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runariya · 2 months ago

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THE TRIBUTE • 1

pairing: alien prince!Jungkook x human tribute!female reader genre: dark romance, gore, alien!AU, survival!AU, slow burn, angst, S2L rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: being chosen as a tribute word count: 3.2k

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

masterlist • 02

The fall of Earth wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t marked by fire or chaos that reigned for years, the kind of spectacle you might expect in an invasion. No, the aliens came quietly, without the usual drama of war. It began with whispers, transmissions intercepted by governments that never stood a chance. They arrived one day in ships larger than cities, hanging in the sky like indifferent gods, their presence screaming authority, and the sky cracked open completely and they finally descended, there wasn’t much left to fight for, really. The endless wars in the past had drained the Earth dry, and the alien empire had swept in to take whatever remained. The human race was too weak to resist, the shattered people in all cities too broken to protect themselves. So the world bowed, bent at the knee, in a way that had nothing to do with honour and everything to do with survival.

Their message was simple: Earth would continue, but under their rule. No destruction, no immediate casualties. Just quiet domination, the slow drip of submission. They called it mercy. They showed themselves as saviours—protectors, even. And somehow, despite the bitter taste it left in your mouth, humans believed them. Or at least, they didn’t fight one bit.

The royal family appeared everywhere, almost immediately, their images plastered across screens, on every corner, in every home. Prince Jungkook’s face in particular—a cold beauty—became a constant, a symbol of human survival. His name carried weight, and the people spoke it with reverence, though they were too afraid to admit the fear that simmered beneath. He was praised, all of them were, for sparing you. Sparing Earth from what, though? You were never told.

They broadcast it endlessly, the aliens, with their vibrant robes and strange customs, framed like some divine intervention, their vibrant colours contrasting the dullness that had consumed your live. While they basked in hues of gold and crimson, sapphire and emerald, humans were reduced to grey. Everything was grey now—the buildings, the streets, the sky, and the clothes you wore. It was as if the very life had been drained from Earth, leaving behind only muted shades of what the race once was. The grey uniforms became a symbol of submission, handed out without explanation, worn without protest. A world washed clean of individuality, of hope.

But the aliens—oh, they were different. Every glimpse of them was an assault of colour, a reminder of their power. Wherever they were shown, they brought with them the vibrancy humans were no longer allowed, flaunting their dominance with every shade, every rich fabric that swirled around them like a taunt and warning simultaneously.

Then there was the tribute system. No one spoke of it openly. No one dared. You were told from a young age that it was necessary, that it kept you all safe, but no one knew what it truly meant. Why, every year, a selection was made—human lives bartered like cattle. There was no resistance, no explanation, only the silent understanding that those taken were never seen again. And somehow, that became the new normal. The tributes vanished into the unknown space, and the earth continued in its quiet, grey monotony.

We had been spared, they said. Prince Jungkook had spared us. But at what cost? No one dared ask.

You’re standing in a crowd now, one among many young humans, yet utterly alone, shoulders drawn tight beneath the weight of a thousand unspoken fears, but you keep your expression flat, indifferent. It’s easier that way. Easier not to feel anything at all.

In the centre of the square, a screen hangs suspended between two decayed skyscrapers, flickering with static before the broadcast begins. You’re used to this routine, this cold display of power, yet the discomfort in your gut has never fully disappeared. And you’re sure, it never will. The emissary’s face appears, stark and inhuman, its features angular, skin pale like polished bone with robes in colours you only dare to dream of. Its voice, when it speaks, grates against your ears, the tone full of glee and dripping with fake warmth, as if this day is worth celebrating.

It echoes across the crumbling square, sweeping through the huddled bodies of your fellow survivors. You’ve seen these broadcasts before, year after year, but this time feels different, this time *is* different. This time, it’s your name they call.

“The tribute for Sector Seven has been chosen. Proceed to the transport at once.”

Your name lingers in the air like smoke, curling through your mind, clinging to the moment. The word ‘tribute’ isn’t one that carries any hope. It’s a word that’s always meant the end of something—of freedom, of choice, and most likely, of life. Still, there’s no time to let the weight of it fully sink in. You feel the crowd shift around you, parting like a tide as eyes slide toward you, pity laced into their avoidance. Some are grateful it’s not them. Others, too defeated to care.

It’s never you until it is.

For a second, the world slows down, your pulse thudding heavy in your ears full of loud static, but the moment passes. It always does. You move before your mind catches up, limbs stiff and mechanical, pushing through the parting crowd. No one stops you. No one offers a word of sympathy. This is the nature of things now: survival is solitary, and everyone knows better than to linger too long on the misfortune of others. Still, you catch a few murmurs from those who watch you pass, low and bitter, the sort of things you’d expect from a world this broken. They’re just glad it isn’t them.

Your heart is hammering, but you keep it all locked down beneath the surface. The last thing you need is to look weak. Not now when ever single step is being watched. Not when every single step brings you closer to something that feels disturbingly like an ending.

The transport waits at the edge of the square, flanked by two of the empire’s soldiers. You’ve seen them before, standing rigid in their black armour, eyes hidden behind dark visors, their bodies almost too still to seem real. Like statues made of metal, empty of anything remotely human. As you approach, they don’t say a word, just gesture for you to board the ship. You pause for a moment at the threshold, the icy air from the interior licking at your skin, and for a heartbeat, you consider running. You won’t get far, but the urge is there, instincts flaring despite everything you know better. You’ve seen enough of these proceedings to know how it works: once chosen, there’s no refusal, no escape. You either go willingly or you’re dragged. Sometimes even killed, for what a human life is worth? Nothing.

Then you step forward. You have no choice.

The door hisses shut behind you, locking with a sound that reverberates through your bones. Inside, the transport is colder than you’d imagined, the scent of metal and machinery filling your lungs as you take your seat. You glance around, noticing the others who sit in similar silence, fellow tributes from the other six sectors—strangers, like you, plucked from whatever remained of their lives and thrown into this nightmare.

First, they don’t look at you. No one does. It’s easier that way, but you notice in an instant that you’re the smallest, the weakest, and it doesn’t help you keep the calm facade.

The transport jolts to life, the vibrations of the engines buzzing in the hollow space as it lifts off the ground. You try to settle yourself, to calm the rapid beat of your heart, but it’s impossible. Your fingers curl into the cold metal of the seat, knuckles white, as the city below shrinks away into the haze of clouds. There’s a finality to the way the world drops away, as if you’ve already crossed a line that you can never come back from, and in a way, it is.

The flight is long, though it’s impossible to tell how much time passes. You try not to think about what awaits you and close your eyes for a moment, blocking out your surroundings as best you can. Your mind drifts to the stories whispered among survivors—about what happens to tributes once they’re taken. None of the stories ever end well. Some say tributes are sold as slaves in the alien capital, while others suggest a more gruesome fate, that humans are used for experiments, their bodies discarded when no longer useful. But the truth is worse. It’s always worse.

But eventually, the descent begins slowly, the engines of the transport humming a low, ominous tone as the planet emerges from the veil of clouds below. The view from the narrow window is breathtaking, though it sickens you with the cruel reality of what Earth once was. Colours stretch across the landscape like a painter’s wildest dream—rolling fields of emerald green, rivers shimmering in shades of turquoise and cobalt, vast forests alive with every hue of autumn flame, though it is not autumn here. This planet pulses with life, chaotic and untouched, where nothing has been crushed beneath the fist of control. It is almost too much to bear.

You glance again at the other six tributes, each taken from their corners of Earth. They still sit in absolute silence, their faces sunken, the knowledge of what is to come clinging to the air between you all like a shared sickness. From the strength in their postures, the way their muscles rest beneath their skin, you can see the warriors they’ve become, they are. They carry the defiance of continents long broken—one for each, their bloodlines ancient, their strength unremarkably deep. And then there’s you. The smallest, most fragile among them, bones light under skin that bruises too easily. Even among humans, you’re the weakest, and you can feel now their judging eyes on you, wondering how someone like you was chosen.

The planet grows closer, the sky a vivid canvas of swirling pinks and golds, like a sunset that refuses to end. Yet, despite the beauty, despite the life that thrives below you, there’s a cold dread lodged deep in your being, one that rises the further you descend. You’ve heard the stories, the whispers of what awaits you on this planet. They tell you nothing directly, only that the arena lies somewhere in the depths of these vibrant lands, and within it, your survival is uncertain.

The transport shudders as it touches down, and you take in a silent breath, steadying yourself. The door slides open, and a gust of warm air rushes in, alive with the scent of wildflowers and soil, so different from the stagnant, metallic stench of the ship and earth. You step out, heart hammering, but your face remains impassive. There are soldiers waiting, but it’s the roar of the crowd behind them that hits you like a wall, an overwhelming volume of voices, cheers, and alien dialect twisted into strange pronounced syllables, all celebrating your arrival as though you were some kind of fallen star, a spectacle to be adored.

The air pulses with their excitement, their bodies draped in vibrant silks that shimmer in the sunlight, arms outstretched, reaching for you, for any tribute who will acknowledge their praise, multiple cameras capturing every second of your arrival. Some of the others bask in it—grinning, high-fiving the aliens, taking selfies as though they are celebrities, lifted by the wild adoration, their smiles wide as they revel in this twisted reception. Others shrink back, shoulders hunched, their steps faltering as they cower beneath the push of all that attention, heads ducked low to avoid the eager hands reaching for them.

But you—you keep your gaze forward, eyes locked on the path ahead, walking in a straight line behind the soldiers, schooling your face in indifference as best as you can. You try to give the madness no mind, let the noise wash over you like a storm you refuse to feel, to keep moving, refusing to be drawn into their chaos, not once glancing at the faces that strain to catch a glimpse of you.

The city stretches before you, impossibly alive. Unlike the greys and browns of Earth, this place is a riot of colours—buildings that glow with warm light, spiralling upwards in organic, twisting shapes that seem to grow from the ground itself. There is no straight line here, no harsh edges or industrial steel. Everything is too perfect, too lush, and yet, beneath the beauty, you sense a hidden darkness, something far more sinister than the flowers and trees would ever reveal.

The palace comes into view not long after, a structure made of golden, glistening stone, it’s opulence disgusting you to no limit, and as you all are led inside, your eyes flit briefly to the faces of your fellow tributes. They hold themselves with the knowledge of their fate, some resigned, others still clinging to the fragments of hope that burn just beneath their skin.

But you—what do you have but the defiance that hardens your jaw, that straightens your spine as the warmth of the palace washes over you? The silence here is rather oppressive, the sight of centuries of power pressing down on your fragile form. It feels like walking into the belly of the beast, swallowed whole by something vast and ancient, and all you can do is keep walking, keep breathing.

Prince Jungkook waits in the heart of it with seven nobly dressed men beside him. You’ve seen his image before every day multiple times, flashed across screens on Earth as if he were a god come down to walk among men. He’s a prince, they say, though it is not a title that means anything human. He does’t smile in those images, his face always carved from stone, eyes dark and unreadable, framed by robes of the richest, most vibrant colours—the kind that remind you of the flowers that no longer bloom on Earth. Here, in his palace, he is more imposing, more tall, more handsome than the images allowed.

He watches you all as you are brought into his presence, though his eyes linger on you for longer than the others. His gaze is assessing, and as he takes in your small form, something flickers there—curiosity, perhaps. You’re nothing like the others, not even close. They are all built for survival, muscles honed and bodies strong, their hands made for fighting. But you... you are delicate, too easily breakable, and Jungkook sees it instantly.

And yet, there is something in you that stirs his interest. You stand with a defiance that belies your fragile frame, your chin lifted high despite the obvious weakness of your body. He wonders how you’ve survived this long—whether it’s strength of mind or just sheer stubbornness that’s kept you alive. His curiosity piques as he steps down from his platform, moving with the grace of a predator who knows its prey has no real chance of escape.

Jungkook circles you all, the sound of his steps soft against the polished stone floor, his eyes never leaving your face. You can feel his gaze on you, piercing cold, as if you’re some strange creature he’s never encountered before. There’s no warmth in his presence, nothing that speaks of mercy or understanding. He’s power, pure and untouchable, and the thought of what he could do to you without even lifting a finger is enough to send your mind into survival mode.

But you won’t give him that satisfaction. You won’t cower before him, no matter how small you feel beneath his gaze, his so much taller frame. Your heart races in your temples, blood rushing to your brain to keep alert, but your expression remains neutral, your hands clenched tightly at your sides, nails biting into your delicate skin of your palms. You’ve already decided that if this is where you die, you won’t die with your head bowed. Never.

Jungkook eventually stops in front of you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes you in with his head slightly tilted. There’s something almost amused in his dark eyes now, as if he finds your defiance intriguing, though he’d never admit it aloud. “Fragile,” he states, the word rolling off his tongue like an observation rather than an insult. “But not afraid.”

His voice is low, almost a whisper, and it sends a tremor through you, though you refuse to let it show. He’s testing you, pushing to see where your breaking point is. You meet his gaze head-on, refusing to flinch under the intensity of it.

“They say humans are resilient,” he continues, his tone almost mocking. “That you fight, even when there’s nothing left to fight for. Is that true?”

You don’t respond. You’re not sure you could if you wanted to. The intensity of his presence is suffocating, leaving you nowhere to escape, while his words challenge you, daring you to break, to bend under the pressure of who he is.

But you don’t.

“Fight,” his voice’s dropping to a whisper. “Or die. Those are your only options now.”

“Watch me,” you say quietly, your voice steady, though your heart feels like it might pound out of your chest.

He tilts his head, a small smile curling at the corner of his lips, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I will,” he murmurs, and the threat in his words lingers in the whole grand room.

Without another word, he steps back, dismissing you as easily as he might a piece of furniture. You all are nothing to him, and yet, there’s a flicker of something in his gaze as he turns away. Interest, perhaps.

The guards step forward, the seven men too, grabbing your arms and dragging you from the room. You knew this wouldn’t be simple. You knew there’d be danger. But now, standing on the precipice of whatever fate awaits you, the reality of it all begins to truly sink in.

They don’t take you far—just to a small, cold room with nothing but a bed and a single window that looks out over the sprawling city. The guards leave you there, locking the door behind them with one of the seven men, dressed as vibrant as everyone on this planet, standing right beside you.

It’s quiet now, save for the faint steps of the guards outside, but the silence is anything but comforting. And as you turn to face the man beside you, you don’t really want to know what will happen next. All you need to know is that the fight is coming like it always does.

And the next words coming from the man confirm just that—you, a mere human among alien gods, have been chosen to survive it. Or die trying.

„I’m Namjoon, your trainer for the Tribute Game.“

masterlist • 02

a/n 2: hope you've enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like!

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

taglist: @strawberryberrygirl

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winniethewife · 6 months ago

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Are you with me? (Commander Wolffe x F!Reader)

Gif by @starwarscolors

Words: 1135

Warnings: Mild Spoilers for The Bad Batch season 3.

Wolffe paced the room a few times. He couldn’t get the idea out of his head. Rex was alive, he was fighting against the empire, and so were other clones. He hadn’t even considered it. Rex’s voice echoed in his mind. “As your brother, I'm asking you to do the right thing.”

What is the right thing? The right thing…He needed to get out, he needs to leave. He starts to look around, fearful for a second as if someone could read his mind, but there was no one else in sight. Wolffe sighed, he knew he needed to leave, but he knew he couldn’t yet, not without her. He had to find her, convince her to leave with him. If he asked, she would go…Right? He needed to know.

He made his way to her sector of the base. Hoping he would be able to pull her aside. He thought about how they had met, when she was working with the republic as a intelligence officer, she had intercepted separatist transmissions and decoded them, but now that she worked for the empire she was practically s secretary, but working for the empire was the only way they could stay close, so she had continued the work. He thinks about the long nights they used to talk for hours about life after the war, this was not at all what they had imagined. There was no home in a nice town on her home planet, there were no small feet pattering around. How had he lost sight of those things so quickly? As he approached her desk he couldn’t help but feel the reality of their lives crashing down on him. The way she looked, the light in her eyes had faded away. The way she didn’t look out the window day dreaming as he walked up to her, she was focused on the data pad in front of her. He cleared his throat and she looked up, a slight smile on her face.

“Commander, how can I help you?” Her professional tone sounded wrong to him. Wolffe was beginning to realize how wrong it all was.

“Can we talk? Alone.” He said with urgency, her brow furrowed and she stood from her desk to follow him. He walked with her at a brisk pace to an alcove where he hoped they wouldn’t be noticed. He grabs her waist and pulls her into a close embrace. She gasps, this was unexpected, as they had not been very close as of late, since joining the empire, before she could ask what was happening she felt the cold wall on her back and his hot breath on her ear as he whispered to her. “I’m getting us out of here. I am so sorry I didn’t see it sooner, how wrong this is, how unhappy you are here. You deserve better, you deserve the best in the galaxy and you aren’t going to find that here, I realize this now. Cyar’ika, I’m…I’m so sorry.” He feels like these word are barely enough. Her heart flutters, this is exactly what she had dreamed of, but had given up on long ago. She leans in gently to kiss his cheek and whisper back.

“Let’s run, run far and fast away from all this, we’ll run so fast and far they’ll never see it coming.” She looks into his eyes, and he sees just the beginnings of a glimmer of the light that he had loved so much. He smiles at her, laughing softly.

“You know there’s no looking back, after this, are you sure?’ He asked as he reaches to gently caress her face.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything, just you and me. No one to stop us or tell us what to do.” She lets her face rest in his hand, gazing wistfully at him. He knew then for sure, that this was the only way to go. It was the two of them, and no one else. He pressed his lips to hers, feverishly needing that moment of closeness, the taste of her on his lips. It gave him the courage, his path seemed more clear than it had in a very long time. Wolffe knew just who to call. The face that had been haunting him, His brother. It was time to do the right thing. As he pulled away from the kiss he locked eyes with her for a moment before releasing her from his grasp. He took a step away, she straightened herself.

“Wait for my signal, and we’ll run.” He says softly. As he starts to walk away he looks back over his shoulder to see her smiling at him. She shakes her head.

“Don’t look back, Don't ever look back.” She says firmly.

After that day they never did. Rex was more than happy to arrange transport to get the both of them out of there. It was all going to plan, his hand wrapped around hers as they made it through the forest, trying to make it to the rendezvous point before they were noticed. Wolffe felt like his heart wouldn’t settle. Every mission, every success, every failure, it all came down to this. His nerves sky rocketed as he heard as sound far behind them, he didn’t look back, just held her hand tighter as they moved even faster through the trees. The darkness of the night covered their escape, their only hope to get away. She held his hand tightly as they took the unfamiliar path to the cliffside. She felt her heart in her throat as she could see the trees thin out ahead, they were almost there. Almost free. Just as the rocky ridge came into view so did a ship, and a familiar figure, in the darkness they were almost impossible to see, but Wolffe knew.

“Rex, thank the maker.” Wolffe said relived as they walked up to him. Rex threw his arms around the two of them for a brief moment before ushering them onto the shuttle. As they sat down and the ship flew out of view of the imperial base a sense of relief washed over them.

“Its good to see you both, especially given the last time we saw each other.” Rex chuckled. He looked at Wolffe. “I’m glad to see you found the right path.”

“I wouldn’t have without you, something I’m sure we’re both thankful for” He says wrapping his arm around her. She leaned into him as the two brothers continued to talk, for the first time, in a long time, they were together, and they were safe. As she started to drift to sleep she felt Wolffe pull her in closer and kiss the top of her head.

“Just You and Me, from here on out.”

Masterlist

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momojedi · 7 months ago

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— TANTISS topic. hunter x gn! jedi! reader

type. loss, pt 2 note. continuation of this since a bunch of people asked me to! this will definitely have multiple parts, I'm already looking forward to sharing it with you! warnings. imprisonment, slight mentions of blood word count. 519

star wars masterlist || pinned post

With each forceful blow against the metallic wall, crimson smudges spread on it as I pull back my bloody fists with a frustrated growl. Yet, it remains useless.

Two months have passed since my confinement within this… cage . Survival wasn't on my agenda when I was apprehended; I anticipated an immediate execution upon boarding the imperial shuttle, or perhaps even before that. I was barely conscious when electric currents surged through my veins from the net, though it would’ve been a far more pleasant death. However, fate had other plans for me, which led me to Mount Tantiss.

Beyond the confines of my cell, the research facility's interior remains a mystery to me, save for the long hallway. Only scientists or the occasional presence of a commando trooper disrupts the solitude. According to intercepted radio transmissions I’ve picked up on, I'm kept in a highly secure sector, impervious even to a Jedi's escape. And right they are.

Resting my forehead against the cold surface, the weight of the safety collar around my neck feels suffocating. Attempts to remove it are met with searing shocks, rendering me powerless.

Approaching footsteps outside my cell trigger my fight or flight senses, my focus sharpening on the cell door. But as Dr. Karr stands before, me, unlocking the cell door with a scan of her hand, a sense of familiarity offers a semblance of solace, even despite her corrupt work field. Her arrival is accompanied by a young girl, a recurring visitor whose name has remained unknown to me so far. We’ve never spoken before aside from the occasional glances yet whenever I look away, I can feel her big brown eyes linger on me sadly.

Without instruction, I rise to my feet. I’m familiar with the routine by now. As the gap between us narrows, Dr. Karr's speaks up, “Your name?”

I bite my tongue, suppressing my irritation. “[Name],” I snap, pulling myself together, “same thing is was yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.” Dr. Karr

types something into her datapad.

The little girl's gaze lingers, conveying a silent empathy beyond her years. Dr. Karr continues her tiring tests. “Count.”

I take a deep breath before rattling off the first few numbers in the speed of light when she loudly interrupts me with a cough. “Slowly.” I furrow my brows.

“5.”

“6.”

“7.”

“8.”

“Fuck.”

“Off.”

She lets out a deep sigh through her nose, taking down her notes. Then, she lowers the datapad. “Dr. Hemlock will be with you shortly.” And with that, she abruptly leaves as she always does.

Exhaustion weighs heavily on me as I rub my face, emitting a weary sigh. Yet, the sensation of being scrutinized persists. Then, unexpectedly, a soft voice breaks the silence. “Here.” I reluctantly pull back my hands to find the young girl, still present in my cell, offering a handmade tooka doll. I examine the creature made of straw and elastic ties, hesitantly taking it from her.

"She comforts me when I'm lonely... I thought you might need her too," she explains gently, her sincerity palpable.

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alienpossession · 7 months ago

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Ethnographic Research: Part 1

Loud screams and flailing hands, yet no one to help as all of them already jumped off their boat in the middle of the lake. They can feel it, something is filling them up, fast, and they cannot do anything about it. But after a wild couple of minutes, deafening silence as no more scream for help coming out. Soon, they climb the ladder by the side of the boat and get back up to the deck, looking at each other with curiosity and gleeful, awkward smile. One of them then mouthed

"Let's inform the Mother Ship of a job well done," and just like that, the cold expression-less face turned warmer, rowdier even, as it takes on a more humane color and expression.

----

There's no such thing as a memo or pointers on "How to Perfectly Blend In among Human" or "Step-by-Step Guide for Seamless Integration into Human Society". At least not for the Xarthan. As an invasive, cruel yet hyper-intelligent extraterrestrial being, taking over by sheer force and adapting accordingly is always the playbook. It's in their DNA to give complete disregard of other species as long as their species advanced or survived through their tumultuous, warring lifestyle. Yet, a handful of Xarthan believed that there's a better way of life out there. That they don't have to continously move from one planet to the others, pillaging one's life after the other, just to get their euphoric-inducing stimulant release. That maybe killing other species is not the only way they can get that sensation that makes them alive. Their centuries of research eventually led the descendants of these slightly differing Xarthans to the small blue dot their transmission revealed to be called planet Earth.

So, these small pack of 20 Xarthans decided that their research hypothesis need to be verified. They descended in batches, 2 in each spot seemingly infested by human being and planned to converge after each of them lived at least around a month or two acclimatizing to Earth's society. Their mission is to verify whether or not the sexual release done by the male population of Earth released a similar stimulant to what the Xarthans experienced when they manage to exterminate other species

In a complete Xarthan's style, these batches of alien take over the first human they encountered with little to no regards about the life these human previously have. In its static form, a Xarthan is usually 7-8 feet tall, translucent and very slender being. But due to its "liquid" nature, it can adjust its shape. Upon contact of the vessel's internal water or blood, a Xarthan will merge with it and then spread itself through the entire system of the body. This also applies to bodies of water in the wild, so in the event of encountering bodies of water, a Xarthan can break down into millions of microparticles and takeover multiple vessels at once. After taken over, those vessels will be controlled by a singular hive mind as those microparticles originated from a single Xarthan entity before breaking down. That case happened to the unfortunate Pike boys and their girls who spent their time on a lakeside cabin for their weekend break. When they jumped to the water, they have no idea that 2 Xarthans just landed a couple minutes before right around the area where their boat stopped. Upon unknowingly making contact to the infested water, their bodies all contorted and spasmed as millions of microparticles swarmed their system. They tried their best to save themselves but it was just too much and before long, they were all taken over

Still in the States, but more to its Northwest area, the hunting group didn't realize that there's a pair of predator lurking around the shadows. The group went to Montana for a casual hunting since this is not yet the season for elk hunting anyway. They split themselves into group of two, not knowing that by the end of the day, a pair of them will be back as totally different person. That misfortune befell on Richard and Logan, the slightly more experience hunter among the group as they were USMC veteran and probably have the most experience with gun compared to the others. The Xarthans that took over their bodies laughed on the last memory the two humans have

"He was scared shitless. It was genuinely the most horrified he's ever been,"

"Yup, same goes here. I think he peed his pants HAHAH"

The 4 Xarthans in the States are just 1/5 out of the research group. If went according to the original plan, the other 16 will land around:

1. Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

2. the Greek isles

3. Bangkok, Thailand

4. Ibiza, Spain

5. The Carribbean

6. Northern Europe, and

7. Eastern coast of Australia

#alien possession #male possession #alien expansion #alien takeover #EtRe Series

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anakinskywalkerog · 1 year ago

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My Very Soul (Chapter 34)

Anakin Skywalker x Jedi!Reader

Link to Chapter 33

Warnings: a bit of sad reader, a bit of angsty Anakin, FLUFF, clandestine love affair bullshit!! and a very subtle implied *you know* at the very end (rated teen as always)

Summary: Your training with Obi-Wan constitutes a new beginning; you and Anakin reckon with the fight you had after Felucia (WE HAVE NEW CLONE WARS ANAKIN GIFS TO USE I'm screaming)

Word Count: 4.2k

You felt the crisp, cool, morning air of the Temple hit your face like a bucket of water, as if the wind wanted to keep you awake and upright. You walked slowly through the hallways, focusing on your breathing, on the cold air, the hard marble beneath your feet, on anything but the whispered conversations you heard around you. Not heard—felt. You knew that the few Jedi you passed in the halls were not responsible for the accumulation of the voices in your head. This was just how it was for you, now—you couldn't help but pick up too much, like you were receiver that was too sensitive, picking up too many transmission signals.

It was easier to ignore the feel of all of the whispering voices than it was to ignore the pain you felt in your entire being. Walking through the Temple halls, even, felt like walking through thick, piling sand, your limbs aching. But you knew you mustn't focus on the pain—the pain of your grief, still so heavy, or the pain that twinged in your mind as you thought about the fight you'd had with Anakin last night—you mustn't let it consume you. You had work to do.

You felt horribly guilty for how you had shouted at Anakin the previous evening, how you had pushed him away, how you had told him to get out. Not that he had listened; he'd held you all through the night, and even after you'd calmed enough to dose, you still felt the guilt of it in your veins. So, when you'd awoken to the coruscanti light streaming in through the window slats, and you'd seen Anakin fast asleep, his peaceful, beautiful face finally at ease, you knew it wouldn't be right to wake him. You'd taken one last look at his face, admiring the shape of his jaw, his eyebrows slightly downturned in sleep, his eyelashes that shown blonde in the morning light, before you'd slipped out from under the covers and donned your robe, holstering your lightsaber before sneaking out of your apartment.

There would be time to apologize later. Now, you knew, you needed to clear your mind. You kept walking. As you passed the archives, something that you had been thinking about since you had returned from Felucia flashed through your head. Later, you told yourself, turning to look ahead and stilling yourself for what was to come.

You stopped outside the meditation chambers. You knew you didn't need to knock—knew that he would sense your presence. And, as you heaved another sigh, working to keep your body upright, fighting the weight of that ever-present grief, you heard his quiet voice.

"Enter," Obi-Wan said, and you pushed the button on the panel on the wall, walking slowly into the darkened meditation room. Everything inside was a shade of blue and grey, even the pale light slipping in through the mostly-covered windows. The room contained only a few soft ottomans, and gave the impression of stillness, of calm. Even so, you had to hold your breath as you bowed to Obi-Wan and took your place on the ottoman across from his. Everything in this Temple reminded you of Yuma. Everything reminded you that she was no longer here.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me," Obi-Wan said gently, his eyes grazing over your form, your face. You realized you still had yet to visit the refresher, your hair still looking like a nest something might crawl out of. You couldn't find it in yourself to care.

"Thank you for...offering, to help me train," you responded, bowing your head again slightly, forcing yourself to look him in the eye.

"I will do what I can," Obi-Wan replied, folding his legs on the ottoman, assuming a straight-backed meditative position. You followed suit, and found that your body felt comforted in this position, like muscle memory, as if its familiarity made the weight a little bit easier to bear.

"It is my understanding that you were unsuccessful," Obi-Wan began, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "when trying to extricate yourself from Yuma's thoughts and memories in the Force."

"Yes," you said, swallowing hard, trying to ignore the lump that had formed in your throat as you thought back to those training sessions, some that had taken place in this very same room. It felt like a different lifetime, compared to the one you were living now.

"And you were unable, as well, to stop reading other's presences, when you tried." You felt Obi-Wan's thoughts drift lazily toward Anakin, and you checked to make sure your own Force presence was folded neatly and minutely into yourself. The last thing you needed from this training was to reveal too much.

"Yes," you said again, watching Obi-Wan with interest.

"What did it feel like? When you tried to disentangle yourself from Yuma's presence?" Obi-Wan sounded genuinely curious. You swallowed again, pushing your head and back up straight, blinking away the pang that her name sent through you.

"It felt like..." you thought back to those training sessions. "It felt like there were thousands of...tendrils, connecting my presence to Yuma's presence, in the Force. And all of the tendrils were tangled together, knotted and looped...it took so much effort to disconnect one, or two, but before I could make progress, her thoughts or emotions would shift, and new tendrils would take their place. I could never get too many disconnected at once."

"An interesting metaphor..." Obi-Wan mused, his hand gracing over his mustache, his eyes unfocused as he considered your words. "My thought is that we are going about this the wrong way." He looked up, making eye contact with you once again.

"I'm listening."

"I've observed your Force empathy myself..." Obi-Wan said, looking at you as if he could see through you, right to your very soul. "I've found that your own emotions form a strong connection to those you read in others."

You thought back to all the times you'd mistaken others emotions for your own...with Anakin, the first day you'd even met him, or with Henry, when you'd seen his memories and assumed they were yours. You nodded.

"Sometimes...sometimes they even become indiscernible," you confirmed. "My own emotions, and those I read in others." Obi-Wan nodded as well.

"Logically it follows that extricating your emotions from the emotions of others would be very difficult," Obi-Wan said. You thought back over your relationship with Anakin—how at first you'd been afraid your feelings of affection, longing, of love weren't yours at all. Over time, though, your own feelings had grown such that their strength couldn't be denied. They had asserted themselves over you, over both of your lives. You shuddered at the thought, at how difficult it felt, even now, to not be by his side, not be in his arms. How those emotions threatened to swallow you whole.

"If the two are inseparable," Obi-Wan continued, snapping you back to attention, "instead of trying to separate your emotions from the emotions of another, I'm wondering if we can cut both off at the source."

"You mean..." you pondered, thinking this through, "not feel anything?"

"Not exactly, no," Obi-Wan explained, his voice thoughtful. "You are gifted at meditation, yes?" You nodded, wanting to see where he was going with this. "Instead of trying not to feel anything, you might think to separate yourself from your own emotions, when in particularly dangerous or high-stakes situations."

"You're speaking of impermanence," you murmured softly. Obi-Wan nodded. It was an old Jedi principle, one you had learned from a very young age—that the root of all suffering was impermanence. That to fear the impermanence led to anger, and then to hate, and then to suffering. A Jedi must accept the impermanence of all things. Especially emotion, you thought to yourself.

"I think you might have more success if you were to try to separate yourself—your being, your very soul—from those momentary feelings. The emotions you feel, and those that others feel, entangled and entwined as they are." Obi-Wan watched you, waiting for your response.

"So, it isn't about trying not to feel..." you said, thinking deeply. "But rather, allowing my sense of self to detach from my feelings, when the occasion calls for it."

"Yes." Obi-Wan affirmed. "It isn't about escaping your own emotions...but rather, forming a stronghold against them, and the ones you might read in others." Obi-Wan paused for a moment while you thought this over. "The Sith are controlled by their emotion." You looked up, and for a moment, instead of Obi-Wan's blue iris, you saw the purple one that had haunted you in your dreams. "They draw strength from it, yes," Obi-Wan continued, "but they also let it consume them. It seems to me that when you intuit Sith presences, that emotion consumes you too."

You thought back to when Count Dooku had taken you prisoner in your own mind. It had felt like being led down a dark path, one that narrowed, narrowed, until...until you'd been trapped. You didn't want to be rendered useless ever again. You didn’t want anyone else to come into harm's way because you were unable to keep your own mind for yourself. As your resolve hardened, you sat up straight, meeting Obi-Wan's gaze.

"What must I do?"

It was difficult work. Obi-Wan led you through a series of visualization exercises, and then meditations. You waded so deeply into the weeds of your own mind that you felt, for a moment, afraid you might get lost in it once again. But Obi-Wan was there, his voice guiding you, allowing you to continue mapping those deepest parts of yourself. You soon found that you were not one whole, but a composite mix of things; you were not solely a Jedi, nor were you solely the self that Yuma had taught, nor the woman that Anakin loved. You were many different things, different forms, ever-shifting and changing along with your consciousness.

By the end of the lesson, you'd achieved a moment—only a moment—in which you had looked at Obi-Wan and felt nothing emanating from his presence at all. It snapped away as you lost your focus, and you'd been certain that it was a mistake, but Obi-Wan had assured you that he did not have the gift of hiding his Force presence, and that if you had not been intuiting it, you had made great progress. You could admit that the flow of conversation in the back of your mind, the ever-present murmuring, had quieted to only a trickle. This was a great improvement from the storm of voices you had grown accustomed to. After only one day's effort, you and Obi-Wan had achieved more than you and your Master had been able to accomplish in six months.

"Thank you," you said, breathless, sweat dripping down your brow from effort. For the first time since Felucia, you felt a bit looser, like you didn't have to try quite as hard to stand up straight.

"I appreciate your gratitude," Obi-Wan said kindly, "but you know it isn't necessary. I want to do anything I can to help you." You nodded your thanks to him, all the same. Obi-Wan's face became thoughtful. "I've never encountered anything like you, in the Force," he added, considering you.

You paused, taken aback. Obi-Wan, one of the most talented Jedi in the Order, who'd had a Padawan that—

"But...Anakin..." you mumbled, confused.

"I've never encountered anything like either of you," Obi-Wan said, chuckling and rubbing his beard. "You astound even the wisest of us." You laughed too, and felt yourself surprised to hear the sound.

"I know it doesn’t help," Obi-Wan remarked softly, "But I…have been in your position before. I watched my own Master be killed." You went quiet, your eyes fully on Obi-Wan, his head bowed, his hair hanging over his face, his eyes glazed with the memory. "And I was there, and I could do nothing to stop it. The mark that it leaves…it gets easier, with time. Easier to bear the weight of it."

You had never heard Obi-Wan speak of his Master before. Qui-Gon’s passing had happened when you were so young—it had scared you, at the time, with all the rumors surrounding how it had happened, but you hadn't thought, at that young age, of the effect it must have had on his Padawan.

"It does help," you told him quietly. The two of you sat for a moment in comfortable silence.

"How do you feel?" Obi-Wan asked, looking you over with careful concern. You considered his question honestly, allowing your body to express itself to you.

"I feel...hungry," you breathed, surprised at yourself. Obi-Wan smiled widely, and you grinned back at him, feeling, for the first time in a while, like there was solid ground beneath you.

Anakin stalked through the halls of the Temple. Jedi who were in his path moved swiftly to get out of his way; a maintenance droid squealed as the toe of Anakin's boot just missed it, but he wasn't paying attention. He looked down for a moment, but could barely see the tendons in his hands as he clenched his fingers into fists. He barely noticed the way the other Jedi were looking at him, his furrowed brow, his tall stature. He had other things on his mind.

He had awoken in your bed to find it empty. Fear and panic had gripped his heart as he tore apart the sheets, looking through the apartment, calling for you. It was only then that he remembered your training with Obi-Wan, your promise from the previous day. It had calmed him, but only a little. He had dressed quickly, sneaking out of your Jedi apartment with ease. He knew he had to find you.

Anakin's heart raced thinking about how you had been these previous days, how immobile you seemed, how you had been refusing to eat or drink, how you hadn't been able to get out of that bed. It terrified him whenever your eyes started to glaze over; when you didn't seem to fully see the room you were in. He was worried you might slip back into that Force haze at any moment, that space where you had seemed all but lost to him forever. He wouldn't let that happen.

The meditation room was empty; Anakin paused in the doorway only for a moment, before wheeling around and continuing down to the lower level. Where could you have gone? Surely not back to the medical chambers, unless—unless something had happened to you, during your training? Unless your mind had gone back into that cloudedness—

Surely there was no way the council had already sent you into command, was there? Anakin himself had been granted a small reprieve after the events of Felucia. He knew the council had appointed you general of the 415th batallion, Yuma's former position. He knew you had accepted command—what else could you have done? But could the council have sent you back into combat so quickly? Panic gripped Anakin's heart as he considered what it might mean if you returned to battle in your current state. He paused just outside the Temple gardens, half-ready to turn around and head back up toward the medical bay, to the council chambers, to demand to know where you were, when—

He felt a tug within him in the Force. It was a familiar presence; it felt like comfort, and reddish brown hair, the sleeve of a tunic...

Anakin found him on the other side of the gardens, in the corner, sitting with a cup of tea.

"Where is she?" Anakin demanded, looking around quickly. Obi-Wan seemed relaxed, so, at the very least, nothing horrible could have happened to you.

"Good morning, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, his voice sounding tired.

"Where is she?" Anakin asked again, bouncing back onto the heels of his boots for emphasis, feeling unable to keep still, even in the presence of his seated Master.

"I believe she went to get something to eat," Obi-Wan replied, looking warily up at Anakin.

"To eat?" Anakin asked, pausing for a moment, debating turning around on the spot and heading for the mess hall. But if you had gone to get something to eat, then—

"Training went well, then?" Anakin asked, lowering his voice, perching on the bench next to the one on which Obi-Wan lounged, in the corner of the Temple garden.

"I would say so," Obi-Wan said in his infuriatingly calm voice. Obi-Wan took another sip of his tea, looking out at the garden as if deep in thought.

"What does that mean?" Anakin asked, feeling impatient.

"I'm not sure," Obi-Wan replied, his voice still infuriatingly calm.

"Don't be cryptic," Anakin accused, leaning back on his bench and crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. "Do you think you'll be able to help her, or not?"

"I am optimistic," Obi-Wan said, finally turning in Anakin's direction to look him over. "You should be patient with her, Anakin. This was a serious loss for her."

"I know that," Anakin responded, his heart pounding, his anger jumping up a pitch. "I am being patient." Did Obi-Wan think he, Anakin, didn't know what you needed? How could Obi-Wan not see that your well-being was the most important thing in the world? Of course, Obi-Wan couldn't know about your relationship with Anakin...but didn't Obi-Wan realize the importance of keeping you alive, regardless? Didn't Obi-Wan realize how much danger you were in? Anakin took in the posture of his former Master, how calm Obi-Wan seemed, how superior, and felt his frustration grow. Obi-Wan sucked in a breath.

"She's grieving—" Obi-Wan tried, but Anakin cut him off.

"Felucia, Obi-Wan?!" Anakin rasped, his volume increasing. "That wasn't grief!" Anakin recalled again the way you had looked with your body limp, your eyes clouded over, milky white, unable to hear him, trapped in your own suffering.

"I'm looking into it," Obi-Wan responded quietly, lowering his eyes.

"Well, look harder," Anakin said, his breath coming out in a huff. He leaned forward again, looking to Obi-Wan beseechingly. "If she takes command of the 415th, and she doesn't have this under control—"

"If you don't trust her by now," Obi-Wan began, but Anakin cut him off again.

"Of course I trust her! But you know as well as I do—as well as Yuma did—that her gifts are a liability!"

"She is not a liability to the Order—"

"I don't give a kriffing gundark about the Order! I'm talking about her—her life. You need to help her, Obi-Wan. We need to...to find a way to make sure..." Anakin's breathing was heavy. He found himself looking down at his hands, his shoulders moving up and down quickly with his breath. He blinked, his fear overwhelming him.

"We will help her," Obi-Wan said, putting a bracing hand on Anakin's shoulder. "And she will help herself."

You sat, staring into the archive memory, sifting through the holobooks to find what you were looking for. The Temple library was quiet, the atmosphere one of focused attention. Something about it calmed you, but you also found it a bit unnerving, that every bit of galactic knowledge that existed could be found in these very archives.

Your stomach was full for the first time since Felucia; you were sitting upright, able to fight the weight of the grief that had been threatening for days to consume you. You felt exhausted, and sad, but it was a start. And after attending to your needs in the mess hall, you'd come straight here, to the Temple library. Even in the darkest parts of your grief—even when you'd been totally trapped under that weight—you'd known what you needed to do next. You'd been forming your plan. All you had needed was the strength to begin. And, thanks to your training with Obi-Wan, today you'd found it.

You used the controls to pull forth one of the holobooks, and as the holoimages came up, you sat down to focus. You felt yourself getting lost in the text, trying to remember everything. Your focus was so intense that you didn't feel his presence coming until he was right behind you.

"Why are you researching Galactic Sign Language?" Anakin asked, his hand gently stroking your shoulder. Such a small, subtle movement was likely to go unnoticed by those other Jedi in the archives, absorbed as they were in their own research. The sound of his voice made your body electrify—all of the longing, the guilt, and the desire passed through you at once. You shivered.

"It's a long story," you told him, turning around in your chair to face him full on.

"I'm sorry," you breathed, right as Anakin had said the same thing, leaning in toward you, his eyes wide. You felt the corners of your mouth turn up at the sides, and Anakin's face fell open, his surprise taking away his supplication.

"Me first," you said, getting up out of the chair and shutting off the hologram. As you faced Anakin, you felt through his emotions in the Force, sifting through as if the man in front of you were a different type of archive memory—one that was tangled, passionate, complex, brilliant, and beautiful. His emotions mirrored your own; you felt his guilt, his longing, his love for you. The first and most prominent emotion surrounding his presence was worry, and this made you feel even more guilty.

"I'm sorry I shouted at you," you told him quietly, aware of the others milling about the great library. "I'm sorry I took my anger out on you. It's only anger at myself—" Anakin looked as if he were going to cut you off, but you silenced him, holding up your hand. "I shouldn't have gotten angry with you at all. Not when you are so kind," you voice grew quieter, "and so loyal, and so patient with me." Your faces were closer together now; if anyone were to look over, they might wonder why you were having such an intense, whispered conversation. "I'm sorry I fell apart," you continued, feeling the hint of the tears pinpricking the corners of your eyes. You pushed through, closing your eyes to keep the tears from falling. "You shouldn't have to worry about me. I won't let it happen again. I promise I'll be here for you. With you."

"I'm the one who should be sorry," Anakin said eagerly, acting as if he were about to take your hands in his, and then looking around, thinking better of it. Instead, he surreptitiously reached up and brushed under your eye, stroking away the ghost of the tear that didn't fall. "I shouldn't have said anything about...I shouldn't have assumed I know anything about what it felt like for you, on Felucia."

You nodded, but really, he didn't need to apologize. You'd put your own words into his mouth; it hadn't been a fight between you and Anakin, but one between the warring sides of yourself. And you knew now that you needed to face those warring sides head on, and deal with them before they could manage to hurt anyone else.

"You don't have anything to apologize for," you said, pulling half of your mouth up in a small smile. Anakin's eyes were stars, on fire, the blue looking like it was burning, like it would melt out into the air.

"Obi-Wan said training went well," Anakin whispered, hopefully, looking around you for a moment before grazing your hand with his.

"I think it did," you whispered back, looking up into his eyes. You wanted nothing more than to take his face in your hands, but you held back. All this secrecy, you thought, might just drive you mad.

"And you'll tell me about your research..." he continued, glancing back at the archive computer behind you.

"Another time," you assured him, looking around again, making sure no one was close enough to overhear while you leaned in closer toward him. "You know that I love you," you breathed. Anakin's face broke into a joyful smile, his body leaning in closer to yours.

"You know," he said quietly so only you could hear him, "that I love you more than all of the books in this archive." He glanced back at the other Jedi, huddled in their research. "And more than all of the stars in the galaxy, and more than all of the galaxies in the universe." Anakin met your gaze, his sorrow gone, his eyes alight and mischievous. You felt the intention in his Force presence, and it made your insides turn over, your breath becoming short.

"And I love you more than whatever lies beyond that," you whispered, smiling up at him, your heart full. Anakin surreptitiously stroked his hand over the top of yours once again.

"Do you have much more research to do?" Anakin asked, his face forming a familiar, cocky smile.

"It can wait," you murmured, smiling and cocking your head as you strode past him toward the doors, gesturing for him to follow.

************************************************************************

thank you all for being patient with these updates <3 if you are following this story, you and I are besties, that's how it works

let me know if you want to be tagged when I post the next one!

divider credit to @racingairplanes

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feminismisstillahatemovement · 9 months ago

Text

Purely by chance found myself reading the "45 Current Communist Goals" list that was read out in the U.S. House of Representatives and into the Congressional Record by Democrat representative A. S. Herlong on January 10th, 1963.

Some of the stated goals are not so pressing since the end of the Cold War and the fall of the Soviet Union, but the following ones seem far more pertinent today, 61 years on.

I'd be tempted to dismiss the list as simply "Red-Scare"-era hysteria, were it not for the fact they've all, fairly undeniably, come true: --------------------------------

Get control of the schools. Use them as transmission belts for socialism and current Communist propaganda. Soften the curriculum. Get control of teachers' associations. Put the party line in textbooks.

Gain control of all student newspapers.

Use student riots to foment public protests against programs or organizations which are under Communist attack.

Infiltrate the press. Get control of book-review assignments, editorial writing, policy-making positions.

Gain control of key positions in radio, TV, and motion pictures.

Continue discrediting American culture by degrading all forms of artistic expression. An American Communist cell was told to "eliminate all good sculpture from parks and buildings, substitute shapeless, awkward and meaningless forms."

Control art critics and directors of art museums. "Our plan is to promote ugliness, repulsive, meaningless art."

Eliminate all laws governing obscenity by calling them "censorship" and a violation of free speech and free press.

Break down cultural standards of morality by promoting pornography and obscenity in books, magazines, motion pictures, radio, and TV.

Present homosexuality, degeneracy and promiscuity as "normal, natural, healthy.”

Infiltrate the churches and replace revealed religion with "social" religion. Discredit the Bible and emphasize the need for intellectual maturity, which does not need a "religious crutch."

Eliminate prayer or any phase of religious expression in the schools on the ground that it violates the principle of "separation of church and state."

Discredit the American Constitution by calling it inadequate, old- fashioned, out of step with modern needs, a hindrance to cooperation between nations on a worldwide basis.

Discredit the American Founding Fathers. Present them as selfish aristocrats who had no concern for the "common man."

Belittle all forms of American culture and discourage the teaching of American history on the ground that it was only a minor part of the "big picture."

Support any socialist movement to give centralized control over any part of the culture--education, social agencies, welfare programs, mental health clinics, etc.

Infiltrate and gain control of more unions.

Transfer some of the powers of arrest from the police to social agencies. Treat all behavioral problems as psychiatric disorders which no one but psychiatrists can understand [or treat].

Dominate the psychiatric profession and use mental health laws as a means of gaining coercive control over those who oppose Communist goals.

Discredit the family as an institution. Encourage promiscuity and easy divorce.

Emphasize the need to raise children away from the negative influence of parents. Attribute prejudices, mental blocks and retarding of children to suppressive influence of parents.

Create the impression that violence and insurrection are legitimate aspects of the American tradition; that students and special-interest groups should rise up and use "united force" to solve economic, political or social problems.

#communism #russia #politics #how we got where we are

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deadprocess · 4 months ago

Text

Resurgence:

On the brink of a major Decepticon offensive, Shockwave's relentless pursuit of scientific advancement uncovers a startling anomaly within the fabric of space-time. This anomaly promises immense power, capable of tipping the balance in the Decepticons' favor. However, the situation takes a dramatic turn when the anomaly destabilizes, creating a violent rift in space-time. Shockwave and Soundwave are abruptly pulled through the portal, leaving their dimension behind and crash landing on an unfamiliar techno-organic planet, one unravaged by the cybertronian war. Disoriented and stranded, the two Decepticons face a monumental decision: should they strive to return to their own dimension and continue their war, or adapt to this new world where peace prevails?

While Soundwave remains steadfast in returning back to their dimension, Shockwave becomes increasingly captivated by the tranquility and potential for a different existence. As they grapple with their new reality, Shockwave and Soundwave must confront their deepest convictions. Will they remain loyal to their origins and the cause they have fought for, or will they embrace the chance to forge a new path together in a world untouched by war?

Warnings: N/A

Chapter 1: Discovery

Pain blossomed forth as his optic flickered back to life, systems slowly rebooting after a forcible stasis lock. Every wire felt as though it was on fire and his left servo was heavy and foreign. What have they done? What have they done to him?

“Senator, for your crimes against…you have been…”

Voices echoed around him, crackling and popping into a cacophony of unintelligible sounds.

“Senator…you shall here by…”

“Senator.”

SeNAtoR

—

Shockwave awoke from his recharge, jarring straight up from his berth. His optic flickering back and forth, scanning his surroundings. The cold, sterile corridors of his lab remained unchanged since yesterday. A stark difference to the brewing chaos outside from noisy vehicons preparing for another launched attack against the autobots. Slowly rising from his berth, the mech’s optic fixated on the console. It was alerting obnoxiously, no doubt what had awoken him from his recharge in the first place. The holographic projection that was once devoid of anything interesting now displayed unfamiliar spatial data.

“Fascinating.” He muttered, servo reaching out to adjust the parameters to enhance the anomaly on his console. It was unlike anything he had previously seen, a powerful source of pure energy that could potentially shift the balance in the Decepticons favor however its nature was undeterminable, hidden behind layers of quantum complexity.

Methodical footsteps echoed outside his lab, drawing closer. When the door opened, shockwave didn’t bother turning around to greet the uninvited guest. The rhythmic pace belonged to only one mech aboard the nemesis.

“Soundwave,” shockwave acknowledged, “I assume you have come to discuss the manner of my finding.” The communications officer stood silently before his visor flickered to life, a small visual of the anomaly appeared. Ah yes, diligent as ever. No doubt that soundwave was monitoring every internal system aboard the nemesis and had hacked into Shockwave’s lab during the night. As intrusive as that was, the scientist couldn’t blame the other officer for scanning every inch of incoming data. Between Starscream’s treacherous behavior, Arachnid’s ever looming threat, and Breakdown’s questioning of loyalties, it was necessary to keep a permanent eye on those aboard the ship. Shockwave had been gone for vorns and loyalties can certainly change. Maybe he thought that Shockwave had kept a long standing grudge against the decepticons for leaving him behind, labeling him as killed in action after the portal he entered exploded. However, grudges were silly, illogical things to hold…unless it was against a certain noisy seeker, but Starscream could always be dealt with at a later time.

“Autobots; intercepted transmission. Currently planning on deploying an investigative team.” A mishmash of stolen voice clips spoke. Soundwave never did use his voice anymore. Perhaps an injury sustained through war?

Shockwave’ antennas flickered with growing interest. “Their inference could complicate matters,” he remarked, “however, this confirms that the anomaly is significant. Inform Megatron of the urgency in dispatching a ground team.”

Soundwave remained still, visor displaying a series of complex waveforms and energy readings. “Risk; substantial. Unknown energy readings could pose a hazard.”

There was something of an air of caution in soundwave's inflection. His EM field pulsed faintly before retracting, a hint of concern radiated through Shockwave’s own field.

“Every discovery carries risk, Soundwave. But the rewards could be beyond measure, and should it fall to the autobots, it could spell the end for our cause.” There was a moment of silence as the two Decepticon’s locked gazes, a tension slowly bubbling before Soundwave abruptly turned on his pedes, calmly walking towards the door he had entered from.

“Megatron; will be informed of the anomaly and urged to take action.” Shockwave’s own voice combined with clips of others replied back.

As Shockwave returned to his calculations, Soundwave began running his own analytics. There was something that deeply troubled him. Why had this anomaly suddenly appeared? Something of this scale of power couldn’t have possibly emerged overnight. Any calculations he ran were coming back inconclusive. Could this truly be something that could shift the war? Or would this be a death sentence for both sides?

Xx Authors note xX

Thank you for reading! This is a test run for a new 12 chapter story. Let me know if ya’ll like it! :) looking forward to writing more.

You can also read this story on Wattpad and hopefully Ao3 around August 5th!

#transformers #shockwave #soundwave #megatron #starscream #autobots #decepticons #transformers prime #fanfic #tfp megatron #tfp soundwave #tfp shockwave #tfp autobots #tfp decepticons #tfa #cybertronians #transformers cybertron #robots

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my-heart-beat-for-anime · 11 months ago

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HIS BELLADONA treech x mentor reader

Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3

The coolness on my skin was what woke me from a pleasant sleep. I roughly rubbed my eyes and sat up on the bed. With a yawn, I decided to quickly cross the small apartment to the bathroom. I tried to go as quietly as possible so as not to wake my father. Father, I still didn't know if the man sprawled across the old couch was still the same a smiling man who raised me with love. The war destroyed everything, the war took my mother, the war took my father. I slowly wash my face with cold water and stare at myself in the cracked mirror and all I see is the same face as the woman who gave birth to me and loved me, the face of the woman I watched as she slowly died next to me due to lack of food and illness. I remember the helplessness that her death brought because not only did I lose my mother, but her death destroyed the man who had once been her father. After the death of his wife, he began to seek refuge in morphine and alcohol, leaving the weight of the world on the shoulders of his eight-year-old daughter. The only thing that kept her and her father alive was her father's meager salary, the salary was high but father would rather buy morphine than make sure I had dinner and gifts from my father's friend Casca Highbottom. I tried to buy on the black market, I bartered what I could and thanks to that we survived. I was now in my final year at the academy and planned to study at university.I noticed a bruise on my hand in the mirror, my father had another rough night yesterday. Today was one of those days when it didn't fit today was a big day today was harvest for the 10th hunger games. I quickly got ready, chose my mother's favorite dark blue skirt, on which stars were embroidered with yellow thread, on top I took a black turtleneck, which very well covered my bruised arms and neck. I let my hair flow freely on my shoulders and assessed whether it was enough. Unfortunately, there was no time for any shortcomings, so I just grabbed my school bag and headed for the exit from the apartment. Just as I was closing the door to the apartment, I heard the door of the apartment above us close, it meant that Coryo was leaving, so I waited for him to run downstairs, where I joined him on the way to the academy.,,It's a miracle what Tigris did with that old shirt, you look very elegant." I complimented his appearance. Coryo just laughed, "You know snow closets are bottomless." I was the only one who knew about his situation and he knew about mine. I have known Coriolanus since I was a child, our mothers were friends with each other in the days after your mother's death, I lived with the Snows for a while, who helped me a lot at that time. On the way to the academy, we had a pleasant conversation, but when you walked in, Coryo took Clemensia away and I was left alone, but not for long because Lysistrata spotted me. "Hey (Y/N) you look beautiful." Lysistrata was the only one of my classmates that I would believe this compliment.She was very quiet but she was one of the nicest and fairest people I've ever met.,, Well miss Lysistrata it's harvest day of course I have to represent the Capitol." I said with a sneer in my voice. She rewarded me with her smile in return and we left to the hall where the harvest transmission started in no time. I sat in the back row together next to my friend and we waited patiently. But what I didn't expect was the news that each of the top 24 students will be assigned a mentoring tribute. We are going to turn them into a show for entertainment , that made me sick to my stomach. I exchanged a disgusted look with Lys next to me.,, As if it wasn't enough that they are going to die, we're going to force them to make puppets here." I whispered in Lys's ear and she just nodded in agreement. The dean began to read the names and the screens showed each tribute.,, And the male tribute from the 7th district belongs to Miss (Y/N) Belladon.” My breath hitched as I stared at the face of the boy I was to lead to his death. He was tall with dark curls and gorgeous brown eyes.

Treech was the name

Treech was the name of my tribute

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #tbosas x reader #treech tbosas #treech x reader #treech x mentor reader #coryo snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the hunger games #hunger games x reader #tigris snow #lucy gray baird #7th district #love #enemies to lovers #coriolanus snow

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theprettynosferatu · 2 years ago

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A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

I - The Heroes

Luna MacKleere didn’t like the word “Rebel”. She was one, to be sure, but in her mind the term evoked anarchy, disorder, chaos. Maybe it was her past life as an Imperial officer, or maybe it was just the way she was wired, but Luna felt sometimes clear order was a necessity. The Rebellion had a chain of command, but it was a tad… diffuse. For all its virtues, the Rebellion often fell short in the “getting things done” category: strategy meetings could become endless debates in the name of equality and freedom of expression. To Luna, a little hierarchy didn’t necessarily become tyranny.

She was well aware of her reputation within the base. Humorless, strict, cold. She didn’t much care. She got things done, as the events of the day had proved. A screen lit up letting her know the newly-minted Heroes of Korriban would arrive shortly. The base was buzzing. She wasn’t upset because she had been the one to discover the Imperial outpost in that barren planet, planned the surprise strike, organized the entire operation: it was natural for the pilots and boots on the ground to get the glory. What irritated her was that for a good three hours or so nothing of real use would be accomplished as the new Heroes celebrated their triumph. Oh, well. She supposed it would be a morale boost, at least.

She did the best she could to tune out the cheers, the laughter, the singing. Luna wondered how the old Jedi had been able, if the stories were true, to keep their emotions always under control. Given how her chest pounded with irritation, she figured she wouldn’t have made a good Jedi even if she had been born hundreds of years before.

Eventually a knock on her door broke her out of such dark contemplations. She looked around to make sure everything was presentable: the room was both her command center and her bedroom. The base had been built with haste and stealth in mind, and living comfort had been sacrificed to keep it compact. Deciding the place looked respectable, she let the visitor in.

Kara Nalls was barely out of her teens; like so many in the rebellion, she was an orphan of the war the Empire waged against independence. Luna took pride in knowing the names and stories of everyone under her command. She wished Kara would get a bit more confidence, though. Even then, the petite blonde was almost shaking, dataslate in hand.

“What is it, Kara?”

“Ma’m, I have the manifest of liberated weapons, supplies and equipment right here. A full report should be made… uhm… later. Oh, and there’s… this”

Kara produced a small, black cube.

“We don’t know what it is, Ma’m. If it’s a container, there seems to be no way of opening it. But the boys say it was heavily guarded, so perhaps it might be of importance”

Luna took the dataslate and gestured for Kara to leave the box on her desk. She could look at it later.

“Thank you, Kara. Please make sure our esteemed warriors write proper reports when they’re done being tonguebathed by the entire base”

The rude words almost made the younger rebel recoil, but she caught herself.

“Yes, Ma’m”

“Is there anything else?”

“No, Ma’m”

“Then go out there and enjoy the party. I appreciate you taking the time to bring me the data”

“Thank you, Ma’m”

Kara almost skipped away to rejoin the celebration. She wasn’t the worst, but still needed discipline. They all did. Luna tried to put her mind out of the racket outside her door. She decided to enable communications and send the manifest to her rebel contacts. It was always a risky thing, for signals could be intercepted, traced: that was the reason only two people on base knew the codes to engage the transmitters. Sure, Luna could have waited until the full report was ready and sent everything together, minimizing risk; but she needed to focus on something, anything to dull the annoyance inside her. As the transmission happened, she idly looked at the black cube on her desk.

No, it wasn’t just black. It seemed to absorb all light, to pull it within itself and capture it to never be released again. Luna felt discomforted by the small accursed thing. What in the galaxy could it be? Well, whatever it was, she didn’t want to see it on her desk. She picked it up to put it away…

She couldn’t be sure, but for a second something like a sigil appeared on it, bright red. It was a flash, and then it was gone. Before Luna could process what she had seen or if she had indeed seen it, the box opened without a sound, its top moving on unseen hinges. Inside was something beautiful.

It shimmered copper and ruby, calling to her from within its nest of fathomless darkness. It was obviously valuable, and should be reported to the rest of the rebellion. That was the obvious, ethical, logical thing to do. However, Luna found herself hesitating, bound by a shapeless feeling at first, one that soon wormed its way into her head and solidified into words. Did the rebellion really need whatever the necklace could be sold for? Would it truly be so harmful for Luna to keep it for herself? After all, wasn’t the rebellion all about freedom? And more importantly, didn’t Luna deserve it? She was the reason the base got anything done, after all. Hell, even the celebration taking place was thanks to an operation she had planned, based on information she had gathered! But were people thanking her? Did they dance for her? Did they kiss in secluded hallways for her? No. She deserved a reward. Results had to be rewarded, that was the very basics of management. And no one would know. She alone had seen what the box hid. She had spent two years away from any luxury, working ragged, cramped inside a base that gave her little to no privacy or room, eating rations and wearing sensible, resistant clothing. She had almost forgotten how she looked, how she could look when she paid attention to her appearance. She had sacrificed so much… of course she deserved a little treat, a little beauty in her life. It was so obvious.

When she put on the necklace, she felt as if life was returning to her body. It felt so good to finally do something not for the rebellion, not for the fighting men and women, but for herself. And it looked good. It looked so perfect on her… too bad her clothing didn’t really do the necklace justice.

Well, she did have a few outfits saved for special occasions…

II - Confidence

It felt good to be out of the sensible white and brown clothes. Sure, it was cold. Sure, her formal dinner dress was hardly practical in case of a sudden attack. No, Luna didn’t care. She loved the way she looked, with flowing red silk, high-heeled boots and a generous cleavage that showed the pendant in all its glory. It was as if she was rediscovering a part of herself she had long left behind. She had been desired, once. Before the Empire. Before she broke away from it. Before uniforms became her default attire. Yes, she had been desired in her home planet. The scion of a wealthy House, fabled for her beauty and wit. She had wanted to escape that. That’s why she had enlisted in the Officer Corps. To spite her father. To get away. Now, she couldn’t remember why she had ever felt being the center of attention was a bad thing.

And oh, all eyes were on her, alright. Most looked at her as if they were seeing her for the first time. In a way, they were. Even she had forgotten how… impactful she could be when she chose to use her looks as a weapon. She felt like a conquering queen… or a predator on the prowl. Everyone around her looked so small, so weak, so pliable. Was this the rebellion? Was this the force that would topple an Empire? She felt as if she could just… take whoever she desired. Take them to do what? She couldn’t say. Hurt them? Use them? Motivate them?

Yes, perhaps motivation was needed. Confidence. They seemed so… run down. Luna knew the best leaders led by example. Well, she could be that example. She could show them all the passion the sorely lacked, the drive to victory that seemed so alien to them. Suddenly, there wasn’t a single doubt in her mind. If the rebellion was to have any chance of success, she would have to teach them to take what they wanted, to fight and manipulate and feel the drive to grasp victory by any means necessary. Ambition. Yes, that’s what they lacked. Well, she’d teach them ambition.

Someone caught her eye. Tadriec was staring at her. Tadriec. Thin as a reed, obedient and respectful to a fault, generally looking like a little desert mouse caught in a trap. Was he a virgin, Luna wondered. She couldn’t imagine him doing anything but staring at any object of desire from far away. In a way, that was the rebellion right there. Too shy, too meek, too willing to settle for small victories. Well, if Luna was going to show them a new way… what better place to start than small, frail Tadriec?

“Tadriec, come with me”

“Why, me, ma’m? I… uh…”

The man was about to start shaking. He looked like the very picture of pathetic meekness. For a moment, Luna felt like striking him across the face, or digging her nails into his skin, just because she could, just because he would do nothing about it. Weakness invited abuse: was it any wonder the Empire regularly abused the people under its control? It was a two-way path: yes, the tyrant is terrible, but those too weak to stand up for themselves invited and enabled that tyranny. Perhaps a more hands on example was in order.

“Just be silent and follow me”

“Yes ma’m”

As the door to her quarters slid shut, Tadriec started mumbling in fear.

“I… uh… if you need anything, I… if I may, the door…”

“Tadriec, be quiet”

“Yes, ma’m”

Luna leaned on her desk, letting sensuality flow out of her. She could almost see it, a black and red tendril enveloping the poor, weak rebel.

“Look at me, Tadriec”

“I… I can see quite clearly. Uh, I don’t believe I’ve seen that… attire before, ma’m. It is quite beautiful; is there a ceremony or…”

“Look. At. Me. Tell me, Tadriec, what do you desire?”

“Desire?”

“Yes. What do you want? What would bring you joy, satisfaction? You are aware with the concept of desire, I presume”

“I… of course. I’m nor sure what… well, if I could… uh… I suppose victory over the Empire would make me happy. Peace would make me happy”

“Oh, how very noble of you. Allow me to be more specific. Do you desire me?”

“Uh, I… desire… uh… I’m not sure I understand the…”

“Do you desire to take me? To take this body and use it however it may please you? To make me go on my knees and take you in my mouth, to bend over like an animal in heat and let you mount me, pull my hair, make your every fantasy real? Do you desire to fuck me? To fuck me hard, take out all your frustrations and emotions and passions on me?”

The man’s next words would be inconsequential, Luna knew. His body already spoke volumes about how he felt, even if he wouldn’t dare say it out loud. She amused herself, watching him shifting uncomfortably, trying in vain to hide a bulge in his oh so sensible rebel uniform. This has to be how a Krayt Dragon feels before devouring their prey, she thought.

“I… I’m not sure it’s appropriate to… uh… I mean, you do look… quite attractive, but…”

“You desire me. Every movement you make screams it. You need to make me yours. My question is: why don’t you? Why are you so afraid to simply… take what you want? Why not turn me around, pin my hands on this desk? Why not push me up against the wall? Why not make me an object for your pleasure?”

“I… uh, that’d be… that’d be wrong! Wrong and… and inappropriate, and…”

Wrong. How would it be wrong to follow one’s heart? Luna couldn’t fathom the reasoning, and found herself with little patience for it. Fuck it. Time for a practical demonstration. She leapt out of the desk and took a few steps, until she could feel his nervous breathing on her face, their lips almost touching.

“I am your superior in command”

“Y-yes”

“Then you will do as instructed, is that clear?”

“I… yes ma’m”

“Then I’m instructing you to bend me over, lift my dress and plunge your cock inside me as hard as you can. Make it passionate. Make it hurt, if you want. But do it!”

He was too gentle. Far too gentle. He turned her around, carefully, almost shaking. He used minimum pressure to push her head down. Even now, even as he should be overcome with pure lust, he takes care of her, makes sure she is comfortable. Such a disgrace. Sheer weakness.

“Fuck you, Tadriec! Stop. Holding. Back! Are you such a coward? Such a useless pussy? Take it all out on me… you resentment… your fear, your anger, everything! Use me just as an object for your pleasure! Stop denying yourself what you deserve!”

Luna gasped as she felt him go inside her. Part of it was the rather unexpected size: she never would have imagined the skinny rebel packed such a… remarkable member. But what truly got to her was the feeling of it all. She couldn’t quite explain it, but there was a point, a very detectable moment when she felt the man’s emotions… burst forth.

It was unexpected and it was intense and it was intoxicating. Rage and lust and hatred so vivid she could almost taste them. The feelings washed over her, sending shivers all through her body, robbing her of the ability to speak, to do anything but moan and drool and cum, over and over again, all control long gone.

By the time she managed to regain some notion of herself, she was feeling his cum sliding down her thigh, panting on her desk. Shit. A woman could get addicted to such feelings.

III - Just a Dream

She’s standing in a dark place, an old place. A place of evil. She knows this, and it scares her. Statues seem to rise up to the stormy sky, and she’s aware of ruins, of ancient temples so deep and twisted a man could walk in and never walk out. There’s a way out of this place, this much she knows; but it’s cloudy, hidden in mists and creeping shadows. It’s terrifying how this place whispers to her. How it wants to feel like home.

But Luna has home, doesn’t she? She can’t remember. It’s hard to focus. Everything seems so distant now, like her life is hidden behind veil after veil after veil… She does have a notion, a barely formed sensation that she has made a mistake recently, a horrible and…

She feels it creeping up her leg, igniting her skin with a million sensations, a million passions. No, no, no… this is the mistake, she knows it. It’s coming for her. It will devour her, shift her, twist her if she allows it. She tries to run away, but it’s there and not there; a physical being and a manifestation of something monstrous growing inside her… she can no more escape it than she can escape herself.

She has to resist. She has to find the light inside her, lest the darkness consume her, turn her into someone she wouldn’t even recognize. But it’s so hard to find the willpower… so hard when the dark tendrils make her body feel so alive, so intense, so… eager. No. She has to…

It reaches between her legs, and she’s vaguely aware she could perhaps stop it, if she was strong enough. Is she that weak? Or is it that she doesn’t want to be strong anymore? A moan escapes her lips as her pussy twitches in pure, undiluted pleasure. It’s wrong. She has to hold back. She has to resist, to fight, to…

Why? Why not give in?

Did she think that? Did the darkness think it for her? She can’t tell. She feels herself accepting it more and more, letting it explore her deeply… her pussy, her ass, her tits… her body is just a vehicle for pleasure, for power, for…

No, she’s so much more than that! She’s a kind person, a rebel, a fighter for freedom…

Does she want to be all that? Or does she want to be something else entirely? She can’t say anymore. It just feels too good… too good to think… too good to resist…

Fuck it.

And with that thought, the darkness enters her fully.

IV - Improvement

Luna McKleere woke up with a purr. She stretched in her bed, letting the air caress her skin. She felt sensitive and strong and… hungry. Not for food, of course. The rations on the base were anything but appetizing. But the base itself… well, she was the most important person in it, was she not? After all, if she wasn’t around, nothing would ever get done. In that sense, wasn’t it her base? Her dominion? Her responsibility and her property? She got up, determined to improve her base, even if she had to drag every single sorry mediocrity kicking and screaming towards something resembling strength.

She stopped in front of the mirror.

Perhaps she should have felt upset, or scared. Shocked, at the very least. Confused, certainly. Instead she didn’t feel anything but a simple, calm satisfaction. Before her stood an image she had never seen before, and yet felt oddly familiar. Her already dark hair had turned jet-black, with a strange blue-ish reflection, like the feathers of a fearsome bird of prey. Her eyes were still green, but when the light hit them just right they appeared to have an unnatural yellow hue to them. She wasn’t sure if her lips had become fuller or if they only seemed that way because of the confident, seductive expression she now wore. What wasn’t in doubt was the size of her chest: that had definitely changed. She shifted around, looked at herself from a few angles. She had to say, her new breasts were a definite improvement. Sex appeal was power, a power most people, weak-willed as they were, often found unable to resist. Besides, there was a certain beauty in knowing she could inflame passions and emotions by her mere appearance. The rebellion needed a bit more fire, a bit more blood in it… even if that blood was concentrated on rather specific body parts. Her legs were stronger too, more toned, ready to step on whoever got in her way.

All in all, her body felt like a tool, one perfectly designed for its purpose. And oh, did it have a purpose. The entire staff needed to change if the base was to have even a chance of achieving anything significant, anything beyond small raids on mostly abandoned imperial outposts. It needed to embrace greater ambition and be willing to take bigger risks. It needed to heed impulse, accept strength, forget mercy.

Every group had its leaders, official or otherwise. People who set the tone, the pace, the spirit of the endeavor. For the rebellion to change, the leaders would have to change. Luna decided to turn her base into a showcase, a template for the rest of the rebellion to follow. That meant summoning the leaders of her small base into her room. She would show them the way, and they in turn would push the new philosophy to the followers, the meek and spineless men and women that made up most of the fighting force.

They all stared at the floor, trying oh so hard not to glance at her new, improved tits, at the way she left her jumper’s zipper half-open to make them impossible to avoid. She felt nothing but a sickly contempt towards the men and the one woman before her. They were there, but were they actually there? They felt more like shadows, insubstantial, nonexistent. Luna felt something growing inside her. Hatred? No, not that. They were beneath that, they didn’t even deserve that much from her. Their weakness, their meekness, their lack of focus, of ambition… disgusting. They could be so much more, if only they’d let go of their stupid fetters of morality, of propriety, of the rules of engagement. They had passions inside them, buried so deep… if only…

The pendant felt warm on her skin, nestled between her breasts. She couldn’t explain it, but it was whispering. It was beckoning. It made her feel powerful. It made her feel like an uncaged beast… and she could tell the others were starting to feel it too. Their bodies told the story in a million small ways. A small shiver there. A discreet glance there. A conversation without words, the air around them almost vibrating. No, not a conversation. This was conversion. Luna could feel it between her legs, sense the blindfolds falling from their eyes, the repressed passions bubbling just under the surface, ready to guide them, to take control. An inescapable truth of the Galaxy was starting to take hold: the strong took what they desired, and deserved everything they took, because they were powerful enough to take it. That was it. A simple, elegant truth. Luna slowly pulled the zipper down. All eyes were on her now, shame long gone, replaced by a primal hunger. Yes, she could feel them… and it felt so good, their passion was like a million electrical pulses starting right in her pussy and coursing through her body. She moaned and let one of her hands wander inside her pants. They were at a tipping point. Her smile was the final push.

It was glorious, a symphony of grunts and they all lost control at once and tore off their clothes. The men were so big, towering over her, hungry expressions in their eyes. Finally. Strength. Something she could respect. Something she could… kneel for. Beside her, the other female rebel had gone on all fours, her head pressed on the cold, metal ground. Ready to be taken by those with the will to do so. And now the men had the will. Luna focused on worshiping their cocks, licking them and kissing them and using her new gigantic tits to jerk them off, letting the men use her as nothing more than a living sex doll. She moaned as a rebel thrust inside her fellow woman without mercy, without pity. She could feel it all, beyond physical sensations. She felt their lust and their frustrations and the anger they blew off using Luna’s mouth, her tits; using the other girl’s tight, eager holes. She was all of them. Fucking and getting fucked. Slave and master. She was attuned to the energies saturating the room, sending her deeper and deeper into a state of complete, savage pleasure.

At some point someone pushed her on her back. She was too far gone to fully register who. All she knew was she was being conquered, and it felt so fucking good… Her ass burned as a man rammed inside her with not care as to how she might feel, with hatred for all the bitchy things she had done, with rage and a red retribution. A hand shifted her head. The other girl was positioning Luna’s mouth, so that it may be used by a worthy cock. The girl’s eyes looked… delighted. Evil.

Luna shaked as cumshot after cumshot painted her skin, aiming for her face, her tits. It was suddenly so obvious. So simple. She knew it, and she sensed they all knew it now. She didn’t have to tell them. She managed to get on her feet, feeling their eyes on her. Strength was Right. Those who conquered deserved power. Power deserved more power. The Empire was powerful. The Rebellion was weak. Nature had to take its course.

She put in the code enabling communications and typed the coordinates to her own base in. She set the message to be unencrypted, ready to be picked up. She set it to repeat, over and over.

She fell on the floor, an orgasm racking her body and whatever was left of the rebel she had been. The Empire would come. They would take. They would conquer. Because they were stronger. Because they deserved to rule over the silly rebels who deluded themselves by thinking they had a chance. Now the truth would come.

They would all be fucked, as they should be. Maybe literally. Luna didn’t care. All she knew, and all everyone in the room knew was that the base would fall to its superiors. As nature intended. As for them… they would wait for their conquerors. They would wait on their knees. They would wait sucking and fucking and letting their passions run wild.

The pendant hummed. It knew better than anyone the power of power, the allure of conquest. And now, after centuries underground, it had found a vehicle to spread the truth. It would make sure Luna was spared. It had great plans for the young woman, after all.

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

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graylinesspam · 2 months ago

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One of these days Ahsoka was really gonna have to confront the fact that explosions were very high up her list of strategies. And wasn't that a bit dramatic?

---

Or basically the jailbreak scene from THE suicide squad but make it Star Wars.

His metal caf cup fell to the floor with a clatter, the last swig of cold liquid staining the floor. Cody’s heart was in his throat. Obi-wan’s face shone on the other side of the blue holoprojection; shock in the part of his mouth.

No one else in the room was moving, consumed by the advertisement being played by the holo-table. The foreground showed a pyke flanked by two Black Sun operatives. The Pyke was moving his hand in beckoning gestures as he droned on in his guttural language. Translations scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

And in the background of the video, slowly making her way to the center of attention as the recorder zoomed in, was Ahsoka, suspended from the ceiling in electric shackles. Her long red dress had been torn to tatters and her head hung limply.

One of the Black Suns gripped her by the back lek and yanked her head back so that the camera could capture her unconscious face. One eye was swollen shut and there was blood smeared in an indiscernible pattern across her face. In this low definition, it was hard to tell where she was wounded. Her face was almost misshapen from the swelling.

More text scrolled across the screen as the Pyke jabbered on in what counted as excitement for their species.

Cody’s fist slammed onto the table disrupting the holo in a waving blue blur. “They’re auctioning her?” he demanded.

Obi-wan’s hands had tucked themselves into his sleeves to hide the fact that he was gripping himself by the elbows. “So it seems,” he replied in a strained manner.

“We cannot let this happen.” Cody insisted. Several of the men surrounding them made noises of agreement.

“I’m afraid, as Ahsoka is no longer a member of the military, We’ll need council approval, even the Chancellor’s approval to use military powers to retrieve her.”

“Sir, you know as well as I do that there's no way we’ll be able to stop the vode from going after her. If we don’t organize this, it will happen anyway, and the loss could be greater.”

“I know that Cody. I’ll contact the council. See if I can appeal to them.”

The rescue of Ahsoka Tano was not a mission that was easy to sell. The council was torn between guilt for turning on her and bitterness that she left them. Several times the matter was almost sent higher up the chain for senate approval. But ultimately it was the amount of information that she possessed that turned their minds.

Coming off of the mess with Quinlin and Ventress they certainly did not want Dooku to get his hands on another highly trained jedi with a vendetta against the order. The kind of Sith that Ahsoka could make sent a shiver of dread down the backs of every Jedi master.

She had been a premiere padawan. A prodigy in terms of combat skill and the development of her own inherent ability. For another member of Yoda’s impressive lineage to fall to the dark side.

It would be a disaster. And it would do considerable damage to Obi-wan and Anakin.

And that was before considering the amount of information she had about the Republic’s military movements, their bases, hyperspace routes, tactics, and supply routes. She may be able to single-handedly topple the war in their enemy’s favor.

So the council ruled in favor of rescuing Ahsoka Tano. What they planned to do with her afterward was to be seen.

They had to find her first. Tracking the transmission was useless. Black Sun was too clever for that. But they could track all the major recipients of that broadcast. Money began changing hands. They were following the transactions as they were set in motion. It seemed everyone from flesh traders to Trandoshan hunters were bidding on her. She made a lot of enemies in her short time in the galaxy. And even more admirers which was never a good thing when you were a beautiful young woman.

Everyone could tell, however, that the auction was stalling. They were waiting to see if the separatist or the Republic would put a bid in. It was unlikely that the Republic could get the authority to do so in time, even if they were inclined to. But the separatists, at least the leader of the movement, Count Dooku, was able to make whatever decisions he saw fit with his own finances.

The splicers tracking the broadcast and splicing through the Pike’s network thanked every star in the galaxy that the separatists were dragging their feet, since it gave them more time to find her.

The puzzle piece that busted open the case was an old report of Blacksun scavengers harassing ships exiting the Kessel run. They’d been pursued by authorities and were chased back to a small base on the planet Randa. An uninhabited little rock in the Kessel system not far from Ord Mantel.

It took some digging to find proper aerial photographs from that planet but when they did the base was clearly visible.

It wasn’t much more than a duracrete box from what they could tell, but it would do fine to hold a hostage for a long period of time.

With even more long needless debates happening amongst the jedi and the Admirals Cody had his men gearing up for the extraction. Master Windu had briefly argued that his clones were far better trained in infil and exfil but a soft word from Ponds silenced him on the matter.

Absolutely no clone out of blue armor would have been able to talk their way into this mission if it hadn’t been Cody. The 501st were currently deployed deep in the belly of the war. It was the only way they would have been occupied enough to miss this. And as much as he was grateful for that, Cody would never be able to look his brother in the face again if he didn’t personally go to retrieve his vod’ika.

Besides, they didn’t want to waste any more time waiting for an elite squad. If Cody, as the marshal commander, was not elite enough for this mission, then he should hang up his helmet. He was going to bring Ahsoka home, no matter what.

Ahsoka woke to a terribly loud buzzing. Electricity always grated on her hearing when it was exposed so closely to her montrals. She was also displeased to notice that both her arms were asleep and her back burned in a way that indicated strain.

She cracked her eyes open as far as the swelling would allow. The room she was in was dimly lit but for the holocamera shining a searing beam of light directly into her eyes. She winced at that and her movement caught the attention of whoever was holding her here. A Pyke, with a big ugly gold helmet, was chittering at her in its unpleasant language. It chortled a little laugh as it leaned close and grasped her chin, tilting her face for the recorder.

She sneered at the foul little thing and tried to pull her head back.

It retaliated with a swift punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of her.

Ahsoka wheezed as she struggled to draw in air but it gave her a minute to asses her surroundings too. There was one more sentient in the room, a big burly guard with black sun tattoos on his neck. Just two then.

Ahsoka jerked in her restraints and snarled as soon as she had the air in her lungs to do it with.

The Pyke stepped close again to taunt her in a language she didn’t speak, she took the opportunity to sweep the feet out from under the short creature and send him sprawling to the ground. Disoriented from the water in his helmet moving so abruptly, he had no defense ready when Ahsoka slammed the heel of her stiletto into the glass eye of the helmet and shattered it, she could feel her shoe skewer soft flesh beneath and as he struggled away he broke the heel from her shoe leaving it lodged into his face.

She’d been leaning down to concentrate on the creature on the floor but as the bigger thug approached, Ahsoka bent at the knees and lept gaining height on the tall thug as he lunged to grab her by the neck. His open hand ineffectually collided with her chest as her legs wrapped around his torso and brought him in close to her body. At this distance and from this height it was no problem for her to aim for the black smudge of a tattoo over his windpipe and clamp down on it with her teeth.

A Togruta’s teeth were nothing to scoff at. Ahsoka tore the tattoo right off his neck and took a sizable chunk of flesh with it. As the second man dropped to the ground Ahsoka spat out her mouthful grimacing at the taste.

Taking a moment to gather herself she toed off her strappy heels with a bit of a struggle. Formal attire was not ideal clothing for a kidnapping.

With her bare feet she stretched her toes out to the still writhing Pike’s side and slammed her heel into his ribs, he collapsed down from his knees to his side once more and Ahsoka awkwardly stepped onto the little collection of buttons and lights on his wrist, rolling the pressure of her foot around until she pressed the right button and her bindings dropped her unceremoniously to the ground.

Once there she could slam her cuffed hands down onto the Pike’s face once again disorienting him and buying her time to retrieve the bindings key from the Black sun’s now dead body. Hands freed and swiping a blaster off the waistband of the idiot who hadn’t bothered to draw it on her Ahsoka aimed it at the Pyke’s head and finally put his writhing to an end.

She didn’t know where she was or how she’d gotten there. So she went over the information that she did know. She’d been attending a gala last she remembered. Then she woke up here, with a Pyke and a black sun. Oh and a recorder.

Ahsoka glanced back up at it unsure if she was still in frame or not.

Oh well, it isn’t like she’s never had an audience before.

Black Sun operatives almost never work alone. There’s got to be at least one more. Probably closer to five if this was a high-profile job where they’d been hired by the Pikes

So she readied her blaster as she slammed her hand onto the door’s sensor pad. Two guards stand on the other side of the door and Ahsoka has to fire on both of them before the door has finished opening. Both struggle to reach for their weapons before jerking violently and collapsing to the floor.

She’s no sharpshooter so it takes a couple of shots each to put them down even at this close range. She shoves down the familiar frustration at being left without her preferred weapons. There are probably countless guards and gang members left between her and the exit. And now there’s been blasterfire, so she has to move quickly.

Ahsoka shoves through the next door and into a short hallway; the grey stone walls dim but for a light at the end. When she reaches the end she realizes the light is coming from above. She is in a small atrium with windows over her head and connecting hallways in all directions. She takes a step back towards the hall she just exit and counts the others. Four plus hers makes five. Which way does she go?

That question quickly starts to matter less than the pound of boots on the ground towards her. The sounds echoed from all around her; impossible for her to tell what direction they were coming from.

She retreats further back towards the other guards that she killed and pilfers their blasters off of them as well. She’s far outnumbered here and she’ll need all the plasma power she can muster.

She settles down beside the open door, hoping to use this short hallway as a choke point. There are no other ways into the area outside of her cell, if they wanted to come get her they’d need to converge here.

She didn’t need to wait long before thugs started to enter her hall with their blasters already drawn.

Ahsoka leaned around the doorway and opened fire into the hall. Several enemies dropped to the ground bleeding or dead, and several more retreated back into the wider atrium to escape. As they ducked away Ahsoka made sure to fire again at those downed to make sure they’d stay that way.

These kinds of stalemates, the ones where both sides would wait for the other to peak out, they wasted time. The last thing she needed was to give them the time to call in reinforcements until she really was overwhelmed.

She needed a quick way to break out of here. Ahsoka looked down at her blasters and had a terrible idea. Thinking quickly she removed the power pack and the gas canister from one of the blasters and just a power pack from another. Gas canisters were almost indestructible from the outside They were as tough as beskar. You couldn’t even shoot one to explode it. But nonetheless, the gas inside was highly reactive. All blasters came standard with surge and shock protection to keep the power pack from accidentally igniting them.

But she’d seen before, mostly empty or defective gas canisters get off gassed so they could be disposed of without accidentally exploding anything. It was one of the more dangerous responsibilities of owning a blaster. If you screwed it up at all your face could be burned off.

Ahsoka scooted closer to one of the downed guards and retrieved a pair of binders from his belt She stripped the insulation from the connector point of both power packs and pressed the exposed metal together, immediately an acrid metallic smell began to fill the air. She secured the two pieces together with one cuff of the binders.

There were boots approaching her again and Ahsoka had to use the last blaster to shoot the approaching mirilian down.

She retreated again before the enemies retaliating blasts could hit her.

She quickly retrieved the firing pin from the disassembled blaster and carefully pressed it into the nozzle of the gas canister. The smell of gas is strong enough that she has to hold her breath as she clamps the other end of the binders around the canister.

The power pack has burned through the first layer of metal now and any moment it will spark into an electrical fire. She has to throw her little bomb as far down the hallway as she can.

She takes a steadying breath before reeling her arm back and leaning into the doorway, She force propels it as far as she can, over the heads of the thugs and down an opposing hallway. Dodging the next spattering of bolts Ahsoka throws herself to the ground and crawls quickly back toward her cell, The metal door squeaks as she slams it shut behind herself and scrambles even further into the room.

The explosion is sudden and spectacular. She’d been on battlefields with shells hitting the ground from aerial strikes and from cannon armaments. But this? This is like a volcanic eruption. A molten hot wave of air wrecks everything around her. The metal door is blown off its hinges.

It takes her time to right herself. The air is thin from the explosion eating up all the available oxygen and she’s grateful to the skylight she’d seen earlier, it’s likely been blown clean off and letting the atmosphere rush back into the space where it’d all been eaten up.

Her dress, formerly wide and flouncy and crimson red had been singed in a strange way making the outermost layer melt in on it’s self and shrink. And the color had been streaked with black at the knees from touching the floor.

In fact, all surfaces have been thoroughly singed. Black carbon scaring mar the stone around her. The dead bodies she’d left behind have been blown apart and burned black. Even the ground is too hot to touch. So Ahsoka scurries over to where she can see a pair of boots, whose feet are still laced in them.

She can hunt bare foot just fine but the ground would singer her feet if she tried, so she resigns herself quickly to the borrowed boots.

When she walks back through the doorway, what’s left of the atrium and the surrounding hallways is just a crater. There’s nothing left here that could even resemble a weapon. It’s the sight of the fallen walls and the exposed rock that finally reveals to her that she’d been underground this whole time.

She continues through the wreckage into what appears to be another hallway, long this time with proper metal prison cells lining the walls. From one cell ahead a black sun operative jumps out with his blaster drawn on her. Ahsoka reacts quickly grabbing his arm aiming it to the side and punching him squarely in the nose. As his head reels back she realizes how young he is. 15 maybe 16. He drops his blaster out of surprise and pain. She takes pity on the kid and slams him into the cell door jarring him terribly. She swipes the knife from his belt and throws him in, slamming the bars shut.

Acquiring another blaster was somewhat advantageous even if this pathetic little pistol had such low plasma power. And not a moment too soon as another armed thug rushed into the hallway. Unfortunately, he also looked very young.

That bleeding jedi heart would get her killed one of these days.

She grabbed the barrel of her own blaster with her non-dominant hand and used the other to grab him by the firing arm. She turned her body yanking him into her back and slammed her elbow into his face. When he dropped his blaster she reared her arm back and slammed the butt of her blaster into his head. Then she rolled him into the cell beside the other, who was hissing and spitting at her.

She was looking for the exit now. Ready to get the hell out of this fuckin pit.

She rushed out into the next room and found it was a hoard. Crates were piled in the center with various valuable-looking goods stacked atop them. Ahsoka thought she saw some vibroblades and even some fancy rifles. What caught her attention in the worst way was the wookie pelt. Laid out like an akul pelt. Sadness rose in her as she stepped closer.

Laying across the spread pelt was something else. It was long and made of Wroshyr wood from Kasyyyk. She could tell by the color and the pattern of the grain. On both ends it was capped with a long metal casing that ended it a spike at one end and a flattened spearhead at the other. She’d never heard of wookies using spears before. The closest thing she knew of was a war staff.

Maybe this was from some small tribe with obscure traditions. Or maybe this individual simply didn’t live by the traditional ways of his people.

Either way, Ahsoka was grateful to come across such a weapon. Though different from her separated twin blades, there was still a lot of familiarity between the techniques used to wield them.

And there’s something more than that. On her home planet, any good hunter's weapon of choice was a spear. Sure they had arrows and hunting blasters and the like, but a spear was the most versatile and ideal weapon for hunting in the grasslands. Ahsoka herself had trained with one briefly before the war started. But she hadn’t been home in some time.

Still, it felt right to find a weapon so like that of her people waiting for her in a place like this, when she was most in need of one.

She hefts the weapon up, it’s nearly as tall as she is well-worn wood grain as soft as leather against her palms. The metal cappings are in gold and they shine in the dim lighting as if polished to a mirror shine.

The girth is almost too thick for her hands. Certainly wider than her saber hilts had been. But on rare occasions, she had been forced to train with Anakin’s saber, and the thickness of that hilt coupled with the wide metal grips had nearly torn her palms to shreds. There were calluses there now that held onto the wood well.

She spins the spear slowly between her hands, getting a feel for the weight of it. At least the weapon is balanced, despite the different metal ends the weight is distributed evenly and it twirls with little resistance between her palms.

She can hear shouting ahead, whatever is left of the blacksuns that hadn’t been stationed near her cell and thus dispatched by her explosion are starting to rally themselves. She can hear them opening an armory of sorts, the metallic sounds of blasters being loaded are familiar enough that she could recognize it without the context of the moment.

So Ahsoka spins the spear until half of it is tucked under one arm and sticking out behind her. She marches resolutely through the last two dim storage rooms until she swings a door open and finds herself in a large open room.

Across from her is a group of various sentients. Black sun tattoos are the only similarity between them. Well, that and the look they give her as they raise their blasters.

There are six that she can see in front of her. Although just to the left of the group there's an open door that must be the armory. Who knows how many more are inside.

As they take aim, she takes a defensive stance, turning mostly to the side so less of her body is easy to target even as lowers her center and braces the spear against her chest.

The first two blasts are easily absorbed by the spear, so easily that it prompts her enemies to advance faster than she anticipated. She turns on the balls of her feet and swings the spear decisively the end tipped with a blade slices through a man's throat blood spraying in an arc as she continues the moment of her turn and jabs the spiked end into another’s chest.

Now this is the smooth rhythm of a fight that she’d missed.

All of this fighting with blasters and explosives has been grating on her. The fluid swing of a blade is what she’d always been meant for.

Pulling her spear free of his chest she whips the spear around again in a quick upward arc slicing his belly open. Her second opponent falls clutching his gaping abdomen.

She must dodge blaster shots again as the other four fan out trying to surround her but she is faster and more experienced than them. Ahsoka dodges quickly to the left and pins one woman’s foot to the floor as she tries to back away; then slams her elbow into her face. Releasing her foot causes the woman to crumble to the floor and a well-placed stab of the spike ends her life.

The others are approaching together now, trying to hem her in. Ahsoka responds with a wide sweep of the blade grazing all of them. Choosing one target she flicks the blade over their extremities slicing them shallowly. They stumble in retreat aiming their blaster at her chest.

She dodges and two blasts are exchanged the opponent in front of her and the one who’d been aiming behind her fall to each other's blasts.

One remains and as comfortable with the killing as Ahsoka has become in the war, she’s never relished it. She slices the old man’s throat open with a viscous jab of the blade letting her spear point fall with the body and aim itself at his chest. Two wounds in less minutes and he is dead.

It’s an unfortunate fate but Ahsoka cannot afford to mourn the deaths of men intent on killing her, not in a galaxy this cold. So she turns her eyes and her mind away from the deed as soon as it’s finished.

There are no more enemies cowering in the weapons store.

She wanders through the door at the far end of the room and finds a set of steep stairs. The walls are softer with soil rather than stone. She must be reaching the surface now. Up the stairs is a dank room with a single folding chair and a buzzing light affixed to the ceiling. It smells like a cellar but the way the light shines through the cracks in the walls makes her think it’s probably more like a shed. She’s on the surface now, finally. There’s one wooden door between her and freedom and Ahsoka doesn’t hesitate to brace her hand against it and push it open.

On the other side is nothing that she expected to see.

A black visor tilts back suddenly in surprise at coming face to face with her. Standing close enough to not allow her to step out of the door is a clone, but not just any clone, because even with the pale green moonlight Ahsoka can identify his armor with no thought at all

“Ahsoka?” he demands as if she shouldn’t be here.

“Uh, yeah, Cody what are you doing?” She asks bewildered.

“We-” Cody cuts off, incredulity coloring his entire countenance, “We were going to rescue you.” By the end of his statement Cody sounds resigned in that way he usually does when he finds himself forced to cooperate with one of Anakin’s inane plans. Baffled yet resigned.

All around her troopers in yellow armor move from their positions surrounding the dingy little surface building and gather with her and their Commander. The bemusement in their demeanor brought an unexpected note of joy to her chest. Her hand follows it resting lightly over her heart and a grin stretches across her face.

“Awe. Me? Cody, you were gonna rescue me?”

“Yes.” Cody sighs hand rubbing uselessly against the brow of his helmet. “We had to fight with the council and the navy board to get the clearance too,” his tone had migrated into irritation now.

“Well I can go back inside, you can still do it.”

“Get to the ship Tano,” He bites out.

Cody steps back to allow her through. She gathers the tatters of her fluffy red skirt in one fist and hefts her bloody spear in the other. Cody gives her a once over noting all the singe marks and slashes; bruises hiding under soot streaks. “Did you blow your way out?”

Ahsoka casts him a puzzled look. “Didn’t you see the crater on your way in?”

#ahsoka tano #star wars #clone wars #sw tcw #tcw #501st #commander cody #fanfic #star wars ahsoka #vod'ika ahsoka #little sister ahsoka #bamf ahsoka

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nogoodninny · 10 months ago

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watching Stolen Earth again, and my favorite moment is, and always be

The transmission coming in from the alien ship

Who is it?

Everyone was tuned in on their respective computers.

Then comes the voice.

EXTERMINATE!!

The terror on the faces of the Doctor’s former companions as they each hear that voice. The voice they could never forget. The voice that chilled them to their very core…

EXTERMINATE!!

Sarah Jane Smith holds Luke close. Her poor boy! He’s so young! She couldn’t protect him! Not from them. She herself has come face to face with the creator of these monsters. She knew how twisted and cold they can be.

She was there at the beginning, it’s only fitting she’d be there at the end.

EXTERMINATE!!

Captain Jack Harkness cries. He pulls Ianto and Gwen close and holds them tight. There is nothing he can do! So soon after losing two members of his found family, he will now have to say goodbye to the two most important people in his life. The two people that were his entire world. His best friend and the man he loved, gone. In a second. The worst part of it is, he knows exactly the pain they will feel when it happens. He knows what will happen. He’s felt it himself. After all, you never forget your first death

EXTERMINATE!!!

Martha Jones, surrounded by a military specially trained to fight the supernatural, and all of the sudden that doesn’t matter. There is not a military in the universe that could stand against them. Not one that could survive the onslaught. Dead, all of her coworkers, dead. Her family, dead. Humanity, dead.

She’s faces them in New York, she saw them take good people, people who only wanted to survive, and turned them into experiments. Into pigs. She stood against them and has seen what they are willing to do to survive, and it was horrifying.

EXTERMINATE!!!

Rose Tyler hears the voice through a laptop, alone in a trashed electronics store. Terrified. Rose Tyler is the only person who has ever shown mercy to these creatures. She made one feel. She stood by the Doctor when he was ready to give up. One of his darkest moments. But the Doctor chose coward over killer, even facing his worst enemy, even after he sent her away

But she found her way back to him. Rose Tyler looked into the heart of the TARDIS to find her way back and she saw them, and she made them no more, and it hurt. But she did it for him, and he saved her.

Her doctor. The one that grabbed her hand and told her to run. Her doctor who was fresh out of the Time War. The first time she’d ever seen him afraid, was when he simply looked upon one, one who was broken and chained and tortured. She had never seen her doctor show this much fear or anger. Now here she was, alone. Where was her Doctor? Her Allies? She has to find them. No one should have to face them alone.

EXTERMINATE!!!!

Now these people, who have dedicated their lives to protecting the earth when the Doctor wasn’t there, are facing such horrible creatures and he was nowhere to be found. And they couldn’t fight them alone, not these creatures, these horrible creatures

Not these creatures that have haunted every nightmare they’ve had.

Not these creatures that they all know the Doctor fears above all

The Daleks.

#doctor who #the stolen earth #rose tyler #sarah jane smith #captain jack harkness #luke smith #ianto jones #gwen cooper #tenth doctor #martha jones

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inkformyblood · 11 months ago

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enough regrets for a lifetime (CWFKB #6)

Uncertain Kiss fill for Codywan First Kiss Bingo, Kenobi show timeline. @codywanfirstkissbingo

Between one step and another, Obi-Wan stumbles into the control room of the Ventator. The walls are the same cold steel, slick with condensation and pitted with the rough-shod marks of quick construction, debris kicked away by every careless step, and the lights flicker the same way, a constant subtle tug of war between medical and engineering that he isn’t meant to know anything about. Distantly, there is the rumble of generators that echo in the same timbre as the engines did, a rattle that lingers in the broken hollow of Obi-Wan’s hip and sets his nerves sparking the same way a lover’s touch would.

He knows he is on the Ventator because Cody is here.

He looks much the same as he had the last time Obi-Wan had seen him, shoulders rounded, his head bowed as he studies an incoming transmission. His teeth dig into his cheek the same way they always did whenever Cody fell into a rote pattern of concentration, the action drawing the faded tail end of his scar into uneasy relief, and Obi-Wan aches at the sight of him. He knows why so many of his fellow Jedi died when their clones turned on them because even now, as Cody’s gaze slides up and locks onto his and Obi-Wan remembers exactly where he is, he can’t picture himself hurting Cody.

But he may have to.

Obi-Wan steps backwards, takes another step. Cody watches him, his eyes dark. He isn’t wearing his armour, any armour from what little Obi-Wan can make out, pressed into what passed as a dress uniform underneath this regime and was really little more than sharply creased tissue paper. He keeps his gaze fixed somewhere on Cody’s navel, unable to look any higher, unwilling to look down. Cody’s gloves are ripped along the seams at the side of his palms, the leather flexing open as his hands drop into Obi-Wan’s sightline once more. There is a bacta patch affixed to the edge of one palm, cut to likely curl around his finger to try and mitigate any shifting during usual day-to-day wear.

Obi-Wan takes another step.

Cody follows him.

He isn’t running, barely even retreating. This is recalculation, replanning, making things up as he goes because the universe has a particular fascination with tearing his life into shreds just to try and watch him pick up the pieces. Obi-Wan curls his fingers into the sodden twist of his sleeve, breathing through the whistle of his teeth as his jaw aches. His saber hangs heavy at his hip, weighed down with every responsibility Obi-Wan hadn’t been able to carry and what he will have to do.

“General?”

He stops, his heart shattering on impact and leaking out through his boots. It squelches slightly as he steps forward, unable to stop himself even if what greets him would be a blaster bolt to his head. He’s never been able to deny Cody anything, not really, not his attention, his thoughts, or his love even if he had been unable to tell him that.

“General?” Cody sounds so lost, far younger than he had ever been allowed to be. He digs his fingers into the broken seam of his gloves, stretching the tear further, another flash of golden skin made lighter by too long under artificial lights. (If Obi-Wan had found him sooner, Cody would be resplendent in sunlight, as bright as he should always be, not this shadowed side of the moon standing in front of him.)

“Cody.”

“YesNo.” There is an undercurrent Cody’s voice, a metallic quality infecting his words and trying to twist them to something else, a hiss of static over a commlink that sounds like whispers. His brow furrows, his gaze dropping to his boots, and Obi-Wan devours the opportunity to look over him properly. He’s aged, his dark curls shot through with silver that darkens over the tips of his ears, and what little of Obi-Wan can see of his face has new wrinkles and scars in equal measure. He commits each one to memory, the cluster of creases at the corner of Cody’s eye, the scar bisecting his eyebrow that’s healed dark and jagged and the paler twin that just misses the twist of his mouth.

Cody drags his gaze up, his eyes bleeding dark confusion, his hands trembling when he had never hesitated before. “Why do you look scared of me? You don’t normally. Come closer.”

The datapad hangs from his fingers, the edge clicking against his knee. Text scrolls across it, too distant for Obi-Wan to be able to read, red gleaming against the dark background.

“What do you think I am, my— Cody?” Obi-Wan swallows, apprehension tasting surprisingly like devotion.

“Hallucination. A glitch in my programming. Come closer please.”

Obi-Wan takes a single step forward. The light overhead flickers and Cody moves in the brief moment of darkness he’s allotted, raising his hand to cup Obi-Wan’s cheek and pausing before he makes contact. His hand is steady, as unwavering as his gaze, every part of him coordinated to the ticking of some distant machinery. Obi-Wan used to know where it was, the wind-up cogs in his chest ticking along with Cody’s in synchronicity, but then Cody had tried to kill him.

He should have known it would happen.

He’s meant for misery.

“Should have—“ Cody clicks his tongue, his eyes drifting out of focus and inspecting the contours of Obi-Wan’s spine before he blinks. The sound wisps across the forefront of Obi-Wan’s mind, clinging like damp clings, staining the edges of his skull in a way he won’t uncover for months. “Should have kissed you earlier.”

Everything stops. A distant ringing echoes in Obi-Wan’s ears, the speeder-brake squeal of a universe crashing into itself for the sake of this moment of stillness, of pure and complete clarity. He had always wondered if his love would have been returned if he had ever acted on it, if when an after the war Obi-Wan could live with was inflicted upon him that they could have had something, anything. This is a something, an anything.

“Would you—” Obi-Wan prods his lower lip with his tongue, tasting salt and sand. “Would you like to kiss me now?”

“NoYes.” Cody answers promptly, holds his reasoning out to Obi-Wan like the past decades haven’t happened, polished until he could count every hour of missed sleep in the purple stain beneath his eyes. “But I can’t. You’re not here.”

Obi-Wan breathes in, testing the seams of his ribs, and leans down to kiss him. It’s quick, barely more than a brush of his lips over Cody’s, finished nearly before it begins. Cody’s lips are dry, the surface rough, and Obi-Wan’s melted heart breaks further, seeping into the soles of his boots. “I’m sorry.”

He tips his head, pressing his cheek into Cody’s hand, his skin cool due to the chill in the air. Cody’s fingers curl, testing the seam of Obi-Wan’s jaw, scratching the rough pads of his fingers over the growth of his beard. Obi-Wan breathes in, the memory of Cody’s lips burning into his bones, and stretches a twist of the Force around his fingers, a single thread drawn as taut as he can without tearing down a floodgate and inviting the galaxy in. Cody blinks, a dawning horror in his eyes, a life lived and lost in a matter of seconds as his gaze fixes on Obi-Wan completely and utterly.

“Sleep.”

Cody sways, his lashes fluttering as his eyes roll. It takes him a few seconds to fall, crumpling as if Obi-Wan has set a charge at his joints, and Obi-Wan catches him, cradling Cody close. His mouth moves, a soundless gasp of disjointed syllables, before he sighs, succumbing to the sleep that Obi-Wan has pulled over his mind. He looks younger in his sleep, the perpetual lines of worry wiped clear of his brow, and Obi-Wan presses a kiss to his curls as he sinks down to the floor with Cody. Knowing what he’s lost is going to make living so much harder, but he has to do it. “Goodbye, love. Stay safe.”

#codywan #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #cwfkb2023 #cwfkb #codywan first kiss bingo 2023 #codywan first kiss bingo #star wars #my writing #fanfic #cody x obi wan

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