if they weren’t aware of the potential they had. “Hemlock wanted her too; I think for the similar purposes you were all taken or possibly something else, but I don’t know what. And this is my best chance to find out and to find her, before the others come back. If something happens, and I’m not back in time, cover me.”

“Cover you?” Eva repeated in confusion.

“What does that mean?” Jax sought out clarification on the order.

Omega forgot that most kids didn’t actually grow up with a military family. “Keep watch. If the droid’s come snooping, stall them.” Omega instructed.

“How?” Sammi asked.

“You’ll think of something.” Omega said with sincere belief in them. She stole a glance up at Dr. Scalder who was engaged in talking to a droid and she saw her opportunity. “I’m counting on you.” With that, she left the table and set off to her room where she could access her new means of travel inside the walls of Tantiss.

--

The Batch and Rampart continued to make their way through the terrain, ensuring they were avoiding the many scouting parties that had been sent out.

Crosshair noticed Rampart’s drop in pace and jutted him hard in the back with his rifle. “You fall behind, you get left behind.” He said in response to Rampart’s pained grunt and backwards glare.

“You used to believe good soldiers followed orders.” Rampart commented as he picked up his speed a tad.

“Depends on who’s giving them. The Empire betrayed us both.”

“And you think you can fight them? That’s not you. You’re like me. Loyal to no one but yourself.” Rampart came to a halt.

“I’ve changed.” Crosshair said as he passed him. He wasn’t about to let Rampart of all people get in his head about this. He knew he was different now and that’s what mattered here.

“Sure you have.” Rampart muttered doubtfully as he watched the clone join the other two ahead before he went to catch up.

--

Blending in with the other Imperial troopers had been easy enough, even if the mechanical hand felt a bit unnatural but so far things were going smoothly but slowly. He needed a plan that involved knowing where it was that he needed to go.

Echo broke away from the back of the squad he was trailing as he passed a terminal. Making sure that the cost was clear, he took off the fake hand and plugged into the system to get a layout of this place and it was then that he saw the map of how to get to the lab that he figured had been the place where most of the testing that Omega had talked about occurred.

--

Hunter indicated for the group to stop and hide behind the treeline as a squad of troopers were in the area a few metres away from them. He knew going straight and behind them wasn’t a safe option so he led the way to the right that would see them hopefully work around them.

However, the path led them to a steep rockface.

“So, do we, uh, go around?” Wrecker suggested.

“No. It’ll take too long.” Crosshair said. “Especially with dead weight slowing us down.” He referred to Rampart as he heard the deep and unfit sighs leaving the Imperial as he lagged behind them.

“By all means, take your time.” Rampart groused to himself as he went to sit on a rock away from them all. “It’s not like we’re being hunted down.” He closed his eyes and leaned back against a surprisingly comfortable part of the cliff.

“Ground troopers are already scouring the area. Climbing is our best option.” Hunter theorised.

Wrecker groaned. “I knew you were gonna say that.”

Any further debate was cut short as a deep growling got all of their attention and they saw the creature rousing from sleep behind a terrified Rampart.

Hunter kept his voice low, and calm reached his hand out to Rampart to encourage him to do the same. “Slowly step away.”

Rampart darted back behind them all, but his panic was all he could focus on as he stared as the huge bear-like creature.

Wrecker anticipated Rampart’s petrified scream and covered his mouth with his palm as he dragged Rampart away.

Rampart gathered himself enough to weasel out of Wrecker’s grasp, “Shoot it. Now!”

They’d come too far and were too close for it all to come crashing down now. He couldn’t let that happen. “No. Blaster fire will give away our position.” Hunter objected as he and Crosshair also kept backing away.

“Our position won’t matter if that eats us.” Rampart hissed fearfully and he wasn’t about to wait around for that to happen- let the clones die, it wasn’t his problem anymore. He set off at a run.

The others only watched him go. Their focus had to stay on the animal which let out a guttural growl and charged at them.

They ran and split off in an attempt to surround it.

Hunter managed a few swipes of his vibroblade and Crosshair succeeded in hitting it’s face with the end of his rifle but where things started to go wrong was when Wrecker decided to jump on its back. He was tossed off with ease and that meant the animal was focused entirely on him.

“Wrecker, look out!” Hunter shouted as loudly as he could without giving them away, but it wasn’t enough.

The two of them watched in as the creature savagely swiped at Wrecker’s chest and through hm across the jungle into the trunk of a tree. They dashed over to him and saw the nasty gash that had breached his chest plate and cut through to his chest.

“Come on.” Crosshair encouraged roughly as he and Hunter pulled Wrecker to his feet, and both took an arm around him to support their brother as they retreated further into the jungle.

Fortunately, the gaps between the trees were too small for the creature to follow them but that relief was short lived.

Despite their best efforts, Rampart’s careless fumbling had alerted the Imperial’s to their location and a blaster fight ensued- a less-than-ideal situation for them, especially with Wrecker seriously hurt- but the added chaos had brought the animal back around to take care of the soldiers for them, allowing them to hide once more.

However, Wrecker was still badly wounded.

And Rampart was now nowhere to be found.

And they could count of the fact that the troopers would find him.

And Hemlock definitely knew they were alive and here.

--

The tight spaces and avoiding the sensors within the walls had made the sneaking around rather slow and tiring but it had been worth it.

Discovering that the Zillo Beast was here and being contained not too far from the vault had sparked an idea for the development of her escape plan and now she hoped her instincts were right in terms of the path they were taking her on to find where you were.

She felt along the walls, seeking out any discrepancies to mark changes in location and when she found such a change, she took the gamble and used her tool to scrape away at the new set of panels and began to push her way through.

--

As Omega came out the other side and entered what appeared to be a prison cell, she was pleased to see that it paid off but when she came to actually crouch in front of you, her breath hitched in distress as she saw you. She gently shook your shoulder and called your name.

Your internal body clock was going off, so you roused under the assumption that the calling of your name came from your usual visitors so when you saw her face, it shocked you. “Omega?” You whispered.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Omega replied quietly.

Judging from the deep furrow in her brow and the concern behind her eyes, you looked as bad as you felt. You offered what you hoped was a reassuring smile as you asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to find you. I think the others are here. We can leave this place soon!” But the news didn’t get the reaction from you she’d hoped. You were looking at her with profound disbelief. “Couldn’t you hear the cannons?”

You’d thought you’d heard a faint booming, but you couldn’t be sure that you hadn’t hallucinated it or been told to believe it. After all, this had been a scenario Hemlock had tried before. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.” You admitted with a heavy, weary sigh. At least you could believe her though, this wasn’t a figment of your imagination.

Omega had never seen you look so defeated before and it disturbed her a great deal. She needed to free you. “What does he want with you?”

You adjusted yourself slightly with a wince. “He wants me to join his operatives. He’s- he’s pretty insistent about it.”

“You can’t!”

“Yeah, I worked that one out for myself.” You attempted to kid, but it fell flat. “What about you? Did he tell you what he wanted?”

“My blood can be used to help replicate an individual’s M-count. But don’t worry, I’m working out a plan for me and the other kids to escape and find Hunter and the others.” Omega informed you.

“There are more children?” You repeated in dismay.

“There are three more of us and a baby. I still don’t fully know why they’re here. My guess is they’re like you.”

“A baby?” You didn’t think Hemlock could repulse you more yet somehow, he’d managed it. And if these kids were like you, they were in all kinds of danger.

“I’m helping them, but I can get you out of here first.” Omega insisted as she started to pull out her implement to work on your cuffs.

“No, you need to leave.”

Omega paused, “What?”

“You can’t help me. You can’t stay here any longer.” Your internal alarm clock had gone off for a reason and the fact that Hemlock was running late solidified the fact that they were here, but it also meant he could arrive any minute. In fact, you could hear distant footsteps.

“But why?”

“Omega, please. Go.” You insisted through a pained whisper as the noise of footsteps grew nearer.

“I can’t leave you like this.” Omega objected.

“You have to.”

“But-”

“Those kids need you. It’s not fair that you have to look do this by yourself, but you need to get out. You can’t worry about me right now; escaping is your objective. You know that it is.”

Omega felt like she was being pulled in two different directions. “I don’t want him to hurt you anymore.” She said tearfully.

“As long as I know you’re okay, he can’t hurt me. Go.” You begged.

“I-”

“Omega…” You implored, your throat choking up as you saw the conflict written across her face and you wished you didn’t have to send her away. “Please.” You couldn’t stand the thought of her getting caught or witnessing what Hemlock had planned for you, it was already bad enough that she’d seen you like this.

Omega still felt torn about it but deep down, she knew you were right and, even though part of her was yelling at her to help you, she forced herself to do as you said. She brushed your cheek before she stepped back into the gap in the wall, righting the panels as she did so.

--

As the door started to slide open, you also made a strong mental note with yourself to not give away what Omega had figured out.

--

Omega had barely made it behind the wall before the door opened fully and she hardly dared to breath as she stayed still behind the walls and heard the faint echo of footsteps and murmur of your voice.

--

“Ah, Dr. Hemlock. You’re late today.” You took in his entourage which consisted of a scientist you did not recognise and another trooper. “And no Emerie? Couldn’t have anything to do with what’s going on outside, could it?” You acted like her absence was of no bother to you when in actuality the absence of someone who seemed to be the only one to hold some sense over what amount torture was reasonable for a person to endure was most disconcerting.

Hemlock took a deep breath to calm himself. Your persistent deflections and smart-mouth remarks despite the fatigue and pain written across your battered face and body was maddening. He had yet to find the secret to breaking you, he had come close a few times, but it hadn’t quite been enough, and that was proving to weigh on his mind, especially with the appearance of Clone Force 99. “How do you know of their arrival?”

“Well, one, you just told me.” You quipped with a lethargic but still smug smirk.

Hemlock nodded to the trooper who slapped you across your cheek.

Recovering from the blow, you spoke again, “Plus, you gave it away as you walked in here. You’re nervous.” You stated simply. “And why else would you be if there wasn’t a threat to your base? And with the only new additions here being Omega and myself, it makes sense that it’s them. You took us away from a rather loyal and protective family who won’t stop until we’re back. And from the activation of the laser cannons, it sounded like they’ve found us.” You deduced, acting like it was the most obvious thing out there. “The very fact that they have reached this place makes you nervous.” You repeated with a stiff shrug of your shoulders as the chain rattled behind you.

“Please, the activities of your squad offer warrant no true concern. They are a mild irritant, nothing more.”

Your shattered and pained state made it hard to get the tone right, but you hoped the low chuckle you emitted gave the impression of the mocking pity you felt at his attempt to hide it from you. “I may not be able to use the Force to choke you to death in the way I’d like to but don’t think it can’t help me in other ways.”

“Clone Force 99 are as predictable as any other clone group. They pose no threat to me or my ambitions.”

“Then why bother coming here? I’d have loved some time off.” You griped tiredly.

Hemlock took a knee in front of you and took a harsh grip of your chin. “Tech was more resistant to my methods this time. It would appear news of his squad gave him more resolve than I anticipated this time around. He failed to divulge what strategies they may utilise. I am here to see what you can offer.”

Omega had to bite back her shocked gasp. Tech? Alive? Surely that wasn’t possible.

You ignored the comment, he had worked this angle before too. You only hoped Omega was back on her way now, it wouldn’t do her any good to hear something like that. “You think now all of a sudden I’ve changed my mind about joining you?”

Hemlock got to his feet, but he now found himself particularly pleased by your predictable resistance. What he was about to inflict on you would be most satisfying. “Ready the droid.” He ordered the assistant scientist next to him.

You shook your head as the droid approached you. “You know, for a scientist, you sure don’t seem to learn.” Those were the last words you said before the needle pierced your skin.

Omega knew she couldn’t linger any longer, so she started her journey back to the vault.

--

Omega was making her way back from your cell, when she came to a sudden halt as she heard distant but still disturbingly recognisable raw screams of pain- they were your screams of pain.

She stopped to let one of the sensors past and released a shaky breath before she reminded herself that she needed to get back quickly or this all would be for nothing.

--

Echo had managed to sneak into the lab and had plugged into the system to analyse the records. He was appalled by the sheer number of clones that had undergone testing here, but he paused as he reached Omega’s record. However, before he could take more of it in, the door opened. He quickly removed his scomp and reattached his mechanical hand.

Emerie observed the trooper carefully. “Troopers are not allowed in here.”

“It’s, uh, a special security patrol. Uh, i- it’s all clear.” Echo stuttered awkwardly to the female scientist. Not wanting to hang about, he started to walk away.

Emerie ran it through in her head. No trooper had ever come in here before, and no trooper had a scomp attached underneath a makeshift prosthetic hand. And no trooper had ever shown an interest in or had the means of accessing secure lab files. But there was one soldier she knew of that matched that description. “Echo.”

Echo stopped short.

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” Emerie asked, a tad nervously. “Omega talked about you all.”

Echo turned to face the woman.

“I’m Emerie.”

Her name was familiar to him too, but it didn’t bring with it any comfort. Echo sighed, “Omega told us about you too.”

“She said her squad would eventually come for her.”

“Not just her.” Echo marched towards Emerie. “We’re here for all the prisoners you’ve been experimenting on, including (Y/N).”

“I- I was doing my job.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.” Echo said unsympathetically. He took of his helmet and spoke to her with equal parts anger and disappointment. “You’re a clone. How can you be part of this? Omega saw something in you. I want to believe that she was right. Tell me where they are.”

The words from the clone were what she’d been trying to deny to herself for a while now, but she couldn’t do it anymore. She didn’t want to do it anymore. “Omega’s in the vault but (Y/N) is being held in another prison cell. You won’t get anywhere near them without my assistance. If we’re gonna free them and those children, you’re going to have to trust me.”

Echo furrowed his brow slightly. That was new information. “Wait, w-what children?”

“Omega is not the only child confined inside this base.”

--

Omega made it back to her room just before Dr. Scalder came into her room with the droid for the vitals check and her resolve for escape was stronger than ever.

She and the kids reconvened back at the tables was Dr. Scalder left the vault.

“What took so long?” Eva asked.

As much as it pained her, Omega pushed you to the back of her mind. You were right, getting these kids to safety was the priority and once she did that and found the rest of the squad, they could help you. “I found something big. I have a plan, and I’m gonna need your help.”

--

More screams from Hunter, begging and pleading for your help.

More hurt and agony coursing through your body.

More longing to just give in.

To do anything to make it stop.

But that's what got you to wake up, you couldn’t do that. However, as you opened your eyes, you were face to face with the monster of your nightmares- Hemlock. His grin as sadistic and as twisted as ever, something you'd imagine he'd wear once he made some kind of monumental breakthrough in his research.

It took you a moment to get your bearings once more; the familiar bite of the binds and intense ache throughout your body told you that you had been subjected to another torment. Had things really gotten that bad that you're blacking out and forgetting periods of time? The last thing you clearly remembered was the droid injecting the serum, so you fought to remember what had happened before that needle went into your neck. Omega, the other children, Hunter and the others…. they were here and you weren’t going to jeopardise them.

Thankfully, despite the grin on his face, you knew you hadn’t given anything away. There was a deep frustration behind his eyes that he couldn’t hide. The grin was merely because he relished the pain you were in. “Man, you’re having a rough day, huh?” You rasped.

The comment resulted in a punch to your mouth from the trooper, your lip splitting open once more, but the way Hemlock’s shoulders heaved in irritation made it somewhat worth it.

Hemlock got ready to put you through another round when the sound of a comm beeping stopped him.

“Sir, they need you back in the control room.” The trooper interrupted.

Hemlock tightened his jaw but headed for the door.

You somehow managed to get yourself into a more vertical position as you called behind him, “They’re coming for you. You’re not leaving this place alive.”

Hemlock clenched his hands into fists before he walked out.

Next Chapter>

Tagging: @noeasyisnoisy, @arctrooper69, @dominoeffectsworld, @andreaaxy, @notgonnaedit, @allthingsimagines , @nightmonkeysstuff , @jellybeanstacey0519 , @callsign-denmark , @superbookishhufflepuff @qvnthesia , @justsomerandompersonintheworld

[shoshiwrites]

Prompt requested by @kmk1701d, "a kiss while in close proximity." Thank you so much, Katt! A big bouquet to @junojelli for all things backyard garden, and to @basilone for talking me through at least seven different ?!?! moments ♡ Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC, also on Ao3! Warning here for emetophobia [brief, non-graphic].

september song

A package finds her in Norwich, under the September sun. It’s covered in stamps and ink, pressed haphazard over Evie’s careful hand. Jo carries it out to the back garden, a glass in one hand and the stuffed envelope in the crook of her arm, holding a notebook and novel and pencil besides. It’s optimistic, the amount of things she’s carrying, like she won’t just want to sit and laze under the trees, feel the sun on her face, sip her weak tea.

It’s become a place she goes when she needs something like rest, the oasis that’s hardly one if she thinks about it — the Anderson shelter and the squash blossoms and the cabbages. But there’s the sun on the red brick of the house, the little potting shed, the trees bearing russet apples and the ivy and the last lingering clematis, the scent of it like almonds.

In the summer, the June and July evenings, she’d sit out here with whichever correspondent was staying in the room next to hers, or play cards with the land girls down from Manchester and Hull. Kay had brought drinks out from the kitchen, little cocktails in haphazard glassware sweet-talked out of the housekeeper’s care, Kay’s spectator pumps clacking on the flagstone path.

She slides a fingernail under the lip of the envelope, wincing as the paper snags. Nothing inside seems to be damaged, though. There’s a letter, a packet of photos embossed with the name of a Philadelphia studio, a few more tied with a white ribbon. The ones Angelo took, Evie’s letter explains. Evie’s fiancé — husband, Jo mentally corrects now — is a hobbyist photographer, as much as finances and the war allow. There’s a smaller envelope too, with a few flower petals dried and pressed between. White roses, from Evie’s bouquet.

Guilt washes over her — Evie doesn’t know about William, about the whole awful mess. Nobody at home does. Kay knows, she’d had the front seat to the aftermath, the whiskey thrown up in the bathroom and the thumbnails Jo had bit down to the quick. Kay had brought her ginger ale and brushed back her hair and told her the war needed Jo Brandt, not Mrs. William Merrick. Jo had smiled and told her that was hogwash, but nice hogwash, and then promptly thrown up again.

She hadn’t been able to sour a letter home with it, what seemed like such petty personal news.

The photos, of course, are beautiful. The studio shots of Evie and Angelo, Evie in the suit Jo knows is dove-gray gabardine, light enough for summer, and Angelo with the tie pin Evie gave him the last Christmas Jo shared with them stateside. The family posed in front of the altar, and outside the church. Angelo’s shots are of the reception after, and Evie outside on the sidewalk. The sunlight catching her earrings, the beading on her Juliet cap, filtered through her birdcage veil. There are the hydrangeas in vases, and the table set with a small cake and hors d’oeuvres, the homemade wine, the cousins sat on Evie’s lap. Angela and John asked about you of course, Auntie Jo.

Evie steals the camera for a few, Angelo with his jacket off and shirtsleeves rolled up, looking every inch the man in love. Like he hasn’t always looked at her like that, every day of their lives. Jo feels still, all of the sudden, just now hearing the birdsong over the walls, too caught up in the photos and the love that pours from each word of Evie’s letter. I don’t know if it will still be in fashion, she writes, but you’re welcome to the cap and the earrings. They would look so nice with your hair, Jo. You’d be welcome to the suit too, but I know you have something white planned for the family. William’s family, she means.

She swallows.

They hadn’t gotten to the planning, actually. Nothing beyond what was expected — the church, the white dress, the flowers, the reception back at the house with a dinner. There wasn’t a dress hanging in the closet, only the ring that now lived in the back of a drawer in her desk inside the house. The only official stamp was the engagement announcement in a Philadelphia newspaper. The one that ran months ago. She wonders why no one had pressed them to marry before they had both left for England.

She gathers the photos back into the cardboard sleeve, back into the package. Lifts the envelope of rose petals to smell the faintest scent, and then replaces those too. Leans her head back, thinks of fishing her sunglasses from her trouser pocket. She’s got a haphazard outfit on, the loose trousers and sandals and a button-down with the sleeves pushed up, her watch, her hair hastily pulled back. An outfit for a rare day with no appointments, only the scurrying of a reporter trying to finish something to send off. She’d made her edits in the morning, and gone over some of Kay’s contact sheets after her second cup of coffee. Maybe she hadn’t earned the rest, but it’s too nice of a day to not at least sit out around the lunch hour. She’ll be back in London under rainclouds soon enough.

She’s too uneasy to keep her eyes closed for long, thinking of wedding gowns and absent rings, wondering how she became the type of girl who needed a diamond.

Her mother had a silver band that she wore every day that Jo had known her. Jo guesses there were some things even her father wouldn’t have pawned for drinking money.

After she’d gotten up off the bathroom floor, Kay had told her of a cousin who was married for the fourth time last spring. This time to a count, Kay had said. Something in her eyes told Jo she didn’t think it would last. A few of the correspondents they know in London are divorced, or functionally so. Several unmarried, to various degrees.

She wonders how you become the type of person who marries four times. Did it mean you’d given up on a certain kind of love? Maybe they know something we don’t, Jo thinks.

She doesn’t have too much time to ponder the question. At once she hears the noise of the door behind her, the one from the kitchen out to the garden, and footsteps, and poor Muriel the housekeeper’s voice leading someone back out to Jo in her chair.

“- should be right out here-”

“There she is.” It’s half-crowing, affectionate. “Thank you, Muriel.”

How does he even know- She turns, replaces her tea carefully on a stepping stone. “Major Egan.”

Affectionately annoyed, at the title. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me John?”

She’s not surprised he found her through the front of the house, not surprised Muriel’s smiling affectionately at his back as she closes the door, as he walks over to her.

“Force of habit,” she says. A useful one, one to ought to keep if she knows what’s good for her. For any of them. Like they’re not a hundred miles past that by now. “What brings you up here?” She scans around for another chair, wonders if he’s already refused a cup of tea.

“Oh, I need a reason?”

She stills, suddenly feels her cheeks pink with sun.

“Buck’ll let you write about him,” he says, almost like a non-sequiteur. “Finally agreed.” She’s amused, faintly, by what that agreement might have looked like. He can read it on her face, nods a little along with her. “Just tipped his chin up like this,” he says, on the verge of smiling. “You know.”

“Wonderful,” she says, and there’s not a hint of shadow in it.

He looks at her lap, and her letter, and her book, and her pencil. “I’m sorry, was I interrupting something?”

That almost makes her laugh. Like he’s ever cared about interruption.

“No, I won’t get to a proper reply sitting in this chair,” she says. “Can’t write too well on my legs.”

“Any good news?”

Oh. She can’t lie about it, can she? The photo sleeve still in her hands. “Two dear friends were just married, actually.”

“Fantastic,” he says, the shine out of his voice, but no less sincere. He sounds almost quiet.

Before she knows it, she’s profferring the photo of everyone out on the front steps of the church, Evie squinting beautifully into the sun, Angelo looking at her, his arm around her waist.

“They look happy,” he says.

“Mmm.” She could keep talking, she knows. Maybe she’s afraid of what she’ll say.

He hands the photo back to her, his thumb careful against the edge. “This is a nice place you’ve got here.”

There’s a physical relief she feels, turning to something like the vines and the trees to talk about. Other than the photos. Other than the fact that’s he’s quieter than usual, has been for weeks. When he’s sober, at least. “I just enjoy it,” she says. “Not much help in the garden besides wheeling dirt around.” She can barely keep a window box alive. Her roommates only leave her in the company of plants with their very precise instructions.

“Can the major get a tour?”

She looks up at him, quirks something of a smile, squints over his shoulder in the sun. Like she didn’t just tell him she’s useless in a garden apart from sitting in it. “If I can’t offer you a chair, I probably should.”

He holds out a hand, lets her press heavily down on it as she stands. More than she thought she’d have to. Her things go in the chair where she’s just been sitting, the curve of sun-faded, striped fabric. It’d make a nice picture, Jo thinks. Kay would move a couple of things, maybe take a stray flower and place it to the side for a shot. Her hand feels warm.

She waves a hand over the shelter in self-explanation, watches him nod in seriousness. There’s the little stone path that leads to the back wall, more ivy, the late-season potatoes and heads of cabbage. There’s a rickety little folding chair against the side of the potting shed, and she assesses that maybe she’s the one who belongs in that, and him in the other. He’d have more trouble getting off the ground than she did, though.

There’s a nice slant of shade, too, between the shed and the wall.

“Anything good in there?” He’s nodding towards the shed.

She’s trying not to narrow her eyes. Trying not to think of a hundred things. She’s only ever poked her head in.

Before she can say something — dirt, gardening tools, who the hell knows — he’s taken her hand and ducked under the doorway.

She’s careful not to trip over the step, close to him now inside the tiny shed. There’s a counter bare of seedlings, now that it’s sunny mid-September, a few implements to the side, the back shelf lined with dusty pots and some old glassware, the rich smell of soil.

“Not much to see,” she says, which is a lie too, if you know how to look.

His voice is almost imperceptibly hoarse, and serious. “‘M not really interested in the tour, Josephine. Not anymore, at least.”

Her voice is faint, as his hands find her hips. “Might’ve guessed.” She can’t think about it, the letter or the photos or his voice, the edge of despair, of anger, her own empty hands.

There’s a moment as those own hands find him, the wool of his uniform, as they look at each other in the dim, filtered light. The dirty window. The silent asking, the way she stills, and lets him press his mouth to hers.

She winds back her foot, tries to kick the door shut. The action falls short, just barely, and he huffs a soft laugh against her cheek. Kicks the door back, for real, with his boot. He’s warm, from the sun. She imagines she is, too.

“Did Major Cleven really say we could do a feature-” she starts, and the face he makes is something she’d bottle if she could.

“Start by calling it something else, Josephine,” he says. “You’ll scare him off-”

Now that’s a joke, and she’d smile if she weren’t busy kissing him again, tracing her thumb along his cheek, his jaw, his ear.

Little surface scar-dings against his neck, raised tissue tinged red, and she can’t think about what flak does, how a person can’t be so easily repaired.

He’s pulling her closer, uniform pressed against the thin rayon of her blouse, keeping, she notices belatedly, her hair from a spider’s web behind them.

She tastes the faintest hint of ale in his mouth, against his lip and his mustache, and something else — something sudden and deep and sweet. He’s smiling, and she can see a tiny dark scrap between his teeth. He looks almost sheepish, like a kid caught with chocolate on his face before dinner. “I saw some blackberries on my way over here,” he says. “By the roadside.”

“Bring me any?” She’s smiling.

“Thought you might like to go uh, gather some,” he says, like it’s something he’s trying on for size. Gather. Like this is a novel set in deep summer, and not a war. “Had to see if they were any good.”

Maybe she’s being ridiculous — it’s all for the war, anyway. The squash and the cabbages and the apples and the potting shed revived after a decade and change gathering dust in the back of an old house.

She and her roommates will help Muriel put up the apples soon. Hattie and Nancy, the land girls, had mentioned making pies. Blackberry and apple — it sounds like something her mother would have made.

“Kiss me again,” she says. His mouth is tarter now, the tip of his tongue pressed against her teeth. She half-swallows a yelp as he lifts her to the counter, lets his hands settle back on her hips, trailing his mouth across her jaw. “New calculations, Major?”

“Tactical reassessment.”

A laugh bubbles in her chest, surprisingly heavy. “What’s your objective?”

“Top secret.”

Her fingertips play at the epaulet of one shoulder. “Not too hard to guess.”

“I don’t hear you guessing.”

She pulls him, gently, back to her mouth.

“You needed this,” he says, firm and a question at once. Something in her ribcage sings. “Couldn’t risk you not getting it.”

“Getting what?”

“A good kiss.” She drags her thumbnail gently across the back of his neck, the short hairs there, watches his eyelashes flutter ever so slightly. “Someone else might have, couldn’t risk that, either.”

She leans back a little, still tight in his hold. “Wouldn’t let them,” she says. Breathes, like it’s a secret, like she didn’t just say it out into the quiet.

She wants to stain her fingers picking blackberries with him, his mouth, hers. Hear about the moments he stole as a kid. Share her own. Maybe they can have that here, on a September afternoon.

[clownery-and-fuckery]

Drabble!!!!! I hate the heat

They trudged back to the ship, weary and sweaty. Wrecker's groans of how tired he was had faded into something more quiet, more subdued.

Tech began to feel similar, the stifled heat worse with his helmet still firmly on his head. The others had long since shed as much of their armour as they could, sweat rolling down their faces.

Even Echo complained about the warmth.

Once the cool recycled air of the Marauder hit them, they breathed a breath of relief, until Hunter remembered why they had to backtrack, and whirled around on their recently saved brother, Crosshair.

Tech winced, feeling the argument rising, and he glanced to Omega, who pressed herself into his damp leg, clinging to the sweaty material.

He cleared his throat. "Come along, Miss Omega," Tech encouraged, voice oddly stilted. "I need to check the hull for damage."

The young girl nodded, following her brother outside. He grabbed his toolbox on the way, and took his time once he returned to the blazing sunlight.

He felt sluggish as he examined the hull, forgetting himself and his company as his head began to bother him, a piercing pain ringing just at the front of his forehead.

His hands fumbled, the tool he thought he had a good grip on slipping from his sweat slicked palm, falling with a dull thump to the grass.

Omega watched it, then looked cautiously up at her brother. "Tech?" She called.

His usual quick response was delayed, and he looked over too quickly. He had to swallow a wave of world spinning nausea, feeling his stomach churn and throat close.

His head began to pound, brain telling him something, but he couldn't understand it.

He must have been staring, because Omega called for him again. "Yes?" He replied, voice oddly stuffed and sounding too loud to his own ear.

His sister hesitated. "You were just.. staring," She looked worried. "For a few minutes– are you okay? Should I go get Hunter?"

Hunter, who was still yelling at Crosshair even though the beatings of the sun was more severe than their enemies? No- no, their older brother was far too busy to deal with Tech's simple staring problem—

"Tech?" Omega's voice was louder. "You're not listening to me- I'm going to get someone."

He opened his mouth to tell her no, stay put, I am fine—

He blinked heavily once, twice, and found his knees buckling under the harsh heat of the day.

"Tech?!" Omega's voice was faraway, concerning but the blissful numbness he felt was a lovely contrast from the horrid churn of his gut or the swirl of vomit lodged at the base of his throat.

He heard another full thump as his helmeted head collided roughly with the forest floor, but nothing more as his eyes drifted shut.

[vexwerewolf]

Hi Vex,

I had a mech idea/concept that I really want to flesh out but I'm not exactly sure how to best build it. The idea came from a conversation I had with my group about the Mecha genre vs the Sailor Moon/Magical Girl genre. And I thought, 'what if they kissed worked together?' So I decided to try and build a Magical Girl themed Mech.

So far, I am considering using Manticore as a base frame because I am really tempted to call it Sailor RA and do the whole "In the name of RA, I will CASTIGATE you!" thing. Other than that I'm thinking about maybe a Controller type build and/or maybe focusing on the really weird/paracausal abilities? Do you have any ideas for this kind of build?

Thank you!!!

Since we're doing Sailor Moon Magical Girl stuff, have you considered that instead of using the Manticore, you could use the Lycan, a Manticore altframe from the upcoming Operation Winter Scar module?

-- HORUS Lycan @ LL6 -- [ LICENSES ] HORUS Manticore 2, IPS-N Nelson 2, IPS-N Blackbeard 2 [ CORE BONUSES ] Overpower Caliber, Gyges Frame [ TALENTS ] Executioner 3, Nuclear Cavalier 3, Walking Armory 3 [ STATS ] HULL:4 AGI:2 SYS:0 ENGI:2 STRUCTURE:4 HP:21 ARMOR:2 STRESS:4 HEATCAP:8 REPAIR:5 TECH ATK:+1 LIMITED:+1 SPD:4 EVA:8 EDEF:10 SENSE:8 SAVE:13 [ WEAPONS ] Integrated: Shock Claws Integrated: Fuel Rod Gun FLEX MOUNT: Thermal Rifle HEAVY MOUNT: Nanocarbon Sword (Thermal Charge) // Overpower Caliber [ SYSTEMS ] Personalizations, Beckoner, Smite, Armament Redundancy

I call this one ECLIPSING BINARY SUPERGIANT PRISM POWER MAKEUP.

So the Lycan's basic conceit is that it's a two state system. You start combat with your normal stats as listed above, and a dormant superheavy weapon called the Shock Claws that cannot be used.

It has Slag Carapace just like the Manticore, giving it resistance to Energy and Burn damage. However, it replaces the Manticore's Unstable System, Charged Exoskeleton and CASTIGATE THE ENEMIES OF THE GODHEAD traits with two new ones. Interference Field causes nearby enemies to take Difficulty on attacks that don't target the Lycan, and Power Flux, which causes enemies to potentially become Impaired and Slowed if you take heat.

Your mech plays mostly like a normal Manticore for the first part of the fight. However, at any time, you may activate your core power, GO LOUD, which as a full action causes your mech to violently shed its outer plating. You lose Slag Carapace and Interference Field, your base Armor becomes 0 and your base speed becomes 6. You may then immediately move your speed and attack an enemy with your Shock Claws.

That's not all, however: you can charge up your Shock Claws by watching your allies get hurt.

If your friends take Structure damage before you GO LOUD, it charges up your Shock Claws. They initially deal 3d6+6 AP Energy damage (Overkill) in Threat 1 (although Gyges Frame already bumps that up to Threat 2) and cause another nearby enemy to take 1d6 AP Energy damage. If you see an ally take Structure damage, that goes up to Threat 2 (Threat 3 with Gyges). If you see an ally take Structure damage a second time, the damage increases to 4d6+6 AP Energy (Overkill) and the number of enemies who get struck by secondary damage increases to 2.

If an ally is destroyed in your line of sight before you GO LOUD, your Shock Claws instantly charge to full power, no matter what state they were in before.

This is a little bit more Super Saiyan than Sailor Moon, but you do get to go through a whole transformation/power up sequence and smite your enemies because they were mean to your friends.

[alwaysdaenerys]

Jonerys Falling For You 2024 | Day 1: Cursed

Teaser and moodboard for my new fic, “burn under the same sky”

After a three-day storm blew their cargo ship off course, Captain Jon Snow and his crew were stranded on a deserted island somewhere in the Narrow Sea. With rapidly diminishing provisions, the desperate sailors could find no animals to hunt while they repaired their broken hull, just tropical plants and insects to forage for sustenance in the vast forest. On the third week of isolation, a starving Ghost returned from one of his nightly roamings, snow-white tail burnt blacker than coal. Donning battle armor, Jon went to investigate who or what could have possibly done this much damage to his beloved companion. At the center of the forest, he and a wary Grenn happened upon a hollowed-out rock formation, filled with the charred bones of a variety of woodland creatures. It was no wonder the men were unable to find fresh meat of any kind: there was a wild dragon here.

Venturing further into the fathomless darkness, Jon’s sturdy boatswain grabbed his arm. “I don’t like the look of this place, captain.”

“There,” the black-haired seafarer shone his lantern over a trail of sooty footprints on the ground. “Those are human, and a small one at that. We assumed ourselves alone on this island, Grenn, but it seems we are decidedly not.”

The skeleton pieces became increasingly numerous as they continued forward with hesitation, the most brittle of them crunching loudly with each step, some turning to ash under the weight of their boots. Even with all the fire damage scorching the walls and ceiling, the deep cavern was ice cold, though Jon wasn’t sure this fact inspired confidence.

“Hello?” he shouted, lifting his meager light.

A startled, high-pitched yelp answered him, and the young northerner sprinted towards the sound, concerned. His friend lagged, surely fearful of what lay ahead. But they would have been able to hear the dragon’s distinct breathing if it was truly inside.

“Please, we mean you no harm! My crew and I have been ship-wrecked a few miles east,” Jon explained, heart thrumming rhythmically, like a snare drum. “Do you require assistance?”

No further communication from the disembodied voice was uttered, but he was not deterred. A ringing silence followed, but soon after taking a sharp left turn, his lamp suddenly caught on a bright white-blonde mange of hair, matted and filthy from lack of bathing. Completely naked and shivering in a small crevasse located at the far side of the cave, a woman came into view.

“Gods…” Grenn swore before dropping his shortsword with a loud clatter.

Jon immediately shed his thick sable cloak and wrapped it around the stranger, meaning to carry her delicate body to warmth and safety. She was saturated with the heady scent of smoke: he didn’t think it came from a mere wood fire, just with the amount of burned carnage piled around them, and Jon was intimately acquainted with the smell of tobacco—his first mate always had a brandy pipe between his teeth—therefore that could be ruled out too. It was clearly a dragon’s lair, ample proof surrounding them from every side: so where was the creature?

“Are you real?” she inhaled raggedly, coiling as close to him as possible.

Captain Snow blushed to feel the heat of her breath on his bare neck. “I am fairly certain, yes.”

The girl raised her head slightly, trying to make him out in the shadows. With no warning, a pair of glowing amethyst eyes somehow locked in on his gaze and Jon almost dropped her in shock.

“I have dreamt of this moment a thousand times, brave son of the First Men: of my savior battling the unknown winds and currents of the Sunset Sea to break the crone’s spell.”

Confused by the vast majority of her statement, Jon glanced in the direction of a mute Grenn. “Wait, what do you mean, the Sunset Sea?”

“A red witch expelled me to the furthest edge of the world when I ignited the Fourteen Flames.”

She was obviously delirious, speaking of events that had occurred countless millennia ago. And they were marooned nowhere near the Sunset Sea, because the Lady Lyarra had been journeying from White Harbor to the Bleeding Tower of Tyrosh to transport a load of textiles and blackbelly rum. But the peculiar lady was lucid enough to have guessed his Westerosi lineage, even specifying that he was of the North. Perhaps she was as lost as Jon and his fellow sailors, left here to die by someone who viewed her as a threat. Left here to be devoured by a dragon most likely.

“Does my illustrious deliverer have a name?” she asked softly upon exiting the cave in his arms, mouth right next to Jon’s ear.

In the waning afternoon sun, Snow finally got a proper look at the girl, and the air was promptly seized from his throat, as if he had been pushed from the bow of a ship and into the tumultuous sea. She was quite possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen before: no more than eight and ten, the porcelain skin of her arms and legs was pristine, unblemished from the elements; her eyelashes, lush and pale, framed the roundest of pupils and piercing purple irises, so supernaturally expressive and boundless, more hypnotizing than the rest of her; a subtle swathe of tan freckles graced the attractive slope of her nose and noble cheekbones; and finally, her heart-shaped features were perfected by a plump set of baby pink lips that were practically begging to be sampled. Shaking his head from its daze, Jon coughed uneasily: he had encountered many a Lysene lady in his two years as part of Her Majesty’s navy, but they were disgusting trolls compared to her. Based on her story though, the implication was that she was native to Valyria, which was impossible: only the Targaryens remained of that lost city. If the situation wasn’t so out of the ordinary, the girl could be considered a cannibalistic siren of maritime legend.

“You may call me Jon,” he replied, voice husky with awe. “Jon Snow of Winterfell.”

“Jon Snow,” a glistening smile graced her already gorgeous face as she traced the pad of her index finger along his jaw, slow and deliberate. “I was baptized as Daenerys, for the Valyrian moon goddess. But to you, I am ‘Dany’.”

Dany pressed her lips, plusher than the finest velvet, to the corner of Jon’s mouth and then buried her pert nose into the nape of his neck with a relieved sigh. Seemingly unable to resist the temptation, he tightened his hold on the girl protectively as he stumbled back towards camp, Grenn in his wake.

@iceandfirejonerysdiscord

[ladyofrings]

A Glance Across the Hall

Just My OC x Halbrand ❤️

The tavern was alive with the din of Númenórean blacksmiths and sailors, their voices swelling like waves crashing against the hull of a ship, punctuated by the clinking of mugs and the warm crackle of a fire. After a long, grueling day at the forge, the men gathered here to shed their weariness, trading coarse jokes, hearty laughs, and flagons of ale. Among them sat Halbrand, leaning back against the rough-hewn wood of a bench, a tankard resting loosely in his hand.

Though surrounded by the noise and revelry, he felt apart from it, as he often did. Halbrand had perfected the art of blending in without truly belonging—a skill forged over years of wandering, where the only constant was his need to keep moving, never letting his roots sink too deep. Númenor was no different. He had drifted to its shores in search of something, though he could not yet put a name to it. Perhaps he never would.

His gaze swept the room, as it always did, a quiet, searching glance that saw much but betrayed nothing. Familiar faces crowded the space around him, rough-hewn men with calloused hands and easy smiles, their boisterous voices echoing off the wooden beams. He chuckled absently at their banter, but his mind was elsewhere, far removed from the cheer. Beneath the surface, his thoughts churned like the restless sea—always calculating, always cautious. The work at the forge had given him a momentary reprieve, something to occupy his hands and stave off the gnawing sense of restlessness. But it was still there, lurking, a weight he carried that no one else could see.

He took a slow drink, the bitter ale sliding down his throat, leaving behind a burn that did nothing to dull the edge of his thoughts. As he set the tankard down, something shifted—a subtle change in the air, like the calm before a storm. His instincts prickled, and his gaze sharpened, sweeping the tavern with a new intensity, searching for what had set him on edge.

And then he saw her.

She was a whisper at the edge of his vision, a dark figure lingering near the shadows, away from the raucous heart of the tavern. For a moment, he thought she might be a trick of the light, an illusion conjured by his own mind. But no—she was real, as real as the air he breathed. An elf, unmistakably so. Her dark brown hair flowed down her back like a river at night, her dark eyes calm and watchful, gliding over the room with a quiet curiosity. It wasn’t just her presence that set her apart; it was something deeper, something in the way she moved—graceful, deliberate, as if she were merely observing a scene rather than partaking in it.

Halbrand had not seen her here before, and that alone was enough to capture his attention. In a place like this, new faces did not go unnoticed, and yet she seemed to drift through the crowd as if she belonged, yet somehow did not. There was a stillness to her, a quiet that contrasted sharply with the chaos around her, and Halbrand found his gaze lingering on her longer than he intended. She was different, and that was enough to make him curious.

She moved through the crowd like a shadow, never stopping, her eyes darting from face to face without ever settling. But then, as if she had felt the weight of his gaze, her eyes found his.

He did not look away.

The tavern noise dulled, the clamor of voices and clinking mugs fading into the background as their eyes met. There was no hesitation in her gaze, no flicker of surprise or discomfort. She held his gaze with a quiet confidence, a calm that unsettled him in a way he couldn’t quite understand. It was as if she saw him—truly saw him—not as the man lounging with the blacksmiths, but as something more. And for a fleeting moment, Halbrand felt something stir within him, something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time. Recognition, perhaps. Or was it simply curiosity?

The spark between them was brief, but it burned bright. She was an enigma, a puzzle he had yet to solve, and that alone made her dangerous. And yet, he couldn’t look away. His fingers drummed lightly against the tankard, a slow, rhythmic beat that mirrored the quickening pulse in his chest. There was a game at play here, whether she knew it or not, and Halbrand was curious to see how it would unfold.

Then, just as quickly as it began, the moment shattered. She blinked, breaking the connection, her gaze drifting away as she slipped deeper into the shadows of the room. The noise of the tavern rushed back in, jarring in its suddenness, and Halbrand was left staring at an empty space, his smirk fading into something close to disappointment. He took another drink, letting the bitter taste wash over whatever it was he had felt in that brief, electric exchange. She was gone now, lost in the crowd, and he wasn’t the kind to chase after shadows. Yet, he found his gaze wandering back to where she had stood, searching, as if he might catch another glimpse of her. But she was no longer watching him.

One of the smiths clapped him on the shoulder, jolting him back to the present with a laugh that was too loud, too bright. Halbrand forced a smile, nodding along with the man’s words, though his thoughts were miles away. The moment with the elf had been fleeting, a whisper in the dark, but it had left a mark—a bruise he couldn’t quite explain. She had seen him. Not just the man sitting in a crowded tavern, but the parts of him he kept hidden, even from himself.

And he knew, even as he turned back to his drink and the noisy camaraderie around him, that this would not be the last time he saw her.

Their paths had crossed once, like ships in the night, and he could feel it—some invisible thread pulling them back toward one another.

It was only the beginning.