#initially deployed to finish off the war

[getvalentined]

I was gushing about Genesis' design the other day and decided to transplant the whole rant over here because I love how Genesis' whole design makes no pretense about him doing things specifically to make himself look taller, but also more delicate—because he has an aesthetic that he's determined to maintain, but it's a ruse. The whole thing is a ruse. Genesis knows what he looks like, particularly what he looks like compared to the people around him, and he works with it in such a fantastic way it makes me feral.

It's so obvious from an artistic and fashion design perspective that he's trying to give himself a more masculine shape while also trying to look unintimidating in that shape, like he's petite when he's absolutely not—which makes perfect sense when paired with the fact that he's a mage and when he uses a sword it's in very close-quarters combat compared to his peers.

Genesis is trying to look like the least intimidating of the Firsts because it means opponents are more likely to underestimate him and let him get too close, only to realize that he's like 6'3" and can throw a freight truck.

Take the cut of his coat, the way he wears his belt a little low—like he's trying to look taller, but also like he wants you to think that his legs maybe aren't quite that long, like his waist is wider than it is, but his shoulders are narrower. Like his frame is more average, like he lacks the physical capacity to do too much damage compared to his similarly ranked colleagues.

His clothing makes him look less svelte; he doesn't want people to catch that he can be on you in four steps because he's long-legged and limber as fuck. His pauldrons are set low on his jacket, as if he wants them to look slightly too big. Genesis' shoulders and chest are actually pretty broad for his frame, his legs and arms are long and well toned, but he dresses and carries himself in a way that makes it difficult to tell unless you're really looking.

Most opponents won't parse Genesis' build correctly, they won't realize that he's got some beastly upper body strength until he's on them far too quickly and he's grabbed them by the face—and since when were his arms so long?—and flung them across the battlefield.

At a distance, or alongside Sephiroth or Angeal, Genesis doesn't just look delicate, he looks fragile. He looks like you can snap him in half. On his own, though, up close? You're fucked.

[lets-try-some-writing]

The Grim Dark Archives: Statement #005 Named Cybertronians

[Statement taken from [Redacted] on [Redacted: Sensitive data] regarding known Cybertronians. They were asked to elaborate on the Cybertronians that have been recorded as being present on Earth after the alien known as Cliffjumper was killed in action. We know very little about the event, but supposedly Cliffjumper was deployed to search for Decepticon activity.

According to the report given to us by Optimus Prime, Cliffjumper found where Decepticon agents were mining energon and promptly initiated combat. This resulted in his capture by the Decepticons, and although a corpse has yet to be recovered, the Autobots reported that his vitals flatlined.

High command saw fit to use [Redacted]'s knowledge to try and gain an understanding of just how many aliens we could possibly be dealing with in the near future. Thankfully [Redacted] was more than willing to speak on the matter and has already expressed an interest on elaborating more on certain individuals.

Statement begins.]

══════════════════

Oh this is the kind of question I will gladly answer. Collecting data on people, organizations, a various beliefs is my specialty. Now, since you are already familiar with the Autobots, I shall begin with them.

Let's start with the two wheeler. Her designation is Arcee, as you know. She is of a small sub-class of Cybertronians known as 'femmes' and well known for her abilities. Let me warn you now, femmes are some of the most terrifying Cybertronians out there, and not for the reason you may think. They may be small and seem feminine to you organics, but our femmes are built with strange and unique abilities alongside their differing processing methods. I will go more in depth regarding Cybertronian femmes a bit later. For now, all you need to know is that they latch onto the mentally or physically weak amongst our kind. And at that point, they claim the mech in question and slowly prepare to use their ability and... improve them.

Don't question it right now. There will be time for explanations later. For now, we are doing an overview aren't we? Anyway, her records do not go back to before the war, but personal investigation leads me to believe that she likely worked for the High Council in some capacity. She has ties to the Primacy but largely sticks with the Prime because he likes having a femme around to throw at enemies. Femmes are vicious creatures. Honestly considering how much Arcee liked him, Cliffjumper was a dead mech walking anyway. He's lucky to have been killed by the enemy rather than face the fate of those chosen by femmes. I've been the subject of a femme's interest once. I barely made it out alive. Thank Primus the Archives took me before she did.

Cliffjumper is rather irrelevant now, but I will go over him anyway in case he somehow manages to walk off whatever the Decepticons did to him. He actually doesn't have a ton on his record. He was a regular recruit, one recorded signing on sometime around the height of the war when factions had to be picked. There was nothing out of the ordinary about him, and in fact, he fell below average strength levels for most soldiers. That is probably what got Arcee interested in him. Poor mech came from one of the outer cities and probably didn't know what in the pits a femme even was. Its unfortunate that he's dead, but I honestly do think it was likely in his best interest. He would have dealt with so much suffering otherwise.

May he rest at peace as one with the Allspark.

Next up is Bulkhead. You know? The one who beat me into scrap? Don't play stupid. I am no fool. I am well aware you saw that footage. We will be discussing that later. Now about him, he is a Wrecker. His augmentations are specifically made by Wreckers for Wreckers and he will die for the organization. All those who join the Wreckers are bound to them forever. There simply is no escape once the augmentations are finished. Most don't want to leave, and Bulkhead falls into that category. I can go into more depth about the Wreckers and their... beliefs, a bit later. At the moment, let it be known that he does not give a flying frag about you squishies. He follows the creed of his kind and thankfully for all of you, that creed does not permit unnecessary damage to native lifeforms of foreign worlds. Last I checked, he serves the Prime because that is part of his duty and Prime gave him the means to deal with a grudge of his. He has a personal investment here on Earth because he heard that there was a rouge Wrecker here somewhere.

No I will not elaborate right now. You lot need to be paying close attention to what comes next, so I will not linger on topics at the moment.

Ratchet is the resident medic. I believe I have expressed my fears before, but seriously, medics are DANGEROUS. I cannot emphasize that enough. The insane fraggers hyperfocus on one field and one faction and they stick to it like glue. They cling to their alliances and progeny like a parasite and will fight and even maim one another over patients. Ratchet is one of the best and worst medics I have ever encountered. His genius is legendary and he is one of the few who have ever been able to absorb all medical knowledge without focusing too hard on any particular field or falling to medical madness. Yes that is a real issue amongst my kind.

He also is not quite as insane as the others because of his upbringing out in the middle of nowhere during the age before the Quintessons came. But with that said, his motives are dubious at best. He is loyal to the Prime alone and would gladly frag over anyone who is not a medic or an Autobot. He also is not fond of you fleshies, but he does his job and should probably not be too bad so long as you don't catch his interest. Honestly getting the interest of any of my kind is a bad idea, so I suggest just not doing that. Medics in particular have one pit of a subculture that makes them a pain in the aft to understand, even for the average Cybertronian.

Now, moving on from the mad medic, Bumblebee is the team scout, and for good reason. He is totally unaugmented. He has no attachments whatsoever. No commlink, no programming, no battle codes, no inbuilt weapons, no specializations, nothing at all. He is practically a civilian and has to work himself half to death just to keep up with the rest of our kind who get augments nearly the moment they are old enough to handle them. If you are looking for the safest Autobot, you will find it in him. He is still one of my kind, but possess a great ability to empathize, or at least offer aid without expecting something in return. He never got any alteration programming, which may explain his more reasonable disposition. But of course, there is a reason for that.

I will not go into detail right now, but Bumblebee is kept from receiving augments on purpose. It is easier for mecha without augments to receive the Matrix of leadership and live reasonable lives under its control. Optimus is by no means loving, but he cares for what he sees as his. Bumblebee is being trained to be physically stronger than the others and mentally hardened so that he can bear the burden should Optimus fall. Either that, or he is being prepared to carry the weight of our people's history if another is found more suitable. The Prime is currently a walking databank for all of Cybertronian knowledge. One way or another, Bumblebee will carry the weight of one station, be it that of the Archive or the Matrix. He cannot escape, but it does not seem like he wishes to. He is loyal to his Sire and to the cause after all.

As for Optimus Prime himself? He is a whole series of statements on his own. To give you the thousand mile high overview, he was originally a dock worker. He was normal, much like Bumblebee. He had the attention of a femme, but he seemed to have a reasonable lifespan on him regardless of that fact. Then the Archive took him, and there he became one of theirs. He was one of the many sets of optics and frames which belonged to the Archive. And yet, he took interest in Megatronus, the leader of the Decepticons. Orion Pax, as was his name at the time, had his reasons for being involved. However through a series of accidents, he found himself being prepped for war. He was offered as a sacrifice, and the last resort relic that is the Matrix of Leadership was given to him. Since then he has led the war and done everything in his power to take what he sees as his.

He is a master at manipulation and adaptation. He can and will find information on every subject and devour it like a starving mech. If he finds you interesting, he will tear you apart to gain every last fact and iota of information. There is no escape from him, and until he gets what he wants, he will not allow anyone to stand in his way. His goals are complex, and even I do not fully understand. But he fights all the same and will kill you regardless. Be wary of him. He is by far the most dangerous simply because he has lived so long.

Primes do not last longer than a few millennia. And yet Optimus has lived for over four million years. That should be a sign that he's clever and has ways to bypass what we have always assumed was a death sentence.

For the Decepticons, there have only been three confirmed units and one unconfirmed thus far. I will explain any others as they become relevant. To begin, there is Starscream, the Lord of Vos. He is a seeker, a subsection of flight class Cybertronians that do not fall in line with normal standards. Seekers were complete isolationists before the war, even going so far as to have their own ever moving city, language, and culture. They do not use modern technology, they do not worship Primus, and their rituals are savage even by Cybertronian standards. I will go into more depth on them later, but for the time being, just know that Starscream being the Lord of Vos essentially puts him in the position of Shaman for his kind. He is a follower of nature and seeks to keep things in balance while remaining faithful to his culture. Due to how little is known about Vosian culture and Seekers as a whole, he is unpredictable. His motives are almost entirely impossible to figure out and he will fight in the way of the ancients. By all accounts the Seekers should have been wiped out eons ago, but their methods are... surprisingly effective.

Cunning and strange, Starscream's methods are unorthodox and his loyalty is all but void. He serves whatever it is he worships, his people, and himself. That is all. He has no mortals or ethics even amongst our rather loose ones. The only benefit you humans will find in his nature is that he is not fond of killing without reason and likely will leave you alone if you don't bother him. But of course he is a spontaneous mech and could just as easily turn up in the dead of night and slaughter you all will no explanation. Leave him be, that is my suggestion.

Soundwave is Megatron's second in command, at least behind the scenes. He joined up with the Decepticons long before they were official and knows more than I care to bother explaining. Not a spark actually knows what he is, but him and others like him, such. as the Autobot Blaster, have an ability that gives them an edge. He is able to house symbiotes, beings that I have no real clue where they come from. Soundwave and those like him are recorded appearing out of the blue randomly only to then latch onto mecha of interest in a manner like femmes. Those mecha proceed to live out their lives normally, but usually just before death, Soundwave and his kind will drag them off never to be seen again. Within a few vorns, a new symbiote can be noted running around. I hypothesize that whatever is done to the dying plays a role in the creation of symbiotes, but I do not have enough information. Soundwave serves Megatron, that is what matters.

He can get into just about anything and very little is known about him as a whole. No known motives, no known origin, no known anything really. He is a stranger who appeared in the pits alongside Megatron and simply never went away. Keep clear of him if you can. He is a mech that even the average Cybertronian tries to steer away from.

Vehicons are clone soldiers that might as well be civilians with toy blasters attached to them. They are normal mecha who are held together by some grand communication array that I am not familiar with. They are mass produced, hold very little value, and oftentimes do not have much personality aside from the one that they all share. They work without question and die in droves before being promptly replaced. Honestly your biggest concern is possibly being stepped on. The Vehicons are untrained newsparks at worst and competent but low level ground units at best. Until they develop more as individuals, they are not too great a threat save for when they are sent out in waves.

Lastly there is Megatron, currently MIA Lord of the Decepticons. He came from the mines of Kaon and somehow managed to work past the slave coding installed in him long enough to simply wander out of the pits. He was a scumbag in the redlight district for a while before spontaneously ending up in the pits as a Gladiator. There he gained a following and did his best to fight for his cause before ultimately turning to war to make things more faster. This backfired horribly if you can't tell. Now he is a mech who seems lost more often than not. He has been noted having patchy memory, more so after every interaction with Optimus Prime. He is only as cruel as was normal in the redlight district and his most concerning trait is his astounding lack of care for anything orderly or organic. He hates programing or augmentation and only tolerates it in his soldiers to win. Augments enrage him to such an extent that he has been noted acting out of normal parameters in response to heavily altered individuals. He wants chaos, that is what you need to know.

If he thinks it would further his ends, he would gladly wipe this planet off the map. However he does nothing without reason, and so unless you garner his attention, you should be fine. Stay away from him, don't mention anything related to the Archive or the Matrix, and all should be well... for the most part.

I can tell you more later, but for now, you best keep your organic optics on the happenings going on. If Cliffjumper is dead, it means there is a very real chance things are going to spiral and do so fast.

══════════════════

[Statement end.

The timestamps have been removed from these reports in response to [Redacted]'s information on the Cybertronian known as Soundwave. What information we have is critical for our survival, and we simply cannot risk it being destroyed even if the alien able to do so with ease likely won't ever bother to damage our files.

We expect [Redacted] to be giving us much more data soon, especially since they have begun to warm up to me and my fellow agents since their repairs were completed. They have also requested to be referred to by masculine pronouns, perhaps as a sign of trust? Whatever the case, we are making progress. Hopefully we will have a reasonable way to fight back against the aliens soon, at least if their guns settle on us.

Agent Witwicky signing off.

Recording ends.]

[rynulle]

finished the ref sheets of the two main fate ocs for my hgw! their setting is the second holy grail war, the one that went so notoriously awful that the three families decided getting the church involved was a better idea than letting clowns like them run around without oversight again

more details about them below :3

zhenya is the first of the makiri line to follow zouken to fuyuki bc of her deep respect and devotion to him as a mentor figure (that's actually half-reciprocated; in looking up to him growing up, she also unfortunately saw him as a role model so speaking with her is like a weird mirror to a subservient version of himself)

she was an entomologist that researched magecraft capabilities of insects in the clocktower and used two of her own children as test subjects on crest worm implantation. her oldest died during the experimentation, but her second daughter vasilisa (lisa as she asks to be called) survived the modified process though was disfigured similar to kariya and suffers painful effects like him.

as i said before, zhenya is likely the ancestor of kariya, byakuya, and shinji and the matou family went several generations without any viable magus head. zhenya's circuits are dogshit and she knows it, which is why she began experimenting with crest worm implantation capabilities so much to begin with. she viewed her circuits as her weakness, and one she could surely overcome with enough study and test subjects. and being in london in the mid 19th century, she wouldn't have been the only one exploiting the vulnerable for unethical testing.

after mastering the process and polishing it to shine unlike anything anyone's ever seen, zhenya implanted herself with a subspecies of crest worm resembling fireflies she can deploy offensively and use as winged bombs. while she's still in pain and suffers the usual crest worm effects, she is much closer to sakura's level of function with them than kariya despite her weak constitution.

this is due to her expertise as well as hand-raising several generations of specimens before implanting them within herself - while the implant process was only a few months, she began preparations ten years before even considering infesting herself. when not influenced by outside factors, zhenya is a careful and meticulous person who doesn't act until she's certain victory is within sight.

after her command seals appeared, zhenya killed her unfaithful husband and moved to fuyuki to participate in the war under the guidance of her grandfather, who had already accepted a proposed alliance between the matou and tohsaka houses on her behalf. the alliance would last until the "rabble" of the non-three family masters were eliminated and the "real" heaven's feel ritual could begin.

on the other hand, tsuru is based on the loose canon framework of nagato tohsaka having a daughter who created the war format the heaven's feel ritual used going forward after the first attempt with justeaze, nagato, and zolgen.

tsuru tohsaka doesn't have the excuse of a makiri/matou upbringing making her the way she is. she was raised by nagato tohsaka who did his best to impart his morals and philosophy on his only daughter, but only succeeded in piquing her interest in the more barbaric passages of scripture - especially anything involving martyrs or what romans did. it inspired her!

while not a prodigy, tsuru is a VERY skilled magus for being an early generation tohsaka (which aren't generally known for their prowess as mages even by fsn/zero, least of all in the time period this hgw takes place in) and has an unparalleled understanding of theory, which she showed off in her proposal of updating heaven's feel into a war form.

the most i'll say for now about how fucked she is is that she pioneered the orphan basement but for entertainment. zhenya, a matou who's outright inspired by zouken, is repulsed by her initially.

the alliance was agreed to three years before the war, and for those three years tsuru and zhenya met periodically to discuss strategy. tsuru was intrigued by the was zhenya seemed to see through her elegant and charming facade, wanting to know more about the older woman (who is very clearly not japanese but stubbornly insists on being called zeniko matou despite tsuru knowing her real name) who seems to understand her when everybody else accepts whatever act she's putting on.

zhenya hated her, but begrudgingly admitted she was a useful partner due to tsuru's effortless talent. that being said, her hatred of tsuru eventually edges about as close to love as someone like zhenya could get (though this is after a LOT of weird insane yuri) which is fully reciprocated by tsuru, who had scratched out her plan of killing zhenya during the war in favor of dismembering her once she finally won. she was robbed of the chance though; zhenya was only the third master to die. she barely made it a week into the war before lancer's master shot her dead out of vengeance for what she did to his dog.

[writer-akihiko]

may I request yandere Kyle IkemenRevolution?

Yandere Headcanons: Kyle Ash

I had other asks before this, but if I'm being honest, the plots are a bit lengthy so this was a nice, quick translation ask for me to finish! Depending on my free time, I might start to finish the older, shorter asks... One-shots are becoming my weakness.

This is my personal characterisation of Kyle from IkeRev as a Yandere. Actual Kyle would not do this; this is my take on how Kyle acts as a Yandere.

Yandere Kyle is someone who'd never dream of harming you. He straddles the lines of delusion and punishment, because when you push him over the edge he lets go of his reluctance in an instant

He really tries to maintain a normal relationship with you, although a little rocky since you seem to catch him in his drunkest moments. That was the only thing unplanned on his part; he sincerely believes that he was being messed with

He's not initially jealous, but it grows the longer you stay with Kyle. He realises that you're vulnerable, blaming himself for not thinking of countermeasures sooner. Kyle has a compassionate heart no matter how you look at it, so he doesn't actually think of harming you to get you

Just so happened to be an occasion of celebrating your relationship that Kyle carried you off while you were sleepy from the food and wine. Your sleeping face… He was obsessed. He was entranced. He kneeled next to you, staring at your sleeping face, the blush creeping on his cheek as he creeped on you

He can't understand why anyone could fathom harming you. Of course, he's fairly unexpressive of what he feels about you to the others, but those onlookers did not comprehend that he was capable of force-feeding the spies sent to kidnap you a drug that would turn their insides to liquid

Kyle can be scary to you depending on how you react to him. If you cry to him, seeking understanding or even if you're disgusted with him, he won't mind. However, the moment you mention him being a monster or the need to leave him, you fall asleep in his arm from the gas

He absolutely despises you calling him a monster. He's not the monster, the ones who try to harm you are. He's not really harming you darling oh no, he just needs to put you to sleep. You deserve it, you were being ungrateful towards him. Of course he needs to keep you sedated, otherwise you'd be taken from him

The Red Army is too focused that the Alice is within their grasp. Lancelot and Jonah spare no glance to Kyle pursuing a relationship with you. If that means that Alice remains in the Red Army, why should they interfere? Edgar is quick to silence Zero, but if Zero's heroic heart steps out of line, Kyle can fix that up with a quick stitch. Literally

Kyle overall makes you reliant on him. When pushed to the edge, he could be a delusional yandere, but he follows the habits of a compassionate yet possessive yandere. If you plead so nicely, he'll take you out to the dessert parlour with you dressed in your favourite style, with a bracelet of his name around your wrist

Escaping is really futile, and stupid. Kyle undoubtedly is a trustworthy adversary to the Red Army, having enough power to deploy troops to find you. If the Black Army comes into possession of you, he's willing to gas the entire army with a suicidal drug and many more war crimes to have you once again, so be good Alice. Be good, and save your and his descent into madness...

[husheduphistory]

Ghost Blimp: The Mystery and Missing on the L-8

On Sunday, August 16th 1942 Richard L. Johnston was going about his business. He had just finished waxing his car in Dale City, California when he looked up and saw something huge creeping out of the sky and towards his house. Suddenly it hit a utility pole, electrical wires broke sending sparks cascading down to the street, and Johnson ran into the house to protect his mother. When he came back outside there was a large group of people in the street including Fire Deputy Marshal Sean Wood and Johnston’s next door neighbor, volunteer fireman William Morris. Johnston’s car was completely hidden under a massive fold of what looked like canvas. When Johnston woke up that morning he probably didn’t expect that a blimp would land on his car that day. And yet, moments later the scene became even more bizarre.

In August 1942 the United States Navy was on high alert. Within nine months after entering World War II Japanese submarines sunk at least six Allied ships off the American west coast and shelled one of California’s largest oil drilling facilities. The fear of another attack on American soil was high and in order to keep an eye on the sea along the west coast the Navy took to the air, deploying blimps to cruise over the ocean and watch for any suspicious activity.

World War II Navy blimp. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

The blimp that landed on Johnson’s car was the L-8 airship, acquired by the Navy from the Goodyear company and commissioned on March 5, 1942. It was an excellent machine, completing over 1,000 trips and never requiring any work beyond routine maintenance. The two-man crew tasked with piloting the airship had records as impeccable as the craft itself. Lieutenant Ernest Dewitt Cody was a 1938 graduate of Annapolis and although he was only twenty-seven years old he was highly regarded with his commanding officer describing him as “one of the most capable pilots and one of the most able officers” under his command. Cody was relatively new to flying LTA (lighter-than-air) airships, but in April 1942 he proved his ability when he flew the L-8 to deliver cargo to the USS Hornet before the ship departed for Doolittle’s Raid over Tokyo. It was that trip that earned him his promotion to Lieutenant in June 1942. Ensign Charles Ellis Adams was eleven years older than Cody and had twenty years of experience flying LTA airships, but only earned his commission the day before their flight together making his trip with Cody his first flight as an officer.

Lieutenant Ernest Dewitt Cody and  Ensign Charles Ellis Adams.

The L-8 delivering cargo to the USS Hornet. Image via National Archives.

Their task together was a routine anti-submarine mission, fly out from Treasure Island, patrol a fifty-mile radius of San Francisco, then head to the Farallon Islands before heading back to Treasure Island. When they left Treasure Island at 6:03am there was approximately five miles of visibility with the Golden Gate Bridge off in the distance. At 7:38am Cody radioed Moffett Field and reported their location as being four miles east of the Farallon Islands. Four minutes later Moffett Field received a second message from Cody, “Am investigating suspicious oil slick—stand by.” Since an oil slick could indicate an enemy submarine below the waves it was not unusual for the airship to investigate the scene. As the L-8 descended closer to the sea its movements were seen by a fishing boat, the Daisy Gray, and a Liberty cargo ship, Albert Gallatin. Apprehensive about seeing the Navy airship creep closer to the surface of the water and then set off two flares, the ship crews pulled in their nets, manned their guns, and nervously waited to see what happened next. But, as they watched the L-8 nothing out of the ordinary happened. The blimp circled for about an hour and crews from both ships could see two men in the gondola. At approximately 9am the blimp again rose into the air and restarted its route back toward San Francisco. Everything appeared normal to the ships and spectators below, but personnel at Moffett Field were getting nervous, they had not heard a word from the L-8 since 7:42am and were not able to reestablish any communication. Two Vought OS2U Kingfisher floatplanes were sent to look for the blimp and other aircraft were asked to keep their eyes open.

The intended flight path of the L-8 aircraft. Image via unsolvedmysteries.fandom.com.

At approximately 10:49am a series of blimp sightings began to roll in. A Pan American Clipper pilot reported seeing the blimp over the Golden Gate Bridge, then at 11am one of the Kingfishers spotted the L-8 three miles west of Salada Beach at approximately 2,000 feet. Although a height of 2,000 feet would typically be avoided by an airship for safety reasons, there was no indication of the ship being out of control or in danger and it began to descend. The next plane to spot the blimp, an Army P-38 pilot, also saw no indication that the airship or its crew was in any distress when it was seen near Mile Rock, seemingly on its way back to Treasure Island. Within minutes an off-duty seaman named Richard Quam saw the L-8 as he was driving along the highway between San Mateo and San Francisco and he decided to take a picture of the sight. He may have been the first person to capture that something was amiss, the blimp was now noticeably bending in the middle.

The L-8 airship visible sagging as it flew over Daly City. Image via National Archives.

Things began to happen quickly. At approximately 11:15am the L-8 was seen approaching the shore of Ocean Beach in San Francisco but its motors were now silent and there was noticeable sagging. It touched down on the beach for a moment but kept moving until it hit the side of a hill, knocking off one of its 325lb depth chargers. Now carrying 300lbs less, the airship again rose, clearing the hill, and moving further inland. Thousands of people now watched as the L-8 staggered overhead obviously in peril. But, according to witnesses, the ship was not unmanned, in a later interview seventeen-year-old C.E. Taylor told reporters that as the blimp descended he was watching the cabin through his binoculars and that two men were clearly visible inside the entire time.

Finally, at 11:30am the blimp came to a clumsy rest on top of Richard Johnston’s freshly waxed car. Sirens blared and firemen surrounded the blimp, slashing it open in an attempt to save Cody and Adams inside. But, when the rescuers got to the gondola they found a scene that made no sense. The door was open, the microphone for communication was hanging from the doorway, a hat was resting on the controls, the life raft and all parachutes were still in place, but Cody and Adams were nowhere to be found.

Once the initial shock of the crash wore off a feeling of worry began to quickly take over. The L-8 was traveling an extremely visible route and was tracked and seen by hundreds of people and ships, with many reporting the same as young C. E. Taylor, that the men were visible inside the cabin. The Navy immediately launched a search for Cody and Adams and the craft was inspected for any clues to solve the disappearance. The engines were in perfect running order, the ignition switches were on, and there was four hours of fuel left. The only thing that was unusual on board was that the blimp's batteries were drained and part of the fuel supply had been dumped out with no obvious explanation why.

The scene after the crash of the L-8. Image via National Archives.

For three days the shore where the blimp initially crashed and the Pacific coastline was heavily searched but there was no trace of the two missing men. A board of investigation was convened by Navy Commander Francis Connell and over the course of seven days thirty-five witnesses gave their testimony of watching the L-8 hover overhead with nothing seeming suspect. Multiple people both on land and at sea at the time reported seeing the men inside and there being no indication that they ever fell or jumped out of the gondola. In the end it was determined that "no fire, no submersion, no misconduct, and no missiles struck the L-8.” While that may have answered some questions the big one still remained, what happened on the L-8 between 7:42am and 11:15am that made two Navy officers stop communication and vanish before crashing their blimp in a residential neighborhood?

Unfortunately, there were many theories but no concrete answers to that question. Some believed it was a simple tragic accident, that a malfunction with the door led to one man falling out at a low altitude and the other following him out in an attempt to save him before they were both lost to the sea. Others proposed much more elaborate theories, that the men were secret spies, that they were lured close to the surface of the water and grabbed by enemy forces, and some even said that the men ended up killing each other by falling out of the blimp during an argument over a woman. Some guesses tried to remain optimistic, that the men fell out but they were able to swim to shore and would be found hiking back to civilization any day now. Maybe they were picked up by a passenger ship after falling from the aircraft, they just had to wait until they were returned home. But, time ticked forward and the men never reappeared. Shortly after the crash the wives of both men were told that their husbands were officially missing. It was becoming painfully obvious this was not going to change and one year after their disappearance the men were declared dead. The Navy officially classified the incident as “100% Unknown/ Undetermined.”

The L-8 was repaired and continued to be used as a training vessel until the end of World War II when it was returned to Goodyear Tire and Rubber Company. It was refurbished, renamed America, and was used to broadcast sports events until it was finally retired in 1982.

Nearly eighty years after the disappearance of Lieutenant Ernest Dewitt Cody and Ensign Charles Ellis Adams there is still no official explanation as to what happened on that clear August morning over the Pacific coast

After its retirement the gondola of the L-8 was fully restored and is currently exhibited at the National Museum of Naval Aviation in Pensacola, Florida.

The refurbished gondola of the L-8 on display at the  National Museum of Naval Aviation. Image via www.history.navy.mil. 

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

Sources:

Mystery of the Ghost Blimp by John J. Geoghegan https://www.historynet.com/mystery-of-the-ghost-blimp.htm.

The Crew of the L- 8, https://unsolvedmysteries.fandom.com/wiki/The_Crew_of_the_L-8

The Bizarre Tale Of The World War II Ghost Blimp And Its Missing Crew by Gina Dimuro, https://allthatsinteresting.com/ghost-blimp  

In 1942, a war blimp fell out of the sky onto Daly City. Its crew was never found by Katie Dowd and Andrew Chamings, https://www.sfgate.com/sfhistory/article/SF-Ghost-blimp-Daly-City-15739903.php

Ghost Blimp Mystery of WW2 – Crashed in San Francisco & Crew Was Never Found by Ruslan Budnik, https://www.warhistoryonline.com/instant-articles/mystical-disappearance-pilots.html. 

[davidmann95]

So you've talked a lot about Darkseid, but what about the other New Gods?

SO THIS HAS BEEN IN MY INBOX FOR ALMOST AS LONG AS THIS BLOG’S BEEN AROUND AND I JUST FINALLY FINISHED FOURTH WORLD

Well that sure was something. My musings on some major players that I either have substantial thoughts on, or where I especially think the majority consensus/interpretation has subsequently gotten them wrong (a state Kirby is well aware of, because a HUGE part of “Even Gods Can Die!” is him being frustrated at subsequent handlings of the characters even by 1984 mucking things up):

Orion: Perhaps the most hard-done by as a result of Kirby never being able to fully finish Fourth World as he had imagined it, as his character arc ends on a cliffhanger for a decade and is forced into a rapid completion later. When he emerges, while a warrior born he’s also every bit the classical, magnificent hero you expect to see in a superhero comic to try and overshadow his inner demons, while by the end of New Gods he’s embraced not only his true face (the OTHER face, as his father would put it) in the fight against Apokolips but the murderous, sadistic rage that is his birthright, reveling in inflicting agony and very much the berserker others have since portrayed him as. Surely as much a product of his trauma from a childhood on Apokolips (a detail frequently glossed over) and a sense of being unwanted as anything genetic, it’s ultimately unconditional love for him as he truly is in Hunger Dogs that lets him overcome his fear that he can’t be anything but a monstrous tool in service of better people than himself, and embrace ‘the tomorrow overture’. Even his anger has its righteous if tragic place as a primal force of upheaval: “It defies time! It stands firm against the hammers of change! It mocks life and defies death!” I won’t get to it for awhile yet, but very curious what Simonson does with him.

Lightray: Rules! He’s the closest the New Gods have to a traditional superhero, and it’s in that capacity that while a lousy warrior next to Orion (Kalibak thinks little of his attempt at fighting him, mockingly deeming him a “callow little killer”), his strength is in transformation: he makes himself light, he turns a tormented weapon into the glory boat, a machine armed against the New Gods into a weapon against Darkseid, Orion from a man alone into a friend. He’s not a warrior, but he’s the one who makes a better world worth waging war for and who might one day make such war unnecessary. Also he and Orion have definitely fucked.

Mister Miracle: Not WILDLY off the mark since, but it’s interesting that as I expect a result of JLI he’s been written so often since as an everymanish, relatable, bordering-on-comedic figure, when under Kirby he was very much the archetypal good guy. One often committed to freeing others as he had been freed himself, in the likes of Ted Brown and Shilo Norman, an avenue I’m surprised hasn’t been explored more often from what I’ve seen. Also worth noting: Darkseid declared the moment he got his hands on the kid that Granny would be twice as hard on him as others, and that it would eventually drive the boy away and let the war resume. Which not only indicates Darkseid’s understanding of the subtlety needed in control, but would seem to take Scott’s rebellion out of his own hands…except that at the moment of his escape Darkseid still offered him a choice, implored the boy to allow him to “complete the destruction of Scott Free – so you may live with the majesty that is the power of DARKSEID!” And instead he turned his back on his god and chose to be what he is.

Barda: Shockingly, great as she’s been since, her background is often severely mischaracterized. The shorthand is “love saved her and turned her from a servant of evil to a champion of good!”, but that’s…while not entirely wrong, a bad way of presenting it. When she leaves Apokolips initially, even after she starts hanging out with Scott Free and Oberson after having helped the former escape years earlier, she still believes in Darkseid. She fights and hates her former allies not because she’s turned against his vision of the universe (this is in fact a major aspect often overlooked - under Kirby Darkseid’s agents don’t simply fear him, they sincerely believe in him and his vision of how the universe works) but because she sees them as loathsome, brutish executors of his grand design. In short, she doesn’t think it’s the system that’s the problem, but a bunch of bad apples. It’s her experience with freedom and simple pleasures and life on Earth, her lingering guilt over the death of her friend Auralie as eventually manifested in her protection and training of Shiloh Norman, and yes, her eventual realized love for Scott, that brings her around to realizing she truly desires a life beyond what Darkseid can offer.

Forever People: Okay I actually don’t have a ton to say about the Forever People, though I do think they’re underrated and underutilized. Naive and in over their heads as the frequently are they’re also the best of their peers, believing in freedom and transformation and the potential of those around them to become better - their defining moment for me is when they reassure Sonny Sumo that having the power of the Anti-Life Equation doesn’t make him a monster. “Where we come from the Anti-Life Equation is one of many others–almost as awesome!! But they merely exist!! It’s we who live!!”

Metron: The big figure I haven’t really been able to crack. Machinery as not necessarily cold mechanization but extensions of ourselves and our souls, and able to nourish them in turn, is a big aspect of Fourth World, but Metron as the embodiment of mechanization and knowledge feels like not just an outsider as he’s framed but one who never quite became whatever Kirby had in mind for him, making his crucial role at the end of Hunger Dogs a bit of a non-sequitur for me. I’d be curious to hear what other people think.

Desaad: God Desaad’s been made boring. Not that he isn’t fairly one-dimensional under Kirby too, but his craft and awful glee as the god of torture isn’t just in strapping people to tables and poking them with unpleasant tools, it’s in manipulating their emotions and agonies to a fever pitch - he should be such an unsettling figure, and instead he’s a simpering helpless toady.

Highfather: Not a perfect figure, given how he’s framed with the likes of Fastbak, and the Forever People, and the Pact, willing to deploy fear as a weapon in the name of peace as Darkseid will use chaos in the name of a larger order, but always trying - as with Darkseid, an imperfect vessel of what he represents, but capable of growth and realization as a leader.

Steppenwolf/Heggra: Essential to understanding The Pact, they’re the old ways of the world and war, petty despots and warrior-kings, supplanted by fascism in Darkseid.

Darkseid: So I’ve discussed Darkseid before in terms of his broad use and ideas, but the very specific ways Kirby presented him have their own dimensions. In the world of superheroes he’s larger-than-life and often such in here too, but in rare moments, and by the end entirely as all artifice is stripped away? Kirby’s Darkseid is a profoundly human figure. He recognizes the irony that the Forever People believe in letting all be who they are, for that very need to fulfill himself is why he must pursue conquest (“And of course - that’s the pity of it!”). While he thinks to himself “Oh, how heroes LOVE to flaunt their nobility in the face of death! Yet THEY know better than most that war is but the COLD game of the BUTCHER!” he too believes in “Boldness! Risk! The raw meat of existence!” even as he consigns himself to the role of puppetmaster rather than warrior. He does or so he tells himself “no more than what HAS to be done!!” rather than indulging in cruelty for its own sake. He dresses up in ridiculous costumes for his schemes, he gets sarcastic, he recognizes honor and respects worthy foes, he feels love, he craves the laughter of a friend, he fears the obsolesce of his preferred way of doing things, he tells himself that should he achieve omnipotence others will find “eternal shelter”. He’s a person, one capable of a range of emotions, but he is the TIGER FORCE AT THE CORE OF ALL THINGS regardless…not because he is a mythic unstoppable force, but because every day he rises and believes in himself over all others, because there is a black hole within him that he can only hope dominance might fill regardless of what pain he finds in the process. But as Mister Miracle’s battle with the Lump foretold, when left truly alone over a world that is himself he will be only within “a self-made prison”, reflections of his own fear and agony.

[bxccxdxll]

Travelin’ Soldier 1

Summary: It’s 1940 and one James Buchanan Barnes has just received his orders. He’s to head overseas tomorrow. What will he do with his last day?

Pairing(s): Bucky x OFC

TW: fluff, maybe a bit of loneliness if that counts

Word count: 931

A/N: This is my first time writing a series! Based slightly off of the song, Travelin’ Soldier by The Chicks. Hope it doesn’t suck and you guys enjoy it! 

The day was finally here. The day he had been dreading since news of the war first broke. 

When Bucky woke up this morning he assumed that today was going to be like any other day. He’d head down to the docks for work and later that night head to his favourite diner before he comes home and goes to bed. 

However, as he was heading out his front door he saw the letter. It was his orders. James Buchanan Barnes was to be deployed to England as part of the 107th tomorrow, just two days after he had turned 18. 

Bucky knew this would happen eventually but he was hoping he could’ve held out a little longer. If only to stop Steve from trying to follow him over there. 

~~~~~~~

Later that night, after he picked up his uniform and papers, Bucky went to the diner. He needed some last semblance of home before he heads off to an almost certain death.

Bucky sat at his usual both in the far back corner. When the waitress came up to him he didn’t even look up. Too lost in his thoughts. 

She cleared her throat, “Excuse me sir? Can I get you anything?” 

Bucky jolted back to reality at the sound of her voice. Sweet as honey to his sour soul. 

“Um yeah, I’ll take a black coffee for now. Thanks.” Bucky mumbled out quickly. “On it, love. I’ll be right back with that.” The girl spoke back kindly. 

Bucky watched as she walked back to the kitchen to get his drink. She was beautiful and looked so sweet in her little blue checkered dress and white apron, a matching bow placed perfectly in her gorgeous brown hair. 

Soon she was on her way back with a mug and a pot of coffee. “Here you go.” She placed the mug down and filled it to an inch from the rim. 

“Can I get you anything else?” she asked. 

Bucky ducked his head and peered up at her through his eyelashes. “Would you mind sitting down for a while and talkin’a me, I been feelin’ a little low? He asked quietly.

She gave him a kind smile and replied, “I’m off in an hour and I know where we can go.”

Bucky smiled back and waited in his booth till she finished her shift and came back to him with her purse in hand. Bucky got up from his seat and put his cap back on before putting his arm out for the girl to take and as they walked out of the cafe.

Once they were out on the street they started walking towards the water. Bucky turned his eyes to the girl and asked, “so where are we heading?” 

“I was thinking of heading down to the pier. I know this little spot where we shouldn’t be bothered.” She smiled back at him.

“Okay.” Bucky looked around them as they walked in a soft silence. Just the sound of the cars driving by, the other pedestrians speaking, and the birds chirping.

Once they reached the pier the girl led Bucky to a far corner where they sat on the edge and let their feet dangle. 

Bucky relaxed back and looked at the girl. She seemed focused on something out in the water that he couldn’t see. “You know, I never got your name?” Bucky politely asked.

“I’m Rosie.” She held out her hand to formally introduce herself. “And you are?” 

Bucky smiled at her as he took her hand and brought it to his lips, placing a light kiss on the back of it and responding, “Nice to meet you Rosie, I’m James.”

Rosie blushed as she took her hand back from James. “Nice to meet you too, James.”

They looked at each other for a moment before Bucky spoke up, “Look, I betcha got a boyfriend but I don’t care, I got no one to send a letter to. Would you mind if I send one back here to you?”

Rosie looked shocked for a moment. She had just met this man and it was obvious he was a soldier, but why would he want to send letters to her? She was a nobody. 

After that initial moment of shock Rosie locked eyes with James and voiced her wonder. “Why me?” She questioned.

“I don’t have anyone else. My ma died a few years ago and my pa left us when I was still young. It’s been me and my pal Steve for a while now and I can’t send him any letters. So I figured I could send ‘em to you.” Bucky responded, looking slightly sheepish.

Rosie looked at him with sadness. This man seemed so sweet, how could she ever say no to him? “Of course you can send me letters. I’d be happy to get them.” She pulled out her notepad that she had left over from work and flipped to a clean sheet, quickly scribbling down her address. “Here, this is my address.” She ripped off the paper and handed it to James with a smile. 

He grinned down at the paper before folding it and tucking it in the breast pocket of his uniform.

Looking back up at Rosie, Bucky smiled, “Thank you.”

The two spent the rest of the day down by the pier. Bucky bought ice cream for them to share and when night began to fall upon them, he walked Rosie home. Giving her a peck on the cheek before bidding goodbye and heading back home to prepare to head overseas tomorrow.

[mercurypilgrim]

Companion Meme - Beryon V’lante

Tagged by: @tearlessrain​, thanks! (I love doing these!)

Class: Jedi Sentinel

Weapons: Dual lightsabers, turquoise (white after the timeskip)

Recruitable by: All players

Late base game companion (for Republic players)

Expansion companion (for Imperial players or Republic players who did not do the Corellia planetary missions)

Selection Lines:

“Oh, it's you.”

*Aggressively* “What?”

“This had better be worth my time.”

“I'm here. What more do you want?”

“Copy. What���s the mission?”

Dismissal Lines:

“You're sending me away? ... Fine.”

(All indications are that this is not, in fact, fine)

“I have some training to catch up on, anyway.”

“If you're going to die, at least try and finish your mission before you do.”

“Yeah, yeah, see you on the ship.”

“If you drag me out here again after I walked all the way back to the kriffing ship, I’m gonna be mad.”

Battle Lines:

“Face me.”

“This will be quick.”

“You're in my way!”

“You're a brave one. Pity that means kriff all.”

“I'm in the mood for some excessive force.”

Exiting Battle:

“Finally.”

“Was that it?”

“At least try and beat my score.”

“Who looks at us and thinks ‘yeah, I think I can take these guys'?”

“It's over? Shame.”

KO’d/Low Health:

“I need a medic!”

“I... I can keep fighting!”

“Kolto, now!”

*Aggressively roaring* “I'll take all of you down with me!”

“No! I'm not done yet! I’m... I'm not...”

Resurrected:

“Ugh, my head.”

“Next time, throw me that kriffing kolto.”

“I need to train more. This is unacceptable.”

“I guess the Council was almost right when they said that one day, I would get myself killed.”

*Furious* “I'm gonna shove my lightsaber so far up their ass they'll be coughing plasma!”

Misc. Click Lines:

*Aggravated* “What?”

“Copy. I'm here.”

“Touch me, and I’ll take your damn hand off.”

“Love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?”

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Leave me alone.”

“Will you shut up? I’m trying to think.”

“Just because I can’t see you doesn’t mean I don’t know you’re staring at me.”

“*annoyed, under the breath growling*”

“Work isn’t done until we're dead, and we're not down yet.”

“Rest, we'll be fighting again soon.”

[Very rare]

(If the PC is a Jedi) “I suppose the Council wants to keep an eye on me. Tch. Typical.”

(If the PC is a Sith) “If I so much as sense a single thought of betrayal from you, Sith, I'll gut you.”

(If the PC is a Smuggler) “It must be nice to be free.”

(If the PC is a Trooper) “A soldier's work is never done, right trooper?”

Situational:

Balmorra: “This place... I would have fought the Imperials off myself if I could.”

Tython: “They usually try and keep me away from the younglings. Can’t imagine why.”

Nathema: “I can’t see. This place is a wound. We should do what we came for and leave.”

Odessen: “I don’t know about working with Sith, but this is impressive.”

Rishi: “If one more person thinks they can mug me, I’m going to beat them until apologies come out.”

Gifts:

Courting | Cultural | Delicacies | Imperial | Luxury | Maintenance | Military | Republic | Technology | Trophy | Underworld | Weapon

Love:

“I… how did you know? … Thank you.”

Like:

“I’m not going to tell you where to spend your credits. Thanks.”

Everything else:

“Save your credits, possessions only weigh me down.”

Likes: Killing Sith, anti-Empire sentiment, choosing the aggressive option, being rude to authority, prioritising the mission

Dislikes: Putting profit before a mission, non-pragmatic mercy, kissing up, blind loyalty to the Jedi or Sith

Story

(story and romance under the cut because it got kinda long...)

For Republic players, you meet V’lante on Corellia where he has been deployed to push back the Imperial forces.

He is an optional companion and can be missed if you do not complete the planetary missions.

You get word that there is a particularly formidable Sith Lord assaulting a Republic base and are sent to deal with it.

When you get there, you find the Imperial forces already dead, and walk in to find a Miralukan Jedi executing the Sith.

He will be aggressive at first until you inform him that you’re working for the Republic, whereupon he will lower his weapons but remain standoffish. If you decide to criticise his execution of the Sith, he will react angrily and tell you that the Sith would have done worse than a clean death.

He will search the Sith’s holocom and finds the channel of a Republic commander, who he now suspects to be a traitor.

There is no option to let him go off alone, even if he expresses this sentiment, and he eventually acquiesces for you to join him.

The two of you will then need to breach the droid security of the base where the commander is taking refuge, and after fighting to the top of the occupied skyscraper, walk into a cutscene in which the Commander attempts to convince you that V’lante is unhinged and a rogue Jedi.

If you believe the Commander, V’lante will be furious. After a brief scuffle where he lunges for the Commander but you attempt to stop him, the Commander shoots him and then turns his blaster on you, revealing that he is not loyal to the Republic after all.

You must do the boss without a companion if you choose this route, and while the boss isn’t particularly tough, it is an added layer of difficulty.

If you believe V’lante and attack the Commander together, you have V’lante as a companion during the ensuing boss fight.

If you got V’lante shot because you believed the Commander, he will curse at you and inject himself with a kolto drip before turning his attention to the Commander.

He takes the Commander prisoner, which you may comment on. Rather than expressing any merciful sentiment, he instead informs you that he believes the SIS will be able to extract information better if the Commander is still alive.

He will accompany you back to the Republic base, where he will turn in the Commander. He will receive a holocall from Satele Shan who tells him that he is to take some time off from the war, as he has so far refused. She will not take no for an answer, and he eventually grudgingly agrees to some leave. When he hangs up the call, he abruptly informs you that he will be coming with you weather you like it or not. He has no intention of taking leave, and believes that he will find ways to fight the Empire as he travels with you.

You can recruit him by agreeing to his demands, but you can also refuse to take him on. If you do so, he will be angry but will storm off after a heated conversation. You will not see him again until you reach Odessen.

If you are an Imperial player, you will not meet V’lante on Corellia, as your first interaction with him will be as a recruitment mission once the base on Odessen is built. This mission is also available to Republic players who did not pick him up on Corellia.

Theron Shan comes to you with a potential recruit. The recruit is a Jedi Master that went rogue after the Republic capitulated to Zakuul and has been leading a one-man crusade against the Eternal Empire ever since. The mission is a straightforward one. You track and follow V’lante’s trail of destruction, eventually finding him fighting two Knights. He finishes his battle with them and executes them, after which your conversation starts. If you met him before he will remember you and react accordingly. If you previously angered him or are an Imperial, he will be aggressive and standoffish. If you were friendly to him, he will be much more open with you.

You can convince him to join the Alliance, after which he will become a permanent companion and participate in meetings. He will not get along with anyone except Theron and Senya, although he is grudgingly respectful of Lana.

When you meet Satele Shan on Odessen, she will comment on your recruitment of him. She will warn you that he is volatile and express sadness that she could not help him more. She thanks you for taking care of him.

Romance

V’lante is not romancable in the base game. If you flirt with him as a female, he will awkwardly rebuff you. If you do it again, he will tell you that you’re ‘not his type’ and make a crude hand gesture to imply that he is only attracted to men.

If you are male, he will flirt back but will refuse to take things further. He states that he does not make a habit of sleeping with squad mates. If you press him, he will get angry and storm off, ending the cutscene.

Players who recruit him during the expansion will have the option to enter a proper romance with him, however.

When flirted with by a male PC, he will initially treat it like banter, but if you let him know that you’re serious, he will become awkward and shy.

It will take some time for him to warm up to the idea of romance, but he will flirt back with you and eventually open up to you. He will be quite cautious and gruff in his affections, but he will try very hard to show you that he cares for you. He will bring you small, practical gifts, and you will finally get a smile out of him. He will show a sense of humour, and he will flirt with you without prompting.

Other NPCs, especially those in the inner circle, will express surprise at your relationship, and Koth will inform you that you have very strange taste.

[azure7539arts]

Sword

Pairing: Q/James Bond (00Q)

Prompt(s): Fantasy + Tradesman (for the AU prompt table)

Warning: None

Summary: Once upon a time, there was a prophecy of destruction and resurrection. But that would be a story for another time.

Or: Bond sought out a blacksmith for help. A duel ensued.

A/N: this was supposed to be a drabble... And here we are. Special thanks to @10kiaoi and @solarmorrigan because you two have been hearing me whine about this for days. I’m also very grateful to everyone who has given me words of praise and encouragement throughout my writing process! I hope you all enjoy this!

-

-

“Come back in a week, and pick out your champion.” His voice was deceptively soft for the ramrod iron spine behind those words. “Should your warrior prevail, I will consider giving you help.”

Suddenly, Bond felt his blood boil. “A week? Seclusion or not, surely you must be aware of the civil war that’s raging across the country even as we speak.” 

The blacksmith hummed, that blazing fire from the forge just off to the side casting a burning glow on his person. He seemed almost indifferent yet incredibly focused at the same time, and Bond didn’t understand—

“I’m highly aware. Just as much as I’m aware that you and your men have barely scraped through that last battle by the skin of your teeth.” Bond barely swallowed back an indignant hiss, battle-wearied and tormented. The sheer exhaustion and heavy casualty they’d suffered under the hands of the enemy were bleeding his patience dry. “Raging civil war or not, you can’t tell me you don’t need time to regroup. And I’m not so cruel as to strike you when you’re down in the mud and defenceless either.”

Bond’s hand tightened around the hilt of his broken sword.

And for the first time, the blacksmith smiled.

A sudden chill descended over the sweltering furnace heat of the workshop.

“One week from now at dawn break precise, Lord Bond of Skyfall. No more, no less.”

-

The promised day arrived overcast, windswept with the phantom stench of blood in the air, and the blacksmith stood a lone figure in the meadow, a sword seemingly too heavy held in the loose grip of his hand.

Whatever it was made out of, the blade shone like a bright beacon under this angle of light, pure and unblemished like fresh fallen snow, and Bond couldn’t keep his eyes off it.

“Are you serving as your own champion?” the blacksmith asked, his voice steady and slicing right through the hissing air currents. No pretense of pleasantries.

At least Bond could appreciate that.

Alec shifted warily behind him. He’d asked to fight in Bond’s stead before, many times over the course of last week, in fact, but Bond had turned him down every time. Not least because of the still healing gash in his side. 

Bond had come here to ask for a personal weapon, and a weapon he shall get for himself—through his own damn efforts and no one else’s. The troop’s eyes were on him, and he wouldn’t fail. Not right now.

Not like this.

“Yes,” Bond replied simply.

“Good.”

The fight began in an instant, absolutely without preamble, and by the time their weapons made impact with a loud screech of metal on metal, Bond could still hear the surprised cries of his men not too far away. He gritted his teeth and retaliated using brute force to thrust the blacksmith backward, the twang of that clash just now still traveling up his arm in an uncomfortable, numbing ache.

(He’d been skeptical at first, considering the near unbearable youthfulness that had been evident before his eyes, but now, Bond understood why this blacksmith was revered to be one of the legendary masters of the realm.)

Unsurprisingly, the man landed on his feet without trouble, already springing forth by the next breath drawn, and Bond flexed Alec’s borrowed sword, charging straight ahead also, never one to let himself fall into a state of disadvantage if he could help it.

From that point on, the fight progressed in an almost surreal manner.

The blacksmith engaged with a strange leisured fervor—languid but intense, razor sharp yet unhurried. It was as though he was watching—assessing—and the realization raised Bond’s hackles for the first time. He didn’t mind being watched; he’d grown up practically in the eyes of the public, but it was a different thing altogether when he couldn’t tell what he was being watched for.

At least the stormy depths of those cryptic eyes with their ever-changing colors didn’t seem to conceal any malicious intents. And Bond would know; he’d encountered too many backstabbers not to.

“James!”

Bond barely dodged the upward swing that had been close to slitting his throat clean open. Distantly, he wondered if he really had gotten lucky there, but whatever the answer was, the tip of the sword managed to nick him anyway, fresh blood spilling bright red and hot from the veins. He clutched at his neck with a sharp hiss now, eyes narrowed and chest slightly heaving with elevated breaths.

Annoyance flared a bright solar burst underneath the rapid beating of his heart, but Bond calmed down from the sole comfort that his challenger wasn’t doing too well, either. Bond smirked, all teeth and a little predatory.

He had landed a rather vicious kick himself, and judging from how the blacksmith was somewhat hunched over right then instead of reassuming his initial firm, unwavering stance, Bond must’ve caused a bit of damage, too.

Mutual points for both parties, so it would appear. 

Bond looked down to eye at those small indents that had started to chip off from the body of Alec’s once intact sword, and lowered his sticky hand.

“Let’s finish this.”

Despite the fact that the blacksmith’s techniques were a combination of oddities that Bond hadn’t really witnessed before, he still had his real-world experiences from being in and out of active combat for the last ten years or so. Still had all his knowledge from starting out on his courses for martial training twice longer. And Bond could see, with observation and a survival instinct honed through the countless storms of his youth, where the openings of his opponent lay.

That was more than enough.

Bond swung, then, with a turn of his arm, sharply twisted the motion upward. 

Alec’s blade fractured with a resounding clang, but in that singular moment in time, Bond couldn’t find it in himself to be concerned. He reached out and snatched the blacksmith’s flung sword from midair.

It settled into his palm a perfect, balanced weight.

“Impatient bastard,” came a whispered breath.

But Bond couldn’t quite hear it. The words, much like the subsequent clamoring of his men, morphed a jumbled mess in his ears as a whiplash of energy seized up the length of his arm in a shock of lightning from where he was gripping this sword. Glowing runes began materializing along its steel, and Bond sucked in a gulp of air through his teeth.

What felt like just a flawlessly crafted weapon a second ago now bore a sheer familiarity that rendered him incredulous. The sword felt right in his hand, as though itself a newly added extension of him, and its metal rang a vibration that burrowed deep like a blood covenant woven through his very flesh and bones, a humming song of satisfaction and protection.

When Bond realized to lift his head back up again, caught up in the tail end of a dizzying spell, it was to find both himself and the blacksmith encased in a ring of fire. From the looks of things, Alec and his troops were currently trying to find a way to get past the flames, with very little to no success.

The blacksmith stood before him, unbothered by the razing chaos all around, another smile tugging at the corner of his lips while specks of amber seared gilded brands of molten iron in the pools of those eyes.

He was far too calm. Too knowing.

“I won,” Bond said, voice low and unexpectedly hoarse.

“And the sword has chosen you as its first and final master.” He nodded, amused. “It was practically trying to leap out of my hand the second it tasted your blood.”

Bond frowned, storing away the casual implication that the sword—his sword—was at least partially sentient for later inspection.

He had more important matters to investigate at the moment.

“It’s yours to keep now. You can even give it a name—”

“Did you put a curse on this?”

The other man blinked, momentarily blindsided and flustered for the first time since they’d met. “What—A curse? Why would I do that?”

“Then, what is your play here, Battlemage?” Bond ground out, nearly spitting the word. “Posturing as a simple blacksmith.”

Said Battlemage stopped now, head tilting to the side, expression sharpening into a simmering stillness and lethality that sent a shiver up Bond’s spine. While Bond maintained that he was the one spearheading this interrogation, the immense presence of that unblinking stare still made him feel stripped bare and oddly vulnerable. Not unlike a pinned up specimen trapped under a cold and merciless gaze.

(He would quickly learn, after this, that he’d be better off not having this particular side of the battlemage directed at him and his men. For obvious safety reasons.)

“I didn’t posture as anything. I create weapons for my own pleasure,” he replied slowly. “I’ve never claimed to be a blacksmith, nor have I ever called myself one.”

Bond paused, mouth twisting. He recalled their last encounter, knew this to be true. Regardless, there were still too many questions left unanswered. And in a war of this calibre, he’d rather not needlessly risk his followers’ lives and well-being. “That still doesn’t explain what you’re trying to accomplish. Why are you doing this?”

“The opposition has taken to deploying sorcerers to decimate your troops and allies because your king has deprived his people of magic for so long, it’s now become a weakness to be exploited. By one of your very own.”

Such a blatant tone of derision jarred, and Bond clenched his jaws in an involuntary response. However, at the same time, only Alec had ever spoken to him in this kind of straightforward manner, but not really quite so, even then. Not quite like this.

“But you’re not your imbecilic king—you’re a pragmatic man. You understand that this situation requires a proper measure of counterattack,” the Battlemage carried on, that lilting quality to his speech belay the ripping knives behind every word. “I can be that counterattack.”

It was Bond’s turn to stare. To say that he was startled would be an understatement. True sorcerers were already few and far between, but actual battlemages were of a different breed altogether. 

Skilled in not just the arts of war and physical combat, they were also rumored to possess great enough magical capabilities to change even the tides of battles on the precipice of imminent defeat. The appearance of a battlemage had only been recorded throughout the known history for a handful of times, all of which were critical turning points that had marked either the end or the beginning of an era.

The most important thing? 

No side with the support of a battlemage had ever lost.

“Why?” Bond swallowed. Anyone else would call him a fool for being stubborn, for keeping on pressing. One shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, and all that. But Bond didn’t do blind trust—he refused to. “We don’t know each other. There’s no reason for you to help me.”

The Battlemage looked a hair’s breadth away from rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Let me ask you this, then: what made you decide to seek out my help?”

“Because—” Briefly, Bond considered lying, but went against it in the end. “Because your reputation precedes you.”

The answer seemed to lend the Battlemage a gratified edge. “And the same goes for yours.” A fresh gust of wind blew, and Bond realized that the unnatural fire surrounding them was finally easing down to a manageable dwindle. “Besides, my weapons have never chosen wrong.”

The Battlemage extended a hand. “So, what do you say, O’ Lord Bond of Skyfall?”

His mind went blank, but somehow, Bond already knew what to do. As though right from the start, this had always been how it was meant to go.

Bond took the offered hand and felt the promised inevitability of it rest upon him undemanding, steadfast and strong.

He understood it now.

The outcome of the product would only ever be as good as the craftsman who created it.

“How should I address you?" he asked.

And the Battlemage smiled. "You can call me Q."

[gospelofme]

How Kix Met His Wife

Kix x Female Reader

No warnings, AU, last name of reader strictly for continuity purposes

Part 3 of 3

Months passed, four in fact. You were sitting at your desk at work, feeling particularly depressed. You had considered dating, but you had been holding out hope of Kix returning. A small part of you though had been gnawing away at that hope. The part of your brain that said it was pointless to pine for a man who may never be coming back.

“Hey, Holtz, you have a visitor.” Detective Farns informed you, pouring himself a cup of caf in his favorite mug.

“Who is it? Is it that guy from the lab with that smashed comm?!” You asked, perking up just a bit. That would help move your current case along.

“Nope, I think this is that doctor from the ER. I don’t remember his name but his hairstyle is familiar.” Detective Farns didn’t realize he was talking to himself, as you had fled the room the moment he said “doctor from the ER”.

You walked quickly down the hall to the lobby but stopped short of the sensor for the automatic door. You slowed your breathing, checked your hair and breath, smoothed down your shirt, and mustered your best neutral face expression.

Kix sat in a chair in the lobby. Showing up at your workplace unannounced might not have been the best idea. He had let the subject of you slip when walking with Jesse while he had been deployed. His batch brother suggesting that he just take the initiative and ask you out. Of course, 4 months had passed. For all he knew you were already seeing someone else. Or perhaps you had forgotten about him. Or maybe you were upset with him for just leaving. Of course, he couldn’t blame you for the last one, or really any of the options his paranoid mind concocted. As he stood up to go tell the woman at the reception desk he would check back some other time, you walked through the door. His eyes met yours instantly, he couldn’t look away from the surprised look on your face.

You had tried to stay neutral, but as soon as he looked over at you, those brown eyes of his drew you in. It looked like he had just gotten back on Coruscant. The man was still in his armor, sans helmet, a red medic symbol on the shoulder plates. You had to admit, that armor was very well tailored. When you had seen him before, he was in white medic fatigues and a lab coat. Of course, you could see then how fit he was but the armor now made it much more obvious.

“Hey.” You said to each other in unison, both giving a small laugh after.

“You go first.” Kix offered, getting one of your perfect smiles. He had dreamed about those more than once while away.

“Well, as you can see, the nose is perfect!” You showed him your face in profile, brushing your left forefinger down the length of your nose. Kix laughed lightly, his smile made your heart flip.

“Good to know!” He said back. You got the strong impression he wanted to talk.

“Hey, Maryanne, I’m bringing him back with me okay.” You informed the receptionist, who handed Kix a visitors badge. The clone didn’t really have a good place to clip it, so you just held it for him. He followed you back to your desk where Detective Farns, Detective Slade, and Detective Mags were kicking around theories about the case you and Farns were discussing. They stopped chatting when they noticed you and Kix.

“Well long time no see Doc.” Farns said.

“Oh, I’m just a Medic. Not a doctor.” Kix clarified.

“Hell, whatever you are, you did a damn fine job on my partner’s nose. She doesn’t scare me as much anymore.” Farns joked, throwing the ball he was tossing at you. You caught it and chucked it back at him.

“Shush Farns, maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll break your nose and Kix can set it.” You retorted. Farns laughing.

“Hey, I’m heading out on break. Let me know if that lab tech shows up with my smashed comm yeah?” You told your partner as you pulled on your coat and holstered your sidearm out of pure habit.

Not far from the department, there was a cafe that served really excellent hot drinks. Kix got cafe, black and no sweeteners. You got extra hot hot chocolate, no whip and non fat.

“So, essentially that’s just hot water with cocoa powder in it yeah?” Kix teased.

“Just like your hot bean juice.” You replied with a grin that wrinkled your nose. You both walked at a slow pace around one of Coruscant’s public parks, picking a bench that was unoccupied.

“So, I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back.” You had to broach the subject. You saw Kix’s shoulders drop just a tad.

“Yeah, listen, I’m really sorry about that. I should’ve said something, but I wasn’t sure how best to contact you. I didn’t know if you even really cared.” His apology was sincere, you were good at being able to tell lies from truth, bullshit from honesty.

“It’s fine. You didn’t have to tell me, it’s not like we’re dating or anything.” You replied with a small shrug, rolling your eyes a bit at the mention of dating. You didn’t notice the look on Kix’s face when you said that word, you were too focused on watching a kid chase a ball. Even though it was well passed dark, the park was occupied by lots of holiday shoppers and people enjoying the holiday festivities the park put on every year.

“So how’s work?” He asked finally.

“It’s okay, I’ve been stuck on this one case for a solid month now. The comm unit our suspect used last was smashed to bits, so a technician has been slowly rebuilding it. I’m just worried nothing will be useful and the whole thing goes cold.” You lamented, leaning your head back and sighing. You watched the puff of breath you had exhaled dissipate.

“So where did you go?” You asked him, angling your body towards, putting your left leg on the bench. Kix shrugged.

“Oh, just back to Saleucami and then to Ryloth.” His tone suggested it either wasn’t a big deal, or he didn’t want to talk about it. You loved how the lights of the park lit his face, the shadows it created as well. The angles of his face and nose were quite appealing.

“Hmm, traveling around must be fun at least. But not the war part.” You mentioned. He gave a nod.

“I have been to a lot of different planets. Some are really pretty, others not so much. Where all have you been?” He asked. You gave him a guilty look.

“I’ve never been off planet.” You confessed. He looked at you incredulously.

“Really?!”

“Yup.” You nodded.

“Wow! In thought everyone travelled around.” He said.

“Well, I threw myself into my high school work, and then into my college work...and now into my career work.” You explained, he could relate to dedicating yourself to your job.

You both discarded your finished drinks and started walking back to the station after an hour of chatting. It had actually turned out really nice. There were jokes told and fun stories. Kix was really interested in the exciting Detective stories you had. You’d started out the night by walking next to each other, but ended the night walking with your arm touching his. You boldly took the chance and reached for his hand, Kix readily entwining his fingers with yours. You gave a small smile to yourself as you felt him grip your hand, a smile he didn’t fail to notice.

Once you had arrived back at the station, you didn’t want to go inside. You both stayed quiet, facing each other. He bent his head down and pressed it to your forehead. You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead into his.

“Kiss me?” You asked, voice almost silent. You kept your eyes closed, too nervous to look at this man. You were beginning to think he wouldn’t when a pair of soft, warm lips touched yours. You tensed and held your breath for a split second before melting into him. You placed your hands on the icy cold armor plates over his biceps, his hands rested on your back unsurely. You both pulled away after a couple moments, giving each other shy smiles. He walked you into the station, kissing you before you walked into the lobby.

“Can I see you again, and not for your nose?” He whispered against your lips, his eyes closed. He felt your eyelashes brush against his cheek. He opened his eyes to see your beautiful ones looking into his. “Of course.” Came your reply. You pulled him into a kiss before you had to walk back down the hall to your desk.

After you both parted ways, you stayed on the other side of the door when it closed. You touched your freshly-kissed lips and giggled like a little girl.

You walked back to your desk with a wistful smile on your face, noticing your co-workers had all been next to the window that faced down to the station entrance.

“Oooooooooooooooo.” They all said as you floated to your desk and sat down.

“Giirrrrrrllll, look at you. Out there seizing what you want.” Farns said admirably.

Tag list

@simping-for-fives

@jgvfhl

@carlycrays

@nelba

@showmetheclones

@leias-left-hair-bun

@xalvy-zen

@painkiller80

[luckyfirerabbit]

Angsty Strigana AU

Written under the cut because it’s a bit lengthy. And this AU is built around the fanon I have established with Shatranj, so Welsh plays a little part of it, and is also set in a semi-modern/modern setting. Enjoy!

The council of sisters, though defunct, survives into more modern times. No longer rulers of a fledgling empire, they have consolidated their wealth and retreated to a much more discreet lifestyle as population and religious uprisings in the region take hold and being a vampire isn't as advantageous as it once was.

Late 1930's: Rumors abound of the Order of the Midnight Sun and it's growing interest in the occult -witchcraft, supernatural beings, etc. The entire supernatural community is on edge and is migrating in droves to neutral/remote countries to hide from them and the war they know is coming. The council, thus far has gone undisturbed, but they sense it won't last and are making preparations to relocate when they hear about Austria's possible annexation by Germany.

Most of the council makes it out safely; the German's ambush Striga and Welsh in waning hours before they flee, as they remained to finish tying up loose ends and covering their tracks. Striga convinces Welsh to get out while she can "You protect my sisters, whatever it takes! I will find you when I can!" But the Midnight Sun knew what they were going after, they had what they needed to subdue a vampire, and collect Striga for their growing cache of supernatural creatures.

When Striga refuses to help the Order willingly, they essentially seal her in a box, hooked up to a machine that would harvest her blood to turn others, and the Order has begun a dozen broods in this method with other vampires. All of them locked away secret labs and bunkers across the continent.

Naturally this form of incarceration is maddening, and it does not bear well on Striga's mental state. Eventually the strain is so great that she slips into hibernation, while the Order continues to squeeze the afterlife out of her. All the while she dreams endlessly, of home, of her sisters, of Morana.

All the while the remaining Sisters have consolidated with other vampires and supernaturals to aid the Allies to stop the Order and the Axis Powers altogether, with a great many resources being allocated to locating those that had been taken by the Order, and endeavor that continues long after the war.

With the German surrender in '45, the Order dispersed, most labs were outright abandoned and left for the Allies to find and dismantle themselves. The lab where the "brooding" vampires were kept is exceptionally remote, and is simply abandoned, left undiscovered for decades -it's prisoners undisturbed.

82 yrs later: Welsh and the sisters remain active parts of the organized effort to keep Supernaturals off the radar and peacefully coexisting with humans, all the while continuing its work to discover all the Order's secrets and recover what -and who- they can. They have adapted as best they can, but it's obvious to nearly anyone that they have never really acclimated to Striga's absence. Morana least of all. Her melancholy is famous to those who know about it in depth, and pitiable by those who don't.

Morana refuses to believe that Striga is dead, something tells her that she would know. She sees her lover in dreams, feels her somehow, and senses she is still out there somewhere. But the fact that after more than eighty years they haven't found a trace of her is infuriating and soul crushing. She has done her best to cope, but some nights... At one point her depression pulled her into hibernation, and she was inactive for more than nine months.

Welsh is more active in the organization, always being the military -hands dirty sort, she has been a spearhead for the Org. efforts on the ground for the last near century. She has been deployed across the globe in search of her best friend, and is word down by coming back empty handed every time. Finally they get a break when a vampire comes forward with a barcode on his body (all "midnight sons" were coded so sires could be traced etc.) that the Org doesn't have on record, never traced before, and he's willing to show them where he was "made". Welsh chooses to keep the discovery secret from the sisters at first -primarily to spare them any more disappointment if this turns out to be a bust.

The lab is particularly remote and exceptionally well hidden. Only accessible by helicopter, which is likely the primary reason it was never found. No road, no indication of its existence. They had never found evidence of it when the Allies went through everything, and no one divulged its location even at the threat of a noose. Inside it's like a time capsule -the scientists and soldiers had lived here, and abruptly left, leaving everything behind. It's a wealth of information, evidence, and there are roughly a dozen sires incarcerated there. All in hibernation, all possibly still able to be revived. All of them are collected and shipped out -it's best not to try and wake any of them just yet, they just didn't have the resources to do it safely or to give them the care they will certainly need.

Welsh remains at headquarters for the following week, trying to placate the sisters when they ask what she's up to -little white lies and such- and doing her part for rehabing the vampires they found. One by one the "cells" are opened up and hibernating vampires are carefully resuscitated over the course of several days -that's how long they need a steady supply of blood pumped through them to wake them from stasis. All of them have a form of "sleeping sickness" many cases resulting in altered mental states and irreversible signs of aging. Seeing Striga as a shriveled, corpse-like imposter of herself is heart wrenching. Welsh barely recognizes her.

When Striga comes to, awake for the first time in nearly a century, all she can say is "Morana, where is Morana?" Though she shakes and can barely comprehend anything and her once solid raven hair is streaked with gray, all she can think of is her wife. Welsh promises that once she's well enough, she'll see Morana again. "Cross my heart." Because a reunion like that should be at home, where they won't have to be separated again unless they choose to be.

The culture shock is tangible. A lot has changed and Striga knows she has a struggle ahead of her in that regard. Never mind how eighty years of hibernation has impacted her general mental health. After all those years in dreams, some days it's hard to distinguish between being asleep and awake. Something else she knows she will struggle with in the days to come.

Finally comes the day that Striga can go home, and she is both relieved and terrified. What's changed? Will her sisters even recognize her? Does Morana still love her -though Welsh was keen to assure her of it all this time. Will their love ever be the same? Will Morana even allow her to touch her again?

Fast forward through a car ride that felt like forever, to the place the council now calls home, and Striga is almost afraid to get out. Welsh encourages her, assures her it'll all be fine, but takes the lead in the beginning to help her along.

Lenore sees her first; initially she's happy to see Welsh, but then that happiness amplifies to uncontrollable levels when she realizes that Striga is home. She drops whatever it was that she was doing and immediately throws her arms around Striga. When Striga greets her "Hello, little sister" and hugs her back, Lenore can't stop herself from crying. Carmilla isn't far behind, and is obviously too shocked to do much more than stammer and stare. She's the one that calls for Morana to come downstairs.

Getting out of bed has been difficult for Morana for a while now, so it's a bit of task to make herself decent and to join the others. When she reaches the foot of the stairs and fully comprehends what's going on, she swears the entire world stops turning and that she felt it come to a grinding halt. For what feels like a short eternity she cannot move, and simply stares.

Eighty years. Eighty years of having to live being haunted by the idea of never seeing the only one you've loved ever again. You don't just brush that off, even when they are standing right in front of you. Morana is afraid to do anything, because a part of her is convinced she's dreaming, and any action at all would scatter the illusion and she would wake up.

In some way, Striga feels it too, but it doesn't compare to the gut wrenching need she has to be near Morana, to take her in her arms and never let go. But she approaches slowly and holds out her hand once she's close enough. She needs Morana to accept her. And, at first, Morana is afraid to touch her for the same reason she is afraid to move. What if Striga just vanishes the moment their hands touch?

But she doesn't, Striga is just as real as can be and now Morana can't stop crying. She takes a moment just to feel Striga's big hands, taking them in her own to remember their weight and the smoothness of calluses. Then all the feelings just cascade and she throws herself into Striga's embrace, sobbing and carrying on in seemingly every language as she tries to disappear into Striga's arms. Striga is holding on as tightly as she can, needed to know this is really happening just as much as Morana. They both cry and kiss and are a hot mess for the rest of the night. An inseparable, beautiful mess.

And then the rest of the story is just them adapting to each other, falling in love again and coming to grips with their problems and changes. Because I love stories of love that struggles -not in "a marriage story" way, but more so external ways- but comes out the other side intact and -ideally- stronger and more beautiful than ever before. I love stories where lovers know it will never be the same again, but are content because what they have now is richer and fulfilling in ways they never imagined.

[padawanprotege]

Things You Save In A Fire

A quick fic about how my Clone OC, Blaiz, recieved his scars. Another contribution to the fanon timeline established by @clonewarsreturns​ as part of the #cwacrossthestars project.

A small warning prior to reading. I go into a bit of detail when describing the effects of fire on its victims, so if your sensitive to such subjects I suggest not reading this story.

Aargonar was an insignificant world, the same as every other industrial planet in the sector. As the war raged on the planet remained contested, neither side successfully being able to establish a viable outpost on the surface. However, word had circulated in Republic Command that a small band of Separatists had begun creating a base on the desert world.

Unwilling to dismiss the speculation, Jedi Knight Ayelet and a small group of clones were sent to the planet to confirm the details of the rumoured base and eliminate any separatist threats.

The cruel sun beat down on the small dispatchment as they travelled the unforgiving terrain, it's one malevolent eye unblinking, and the sky was its co-conspirator with not even a wisp of cloud to soften the harsh rays. Each step their boots sunk into the searing sand, and the few misshapen rock formations providing little sanctuary.

After an hour of traversing the desert in search of the rumoured separatist base, the small group was greeted with the sight of a base still in the process of construction.

Both B1 battle droids and B2 super battle droids were patrolling the perimeter, their optical scanners on the lookout for any unwelcome visitors.

With a few simple hand gestures, Ayelet instructed Major Blair to take eight of the clone troopers accompanying them to move to a better position and begin a frontal assault on the unsuspecting droids. Turning slightly she silently instructed Major Blaiz to take the final trooper with him and proceed to the rear of the base to ensure the enemy was surrounded.

Waiting until both teams had reached their designated positions, Ayelet leapt out from behind a boulder, igniting a lightsaber in each ahnd, the chartreuse hue of the blades immediately drawing the attention of the droid forces. Springing into action, the clone troopers raised from their cover and began to fire upon the unsuspecting droids. Taking a moment to realise the immediate danger, the battle droids began their offensive, but despite their larger numbers the battle droids were no match for the skills of the clone troopers and their Jedi.

With ease, the squad of clones cleared out the majority of the clones and began pressing forward towards the base. Without warning an agonising scream howled over the sound of the blaster fire followed by an explosion from further within the base. Ayelet paused for a moment, overwhelmed by a wave of pain and distress that filled the force around them. Turning her eyes towards the main structure in the complex, Ayelet noticed a growing glow illuminating the interior of the building.

Her protective instincts over her troops kicked in as she rushed through the droids between herself and the entryway, trusting the clones still outside to finish off the battle in her absence. The first thing that she noticed was the thick clouds of smoke that distorted her vision, followed by the familiar smell of singed metal and non-functional electronics. However, the smell quickly weakened as the strong stench of melted flesh met Ayelet’s nose, it was almost enough to make her vomit if she hadn’t been trained to overcome such a reaction.

Ayelet took careful steps further into the building, avoiding the growing inferno that swallowed everything it touches. Finally reaching the area that Ayelet sensed the distress emanating from, the young Jedi was presented with a horrific scene. Closest to her was the clone trooper that she had sent with Major Blaiz, his armour was now singed black and had fused with his flesh beneath it, his helmet had been thrown from head revealing a face so damaged by the flames that it was completely unrecognisable as even being a human.

Thrown against a crate on the other side of the room laid the distorted form of a human male. What remained of his clothing was an expensive fabric, signifying his affiliation with the separatist senate. The man must have come to the planet to oversee the construction of the new base. The force cried out in pain around him as he succumbed to his burns and the smoke suffocating his lungs.

Finally, Ayelet’s eyes landed on a familiar clone, pinned under a piece of scrap metal that had become dislodged from the ceiling in the initial explosion. Sprinting to close the distance between them, Ayelet used the force to shove the heavy metal off the trapped form of her friend as she knelt down beside him. Blaiz helmet had been shattered, entire sections missing to reveal burns covering the unprotected skin. His eyes were squeezed shut and his breath was short and shallow but he was still alive.

Wrapping one arm under the Major’s knees and one under his arms, Ayelet pulled the clone close to her before rising to her feet. The clone weighed much more than the Jedi and she could feel her legs struggling to move under the weight. Calling upon the force, Ayelet focused solely on getting the two of them out of the structure before it engulfed them.

Making her final steps towards the entryway, Ayelet could hear the framework of the structure strain under its own weight as its supports melted away in the growing fire. Forcing herself to move faster the Jedi scarcely made it out of the building before it collapsed in on itself, causing the fire to triple in size.

Immediately recognising the armour of his best friend, Blair raced over to his brother’s side as the Jedi dropped to her knees and allowed the clone in her arms to rest momentarily in the sand. Pulling off his brother's helmet as gently as he could manage, Blair stared down at the disfigured face. Slowly he reached a hand out and placed it upon his friend’s chest, feeling the shallow breaths he was struggling to take. “It’s going to be okay Vod. You’re safe now. We’re going to take care of you.” Blair said quietly, his voice filled with worry for his hurting brother.

Taking a moment to clear her lungs of the smoke with a few coughs Ayelet called out to the troopers that had destroyed the final droids and had secured the area. “Call in the gunship immediately, and tell the ship to prepare the med-bay,” Ayelet commanded, her voice flowed with authority, hiding the deep concern she held for her weakening friend.

She could feel the force slowly slipping away each moment they waited for their ship to arrive, the entire time Blaiz remained completely still, eyes sealed shut and his chest barely moving to indicate his failing attempts to breathe. Closing her eyes, Ayelet begged the force to spare her friend such a painful end.

----------

Once finally aboard the Jedi Cruiser, Ayelet informed the Jedi council of their findings on the desert planet and made her recommendation that a squad be permanently deployed to the planet while it remained unoccupied. The high council provided no solid answer, as they usually did when they were uncertain of a situation. Bowing deeply as she ended the holo-call, Ayelet made her way off the bridge of her cruiser towards the elevators.

Exiting on her selected level, Ayelet wandered through the grey corridors towards the med-bay. Halting for a moment, Ayelet waited for the doors to slide open and allow her entry into the mostly empty med-bay. A few medics were tending to minor blaster wounds on the troopers she had taken to the planet surface with her. A pair of droids were disinfecting the floors and medical equipment to ensure everything remained sterile in the ship’s small hospital.

At the far end of the med-bay in the last cot were two clones. One was laid out flat on the cot, stripped down to his simple blacks, while the other remained in full armour, sitting upon a stool by the edge of the cot.

Moving quietly through the med-bay, Ayelet bowed her head in greetings as she walked past the other patients towards the rear end of the room. Reassured by the steady rhythm of the monitors hooked up to Blaiz, Ayelet allowed a small grateful smile to creep onto her face.

Walking up to stand beside Blair’s side, she noticed the clone Major had succumbed to the exhaustion of the battle on the surface and the worry of his friend, having fallen into a light sleep by his brothers’ side. With a soft touch, Ayelet placed her hand on the sleeping clone’s shoulder and sent a wave of relaxation and reassurance through the force. Immediately she felt the clone’s muscles relax under her touch and his breathing grow deeper and more even.

Shrugging off her dark brown cloak, she gently placed the warm fabric around the shoulders of the slumbering Major, before turning her attention to the wounded clone in the cot. The slightest smile was present on Blaiz’s face as he watched his Jedi take care of his brother through barely open eyes. “Hey there, Ma’am.” Blaiz’s voice was hoarse and was barely above a whisper.

Moving closer to the cot to have a better look over the Major’s body, Ayelet’s eyes wander over the multiple burns that were scattered over his torso, arms and face. The Bacta had worked well to heal most of the damage done to the skin, but the scarring would remain permanent. Carefully placing her hand in Blaiz’s, Ayelet sent him the same relaxing sensation through the force to ease his pain as best she could.

“Hello, Blaiz.” Ayelet simply replied, her voice as quiet as the Major’s and laced with care. The small smile on Blaiz’s face slightly growing before quickly being replaced with an expression of discomfort from the fresh scarring around his face. Ayelet’s expression melted into one of sympathy as she focused on sending more pain relief through the force to the Major.

“Thanks for getting me out of there,” Blaiz whispered as his eyes slowly began to flutter shut as he gave in to the welcoming embrace of pain-free sleep. Pulling her hand slowly away from the clones, Ayelet grabbed the small fidget ball upon the table beside the cot and placed in the open hand of the sleeping Major.

“Of course, Blaiz.” Ayelet whispered back to the slumbering clone, her smile slowly starting to reform on her face. Slowly backing away from the cot, Ayelet made her way out of the Med-bay, fully confident in the medic’s ability to aid her friend in any way he needed. Wandering slowly in the direction of the barracks, Ayelet headed towards her private quarters to get some well-deserved rest of her own, hoping that the terrifying sight earlier in the day wouldn’t result in a restless night of nightmares.

[shantanu56]

Are you ready to conformal coat? Here’s why you might want to know.

Over the holidays, I had occasion to watch a National Geographic documentary on the April 2019 fire that took place in the Notre Dame cathedral in Paris. A segment of the show touched on how the city fire department utilized an unmanned, 1,110 lb. fire-fighting machine, lovingly called the Colossus, to enter parts of the inferno unsafe for human firefighters. Not only was this advanced unit charged with discharging 660 gallons of water per minute into the blaze and providing a live video feed and sensor data to provide valuable insights on the fire’s progress to nearby fire chiefs - it had to perform these and other duties under the duress of incredible heat, drenched in water, and withstanding various impacts and vibration from falling or fallen debris, including molten lead from the cathedral’s lead roof. Talk about hostile workplaces!* * You can read more about and see the Colossus in action, here. Needless to say, the story brought to mind the advances the electronics industry has made and continues to make in the arenas of mobility, connectivity, processing, and - especially in this instance - durability. After all, machines like this don’t just happen: From major systems, to sub-assemblies, to individual components, on down the line — they are painstakingly designed, spec’d, and built to perform in adverse conditions. Which brought to mind the increased importance of the protection afforded by conformal coatings. What is conformal coating? Conformal coating involves spraying or immersing a printed circuit board (PCB) or PCB assembly in a protective coating - in much the same way that a car manufacture or service shop applies a coating undercarriage of your car. The applied material ‘conforms’ to the irregular surface or landscape of a PCBA, including surface-mounted components, solder points, raised or etched circuits, component leads, through-holes, and more. Once applied, applied conformal coatings must dry or cure for a suitable period of time before additional processing, assembly, quality control, or other tasks can proceed. Once applied, such coatings can protect against any number of strains your circuit may encounter in the real world, including: -Moisture, oils, chemicals, solvents -Thermal stresses, including extreme heat and cold Vibration, abrasion, physical impacts, handling during shipping, regular use, or service -Dust, dirt, grime -Ultraviolet (UV) exposure and degradation -Unexpected electric shocks (transient voltage surges, aka: lightening), shorts, and static electricity -Radiation What are conformal coatings made of? Conformal coatings or ‘resins’ come in a variety of compositions to match your unique application or performance goals. While other materials are available, including a new breed of ‘nano’ coatings, the three major types of traditional coating material options are: -Apoxy Resin (AR) is a rigid coating that offers basic, low-cost dust and moisture protection. Apoxies are, though, susceptible to chemical solvents, which makes it easier to intentionally remove the coating to do rework and field repairs easier, even if it also makes them less-than-ideal for caustic industrial settings. -Silicone Resin (SR) is a flexible, hydro-repellent material suitable for high-vibration and/or outdoor environments. SR-based coatings also have excellent dielectric properties, so they can help isolate high-voltage (aka: eliminate arcing) or, inversely, help protect static-sensitive components or PCBAs. -Urethane Resin (UR) is a hard coating that offers even better moisture and chemical resistance than SR- and AR-comprised coatings, which makes them a frequent choice in mission-critical aerospace, defense, avionics, or medical applications. Key considerations of conformal coating For a material that measures only 1-5 microns in thickness - the particulars of conformal coating composition, characteristics, and application require a deeper discussion than this blog post allows. That said, I can say choosing the right conformal coating for your unique application can be guided by five high-level considerations: -What kind of protection do you require? As outlined above, different conformal coatings offer different levels of protection. To pick the right one for your project, list and rank your priorities - permeability to moisture, chemical resistance, dielectric performance, ability to withstand or adjust to thermal contractions/expansions, vibration, and so on - and then work with your PCBA supplier to choose the right one for your job. -What sort of production process or timing are you working with? Are you working with small volumes where application of the coating can be manual, or high-volume runs that demand automation? Can your production schedule withstand long or short conformal coating curing times? What sort of quality system regimen do you or your customer demand to ensure repeatability? These and other production and process aspects should be accounted for when choosing your conformal coating. Speaking of QA, will your PCB, assembly, or finished device have compliance requirements? Individual customers may have proprietary specs or requirements, but most applications for conformal coated PCBs and PCBAs are commonly assessed against two prominent, namely IPC-CC-830B (or MIL-I-46058C) and UL746E. -Will the end device or equipment require rework or even allow for in-the-field repairs? If so, some coatings are better suited than others. -What’s the budget? No surprise that a hard-nosed cost/benefit analysis will be needed in choosing your conformal coatings, just as it does with every other item on your BOM. Thankfully, the wide range of conformal resins, application techniques, and suppliers - and availability of emerging coating options - all but ensure there is an option to suit your task without too many trade-offs. Which applications require conformal coating? The length of this blog here again precludes an exhaustive analysis of environments and applications that would benefit from resin-coated electronics. Still, my opening story of the Colossus fire-fighting machine makes clear some emerging applications are particularly well-suited to ruggedized electronics enabled by conformal coated circuits. For instance: -Unmanned vehicles - Robots with fire-fighting capabilities are just the beginning of this fast-growing field. (Come to think of it, I wonder if any were or could have been used to save lives and property during the Oregon wildfires that plagued CST’s own region last July?) Similar equipment is being applied in mines, sites of industrial accidents, war zones and law enforcement applications, and deep-sea, arctic, and space exploration, among other extreme environments. -Internet of Things (IoT) - Enabled by nearly ubiquitous broadband access (including 5G), connected sensor networks, and insatiable demand for/insights from big data and machine learning are also driving electronic devices into harsh and remote environments: Think of far-flung water, gas, and oil pumps; all-season sensors deployed across forests, farm fields, and water systems; traffic, vibration, and erosion sensors dispersed across interstate highways, bridges, rail systems, and cityscapes. -Communications infrastructure - Having mentioned how communications networks are drawing IoT technology into challenging environments, the same can be said for the infrastructure comprising those networks themselves. Base stations, cell towers, satellite dishes, antennae, mobile wireless equipment, and even satellites are subjected to a wide range of environmental stresses, making them key candidates for conformal coatings among other protective measures. -Handheld technology - Aided by miniaturization, innovative packaging solutions, and IoT connectivity mentioned above, handheld devices and other types of portable equipment are also driving technology into environments requiring ruggedization techniques like conformal coating. Two examples of this trend would be mobilized medicine and laboratories that bring healthcare and science into ever more remote challenging geographies — and app-driven handheld tools that enable industrial technicians to perform in-the-field maintenance, diagnostics, and even repairs. Need conformal coating? CST is here to help. In addition to assisting you with design and manufacture of your PCBA, Cascade Systems Technology has the experience, expertise, and infrastructure to help you choose, engineer, and apply the optimal conformal coating for your unique application. From small runs dictated by complexity or by production-on-demand schedules - to continuous, high-volume runs requiring high levels of automation - CST has your PCBA and conformal coating needs covered! Contact me to discuss the possibilities, CST’s capabilities, or initiate a quote. - Shantanu R. Gupta, CEO, Cascade Systems Technology https://cascadesystems.net/

[miss-spooky-eyes]

disarm me with a smile (or: Time to give Aric Jorgan an Aric Jorgasm)

So it’s been quite a while since I wrote anything and I had what you might call a very specific scenario in mind involving Aric Jorgan I wanted to write, but no suitable Trooper.

Then @sunsetofdoom very generously allowed me to borrow her Jerin, who turned out to be just what I needed and is, believe me, exactly what you need too (although you might not know it from this). 

It also turned out to be Sunset’s birthday, so I really, really wanted to do a good job with her girl in order to pay tribute to Sunset, who in addition to being ridiculously talented is also unfailingly generous and magnificently filthy, a rare combination in these degenerate days, I don’t make the rules.

Happy belated birthday Sunset! and check out her Jerin content and, fuck, all her content if you haven’t already, and if you haven’t, are you even alive? no.

disarm me with a smile (Aric Jorgan/female Republic Trooper)

Jorgan just wants to get his paperwork finished, but as always when his CO has something else on her mind, there’s nothing for him to do but go down fighting

(No reports were completed during the making of this story.)

WARNINGS: filth; handjobs; ears; much fondling of ears; really an impossible amount of ear action; half-baked alien biology; femdom; risk of discovery

' - revealed an accuracy rating of 89.7%, a 0.6 improvement on last artillery exercise conducted on Tatooine (see report HV/AE/74-J). Subsequent to target elimination, squad was deployed in standard search formation covering a radius of -'

'You still at that?'

Jorgan slumped back in his chair as the words he'd painstakingly lined up in his head to complete the sentence broke ranks and dived for cover. One thing he hadn't missed about being an officer was the paperwork. 'Last one.'

He heard the slapping of her flimsy plastic sandals against the soles of her feet as she approached him, not that he needed that to tell him she'd just returned from the refresher; the smell of the ship's regulation-issue cleaning products and the herb-scented skin lotion she'd got on Alderaan had filled the air before she even stepped through the doorway.  As she drew closer, he smelled clean skin, wet hair. 'Long shower,' he noted.

'CO's privilege.' She stopped behind him, and he felt the slightest vibration through the metal as she rested her fingertips on the chair back. 'Long report.'

'XO's privilege,' Aric returned dryly. He deliberately didn't turn to look at her; he knew what she usually wore when she got out of the shower - sweatpants and a sleeveless undershirt - and nothing about the sight of all that glistening green skin was going to help him finish these reports. 'You need the room?'

'Nah, you're good.' The CO's quarters came complete with a tiny antechamber designed to be used as an office, complete with chair, desk and wall-mounted terminal, all of which was generally wasted on Jerin, who preferred to write what passed for her reports on a datapad while lying on her back on the couch in the common area, long legs extended up the wall. Jorgan, on the other hand, found a stack of paperwork a nearly impossible proposition without a desk and a terminal equipped with a proper keypad, so he used the captain's office by permission; a working arrangement. One of many. 'You finish up.'

Despite her words, she didn't move away from the chair; her proximity was as difficult to ignore as the cloud of her fresh-from-the-refresher scent that still surrounded them both. Jorgan leaned forward, clearing his throat, and checked his notes.

'- 3 klicks from initial contact. Grid blocks 1-3 were covered in an average of 14 minutes, 36 seconds per block, dropping to 11 minutes 17 as terrain -'

'Kriff, you're thorough.' Jerin sounded amused, and the chair shifted slightly, as if she was now leaning on the back to look over his shoulder. 'Sure you don't want to include the ambient temperature? The phases of the moon?'

Interrupted, Aric lifted his fingers from the keyboard and glared at the terminal screen, in which he could faintly see Jerin's reflection. 'Problem with my reports, sir?'

'No, no problem.' The tone of her voice clearly hinted at an imminent 'but' and Aric waited, but after several seconds went by and she didn't speak, he figured she must have thought better of it and reached for the keyboard again - 

'I'm just saying it was a routine training exercise, not the first three Xanitian Wars.'

Aric flexed his fingers, which hadn't quite touched the keys. 'So I should follow your example? What did your report to Garza after Tatooine say? "They died, we didn't. Best wishes, Captain Porter"?' 

He saw a flicker of movement reflected in the terminal screen as she laughed. 'Garza said it was my best report ever.'

Mainly because Dorne wrote the one that actually got sent, and every one after that. Aric sighed. 'You going to stand there all night?'

He felt the chair shift slightly as she shrugged. 'Depends.'

'On?'

'On how long it takes you to finish your magnum opus.'

'Why? There something you want me to do afterwards?' Sufficiently distracted to turn away from the screen and twist to look back at her, Aric realised a split second later he'd done exactly what she was hoping he would, because she was smirking down at him in a very particular way, and the picture she made - bare arms braced on the back of the chair in a way that not so subtly highlighted her muscles, freshly-lotioned green skin gleaming like satin, wet hair slicked back and shining - was - 

... was ...

.... was not conducive to finishing a report on Havoc Squad training exercises.

She shrugged, and he didn't need Cathar vision to notice the way her chest moved underneath that thin undershirt when she did. 'Play your cards right, Lieutenant,' she said, and the tone of her voice told Aric clearly that this battle was already lost, and the only thing left was to fight a valiant rearguard action and hope to go down with honour.

He had to swallow twice before he could say, 'Door's open.'

She didn't even glance back. 'Nobody's out there.'

There might be nobody in the common area now - for once - but anybody could wander in at any moment, could hear a noise from the captain's office, could walk curiously to the open door and see ... 'We shouldn't,' he mumbled, lowering his gaze, realizing as he said it that he sounded like some cornered ingenue in a holodrama.

'Shouldn't what?' She leaned down, resting her elbows on the back of her chair, her face just inches from his, and raised her eyebrows. 'There something you're planning to do to me, Lieutenant?'

That did it; he felt the heat, the tingle ... He turned back hastily to face the terminal, trying to hide it, although he knew it was a futile gesture.

It was; he heard her crow with delighted laughter, and saw the movement reflected in the terminal screen as she raised a hand to muffle it. 'Why, Lieutenant,' she said, lowering her hand to her chest in fake shock. 'Did I do that? Is that for me?'

He tried not to squirm in the narrow chair, tried to resist the impulse to hunch over and attempt to hide it. 'You know it is,' he growled.

'Oh, don't be shy.' He felt her fingertips graze the back of his neck, drifting upwards ... 'You know I love to see them wiggle.'

The tingling intensified, and Aric jerked irritably at her touch. Damn the woman! He'd served with COs, with entire squads who never found out what Cathar ears did when their owners got embarrassed. But two days on the same ship with this Coruscant back-slum loud-mouth and she'd spotted it ... and never forgotten about it. 

It was ridiculous. He'd long ago gotten used to the idea that non-furred humanoids like humans and Mirialans had a tendency to find the physiology of furred species like his own ... intriguing; that they had a regrettable habit of finding perfectly normal behaviours and responses cute, even of comparing them to those exhibited by their domesticated animals. On the whole, he thought Cathar came off better than Bothans and Wookies, and anybody who had ever made jokes in his presence about scratching posts and hairballs had quickly seen, or rather been shown, the error of their ways. 

But if Jerin was better at something than noticing things you'd rather she didn't, it was making you like her so much you didn't mind. She disarmed people as easily as she did bombs.

Even Garza. Even Fuse. Even Dorne.

Her fingertips were still just touching the back of his neck, just below the base of his skull, just resting there as if she'd forgotten about them.

Even him.

He could still feel her delighted gaze on his twitching ears. He sat up straight, resisting the urge to tilt his head and brush each ear against his shoulder to stop the tingling. Personally he didn't see what the big deal was; at least ears that wriggled slightly as a social signifier were subtle, not like furless faces that bloomed with blood. He cleared his throat in what he hoped was a dignified fashion. 'I'd better finish this report.'

'Mmmm, yeah, you'd better.' She was still leaning on her elbows on the back of the chair, a casual pose; anyone who looked in through the doorway would think that she was just reading the terminal screen over his shoulder, perhaps offering him some constructive advice on his report, like a good CO. 

Anyone who looked in through the doorway wouldn't see the fingers still positioned at the back of his neck, the tips just grazing the fur as he breathed. 

'Wouldn't want to waste the whole night on it, after all,' she added.

Concentrate. Aric squared his shoulders, extended his arms, positioned his own fingers above the keyboard.

'- terrain became smoother -'

'Smoother' was a dangerous word right now; he highlighted and deleted.

'- more easily navigable by patrols on foot.'

Garza, or whoever would be reading this, knew that they would have been on foot.

He was almost sure that Jerin's fingertips were higher up his neck than they had been before.

He highlighted and deleted.

'- as terrain became less rocky. After approximately forty-nine minutes, squad Besh -'

'You sure it was forty-nine? Not forty-eight? Not fifty-one?' Jerin punctuated each number with a touch, her index and middle fingers walking slowly across his neck towards his right ear. 'Did we synchronise chronometers?'

'We did.' He cleared his throat again, trying unsuccessfully to smooth the roughness from it as her fingers continued their deliberate progress. 'I covered that already.'

'You did? Where?' She straightened up, leaning further over the back of the chair to see the monitor screen better, and the curve of her breast not-so-accidentally grazed his cheek, and he knew that she could feel his pulse jump through his fur where her fingertips had come to rest just below his ear.

'Right there,' he said, working to keep his tone even. He pointed at the relevant words on the screen.

'My mistake.' She leaned back, with another oh-so-accidental brush of her breast against his neck. 'Carry on, soldier.'

Right. Reports. Training exercises. Aric blinked and refocused on the screen, trying to remember what he'd been going to write.

'- squad Besh reported signs of enemy passage, bearing 213.75 degrees.'

Her fingers were still resting just below his ear, behind the angle of his jaw, drifting in the tiniest of circles over the tips of his fur as they both breathed.

'Squad Aurek, designated C&C for this exercise, analysed topographical data and recomended -'

'You missed an "m" there,' Jerin pointed out, bringing her hand up to point at the screen.

The backs of her fingers just brushed the rim of his ear as she did so, and he jolted in his chair, twisting involuntarily to look back and up at her.

She met his glare with eyes of melting innocence. 'Something wrong?'

For a second, he let himself picture himself reaching up, grabbing a handful of her undershirt and twisting to pull her down to his level, a kiss so hard they'd both break away gasping for breath; the darkening skin on her face and neck as the blood started to pound, her lips swollen, eyes bright ...

He'd be damned if he let her win that easily. 'No, sir.' He turned back to face the terminal.

'Better carry on with your report then, Lieutenant.' Her hands brushed lightly along both of his shoulders, idly picking off a piece of lint here, deftly adjusting his collar there. 'We don't have all night.'

He squared his jaw and reached for the keyboard again.

Her hands rested softly one on each shoulder, and he could feel the heat of her skin through the thin material of his shirt. 'Or maybe we do.'

Aric highlighted, deleted, typed: '- recommended both squads circle round to intercept the enemy on their projected path -'

A finger trailed up the right side of his neck.

'- at canyon mouth designated Choke Point One -'

Despite himself, his fingers faltered on the keys as the questing finger approached the place where it had rested before, and he breathed in as it trailed towards his ear. But it swerved away before it reached the lobe, instead continuing on its slow path upwards, following the curve of his ear without touching it, up and over and down towards his cheek.

'- located at coordinates -'

The fingertip reversed its course, following the same path back, the softest skim against his fur as she traced the shape of his ear without touching it. All the way back down to just below the lobe and then up again.

Coordinates. He had them written down. In his notes. Somewhere. He reached blindly for his datapad.

As Jerin's finger trailed up and down, it left a line of tingling warmth in its wake, and his ear ... She hadn't even touched his ear and already it was warm, throbbing in a distant yet urgent tandem with the beating of his heart.

The problem, he thought dizzily as he paged unseeing through his notes, was evolution. Cathar ears didn't just signal embarrassment; they registered and communicated all different types of emotions and social cues. Much of what humans and many other humanoids communicated through their mouths - smiles, frowns, smirks, winces - was in a Cathar visible instead in tiny shifts and motions to which other species tended to be oblivious. And all of that subtle movement required many, many tiny muscles ... a tracery of many, many infinitesimal blood vessels to fill and throb ... hundreds upon thousands of nerve endings. 

Well, that was one problem. The other was that the woman standing behind him was pure evil.

She would have to touch his ear soon, if only by accident. She would have to ...

Then he felt the lightest stroke across the lobe of his other ear, and jerked, caught completely off guard. The datapad clattered to the desk. 

Pure. Damn. Evil.

'Better pick that up,' she suggested helpfully, her fingertip stroking across his earlobe again.

Automatically, with fingers that felt like they no longer belonged to him, he picked up the datapad again.

'You were looking up coordinates,' she prompted him. 

Coordinates. He made an effort, focused, resolving the blur of shapes to green text on a black background. Numbers. He was looking for numbers.

Then both those fingertips stroked as one up the outside of both ears, and everything blurred again.

'Lieutenant?'

They followed the curves and indentations up to the point of his ears, and then down.

'Seems like you've stopped writing, Lieutenant.'

And then they slipped as one just half a centimeter inside, and started to climb again, this time tracing the inner surface of that soft ridge, up and over and down again.

He arched in his chair as she stroked him, the lightest, most abominably teasing brush of skin against fur, and the thought that came to mind was: It wasn't fair. It really, truly wasn't right that a woman of her size and strength, who threw punches the way other people threw grenades, should have hands like this.

Bomb-defusing hands. That's where this all started; that grimy Port Raga hellhole, the senator whining in his chair, the air thick with sirens and smoke and Jerin's hands, disconnecting sensors, rewiring gauges, as if there was all the time in the world. He'd watched, mesmerised, as she delicately picked apart the instruments of fiery death, and despite being one touch too heavy or too lingering away from the kind of pointless end he'd always hoped against hope he would avoid, all he could think about was those same fingers, grease-blackened, smelling of acrid smoke, on him. 

After that it had been just a matter of time before she found him in the armoury one day and gave him what no shame could stop him from wanting, peeling away his armour piece by piece until she could run her hands all over his bare torso, touching and caressing him until he was panting, open-mouthed, then spinning him around and pinning him to the wall, grinding her hips against his from behind with such unmistakable promise that he came just like that, came inside his pants, without her ever even laying a finger on him below the waist. 

'You'll never make captain at this rate, Lieutenant.'

She was using her thumbs now, a delicate pressure against the back of his earlobes as those fingers stroked again and again around the rim of his ear, each time lingering a little longer, straying a little further towards the inner folds and ridges.

Because she knew, knew what nobody else had ever looked at him and seen, what he'd rather die than let Dorne or Vik or any of the rest of them see; that day in, day out, he wore thirty-five kilos of reinforced durasteel, and underneath it what he really wanted was to be ... touched. Not to fuck, or even to be fucked, although both had their place. To be touched. Caressed. Stroked.

Petted.

Fingertips were circling the inner ridges of his ears now. He arched again, pressing his head back against her, no longer caring if she saw how much she was affecting him. She'd known from the beginning. From before the start.

The chair legs squealed on the floor, metal against metal, as he nudged it backwards, away from the desk. Creating space, so she could reach down and ...

Not that she would, unless and until he asked for it.

'Giving up already?' The question was a taunt, breathed out against one ear, stirring the fine hairs inside. Aric shuddered, fingers flexing and kneading at empty air, as he felt her move behind him to whisper the next question across the burning membranes of the other ear. 'On your reports, that is?'

The wet flick of her tongue across his earlobe.

'What happened to being thorough, Lieutenant?'

The softest tug of teeth. 

'Unless there's something you care about more?'

His hand twitched involuntarily up towards hers before he could stop it. Her laugh stirred every strand of fur across his ear, made them sing.

'Better undo those pants before you make a mess of them.

Fumbling with numb fingers, he unfastened, yanked his pants open, hissing underneath his breath as his dick sprang free, hard and twitching and exposed. 

She switched sides again, fondling fingers replacing lips and breath on his right ear, tongue snaking up and around and into his right. 

Aric's dick throbbed, a pulse so powerful it was almost painful. His hand twitched upwards again - 

Footsteps.

They froze as one, listening.

Someone was walking into the common area; Yuun or Dorne, he thought, or maybe even Vik; the big Weequay moved with a softness that belied his size, and it was hard to tell through the pounding of blood in his tortured ears. 

The door was open. He tried to think, through the throbbing and the pounding and the tickle of breath stirring the fur on his ear. If whoever it was was just passing through the common area to get from one side of the ship to the other, they would have no reason to look through the open doorway, or at least would only take a casual glance that would reveal little but the captain's back. 

If they were there to grab a snack, though, or to slump in the seating area that was just outside the door ...

He might be the one with his dick out, but she had more to lose, they both understood that; a blind eye might be turned to a CO sleeping with their subordinate as long as a certain level of discretion was observed, but this would hardly be considered discreet by any standards, let alone General Garza's. If whoever was out there saw. If they chose to report. 

Even if they didn't report ... they'd know.

The footsteps grew a little louder, paused, as if whoever it was had stopped by the battered table, maybe to inspect a datapad left lying there, trying to decide whether the latest holodrama was worth sitting down and watching.

She was the CO. She would be the one to lose her command. And yet this was part of the equation for her, in a way he didn't quite understand. The open door was for her, not him; he felt no thrill from the possibility of discovery; there was nothing more likely to make his hard-on shrivel up and disappear than the thought of Tanno Vik, for example, knowing anything, ever, about what he and the captain did. 

Jerin, though. He didn't understand why, but he understood that she was playing with the fears at the ragged fringe of her existence, playing with the possibility of it all unravelling, as much as she was playing with him. 

Pathetically, that knowledge almost made him jealous.

Pressed together like this, his head flush against her chest, he could almost feel her heart beating, hear her trying not to breathe. He listened with her to the soft thunk as whoever it was put something down on the table, listened to the noises as they walked across the common area to the door on the other side, listened to the footsteps receding down the hall until they died away.

The captain let out the breath she'd been holding, and he could almost swear he felt each individual strand of fur shiver as it passed. 

'Where were we?' The whisper was hot against the nape of his neck as she moved her head back from his left side to his right. He felt her lips fasten delicately around the crest of his ear, forming a tight, wet seal, and the touch of her tongue as it toyed with the pointed tip.

Damn dignity, kriff going down fighting, he couldn't take it any more. His hand seized hers and wrenched it downwards.

The softness of her breasts surrounded his head and neck as his grip on her hand yanked her forward, but neither they nor the drumming of the blood in his ears could muffle the little satisfied snicker she gave as he slapped her hand against his shaft and wrapped their fingers around it.

One thing he could say for his captain; she was merciful, once the conquest was complete. He let his hand fall away as hers began to move, firm strokes, her grip hot and hard and a little too dry, smoothing his fur on the downstroke only to rough it up once more. He'd given in, accepted defeat, and now all he had to do was wait in blind, throbbing anticipation for her to end it. He turned his head, nuzzling into her breasts, reaching back blindly for a handful of ass, thigh, anything he could dig his fingers into and squeeze as she worked him, worked him, worked him.

Jerin shifted her weight, brought her other hand around, enfolding him more tightly as she took hold of him with both hands, one circling tightly at the base of his shaft while the other twisted and stroked near the head. That's all it took, a few breathless, straining seconds of her hands on him and then everything that had been gathering in him ignited in white fire and he found himself thrusting wildly, desperately, as best as he could up into her fist.

She knew to release her grip on his shaft as the barbs sprang up, the teeth that were supposed to lock him into place within his mate until he was done spilling his seed, and her freed hand came up to stroke his face, cradling it against her breast as her other hand coaxed everything from him, circling and twisting to catch the pearly strands until he was spent, left trembling and boneless and clinging against her. 

She stroked his face gently, murmuring things he registered only as waves of tenderness breaking against his twitching ears, as she brought her hand up in front of his face, his cum striping her green skin.

And without needing to be told, Aric bent his head to her hand and began to lick it clean, a purr rising from deep within his chest.

[gascon-en-exil]

Jesus Christ. I just saw someone post the "genius" hot take that Dimitri and the childhood friends are just slightly greyer equivalents of the "evil king and his 4 generals." (ignoring how it's usually Emperor for a good reason) then listed all the EVIL flaws the childhood squad has so they can vaugely be defined as villain archetypes. Finished with praising the game for mixing it up by making them protagonists instead of antagonist "like usual". Received unanymous approval and a ton of likes.

That is such a gloriously bad take that after I read this ask I had to sit and ponder for a minute just how I was going to respond to it without veering wildly off in about four different directions. So have some bullet points instead:

The setup of a king and his three or four generals (and the exact number is significant, see the next point) is not a strongly crystallized one compared to many series archetypes for playable characters. Antagonist hierarchies in FE tend to be more varied than that, and even the games that make use of this trope play around with it very freely. Binding Blade has one of the generals outlive her king, Blazing Sword transfers this setup to an assassin guild and makes one of them a plant for the true Big Bad (and also recruitable), Sacred Stones doubles the initial imperial three, has one general kill another between chapters, and makes another one recruitable, Path of Radiance has one survive to be a major threat in the sequel and a second that I can guarantee no one remembers, and Fates makes facing down the opposing royals a messy and morally grey affair. No one is going to in good faith read the Lions characters this way when “edgy contrary swordsman,” “horny/lazy knight in either red or green,” and “dutiful pegasus knight plus dutiful knight in either red or green eternally tired of their colored counterpart’s horny/lazy antics” are far more readily identifiable, especially when their leader starts off as a send-up of the classic honorable lord.

I’m not going to try tracking down this argument, but I really hope they’re not including Dedue as a way of making four. It is significant to both plot and characterization that Dedue is not one of Dimitri’s childhood friends but is nonetheless the closest person to him for the length of the game and the person whose life he’s shown to the most across all routes. Dedue’s presence in the Lions represents the destabilizing effect that the Tragedy of Duscur had on Faerghus. Had it not happened he wouldn’t be at the monastery, and the Lions’ vassal would be Felix whose family has a longstanding tradition of being the homoerotic #2s of the kings of Faerghus. You can’t just slot him into Dimitri’s social circle for the sake of a weak argument without acknowledging that his position there is highly unusual and has negatively impacted the prince’s relationships with all his old friends.

And speaking of Dedue, is there anyone in Three Houses who better fits into the Camus role, i.e. the most clearly defined and most often recurring of the enemy general character types? He subverts the hell out of the archetype in multiple ways, but he’s able to hold that honor in the first place because of game mechanics. Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid all can be recruited away from Dimitri, so when it comes to fighting them as enemies they can’t take on any significant roles. In Crimson Flower Felix fights alongside his father Arianrhod, Ingrid is just kind of there with them too, and Sylvain deploys at Tailtean ahead of Dimitri and Dedue. They don’t get any story scenes, there’s no cohesion among them, and it’s still Dedue who gets the big moment and potentially a poignant death scene with his king/lover because the game has to account for the other three possibly being in your army. None of the childhood friends ever gets the chance to be a Camus. (Side note, but I’d argue that the character who best fits the build and temperament of a classical Camus is in fact Ferdinand - except that if you don’t recruit him he dies at the Great Bridge long before the playable army marches on Enbarr. That distance from Edelgard when they’re on the same side as antagonists is perhaps notable, but a digression here.)

Fans in the “Edelgard did no wrong” camp appear to have a lot of trouble with the concept of a villain protagonist even though Edelgard plays that role to a tee in CF. How then are they seemingly able to understand it perfectly when applied to the core Lions, when nothing about Azure Moon frames it as a villain route? You can criticize AM for not dealing with the Agarthans (except they kind of are) or for restoring the status quo (which it actually doesn’t, at least for the Kingdom), but Edelgard is still the unprovoked aggressor of AM’s war and the overarching goal of the route is defeating her to stop said war. The biggest narrative “mixing up” of Three Houses is making the conquest-happy emperor decked out in red, the unambiguously evil sorcerer/chancellor, and the black-armored knight consumed with bloodlust playable for once - but it’s not like any of them stop being those things in CF.

Rather petty, but I love how this implies that any character with observable flaws can be read as a villain.

That was a lot of veering around wildly, but I think I made my point(s).

[yr-hen-ogledd]

Have you got any Iron Tusks lore lying around, or are they a completed project? I've been scrolling through the tag snapping up those gorgeous in-universe fluff snippets, and it's made me really curious about their backstory.

Ok so first of all thanks for saying a nice thing about my writing, which I have much less confidence in than I do in my painting. I’m super happy it grabbed your interest!

As for the Great Iron Tusks Fluff Bible… Well, for most of this evening I thought it’d been lost when I upgraded to my new(er) PC. But apparently I never delete anything ever and having done a bit of digging, well: here’s just about the entire history of the chapter, up to end of the 41st millenium & the creation of the Great Rift. Delve beneath the cut if you dare.

 Caveats: I read the background for the Warhammer 40,000 universe back in, like, 1996? ‘97? I haven’t paid too much attention since. I much prefer to just make shit up. I dip in here & there but you may find bits in here that seem to contradict actual canon - roll with it, I guess? It’s a big universe governed by an unreliable megabureaucracy; there’s room for more than one version of the truth.

++REF::CS+IRON_TUSKS

ADT.ASTARTES.DES.IRON.TUSKS

>IRON TUSKS: Adeptus Astartes chapter. Founded 738.M41 using Ultramarines gene-seed on Khaskal IV, Ultima Segmentum. Supervising officer Capt. Jun Harkenas (ex-Silver Skulls), subordinate officers including Capt. Astor Valk (ex-Silver Skulls), Capt. Haral Gor (ex-Carcharodon Astra), Reclusiarch Bron Ovidor (ex-Doom Eagles), Sgt. Torias Telion (Ultramarines, secondment), assisted by advisory council led by Barad Valur Arendt & other tribal elders.

On advice of Capt. Gor and the elders of the laghun, attending hiero-scrivenor Gorganaeus grants permission to Captain Harkenas to alter original ministorum designation BLACK PALADINS to IRON TUSKS in recognition of indigenous ursid life-forms known locally as Roortagha. Harkenas also orders chapter livery changed to deep crimson to fit with native blood rituals and warrior traditions. The Adeptus Terra’s initial audit detects minor mutations of the oolitic kidney, Betcher’s gland & the mucranoid gland, producing a moderately toxic & caustic airborne suspension when the marines’ sweat evaporates. The mutation falls well within acceptable levels of deviation and the founding is consecrated. The chapter is officially armed on St. Burden’s Day, 744.M41, fighting strength 350 scouts, 250 marines, plus command staff and various supporting elements including 3 strike cruisers. Captain Harkenas is named First Marshall, Captain Valk is named 2nd Company Marshall ; Master of the Armoury, Captain Gor is named 3rd Company Marshall ; Master of Recruits ; Bron Ovidor becomes High Chaplain. Sgt. Telion returns to Macragge.

745.M41: Hive Fleet Behemoth descends upon Ultima Segmentum. The Great Devourer carves a bloody path through the Imperium’s suprised and confused defenders leaving only lifeless rocks in its wake. Bio-ships appear at system terminus without warning after listening posts on Brennan’s World and Valentina are overrun by hostile xenoforms. Massively outnumbered, First Marshall Harkenas orders Khaskal IV evacuated and the chapter’s gene-seed secured aboard the strike cruiser Silverback. Harkenas and Ovidor lead half the chapter’s evocatii in a forlorn delaying action. Behemoth is eventually stopped at enormous cost, but Khaskal is stripped of all life weeks beforehand. The surviving brothers make a final return to salvage what equipment & armour they can, but leave the system within a week of arrival.

The Iron Tusks, now fleet-based, appear to drift between campaigns for several years, intervening in battles at Verrae, St. Nazaire, Xavierus and Sacristan. At Xavierus, Major-General Valdestin of the 120th Cadian Expeditionary records the Iron Tusks deploying “4 companies in good order, though unorthodox in equipment.” At Sacristan, Captain Serrus of the Star Phantoms notes the Iron Tusks battlefleet joining their own with 5 ships of the line, “three of which had clearly been reclaimed from unsanctioned sources.” Both commanders describe their allies scavenging war materiel from their enemies and after Sacristan, in which the combined Astartes forces drive off a raiding force of Red Corsairs traitors, the Iron Tusks (apparently now under the command of Haral Gor) pursue the traitors into the Maelstrom “with relish.”

The following decades paint a confusing picture: in 786.M41 they appear in the journal of the Rogue Trader Jelena diVerre as masters of Loghain’s Cross, a feudal world to the galactic south of Baal. Certainly, a number of imperial records from this time period make mention of the Iron Tusks fighting numerous battles against the orks raiding out of the Galatian Belt and against eldar pirates on Barre. But by the time Waaagh! Gormug makes a ruin of several Imperial worlds in 802, the Iron Tusks have apparently moved on. While the Blood Angels defend Loghain’s Cross, the Iron Tusks are recorded fighting “at chapter strength” against the bloody, Alpha Legion-led rebellion on Vittkenstein

“Though all who know the space marines know the essential diversity bred by their independent formations, I declare I never encountered a body of fighting men of such strange attitudes as these - leastways not as allies. The Irontusks (sic) seem to view their vocation almost as a great sport. They count kills upon their armour, they swear a great deal, they make indecipherable guestures toward the enemy (many of which I suspect are lewd in character!). Throne preserve us, at one juncture I visited a defensive position to inspect the conditions and found one of them sat in the cupola of his tank, smoking a lho-stick of very ill flavour. And yet who can complain of their devotion to the Emperor’s cause? After every raid they return with fallen comrades over their shoulders, bloodied banners of the enemy and grotesque smiles across scarred faces. One of their officers asked me if the regiment had encountered foes such as these before and when I answered him in the affirmative he declared that his men would be following us home.”- Colonel Ferdinand Maxwell-Gray, Mordian 18th.

Certainly the Iron Tusks do seem to have moved erratically toward the Mordian system for a time, but their route is difficult to ascertain. The war on Vittkenstein lasts another 4 years, but after that various naval records refer to the Iron Tusks retiring to a number of different homeworlds: Ironhold, Merite, Kyushin II, Jara-na-vere-ko, Elva XI and as many as 8 other planets are recorded as the chapter’s home base. Furthermore, having reached Mordian they seem to have moved on shortly after in the direction of the Cadian Gate and the Eye of Terror. More informatively, we can say with certainty the date at which they did so. Having claimed the death world of Morsava sometime before 984.M41, they subsequently sell the planet in 999.M41 to the governor-militant of Mordian for the perfunctory sum of 1 Imperial Credit - three days after the onslaught of the 13th Black Crusade. At this time Battlefleet Obscurus naval records indicate a fleet of 7 strike cruisers, one battle barge (designated Tough Love) and numerous escorts, bulk haulers and sundry other ships leaving the Mordian subsector and bearing galactic south-west.

++RECORD ENDS++

++THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: A CLOSED MIND IS WELL-DEFENDED

It would appear that the Iron Tusks have adopted a modus operandi by which they occupy any world which they are able to take from enemy forces, staying long enough to recover losses in men and materiel, before abandoning it in the event that better ‘sport’ presents itself elsewhere. It is a pattern which has seen battle companies attach themselves frequently to Imperial army groups unsolicited, apparently to involve themselves in more violence.They seem to act without any thought to wider Imperial strategy, or to collateral damage. Can their wilful disregard for authority be tolerated? More gravely, is their pursuit of violence for violence’s sake not a well-worn trail on the path to damnation? My Lord, I must recommend an immediate Inquisitorial audit be carried out on these rogues - lest rogues be left to turn altogether renegade.

I remain your humble and obedient servant,

9.

There you have it. The rest of it gets written as & when models & projects inspire me to get typing. You’ve seen glimpses of the Tusks post-rift activities - stranded on the wrong side of the sky-scar, scavenging the debris of fallen worlds, occasionally finding gold dust on shattered hulks that float out of the few relatively stable shipping routes across the Cicatrix Maledictum, and sometimes adopting new friends of mysterious origin from the beleaguered worlds of the Imperium Nihilus. There will probably be more in the future! No project is ever really finished until you run out of ideas.