#shell fleet solutions

[luv4arinn]

I Just Wanna Feel

Author’s Note: So—sorry for not posting in weeks, but I had a massive writer’s block, and well… I’m back! I was heavily inspired by THAT Robbie Williams song. Yes, I watched his biopic. Yes, I cried. Yes, I recommend it. And… surprise?! There will be a whole chronology with the others, all themed around Robbie’s songs! Yayy <3!! Consider it a gift? from me for taking so long 🥺. Love you all.

Pairing: Bayverse!Donnie x female reader

Tags: Intense fluff, nerd having an emotional crisis, extreme overthinking, unexpected kisses, Donatello’s mental breakdown, romantic panic, “oh no I messed up” but in HD, happy ending.

The sound of the keyboard echoed through the room—a rhythmic, steady tapping that blended with the low hum of the monitors. The bluish glow from the screens cast irregular shadows across his face, reflecting off the lenses of his glasses with every line of code appearing and disappearing on the monitor.

Donatello was there, as always.

The work was easy. Thinking was easy.

It was like a well-structured algorithm: receive information, process it, execute a plan of action. The world had rules, patterns, probabilities—formulas that predicted outcomes with near-absolute precision. No matter how chaotic a situation seemed, there was always a logical solution waiting to be uncovered.

Computers don’t lie.

Data has no biases, no whims. It doesn’t suffer irrational fluctuations. It doesn’t beat faster without reason. It doesn’t have to remind itself to breathe.

But then…

There’s you.

And everything falls apart.

Not immediately. Not like a fatal error shutting down the system in the blink of an eye. It’s more subtle. Like an unexpected variable in an equation that had, until now, been perfect. Something that doesn’t fit into the rigid structure of his world—but something he can’t ignore either.

He thinks about it often. About how his brain operates like a well-calibrated machine, each thought clicking into the next like the teeth of a moving gear. Logic is his native language. Reason, his compass.

And yet, when it comes to you, all that logic becomes blurred.

The gears grind.

The code becomes erratic.

The equation fills with unknowns.

Because when you step into his space, when your voice disrupts the steady rhythm of his keyboard, when you lean over his desk without a second thought for the scattered circuits and switch off his monitor without warning…

His first instinct is to think. Analyze. Quantify.

What does this mean?

Why does his heart react this way?

Why does his skin register the shift in temperature more intensely when you’re near?

But thinking doesn’t give him answers.

Feeling does.

And that is terrifying.

Because feeling isn’t predictable. Feeling has no neatly arranged lines of code, no graphs to chart behavioral patterns, no equations with exact solutions.

Emotions, in themselves, are a chaotic system.

And you…

You are the anomaly he still doesn’t know how to decode.

Nights shouldn’t feel this short when spent alone in front of a screen. And yet, when his mind drifts to the memory of a laugh, the fleeting image of a glance, the echo of an accidental touch… time dissolves in a way not even quantum physics could explain.

When he feels the weight of his name on your tongue. Like an access key to a system he never thought anyone would try to hack.

And he watches you from the corner of his eye as you lean closer, and in that instant, every variable in his mind shifts. Every equation rewrites itself.

A shiver runs down his shell.

Feeling.

He knows because his chest tightens with an undefined pressure, a sensation he can’t attribute to any specific physiological variable. His heart rate isn’t elevated from exertion. He’s not under attack. He’s not in danger.

So why does his body react as if he is?

There’s no equation to explain this.

Because if there were, he would have solved it long ago. He would have identified the problem, broken it down into its components, eliminated any errors. But every time he thinks he’s close to an answer, another unknown appears, shifting all previous solutions out of place.

Music filters through his headphones, slow and melancholic.

“I just wanna feel, real love…”

A shiver runs down his spine.

His body reacts to the sound before his mind does. It’s absurd. It’s ridiculous. There is no logical reason why a progression of chords and a set of words arranged in a certain way should have this effect on him.

And yet, here he is.

Fingers hovering over the keyboard, motionless—caught between the instinct to keep working and the strange, undeniable realization that… he can’t.

Not because he’s tired.

Not because he lacks information.

Not because there’s a problem that requires more processing.

But because, for the first time in a long time, the data isn’t the most important thing.

The screen flickers with information he should be absorbing, but he isn’t. His glasses reflect numbers and graphs that would normally hold his full attention, but his gaze is empty, unfocused.

The room remains unchanged—draped in shadows, illuminated only by the bluish glow of his monitors and the faint blinking of LED lights from his equipment.

The mission had been difficult. The margin of error had been higher than he liked to admit.

It wasn’t often that his calculations failed.

But sometimes, calculations weren’t enough.

Sometimes, reality simply… refused to adhere to logic.

“Feel the home that I live in…”

His jaw tightens.

He doesn’t know how that song ended up on his playlist.

But he has a reasonable theory.

One that involves Mikey, his blatant disregard for personal privacy, and his insistent need to “help him connect with his emotions.”

(Sure. Right.)

And yet…

The lyrics hit him harder than he’d like to admit.

It’s not the melody itself. It’s not the chords or the rhythm. It’s the way the words seem to slip through the cracks in his mind, seeping into the spaces that logic has never quite managed to seal shut.

“I just wanna feel, real love…”

Donnie exhales slowly, his fingers still hovering over the keyboard, motionless.

He thinks about the battle.

The mistakes.

The risks they took.

Numbers flash through his mind like a simulation running in reverse—impact probability, the margin of error in his calculations, the reaction speed needed to avoid damage. Fractions of a second where the difference between victory and absolute disaster depended on decisions made under pressure.

But more than anything—he thinks about you.

He thinks about the way, at the end of the fight, you rushed to check if he was okay.

About how, without even thinking, your hands—warm, alive—ran along his arm, searching for injuries he had already identified and dismissed milliseconds before with his visor.

He could have told you it wasn’t necessary.

That he was unharmed.

That he had concrete data to prove it.

But he didn’t.

Because logic dictates that worry should be extinguished by facts.

But feeling…

Feeling dictates that your touch lingers, even after you’ve gone.

That the sensation of your skin against his stays beyond his capacity for reasoning.

That the light pressure of your fingers on his forearm still burns in his memory, like an unsolved equation looping endlessly in his mind.

“Come and hold my hand…”

Donnie closes his eyes.

He could turn the song off.

He could erase the anomaly from his system.

He could rewrite the equation, adjust the variables, find a way to rationalize what he feels.

But… he doesn’t want to.

Because for the first time in his life, the result of a problem doesn’t matter as much as the unknown.

He doesn’t just want to think.

He wants to feel.

He wants to understand why being with you feels like the only constant that truly matters.

And then—you arrive.

Without warning, without fanfare, without the slightest idea that the world inside Donatello’s mind is teetering on the edge of a collapse even he can’t explain.

The lab door slides open smoothly—barely a whisper against the silence, thick with static electricity and the faint murmur of music in his headphones.

He notices everything.

The shift in air pressure.

The sound of your footsteps, softened against the floor.

The faint scent of shampoo and fabric laced with the chill of the night.

The way the temperature in the room rises by just a fraction of a degree when you step inside.

But he doesn’t turn around immediately.

Because he doesn’t know what to do with the anomaly that you are in his equation.

He doesn’t know where to place you within the rigid parameters of his logical, structured world.

His operating system slows, his brain—so used to processing information with the precision of a surgeon—stalls in an endless loop, searching for a resolution that refuses to exist.

And then—your voice.

“Donnie?”

Soft. Not because you’re hesitant, but because you know him. Because somehow—through a method he can’t quantify—you can read the tension in his shoulders. You can see the way his fingers have stopped typing, even though the screen is still waiting for input.

He closes his eyes for just a moment, as if that alone might be enough to reboot him, to restore the control that feels like it’s slipping through his fingers.

He knows he should say something.

He knows he should act normal.

But his normal means efficiency, speed, precise answers delivered at the exact right moment.

And right now, every command in his mind is failing.

You watch him with quiet curiosity, tilting just slightly toward him—just enough for the air between you to feel heavier, more tangible.

“Everything okay?” you ask, voice soft in that way that completely disarms him. Then your gaze sharpens slightly, scanning him with quiet scrutiny. “Are you hurt?”

He doesn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he looks at you.

His mind runs an automatic analysis of your expression—eyes slightly narrowed, lips barely pressed together, the faintest crease in your right brow, as if you’re already calculating the probability that he’s lying.

Logic dictates that he should reassure you with data. That he should tell you his visor has already run a full diagnostic scan and that his physical condition is optimal. That there is no rational reason for concern.

But then his gaze drops.

And he sees his own hand, still resting on the desk—still tense.

And for the first time in a long time, he chooses to do something without overthinking it.

He looks at you again.

His throat feels dry. Without realizing it, he wets his lips—a quick flick of his tongue over skin cracked from hours without proper hydration.

Then, in a voice so quiet it barely sounds like his own, he asks:

“Can I… hold your hand?”

It’s not the kind of question anyone would expect from him.

And he knows it.

Because it doesn’t fit his usual patterns. It’s not something that makes sense in any logical context.

But right now, logic is utterly useless to him.

Your lashes flutter in subtle surprise, as if the words take a few extra seconds to fully register.

“What?”

His instincts scream at him to backtrack, to rephrase, to find a way to explain what even he doesn’t fully understand.

But he doesn’t.

“I want to…” He inhales, trying to reorganize his thoughts. “I mean, just—”

He shuts his eyes for a second, frustration flickering across his face. He has never felt this clumsy with words before.

When he opens them again, you’re still there. You haven’t moved. You haven’t looked away.

And somehow, that alone gives him the courage he’s lacking.

“I just… want to feel it.”

The truth escapes him so easily, so quietly, that it almost embarrasses him.

Your expression shifts.

It’s not amusement.

It’s not rejection.

It’s something softer. More intimate.

And without questioning it—without hesitation or unnecessary words—you let your hand slide over his.

Not hurriedly.

Not hesitantly.

Just with the quiet certainty of someone who understands exactly what he’s asking for.

And when your fingers intertwine with his, Donnie feels every equation, every algorithm, every carefully structured rule in his mind… simply dissolve.

As if they had never really mattered in the first place.

“Well?” you ask, your voice carrying a faint attempt at lightness.

Donnie knows you’re trying to sound casual, that you’re masking your uncertainty behind a relaxed tone. But he notices.

He notices the delicate dusting of pink on your cheeks, the almost imperceptible tremor in your lower lip, the way your thumb brushes against the back of his hand—like you’re adjusting to the contact just as much as he is.

And something inside him… softens.

His lips curve, at first unconsciously—a smile, small and barely formed. Then, from deep in his chest, a quiet laugh escapes, unbidden and genuine, as weightless as the air after a storm.

It’s not mockery. It’s not disbelief.

It’s something purer. Something real.

—Nothing, —he murmurs, his thumb moving awkwardly against your skin— Just… this is nice.

The confession catches him off guard.

Because he hadn’t planned it.

Because he hadn’t filtered it through his logic before speaking.

Because it simply happened.

And then, you look at each other.

Maybe for too long.

Maybe just long enough for the world around you to blur into a distant murmur, as if nothing else exists except the space you occupy together.

He finds himself mesmerized by you.

Fascinated.

But not in the way he is fascinated by a new equation, by an unexpected pattern in the data, by the perfect symmetry of a well-designed structure.

This is different.

This is raw.

This is visceral.

This is feeling.

His other hand, trembling in a way he doesn’t understand, lifts with a slowness that borders on reverence.

And when his fingers brush against your cheek, the touch is so light it feels like an experiment in itself.

He feels.

He feels the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips, the way it molds so effortlessly to his touch, the way your body leans ever so slightly toward him—responding to an equation he hasn’t yet written but, for the first time, doesn’t feel the need to solve.

He feels the erratic pounding of his own heart, too fast, too unsteady, as if it has forgotten its natural rhythm.

He feels the heat gathering in his chest, expanding outward like a shockwave, defying all logical explanation.

And then, he hears you sigh.

Small.

Soft.

Almost imperceptible.

But he feels it.

He feels the warmth of your breath against his skin, the subtle vibration of your exhale in the nonexistent space between you.

Feels,

feels,

feels.

As if every one of his senses—once so meticulously calibrated to process information—has now been repurposed for a single objective:

You.

Your warmth seeping into his skin.

Your quiet, rhythmic breathing.

The barely-there weight of your gaze resting on him.

The familiar scent of you, imprinting itself onto some hidden corner of his mind he never thought necessary.

Just you.

Only you.

Nothing else exists.

Nothing else matters.

And then—without thinking, without calculating, without rationalizing it into exhaustion like he always does—

he kisses you.

It’s brief. Just a brush of lips.

A moment suspended between doubt and need, between impulse and fear.

A single heartbeat contained in a single point of contact.

And then—

He hears you gasp.

His entire body locks up. Every muscle goes rigid with a tension so sharp it’s almost painful.

His brain—so efficient, so precise, so relentless in its ability to analyze every variable in a situation—enters a total shutdown.

He stares at you, eyes wide, pupils blown.

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

He misread everything.

What the hell was he thinking?

You don’t see him that way.

Why would you?

Why would you ever?

Shame crashes over him like an unstoppable wave. His stomach twists, his skin burns, his heart clenches into an invisible fist that threatens to crush it from the inside out.

He pulls back, his hands loosening, his voice catching in his throat.

—Oh, God, I didn’t mean to— —he stammers, his voice cracking under the weight of his own panic. His thoughts are a mess of unsolved equations, of probabilities collapsing into a singularity of pure dread— I just… I thought it was a good moment, I—

—Yes.

Your voice cuts through his spiral.

His brain short-circuits.

—It was.

…

What?

His breath halts.

The air thickens, pressing in from all sides, as if the entire universe has stopped—right here, right now, in these words, in this reality he never accounted for.

And then—

You close the distance.

You are the one to bring your lips back to his.

And his mind—his brilliant, overanalyzing mind—

for the first time in his life—goes completely silent.

And he simply—feels.

[azucar-skull]

I totally didn't forget about the costume change till the very end shh what are you talking about-

FERAL CASEY AU HAS JOINED THE COMPETITION! But wait...where did Casey go? The turtles will need help from their fellow competetors! Expect some of you to get them reaching out to you in your inbox. ;)

Here's some brief context to help:

Leo - The leader of the Resistance. Leo’s main focus is "fix the problem at hand" and hardly ever lets his people see his fear. Injuries include a cracked shell he hides behind his scarf and his amputated right arm. If it can be helped, he actually prefers not to wear a prosthetic, only wearing it for missions (this event kinda counts). He's also transmasc and wears a metal plastron chestplate built to look more rigid since female turtles have flat plastrons. Leo is dating Yuichi Usagi, a jackalope samurai, who is currently missing and presumed dead. Leo’s relationship to Casey Jr is a complicated one. In the comic, he's seen as skeptical and on guard around the kid. Little does anyone know that Leo blames himself for Casey’s infection and with that the entire apocalypse at large. He's just trying to fix the problem at hand.

Raph - Head Commander of the Resistance’s soldiers with April as her right hand. Oh yeah, Raph is bigender btw, switching between he and she. Currently in the comic, Raph is she. Raph’s gender presentation in the comp will switch between depending on whatever is convenient. (Idk I'm trying to work this out-) Raph is recently widowed, her partner Cassandra died when the team learned she was a Kraang for the past 8 years and had no choice but to put her down. Raph is left with Casey Jr, a son she didn't know about till a week ago. But she welcomes him with open arms and strives to be the best mother-father ever.

Mikey - When Casey was first rescued, Mikey was the first to show him compassion. He gave him sweets, taught him to read, write, and sign in ASL, and showed endless amounts of kindness and patience when it comes to Casey’s reintegration into society. To put it simply, he's the favorite uncle. The only one whose not afraid of his Kraang side.

Donnie - Master of multiple domains in the Resistance. Captain of the fleet, leading scientist and mechanic, in charge of the greenhouse, global network, and even is the head surgeon. His relationship with Casey is indifferent. Doesn't hate the kid, but never was one to show compassion either. His main focus is finding a cure to the Kraang infection, Casey’s hybrid body being a key to that solution. Either way, he's the only one who can neutralize Casey with a tranquilizer gun, should Casey ever go into his Kraang form.

Casey Jr - The one and only Kraang hybrid, half-alien half-human. He's only 8 years old but those 8 years have a lot of history. From being born Aztec, losing his biological family in a plane crash, getting adopted by Cassandra, getting briefly infected as an infant and becoming a hybrid, and being raised in Kraang society. After being rescued and witnessing his mom get put down in front of him, Casey’s worldview has been shattered. The turtles do their best to support him and help him unlearn the Kraang superiority mentality. Being a hybrid, Casey can transform into any Kraang monster he desires. It activates on its own when triggered by stress. And speaking of, the kid doesn't even know how to smile yet. He needs support, he needs to remain calm, and absolutely under no circumstances...should you ever let him starve. (Warning, Casey Jr has been susceptible to child abuse from the Kraang. Approach with caution.)

Good luck! (Also their outfits are based off the playing cards. Raph, King of Hearts, aka the "martyr king" who represents love and trust. Leo, Jack of Diamonds, who represents value and importance. Mikey, Queen of Clubs, who represents a change in the status quo and master of mind tricks. Donnie, Ace of Spades, who represents logic and death. And last but not least, Casey Jr...the Joker. Representing versatility, disguise, and the ability to take on any form.)

[justshortpedrofics]

Always Comes Back

Wrote this in an hour today after the G2 promo came out. It's not edited, so my apologies for that. I know nothing about the character but he looks good and I couldn't help myself.

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x reader (unspecificed gender, written with a female in mind)

WC: 1.1k

Rating: M for dark themes and some implied smut

Summary: Marcus Acacius always comes back to you, and it's been that way for a long as you can remember.

He always comes back to you. 

He comes back from wherever they’ve sent him to do all of the things that he won’t ever talk about with you, yet he comes straight to you. 

And when he does, you’re there waiting, every single time. 

You’re waiting for him to come back, to come home, even if he can’t call it that anymore. You’re waiting for him to appear in your doorway, his skin bruised and battered, dried blood crusted beneath his nails and in his hair. 

But there’s never blood on his weapons or his armor; he knows better than that - cares more about that part of himself than to ever let something so important go neglected. 

Marcus Acacius doesn’t neglect the things he takes pride in, and you’re one of them. 

His armor is a symbol of his strength, of the victories he’s had on the battlefield in and the rooms of the various castra he’s been housed in. When people see it, they know who he is and what he is capable of. And when people see him, they know it, too. 

He is imposing and fearsome, his full lips more often than not set into a thin line, the man’s brow furrowed as he contemplates what is before him. He is smart and fast, quick with both actions and solutions, his certainty about what must be done inspiring not only the men he leads but those that witness him do so. 

But that isn’t the man you know. 

The man you know - and know well - is the opposite of the one he presents to the public and to the Emperors. 

His hands, so deliberate deadly during battle, touch you with a gentleness he would kill to keep people from knowing he possesses. 

His body, so broad and muscled, perfect for overpowering his enemies and anyone in his way, is used to pleasure yours long into the night. 

His mouth, quick to fire off orders or insults, tone deafening, is nothing less than worshipful of yours, along with your skin. He has never once raised his voice toward you, and he never will; you’re certain of it. 

His eyes, sharp and focused, constantly flitting from one thing to the next to keep himself alert focus only on you -  constantly on you, the softness in them almost enough to make you forget that the time you have together is fleeting. 

There is still enough of him inside the shell of a warrior that you’re able to bring it back each night you spend together, and you’re thankful for it. 

You know that you shouldn’t keep seeing him, keep allowing what is between you to continue. 

You’re well aware of the other woman he shares a bed with and what anyone finding out about you might mean. He would do his best to protect you if the need arose, and you know it. But the simpler thing would be to tell him no, tell him that you cannot watch him walk away from you, time and time again, not knowing what will become of him. That you cannot keep sharing him or his heart or his body, even though you also know that he can’t fully give you anything in entirety, at least yet. 

But after all the years and the battles, after all of the separations and the heartache, after knowing what he does and is expected to do because of his position, he is still not General Acacius to you. 

He’s just Marcus Acacius, the boy you grew up with. The one with dreams and plans, who idolized a different General, many years earlier, and vowed to be just like him someday. He’s the man you shared your first kiss with, just outside of the gates of your home, right before he left to train. He’s the one that came back to you months later, bigger and stronger and still excited for the prospect of more, though you could already see the distance in his eyes.

Marcus took you to bed for the first time that night, solidifying the connection between the two of you. 

When you removed his clothing, gasping at the sight of his body covered in scrapes and bruises, deep purples and blacks and green blooming across his skin, he stayed silent and held you while you kissed every one of them, whispering comfort with each press of your lips. This will heal. You will be fine. You can come home to me and I will do this every time if you let me. I will wait for you. Always. I love you.

And that’s why it’s so hard to let him go; because you love him, and you always have. 

You love him despite the distance. 

You love him despite the pain being without him causes. 

You love him even when he leaves your heart bruised and bloody, in a much different way than he does on the battlefields. 

You love him because even though to you, he will always be Marcus, to them he has become a symbol of so much hope. 

You love him even though you know his love for her has forced his hand, the Emperors using those feelings against him and as punishment to get their way. 

But that makes you love him even more, you think, because while he has allowed them to see what he feels for her, they don’t even know you exist. And to you, that means he keeps you even closer to his heart; keeps you safe and protected at all costs - even that of his own true happiness by prolonging his career and his usefulness. 

His body will break down eventually, and there will be someone younger and stronger in his place, someone more willing to do what he is told. There will be a time when Marcus Acacuis must retire his armor and step back, letting things move forward.

And you’ve talked about that, many times before. What his after would be like, and where you fit in. 

With me, of course. Away from Rome. Away from this. Just the two of us, as it should be. 

And you believe it. 

Because the alternative is unthinkable to you. You refuse to believe that they don’t know you exist because he doesn’t care. You refuse to think that everything he’s ever told you was a lie. You know him better than that; better than anyone, at least according to him. And he wouldn’t have - couldn’t have misled you for years.

So you sit and wait and bide your time with your memories, letting him leave you to fight their wars and do their bidding, to appear with her and appease the people of Rome in a way that makes sense for someone in his position. 

Because he always comes back to you. 

Until he doesn’t.

[0perfectimperfections0]

Shell-Shock: Part 6

Don't you guys love it when someone finally updates a series after it's been, like, months and you have to reread everything prior to that just to remember what all happened?

Well, the writer has to do the exact same thing...so...

_______

The wind died down and the storm clouds settled. They still loomed overhead, but the lightning left as soon as it had come. The lights in the Institute calmed down, glowing slightly dimmer, as if trying to hide. Lou didn’t look behind him at the others or the crowd of dolls that were frozen in shock and fear. His eyes watched the smoke roll off the robots and into the air. The oversized bullet still had streams of electricity trailing over it periodically. 

He didn’t know what had overcome him at that moment. He had been storming off to go to the recycle the second the opportunity presented itself for him to sneak away. The next thing he knew, the herd of robots chasing and cornering the dolls had caught his attention from a distance, and something emotionally overpowered him. 

Now he didn’t know what to do. He was exposed, everyone knew now, and there were dead robots scattered across the ground. He should have just left to go to the recycling. His powers seemed to only be making things worse. Lou didn’t have the courage to turn around and face the other dolls. Whatever had overcome him before was gone. 

A hand rested on his leg, and Lou didn’t have to look to know it was Ox. The whole Institute was dead silent, save for the tremulous murmurs of the crowd. Ox spoke softly. “How…did you do that?”

Lou didn’t know how to answer that question. Had he even thought about what he was doing? It felt like adrenaline and anger and fear had been coursing through him and the only way to let it out was…

“I don’t know.” Is what he said instead of trying to explain all the thoughts slamming around in his head. 

One thing had to be done, though, and that was to try to figure out how to get the crowd to calm down. Their murmurings were becoming more audible, and Ox could pick out a few sentences here and there. None of which held any kind of respect for the fact that Lou had saved their lives. But from their perspective, Lou being stronger than them in any sense couldn’t be a good thing. They had insulted and tossed him around. Subjected him to ridicule to, arguably, a worse extent than what he had subjected them to. They kind of had a good reason to be afraid. Lou could very well justify turning against them. 

Ox turned to face the crowd, rubbing a hand over his mouth as he thought about how to go about doing this. He raised a hand to get their attention, offering a nervous smile to the crowd. “So…that happened. Nothin’ to worry about, though, we’ve got it all under control. Right, Moxy?” Moxy stiffened, eyes widening, when Ox addressed her with a pleading look. She quickly nodded and walked over to stand by his side, sweeping a look over the dolls. “Uh, yeah! We’ll clean up the mess here and everyone can go back to normal!” 

That did very little to appease the crowd. The dolls looked a little irate at the vague solution to the elephant in the room. One of them spoke up, vaguely gesturing to Lou. “And what about him? Did you know about this?”

Ox faltered for a second, glancing beside him at Lou. The blond exchanged a look with Ox, just as uncertain with how to handle the situation. Ox cleared his throat and put on a more assertive look. “The point is, Lou ain’t a threat, alright? He just saved our lives. We’re figurin’ this all out, too, so there’s no reason to jump off the deep end.”

Another doll spoke up, just as heated as the previous doll. “He destroyed a whole fleet of robots. What doesn’t make him a threat, exactly?”

“He ain’t a threat to us.” 

“He could be! I’m not putting my trust into the same doll that lied to me my whole life!” Other dolls began to murmur their agreement. Ox was feeling like this was taking a turn in the wrong direction. It was like the scene at the Gauntlet all over again. And still, Lou was the target of their anger. 

You’ve only been alive for a few months, Lou couldn’t help but think bitterly towards the doll that had just spoken. He didn’t feel like he had much room to put in a sassy remark, though, because his life was on the line.

But was it? These dolls couldn’t lay a finger on him, and that was probably the catalyst driving their fear more than anything else. The fact that Lou posed as a threat to them, and they couldn’t toss him in the washer or toss him to the dog again. They were helpless against him if he actually chose to do anything.

Ox held a hand up and waited a minute for the protests to die down. He rubbed his temple with a finger before giving them a hard look. “Alright, here’s the reality of the situation. Lou has powers and we ain’t in any position t’ tell ‘im what t’ do. If ya’ll are scared, stay inside. But Lou ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“So, what, we’re just at his mercy now?” Another doll spoke up angrily. 

Ox didn’t get a chance to respond - not that he really had a good answer to that question, anyway - because Mandy suddenly spoke up, looking around. “Wait, guys, where did he go?”

The bunny blinked and turned to see that, once again, Lou had vanished. He pulled down his ears, tugging on them and trying not to get frustrated. There was so much going on right now and he had no idea how to handle any of it. “How does he keep doin’ that!?”

The dolls in the crowd began to panic again as they realized Lou was now “on the loose” as some chose to phrase it. Moxy tried to placate them. “Okay! Everyone calm down and just head home, alright? We’ll find him,” she offered a tense smile that had little effect on the crowd, but they relented and began to slowly disperse back to their homes. The portal was still closed, anyway. There was little else they could go. Moxy turned back to Ox, her tense smile fading immediately into worry. “How are we gonna find him now?”

Ox stared at her with a pinched expression, not even knowing if there was a chance that they could find Lou. They hadn’t even found him the first time. He had come back to them. Nolan, however, walked up beside Moxy, looking at Ox gravely. “I think I might know where he went off to.”

_____

Lou stared at the lifeless machine. He should have expected that the Uglies would turn the recycling off. What good was it now that they were being distributed in the Big World? He stood at the edge of the pipe that opened up into the cavity of the recycling centre. This had been his initial plan from the start, and now what was he supposed to do? Where could he go?

“Lou?”

The blond closed his eyes, rolling them behind his eyelids before opening them again and turning to face the group of mixed dolls. Ox was the one that had spoken, his ears flopped back as he took in what Lou had been aiming to do. His expression hardened quickly, though. “You know as well as I do that killin’ yourself ain’t the answer.”

“Because you seem to have all the answers, don’t you?” Lou retorted back, but his voice was softer. Defeat. It echoed hollowly through the pipe. 

Nolan put a hand on Ox’s shoulder when the bunny was about to respond. Nolan took a few steps forward, a hand on his chest. “Can we just talk? Away from the deadly, doll-eating machine?” His voice shook a little, but it was his best attempt at making the situation a little more lighthearted. 

Lou didn’t think there was much to talk about, but he obviously wasn’t getting anywhere with a machine that wasn’t even on. Begrudgingly, he walked back towards the group, giving Nolan a hard glare. “It’s not even on, you know.”

“Yeah, well, doesn’t really make for a good atmosphere,” Nolan shrugged. “We want to help you, though, and it’s kinda hard to do that when you’re trying to destroy yourself at every chance you get.”

“The last time I trusted you guys, I ended up locked in a room,” Lou swept his gaze over to the others behind Nolan. A few looked away sheepishly, but Ox and Wage maintained his stare. 

“If it’s any consolation, that wasn’t my idea,” Nolan pursed his lips with a not-so-subtle glance over his shoulder at the others. Namely Ox. The bunny merely redirected his glare onto the brunette instead. Nolan faced Lou again. “Destroying yourself isn’t an option anymore-”

“Just turn the machine on,” Lou bit out through clenched teeth. “Actually, you know what? I’ll turn it back on myself.” He moved to brush past the group, but Nolan grabbed his wrist, forcing the blond to stop as he whirled on the brunette.

Nolan spoke before Lou could say some scathing remark. “Destroying yourself,” Nolan punctuated his words more harshly, “isn’t an option anymore. Your Creator just sent a whole fleet of robots to capture you. Something tells me he’ll flip if he finds out you offed yourself and will burn this place down just to get his anger out.”

“You want me to play hero now? Is that what we’re doing?” Lou retorted sarcastically, eyes narrowed. “Look, I don’t even know how I did what I did back there. That was a fluke. And that’s not even regarding the fact that I still hate these stupid abilities and that I want to die.”

“Well, you’re also not regarding the fact that you’re one step closer to controlling them and that we don’t want you to die, so,” Nolan left the sentence hanging as he gave Lou a sassy look right back. Two could play at that game. 

Lou narrowed his eyes. “You’re annoying.”

Nolan mimicked the expression, unphased. “And you’re stubborn.” He released Lou’s wrist and started walking back out of the pipe. The others looked between the two with varying incredulous expressions. 

Lou stayed where he was, scoffing at Nolan’s retort. “Let me guess, you want me to follow? More experiments to try and control my powers?”

“Nope. We’re gonna clean up the mess first that you were about to leave for us to clean up on our own,” Nolan turned on his heels to walk backwards, arching a brow at the blond, “thanks for that, by the way.”

Lou squinted and shook his head a little. Despite the circumstances and his growing frustration with these dolls…he couldn’t deny they were beginning to grow on him a little. And it seemed like Nolan had a bit more attitude to him than the blond originally took him for. With a final glance to the others, Lou rolled his eyes and followed after Nolan. The group exchanged confused, yet slightly intrigued looks before following suit out of the pipe.  

_____

The only place they could put the damaged bots was in the ocean. Wage helped Ox toss one of them over the cliff, waiting for the impact against the water before heading back to grab another one. “You really think it’s a good idea for Lou to stay here?”

Ox jabbed a thumb behind them. “He defeated a whole army of robots. He saved our lives, Wage. So, yeah, I think it’s a good idea.”

She shook her head. “I’m not saying he didn’t save our lives…but accidents do happen.”

“You think he accidentally saved our lives?”

“No…more along the lines of it was on purpose this time, but what if he accidentally hurts someone? What if he loses control again? Maybe this was a fluke and…I-I don’t know…” She trailed off, losing her train of thought with where she was going with it, only to realize that was the point of her statement. “Don’t you just think it’s weird he suddenly learned how to use his abilities like that?”

“Look, we don’t know anything ‘bout all of this as it is. I don’t think we can start overthinkin’ things yet till we learn more ‘bout what’s goin’ on with ‘im.” Ox’s gaze trailed over to where Lou and Nolan were tossing another robot off the cliff. “We need ‘im right now…that much is sure.”

Lou watched the white foam of the ocean envelope the robot before descending back to its source. He had half a mind to throw himself over the edge. It would be so easy, too…just…barely half a step–

“Lou?”

The blond looked back at Nolan, seeing that concerned look again that all the dolls had now. Most of them were concerned for their own safety. He took one last look at the ocean before walking back to Nolan. “I’m fine.” He wasn’t, which was evident enough that Nolan didn’t need Lou to admit it. But Lou still had to admit it to himself. 

“How long are you going to lie to yourself like this?”

Lou glared at the brunette as they walked back to the carnage. “I’m not lying to myself.”

“You’re not fine–”

“Because I’m a freak now?”

“Is that what you call this?” Nolan gestured to all of him. “You think you’re a freak because why?”

Lou whipped around to face the doll now, eyes glowing. “Because look at me! Look at what I’ve done!” He swung an arm towards the damaged robots. 

Nolan barely spared a glance behind him. “Saved our lives?”

“Just because you weren’t the one hurt doesn’t mean I saved lives.”

Nolan couldn’t help but just stare in bewilderment even as Lou turned back around to keep walking. “They were robots, Lou, not…not sentient beings like us.”

“Us?” Lou shot back over his shoulder. 

Fists clenched and Nolan sped to catch up with the blond, stepping in front of him to block his path. “You’re not a robot, okay? You’re not a machine or device or–”

“Weapon?”

Nolan went quiet. 

Lou looked between his eyes, speaking lowly. “Maybe the only reason my Creator kept me alive was to be a weapon. Because if he can control me to do whatever he wants…then who can stop him, right?”

“Can you at least do us all a favor and stop making it so difficult for us to get through to you?” Nolan’s voice was rising now in frustration. “We’re not your enemies here, alright? We’re trying to help you.”

Lou glared at the brunette, leaning in to speak lowly. “That’s real rich coming from the same doll that tossed me in that washer.” Nolan opened his mouth to retort, but Lou kept talking. “Look, I made my peace with some of those sock puppets. They were following Moxy’s lead. You made your own choice. Ox made his own choices. Moxy made her own choices. Every mindless doll in this institute made their own choice to turn on me–”

“Well then maybe you shouldn’t have been such a jerk! Ever think about that? You called me ugly ever since I stepped foot here and for no reason! At least I’m able to go to the Big World!”

“Sorry I hurt your stupid feelings! But news flash, everyone gets called stuff that they’re not! Perfect, ugly, stupid, smart–all of it! If you can’t handle the dirt that gets put on your name here, then you can’t handle the dirt in the Big World when it gets on you.”

Lou leaned in close, eyes glowing. “The real world is a horrible place. Humans are horrible. Dangerous. And everything they make is just the same. Why do you think I exist?”

Nolan pursed his lips, face pinching in irritation and shaking his head as he looked to the side. “Just because your Creator made you for a purpose, doesn’t mean you have to see it through,” he looked back at Lou. “And for the record, I made that choice to toss you in the wash because it was the only thing I could think of that didn’t involve you getting killed.”

Lou blinked, taken aback by that last statement as the brunette turned and continued walking to the pile of steaming robots. He watched Nolan walk away for a moment before shaking his head and shooting a glare at the ground. He didn’t want to keep doing this. It felt the entire Institute was against him.

Except for these dolls. 

He sighed through his nose, looking back up to see Nolan struggling to drag another robot toward the cliffside. Lou’s expression softened a little as he looked at the others. Wage and Ox were dragging another robot. Babo and UglyDog were doing their best as well. Mandy, Moxy, and Luckybat were walking back to grab another robot. 

“A little help would be nice,” Nolan’s voice grabbed his attention again. The brunette had his hands on his knees, looking worn out, but his expression was as defiant as ever. Lou rolled his eyes and began walking again to help him.

[nahalism]

Do you have any advice for feeling so shitty in yourself pls 🥺 like my skin is so bad at the moment, I’m so so unhappy with my weight gain. I don’t know where to start in fixing it or how to even get the energy to, feeling like this should be enough, but it isn’t. Idek how to explain.

But I’m so unhappy, I feel so ugly and disgusting.

i wish i could climb in your skin and place my own philosophy in it. <3 — this is the thing, lets say you're ugly, your spotty, and your fat, and that that will never change. does that mean you dont deserve love? or to feel good in your favourite outfit? that you dont deserve kindness? or consideration? that you shouldnt be seen as valuable, sexy, worth love, worth affection? does it mean that you should hide and stop showing up in the world in the way you want to?

i can think of a million reasons why that isnt the case. the problem is, any advice i give you in solution to the problems youve stated can only be superficial because the issues your speaking on are on the surface. i could tell you how i get my self together when i feel how your describing, or how i got rid of my acne, how i lost weight etc, but the real issue is beyond the surface. its about how you feel about you

who are you? what is your character? how do you show up in the world? where do you bring value? what are your biggest virtues? how do you combat your biggest vices? do you treat yourself with compassion? do you extend that compassion to others? what does your humanity look like?!? what does your love feel like?— these are the things that make someone beautiful. — and in terms of what is attractive and sexy, its so much deeper than appearances. sure appearance is important, especially in society. i wont ignore that, but society advocates for a whole lot of crazy shit. there are trends, and then there is what is timeless. the essence of what you are is timeless, holding it to the standard of a fleeting trend is short sighted. you have to value yourself for what you are, not what you look like or what what you look like means for how others treat you. only once you have some self respect will your external begin to match, because people who love themselves act lovingly toward themselves. its a ripple effect.

in terms of looks and feeling yourself, which is very important, you have to question, if someone is willing to count all of who and what you are out because of what you look like, is that someone you want? anyone of us could have an accident that changes our appearance forever. what then? what you feel about yourself and how you carry yourself as a consequence, is what makes you alluring. when someone is into YOU (not your shell) and (tmi but..) turns you on, or makes you moan, or sees you happy (!!) that is infinitely more attractive to them than you having the perfect body or appearance. because even the most perfect person is not perfect (& they know it, they just have you convinced that theyre as good looking as they feel or portray themselves to be). literally its all about youuuu. if you cant see that, you will always try to cover you up, so no one else will see it. nor will anyone make you able to see it. you need to step up and treat yourself with some humanity. you are a whole being, created uniquely and entirely complete. completion is perfection.

if u want my skincare routine, or how i lost weight, or literally whatever information im happy to share it. but 100000s of other people already have their routines out there for u to follow. i mean it with the utmost love and respect when i say, u need to start looking at yourself as a living, breathing being with so much to offer and so much potential for growth beyond what you already have to give. have some self compassion. you are beautiful and worth your own love, let alone other peoples. acknowledge yourself before time shows you how blind youre being. 💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

[chronicle-of-isha]

Chapter 14: Vengeance Hate Guilt and Sin

(Several minutes before the first shield failure of the Bucephelus)

Galowen watched the Mon-keigh laser weapons fire and miss once more as the Eclipse cruiser Moonstalker's gravitic drives pulled itself out of the way. The path of the beam of light had already been predicted by his foresight, even before the firing teams on the enemy ship had even entered the targeting solutions into their primitive cogitators.

'They shall not last long.' He thought to himself. The humans had been firing continuously for over an hour, and he knew from past raids that their plasma generators and capacitor banks should be running low. Even now some of their largest and oldest ships had already gone silent, merely drifting in the void.

The humans must have felt themselves clever with their sudden encirclement, courtesy of the psychic powers of the burning creature on the largest Mon-keigh ship. However, they had failed their execution. It was almost effortless to predict and avoid the lances firing in succession. They only needed to predict a series of points to dance around in sequence. If the Mon-keigh wanted to overwhelm them, they should have at least tried to coordinate their attacks to fill every possible point the Aeldari cruiser could have ran to at the same time in a single salvo of laser blasts from a minimum of two flanks.

Galowen allowed himself a small chuckle as he steered the ship out of another blue-white beam of photons before it even registered on the sensors; ship tilting and swerving like a falcon riding an updraft.

Of course, what the Mon-keigh should have done was not what they could do. Such a concentration of fire power would drain the human ships dry after several salvos, barely leaving enough energy to maneuver or raise their void shields to protect against any potential Aeldari counter attack. In fact, if they had their strike craft, the Aeldari could already be destroying several of the flanking ships. However, all of their fighters and bombers were already at the flagship, waiting for its shields to fall.

A smile crossed his face as one of the Pulsars from an Aeldari cruiser scarred the flagship's armor followed by several balls of plasma.

The positioning of the Mon-keigh ships betrayed the existence of a third flank, but even that did not bother Galowen. If the third flank hadn't appeared on their sensors by now when the two battlegroups on either side were nearing energy reserve depletion, it must be composed of smaller ships Running Silent. That meant that most of the ordinance carried by the ships' of the third flank would be the archaic macro cannons and batteries that fired unguided shells with unreliable warheads. Such munitions were easier to avoid than the laser weapons he dodged now, not even requiring foresight to weave into the deadly void-dance he and the other mariners lead the Moonstalker through under the shimmering holofields.

Even surrounded on three flanks, the Mon-keigh would need almost Aeldari levels of coordination to ensure all their munitions would hit every possible avenue of escape at the same time. However, at this range and with this much space between each ship in the Aeldari fleet, dodging the fire of all three Mon-keigh flanks was well within the abilities of any of the mariners aboard all of the Aeldari cruisers.

Suddenly, Galowen saw something in his foresight that made him look down, as if he could see through the Wraithbone floor of the ship itself; eyes widening in disbelief at the sheer idiocy the Mon-keigh would throw themselves into.

'Activate Runic Targeting Nodes! Deal with them as we would the green-skin!' He cried out through the psychic net.

However, the vision in his foresight refused to fade; even as the Starcannons' psychic guidance systems sent balls of plasma curving almost 270 degrees towards the targets that had just appeared on the ventral side of the Aeldari ships, even as the gravitic drives and solar sails moved to avoid the incoming attack, and even as the escort craft of the Aeldari fleet moved to intercept the enemy.

The true danger of humans is not their intelligence, for the Aeldari are far wiser.

Neither is it their cunning or brutality, for the descendants of the Krork are the epitome of both.

It is their sheer unpredictable, arrogant, and disobedient nature; for one moment they are dogmatic dogs to doctrine, but at the blink of an eye every veneer of civility, professionalism, and sophistication is dropped to reveal the almost feral animal that lies within them all.

—----------------------------------------

(Almost a half-hour before)

Captain Cedric of the Dauntless-class Light Cruiser Thunderous Valor watched the light from the lance fire of the Vengeance Grand Cruisers, Hades Battle Cruisers, and Lunar Cruisers of the 5th, 8th, 11th, and 12th Terran battlegroups flanking the Xenos ships crisscross in sequence above the hidden fleet he was part of; a rag-tag group of escorts and light cruisers assembled from the remains of raided worlds. All of them had been either rescued from the pillaged wreckage left by the Xenos, or arrested.

Captain Cedric and all his crew had entered into the service of the Emperor via the latter; for they were all deserters, cowards who had fled from their homeworld.

He still remembered the events of that day with crystal clarity.

After the flagship leading the planet's defense fleet fell to the aliens, he and several others abandoned the battlefield. What good would a few light cruisers and escorts do against ships that tore apart a battlecruiser in mere moments?

However, it may have been better to have died then and there than to have survived.

Somehow, they continued to receive Vox communications from the planet they had left behind. Calls for help came from the panicked remains of the defense militia on open channels. Civilians, barricaded in whatever strongholds remained, begged them to return. Then those cries turned into screams; mixed with the melodic alien laughter of the creatures that had chased them away.

It had taken several laspistol shots through the Vox instruments for the communications to stop.

Every night had been a nightmare from that moment on. The voices and sounds that came from the Vox, before their fear and rage forced them to destroy their own equipment, echoed in their dreams. The auditory stimulation recorded in their memories turned into vivid images as they slept; filling their slumber with a front row seat to a torture show starring their loved ones.

Cedric's family had been left behind on the planet, as well as all the families of the men and women onboard. He could not be sure, but he felt that he heard the voice of his wife and two children on the Vox. It was them that appeared every night, and he could do nothing but watch as they were violated in every way he could have possibly imagined.

It was the second week after they had abandoned their homeworld that they ran into the fleet from Terra. Cedric remembered the moment. He had been eyeing the laspistol in his lap, turning it over and over in his hands, when the auspex array lit up and a titanic vessel of unknown origin exited the Warp right next to their ships. They did not try to run, even as the boarding tubes of the unfamiliar vessels attached to their hulls. Death would be a release at this moment, and the many sleepless nights had taken a heavy toll on all of them.

The men from the titanic ship boarded, debriefed, and then arrested all of them. For three days, Cedric and his men sat in the brig of the Bucephelus, only interrupted by the occasional medical check-up. Then, they were dragged in chains for an audience with the Emperor.

"The 5th, 8th, 11th, and 12th battlegroups lance fire cannot last much longer." Lieutenant Commander Gideon called out, returning Cedric to the present. Gideon was the senior officer in charge of the auspex arrays, and it was his duty to inform the bridge of all events of note. "Current rate of fire projects capacitor bank depletion in 90 minutes. They're draining them faster than the plasma generators can replenish them."

"Are the Vengeance Grand Cruisers still firing?"

"Yes Sir."

"Then it is not yet time."

"As you will Sir"

Cedric returned to watching the lance fire above them. Each one was a guiding light, ensuring his ship, and all the others knew which way to go. Every ship that traveled below the plane of engagement traveled in complete silence. Besides not being able to use the Vox, that also meant any sensor sweep or scanner pulse was out of the question; for the electromagnetic energies used to scan for targets would betray their location. That meant they flew blind in space, for the distances involved in void combat meant the human eye was about as useful as the light sensing cell spots on a clam.

However, even at this great distance, the lance beams of the Terran battlegroups were bright enough to follow; contrasting against the blackness of space. All they had to do in order to identify the direction they had to travel was record the positions of the sequential lance beams. The intersection point between the beams from the two battlegroups on either flank of the Xenos provided them a general idea of where the Xenos ships were.

Cedric smiled, as he overlooked the bridge crew from the dais that held the holomap and his command throne. Soon, it would all be over. It was almost poetic that the ship class that would give the signal for them had the same name as what the Emperor had promised them. The thought sent his tired mind back into memory as they waited for their signal.

When Cedric met the Emperor, he was overwhelmed with shame and could feel the displeasure and disappointment radiating from the golden being before him.

However, although Cedric was sure the only reason they had been dredged up from the brig was to serve as an example for traitors and cowards, the Emperor did not have them executed.

"Rise Cedric." The Emperor's voice boomed, and Cedric realized that he had been prostrating himself; face and knees almost buried in the deep red carpet that lined the audience chamber of the Emperor.

"Your fear has caused the deaths of many, and now it seeks to kill you with your own hands."

Tears blurred Cedric's sight, as he raised his head.

"There is only one path for your salvation."

The Emperor took a single half-step forwards, and the harsh sound his armored foot made against the floor was that of a gavel in a courtroom.

"Return to your ship, Captain."

Soldiers marched from behind, and unshackled Cedric's wrists and ankles.

"I promise you neither your life nor your freedom. However..."

The Emperor spoke as Cedric rubbed his wrists, like a pauper begging for some small scrap of mercy.

"Serve me and you will have your vengeance."

At that moment, a searing flame burst into life in Cedric's heart. Despair, fear, and self-pity burned away like cobwebs before a torch. His tears dried as he rose to one knee, and bowed his head.

"What will you have me do, my Lord."

From that point forward, Cedric and the thousands of other cowards like him followed the Emperor; charging into the ranks of the very Xenos they first ran from at a single command. This was the only path left for them, and only in their death did duty end.

"Vengeance Grand Cruisers lance batteries have gone silent!" Gideon cried out, returning Cedric to the present.

"Sound the alarm." He ordered one of the bridge staff, before turning to another. "70 degrees dorsal turn. Use the gyros for as long as possible, but prepare the emergency thrusters. Vox officer, maintain radio silence until we're detected."

Men and women rushed to their seats at their terminals as flashing red lights and sirens began to blare through the ship. Cedric himself sat back in his throne and buckled himself in; shoulder straps and harness securing him to the well padded backrest.

"All hands, all hands. Brace for Impact. Brace for Impact. Secure all equipment and personnel, immediately. Repeat…" The automated recording continued to play as the ship began to turn towards the intersecting beams of light above them.

Slowly, the Thunderous Valor rose towards the Xenos ships, still flying with minimal power and invisible to almost all sensors. Then, the balls of plasma fired from within the alien holofields that had been flying over them suddenly turned, heading towards them like guided torpedoes.

"All ahead full!" Cedric ordered, and the 6 drive thrusters roared to life, accelerating the ship forwards as several hundred other light cruisers and escort class vessels did the same.

Cedric grunted as the G-forces from the acceleration that weren't blunted by the shock absorbing fields and support structures of the command deck shoved him into his seat.

"Break radio silence! Prepare the escorts to fly in formation!" Cedric shouted out from his throne, and the Vox officer only nodded as she struggled to reach the keys on her terminal; arms straining against the sudden acceleration that threatened to crush every bone in the crew's bodies. "Master Gunner! Open port and starboard macro cannon blast doors!"

Massive shutters opened on either side of the ship as the cannons beneath them moved forwards. Several smaller ships, only a third the length of the cruiser, formed up besides, above, and below them.

"Xenos plasma weaponry impact imminent!" Gideon called out.

Balls of plasma tens of meters in diameter descended upon them. The first few targeted the escorts, stripping away their shields in several shots before burning through the hull.

One of the escorts exploded as a ball of plasma swerved around the thick armor on the prow and burrowed into the base of the macro cannon turrets on the dorsal side of the ship. Ammunition silos detonated, tearing the Sword-class frigate in two from the inside out; front and back halves sent in opposite directions by the orange ball of molten metal and gas that came from breached generators and macro shell warheads.

"Adjust course!" Cedric ordered. "Point us directly at the enemy fire, and maintain the escorts' formation!"

They were almost within the Xenos ships' formations, blurry images of the alien vessels now visible even to the naked eye.

"Enemy escorts approaching!" Gideon called out.

Smaller dart-like Xenos craft approached rapidly; responding to the infiltration of their battle lines by the humans. Coordinated plasma fire and Pulsar blasts tore through another escort, with the plasma fire of the cruisers stripping the shields as a separate escort fired its Pulsar weapon at the exact moment the shields fell; piercing the enginarium room of the escort in a single strike, leaving it drifting in the void.

"Master Gunner, fire macro cannon batteries at will! Keep the enemy escort class vessels away from us!"

The command deck of the Thunderous Valor shook as both of its batteries opened fire. Salvos of shells flew in opposite directions with timed warheads, detonating before the Xenos escorts, forcing them to turn away or risk flying into the wall of explosions before them.

"Entering Xenos holofields!" Gideon cried out, and the entire holomap went haywire. The green image of the ship remained in place as the entire map spun wildly around it, unable to reconcile the fact that every sensor told the ship's cogitators it was currently flying through a solid object.

Cedric gripped the armrests of his seat as the view ports were obscured by blurred images, then the cloudy mass of blue and gray disappeared like morning mist as they exited the holofields and returned to the blackness of space.

"Status report on the escorts!" Cedric shouted.

"We're missing the Adlerauge!" Gideon replied, and Cedric's heart leapt in his breast.

"Vox officer!"

"We have their coordinates!" The woman replied. "Transmitting to Vengeance-class Grand Cruiser Executor's Wrath!"

Hundreds of kilometers away, the fully charged lance batteries of a ship over 6 km long turned to the coordinates of the Adlerauge, adjusted to spread several degrees around the craft, and fired. Dozens of beams of light went through the holofield, then the shimmering mirage disappeared as the torn form of the Xenos cruiser appeared, Adlerauge embedded deeply in its port side. Lance batteries had cut right through its solar sails, and pierced both it and the Adlerauge, destroying or disabling the holofield in the process. But, before the Executor's Wrath could fire again, the Adlerauge exploded. Like a wedge in a piece of firewood struck by a hammer, it split the Xenos ship in two as all its fuel and ammunition detonated; damaged from the lance blasts from their own allies.

Cedric watched all this but did not despair. This had been the plan all along.

Aeldari holofields, their nimble ships, and inhuman reaction times made them a difficult target to destroy. Given time they may have defeated them conventionally, but with every Aeldari ship hellbent on destroying the Bucephelus, time was not on the human's side.

Thus, they employed tactics from two ancient battles against their enemy.

The first was the battle of Midway, where the Japanese carriers depleted all their available fighters before being ambushed by the Americans. This was mimicked by baiting the Aeldari strike craft into attacking the Bucephelus. With all their strike craft gone, the Aeldari cruisers didn't have the sufficient patrols to identify the human's hidden fleet. Not to mention, their bombers would have made short work of the lightly armored and lower mass targets that every human light cruiser and escort class vessel was.

The second battle was Trafalgar. Like the British ship-of-the-line in ancient times, the humans' light cruisers and escorts penetrated deep within the Aeldari's formations. There; they charged to point blank range where even the Aeldari could no longer avoid their shots, cluttered the battlefield with their wreckage, and even dived head first into the enemy ships to reveal their position under the holofield for the flanking Terran battlegroups to fire at.

Any Aeldari who tried to escape from the charging light cruisers and escorts had only one assured avenue of escape; upwards. But that path was now being covered by streams of lance fire from the Hades Battlecruisers and Lunar Cruisers; no longer required to fire inefficiently on purpose to show the blind tertiary battlegroup where to go. Thus, with every attempt to go upwards met with salvos of coordinated lance fire that criss crossed to form a latticework of lasers in a makeshift net, the Aeldari were forced to dodge and weave in the vicious melee the humans engaged them in.

The previously silent Vengeance-class Grand Cruisers also now fired all their lance batteries at any human ship that collided with the Aeldari, for only they had the firepower to ensure a kill in a single salvo.

This was the trap of the humans; for now the Aeldari were surrounded, divided, and avoiding fire from every possible direction inside and outside their formations. An unpredictable mish-mash of ship collisions, close range macro cannon fire, and lance batteries overwhelmed their psychic foresight. Worst of all, the suicidal human escorts and vengeful light-cruisers flew straight at them in wide formations, forcing them to move away to avoid ramming; making their movements predictable, allowing a few to be downed by concentrated lance fire.

As Cedric's cruiser and escorts flew into the holofields of another Xenos cruiser, forcing it into the path of several lance beams as it attempted to avoid them and their macro cannon fire, the Thunderous Valor shook as something penetrated its void shields.

"We've taken macro cannon fire to the prow lance!" Gideon called out.

This melee was as dangerous to the humans as it was for the Aeldari. In this relative close range for space combat with unguided macro shells flying from every direction, friendly fire was frequent in occurrence.

"Scramble repair teams!" Cedric shouted back. "Turn the ship around! Dive back into their formations!"

Maneuvering thrusters burst into action, sending jets of burning promethium from the front port and rear starboard, turning the ship 180 degrees back into the fray. They would use the Xenos vessels as cover against the fire of their own allies.

Cedric grunted as the turning of the ship dug the harness into his neck.

There was a snap on the bridge and one of the terminal operators was flung out of their seat, safety harness torn from the G-force, and flung into one of the walls with a bone shattering crack. Thankfully, each function on the bridge was manned by three operators; physical redundancy to ensure sudden deaths did not reduce the ship's operations.

"Xenos escort closing behind us!" Gideon called out, and one dart-like ship appeared on the holomap, slipping through the still burning wreck left behind by the alien cruiser before zipping behind them like a bee. Plasma fire stripped the shields of one of their escorts, before a Pulsar beam pierced the engines of the ship with pinpoint precision; tearing it apart from the inside as it detonated the fuel reserves in the ship.

"Order our escorts to proceed to the next target!" Cedric ordered. "Bring our guns to bear on that Xenos!"

The nimbler escorts would have a far easier time closing with the Aeldari cruisers, and they were numerous enough to expend as tracking bullets; to embed themselves in the Wraithbone of the enemy ships to allow the Vengeance-class Grand Cruisers coordinates to target.

Maneuvering thrusters coupled with magnetic gyros in the stubby wings of the Thunderous Valor wrenched the ship sideways; superstructure of the ship groaning as it strained against inertia. However, even as the prow side macro cannon batteries fired, the Xenos escort had already shifted sideways; sidestepping the human's shells.

The entire ship shook as the Xenos Pulsar beam pierced the prow side stern of the ship, cutting a hole meters in diameter through the hull just above the engines.

"Hull breach on multiple decks!" One of the bridge crew cried over the screaming alarms that threatened to drown out his voice. "Engine core is still secure, but we've lost all power to the void shields!"

"Evasive maneuvers! Don't let them get another shot!"

Promethium flared from maneuvering thrusters across the ship as it rolled and turned in random directions, twisting the hole bored by the Xenos away from its line of fire. Then the starboard macro battery detonated from within, tearing out the side of the ship; neutering half of the vessel's remaining weapons.

"Status report!" Cedric shouted, spitting out blood from a bitten lip.

"Critical damage to the starboard macro cannon battery!" The secondary Master Gunner reported; primary operator lying in his harness, neck broken from the sudden change in direction the explosion had caused.

"Cause!"

"A shell came loose from the magazine! We cannot continue firing with these maneuvers!"

"No!" Cedric shouted back. "Continue evasive maneuvers, and ready our port-side weapons! We hold the line here and now! Keep that ship distracted for as long as possible!"

"Xenos escort incoming!" Gideon cried, and the entire ship shook again as the Pulsar struck the ship in the exact same spot, cutting deeper into its innards.

"Enginarium room breached! Emergency venting of main plasma drive in progress! Output dropping to 12%!"

Cedric gnashed his teeth in rage. His ship was rendered virtually immobile in space.

"Enemy escort approaching!" Gideon cried out.

"Then we take them with us!" Cedric spat, pounding his fist against the throne's armrest. "Open all fuel valves! Unlock all ammunition silos! Detonate as soon as the enemy gets in range!"

As the crew began to carry out his orders, the Vox officer raised a hand.

"Captain, we're receiving a hail from one of the Bucephelus's bomber squadrons! Sending to central holoprojector now!"

An image flickered into view above the center of the bridge, allowing the entire staff to see the masked face of the Squadron commander of the bombing fleet.

"Thunderous Valor." The pilot, face obscured with breathing apparatus and helmet visor, said in a monotone voice. "This is Squadron Commander Samuel Carter. Respond."

"This is Captain Cedric Mathius." Cedric responded, almost growling with bitterness.

"Captain Cedric, cease all operations and wait for recovery."

There was a crack as one of Cedric's molars splintered as he clenched his jaw.

"I have them!" He spat back at the holographic image that loomed above them.

"Your life is not yours to give, Captain." The Squadron Commander responded. "You serve the Emperor of Mankind. Obey."

The image disappeared, and Cedric roared in fury, breaking the bones in his hand as he slammed it against the command throne. There was a moment of silence on the bridge, with only the drip of blood from his hand and the splattered remains of some of the unfortunate crew whose safety harnesses had snapped.

"Disconnect main plasma drives and switch to secondary. Redistribute power to life support and begin macro cannon battery cooling procedures." He said bitterly, and the crew slowly obeyed him.

Once again, he had survived.

Once again, vengeance had been his.

But, even as he watched the bomber squadron rush past the view ports to swarm the fleeing Xenos escort; melta-bombs boring holes into the Wraithbone, burning the vile aliens inside before blowing up the entire craft, the fire that the Emperor lit in his chest burned hotter and hotter.

—----------------------------------------

The Emperor watched the remains of the Aeldari fleet crumble, opening a portal for Isha to return as he watched the last few ships push through the remains of the tertiary battlegroup, falling to the planet below as lance fire followed their path. Only a few ships remained, and even this number would be reduced as the free fall they were now trapped in was easy to follow with weapon fire.

More would burn up in the atmosphere. Even now one of the damaged cruisers disintegrated in the thick abrasive ash filled atmosphere; pockmarked hull creating excess friction in the clouds, letting off sparks of lightning as it broke into several fragments. Only one or two would reach the surface.

That still meant a potential few hundred Aeldari survivors. Aliens who were hardier than they looked, and could sing matter into existence. Given enough time, they could rebuild their ships; possibly even create a functional colony for them to breed and increase their number. Not to mention whatever Isha had hidden on this planet.

Their mother did not trust the Emperor, and would have surely taken some precaution to protect her children. There was a high probability there was either some weapon or means of escape hidden on the planet below. She had chosen it for them after all.

The portal shimmered as Isha walked through it; eyes swiveling to the Emperor before moving to follow the trajectory of the Aeldari ships still falling towards the planet.

The Emperor's eyes narrowed as he watched the creature display emotions of sadness.

It was disgusting, hypocritical, and far far too late.

'You have no right.' The Emperor thought to itself. 'Your tears are too little and too late. Now watch the ending of a race that lived without sacrificing anything.'

The Emperor remembered visiting the Aeldari Pantheon, tens of thousands of years ago; traveling through the increasingly turbulent immaterium to find answers or assistance for its mission. The shining gates and walls were made of white Wraithbone inlaid with red black crystals, with artistic sets of runes engraved upon almost every surface. The massive structure seemed never ending; stretching off to either side in the Sea of Souls as far as warp sight could perceive, and hiding everything beyond the border through its sheer height.

Hundreds of other beings made of thoughts and dreams waited near the gates; sitting, standing, squatting, alone or in groups. They were either huddled here for protection, as the more violent neverborn were driven away by the silver sentinels that watched the gates at all times, or in the hope for an audience with the titanic alien gods beyond.

As the being that would eventually become the Emperor drank in the sight, catching its figurative breath after the long wearisome journey, it felt the hairs rise on the back of its neck as the feeling of being watched crawled over its skin.

Upon the spiked battlements of the white walls, a feminine figure cast her eyes over the view beyond her home.

The other creatures here could also feel her gaze, for they quivered and quailed as the invisible touch of her eyes crawled over them.

The Emperor's own eyes looked up to the Aeldari goddess, and although she was so far away only her long silvery hair and soft silhouette allowed determination of her gender, they locked eyes for a brief moment.

In that moment everything was laid bare, and the Emperor felt almost naked before the goddess; with every scar and shame inspected by the alien creature high above.

Then the moment was gone, and the goddess retreated from view beyond the walls.

As the Emperor collapsed to its knees, panting from the experience, a cruel realization of the futility of coming here crystalized in its mind.

It was not that these aliens could not do anything to help.

They would not do anything to help.

For in that momentary look that Aeldari goddess gave, she had decided no further attention was necessary. Every pain, every sacrifice, every life that composed the would-be Emperor and all the others before the silver gates was only worth a single glance of her divine eyes.

Boiling anger replaced exhaustion and chilling fear as the Emperor understood this, narrowed eyes and furrowed brow looking up once again only to glower at the empty battlements.

With all their power, all their experience, all their knowledge those creatures would do nothing. Even as beings far smaller and weaker than them spent every moment just trying to barely survive.

That was the first contact between part of the subconscious of humanity and the Aeldari Pantheon, but it was not the last.

"Do you still want to convince them?" The Emperor asked, hiding the irritation that grew at the sight and sound of the alien.

"Even if I know the outcome, I must try." She replied with a wan smile. "Are you so impatient to end your work here?"

"We will deploy troops to the ground regardless." The Master of Mankind replied. "Orbital or even aerial bombardment always leaves the possibility for survivors. Whether you join them or not is your decision."

"I will join your troops to the planet, if it is only to say my final farewell to my children." There was a moment's pause before Isha looked up into the brown eyes of the Emperor. "I have other questions for you."

The Emperor stared back at her coldly; neither refusing her request nor affirming to receive it.

"The battle is mostly over, and it will take time to prepare your troops." Isha took a step forward. "I wish to know how my children will survive under your rule."

"And what will you do with that knowledge? Do you think yourself to be in a position to bargain?"

Isha's voice was growing more aggravating to listen to, regardless of the content. The song of life that threatened to distract and create doubt before the Emperor seemed to come from every syllable uttered by her.

"If you seek to threaten me with your spell, then it is a pointless bluff." Isha retorted. "Seeing your people's weapons, I can see that stolen knowledge only serves you so much. There is more I can teach you willingly than being forced to."

The Emperor's eyes narrowed.

What she said was true. The knowledge of the Void Dragon was alien to all things, and it was only through blind obedience and slavery that the Necron were able to follow its designs. Although the Emperor could use the knowledge to circumvent the more archaic Necron weapons and defenses, humanity's attempts at imitation through las technology and their more exotic blades was a far cry from the originals.

Isha was not as alien as the Star God, but her knowledge would still be difficult to pry from her mind. Her fabled knowledge of gene sculpting and flesh work would be useful, especially after Isha's incident with the Xenobiologis had rendered them unusable.

"Then what do you offer for my answer?"

It was unlikely Isha would part with such valuable knowledge so soon, but it would be interesting to see what she saw to be an equivalent exchange for her question.

"Part of my children's birthright lies buried on this planet. Protection from your followers or any other who would harm them." Isha gestured to the planet. "A platoon of Psychomatons from the War in Heaven to defend them should the need ever arise. I give their service to you."

The Emperor snorted at this. A one time offer of weapons that would be slaved to her, and the revelation of her deceit. Although she had only asked for knowledge of the Emperor's plans, it was an arrogant offer regardless.

Then again, if she had offered what the Emperor truly wanted, she would have been a fool; and fools were sometimes more dangerous than the most intelligent adversary.

Regardless, there was no need to allow her an easy bargain.

"You think this revelation of your trickery buys you any favor from me?" The Emperor answered, brown eyes glaring down into Isha's silvery ones.

"Neither of us trusts the other. Would you have done any different?"

The two stared at each other; wild animals observing the other for an opening, muscles tensed but fangs still hidden beneath lips.

—----------------------------------------

Isha watched the Emperor warily. Wisp of dark green and blackish brown flickered in its brown eye; parts of the information Isha exchanged with it earlier stoked the original flame that burned within its gaze, fuelling a preexisting rational rage with irrational disgust and loathing.

She knew those feelings well, for they were the same colors she saw in herself before she went to implore Asuryan to activate the edict.

"Forgive me." She said, breaking eye contact by bowing her head. "This line of debate is meaningless." Her voice was steady, but quiet. "Knowing that you yourself would make the same choice only means that you are aware of the cost and the risk of such a decision. That gives more reason to hate than to forgive. However…"

Gesture of acquiescence made, Isha turned back to the Emperor.

"Know this, Protector of Mankind. My actions are for my children's lives, not their empire."

There was another pause between them as the Emperor continued to glower at Isha.

"You children will live, for the moment." The Emperor finally replied. "I have other matters to attend to, and it is better to leave Chaos preoccupied with its latest prize."

"You intend to use them as a shield against Chaos?" Isha asked calmly.

That was a predictable outcome. Humanity as it stood was still fractured, and the Aeldari that survived outside the Webway had many years to prepare for the birth of the Warp and She who Thirsts. They were the best equipped to push back the Ruinous Powers that now threatened to expand beyond the permanent Warp tear.

Racial pride also ran deep within the survivors. Even without the feeding habits of the children here, meeting humanity as it was now would not end well for either species. Especially if they learned of how their divine mother had been treated by those they would certainly call Mon-keigh.

For now, separation was the best for the safety of both.

"The current Warp is a product of your species." The Emperor growled, misinterpreting her statement as an accusation. "Why should I or my people intervene on the behalf of those who caused their own destruction."

The statement irked Isha, for although partially true, it belittled what they went through and the future Lilieath had sought to avoid.

"Be that as it may, do not deny that my children's battle serves all." She replied almost instinctively. "Do not forget what you and every other creature in this galaxy owes them."

"I owe neither them nor you anything." The Emperor took another step forward, looming over Isha; ignoring the double meaning of the War in Heaven and the battle against Chaos her children had fought and would fight. "I will take what will not be given, steal what will not be gifted, and destroy anything that stands in my path." Hot ash filled bonfire air and the metallic scent of blood filled her nostrils. "Those are the laws that all will survive under in my domain."

—----------------------------------------

The Emperor looked down at the smaller Aeldari goddess. Her current form was only the height of the average Aeldari, which meant her head only came up to the midriff of the golden terminator armor that adorned the Emperor's body, so her neck was forced to crane backwards almost painfully to return the Master of Mankind's gaze.

The chlorinated stench of ozone and the earthy scent of mud flowed from her as the air around them began to whirl in a spiral. The smell was like the smoldering remains of a lightning strike in the middle of a stormy night over a brackish puddle.

Her lips parted, curled angrily to retort, but stopped themselves. Instad, her parted lips relaxed, turning whatever curse or argument she was about to utter into a ragged breath; intaking and exhaling air, to cool and vent the heat of the anger she no doubt felt.

"You will not pursue them like the ones here?" She spoke quietly and the atmosphere of the bridge stilled; air returning to the various vents that circulated oxygen throughout the ship.

"As long as they remain out of reach and out of the way, they will remain unharmed by my hand."

Isha gave a dry chuckle at that. Humanity would expand across the stars, and would eventually reach the Aeldari. When that happened, there was no question as to how the meeting would take place.

"I suppose I should be thankful you do not hold them hostage against me." She replied dryly.

"That can be arranged, if you forget your place."

Isha's brow furrowed at that, and she lifted an eyebrow questioningly.

"Where does your hatred towards me come from?"

Hate?

The question paused the Emperor for a moment. The Aeldari were arrogant and dangerous. They were responsible for the birth of an atrocity beyond understanding or imagination. However, these feelings of aggravation and irritation that bubbled in the Emperor's chest were more than that.

Isha was right. The Emperor hated her, and the feeling had been growing ever since the battle with the Aeldari began. A battle that could have been avoided.

The answer to Isha's question and the ones that would no doubt follow solidified in the Emperor's mind.

"From the knowledge of what you are, and what you have done."

"And what am I in your eyes? What sin have I committed against you?"

"Do not feign ignorance. I know the legends of your people, and how everything came to pass."

Isha snorted derisively at that.

"You think some incestuous love my daughter felt for Kurnous caused all of this?"

The Emperor's teeth grated together. That was not the point. That was not Isha's fault or the cause of all that happened.

Something snapped in the Emperor.

"If only you and your daughter kept your damnable mouths shut, none of this would have happened!"

There was a silence after the Emperor's outburst as Isha's eyes widened with shock. Only the quiet beep of the holomap and electronic buzzing of lights and instrument panels could be heard.

Internally, the Emperor cursed and readied the spells required to summon the sword and chains necessary for battle. This was not the time nor place to fight Isha. However, contrary to expectation, Isha did not lash out or retort.

Instead, a great weariness radiated from her as she broke eye contact and crossed her arms.

"So, you blame me for stopping Khaine as much as you blame Lilieath for spurring him on." She said quietly.

"Am I wrong?" The Emperor spoke slowly, still prepared to draw sword and chains. "Khaine's slaughter of the Aeldari would have reduced their number and their power to a fraction of what it was."

Isha did not reply, instead her fingers squeezed her arms leaving red marks on her upper arms.

"The fourth Ruinous Power is only as great as your species made it. If you had kept quiet and let the necessary sacrifice take place, neither of us would be here."

That was the sin that the Emperor saw Isha guilty of. Whether it was her weakness or love for her children, she stopped Khaine's slaughter of the Aeldari which led to the eventual birth of Slaanesh. Worst of all, the method she used to stop Khaine stopped all interaction between the mortal Aeldari and their gods. If Isha had stayed silent, Chaos would have been far less powerful, and Slaanesh would never have been born. The Aeldari may have been a far smaller power, but they would not be doomed to eternal torment.

All of this suffering both of the Aeldari and every other race which fell to the Ruinous Powers was in part caused by Isha's cry to Asuryan. The Aeldari gods knew this, and yet they did nothing to stop it.

That could not be forgiven or forgotten.

"There is a human parable of a train and tracks with humans tied to it." Isha suddenly spoke. "You wish to argue in utilitarian terms, then let me explain my actions with ones you are most used to."

The Emperor snorted. It was a simple thought experiment. A train traveled along a track that split into two paths. The track the train would pass over normally had 4 people tied to it. The other track, which the train could be diverted down by a person pulling a lever, only had 1 person tied to it.

Let 4 die, or change the direction of the train to let only 1 die. The answer was simple.

"It is always better to sacrifice the few to save the many."

Isha gave a sad, tired smile at the Emperor's answer, as if listening to a child giving the right answer to a different question.

"If the one changing the direction of the train is unaffected by their actions, then you are correct. But, what happens if the act of sacrificing one to save many is counted as murder? Will the person change the direction of the train if they are guilty of the death they cause?"

Was that Isha's reason for calling back Khaine? The Emperor's lips curled.

"It is a crime to stand back and do nothing." The words were spat out with venom, but Isha's eyes flashed at the words and not the tone of the statement. Her eyes bored into the angry gaze of the Emperor with a purity of purpose that was unexpected for one he thought had given up on the hard choices before her.

"Do not attempt to equate sin with sin." Her voice was quiet, but there was a seriousness in her tone that made the Emperor stay silent. "If all are guilty, there is no difference between the outcomes besides the number of dead. In that world, every sinner might as well be innocent so long as the ends justify the means, with the reverse being the same."

"You speak of sin and guilt…" The Emperor replied slowly. "But what does a goddess of a pantheon who did nothing know of justice?"

"I was judge, jury, and executioner of entire worlds before you were born." The chlorine stench of ozone returned as Isha spoke, followed by the smell of hot dusty air and sulfur. "Lilieath and I knew what the result of our actions would be, even if we hated ourselves and each other for making them."

"And this is the best you can do?" The Emperor stepped back, turning to the side to show the view visible from the bridge of the Bucephelus; a view filled with burning Aeldari ships and broken human vessels.

Isha walked past the Emperor towards the empty space and let her arms fall to her sides.

"I asked Asuryan to stop the slaughter." She spoke, tone vacant as she stared out into space.

"I bent the rules of the very edict I called into place with Kurnous and Vaul. I paid for my disobedience at my father's hand. I waged war against my own family as the mortal empire of my own children descended into interstellar strife with itself. I suffered their disobedience and ungratefulness as they forgot all of us. I watched them descend into depravity even as I held back the growing powers of Chaos."

Her head was bowed, as if she was fighting back tears.

"I did my best, paid the price for my actions and many others besides me."

Her voice was almost a whisper, then she turned back towards the Emperor. Eyes clear and wide open as she raised both of her clean white hands palms upwards before her.

"This is the reward for all my efforts."

There was a long pause between them as the Emperor tried to untangle Isha's words.

This death and destruction, the eternal perversion or reality, the birth of a new Ruinous Power were the best the higher beings he had seen so long ago could manage?

"Then the power of gods truly has no meaning."

If this was the best they could manage, then whatever powers they seemed to possess meant nothing.

"Say what you must to soothe yourself." Isha walked right up to the Emperor, even if the height difference forced her to look almost straight up to meet its gaze. "I look forward to seeing where your path finally takes you."

Several moments passed as the two glared at one another, neither accepting the other's conclusion.

The Emperor would always pull the lever, no matter how much blood spattered it as the train ran over the lesser number of people.

Isha had not pulled the lever when the train came, and from her inaction the Aeldari died and the Warp was born. Yet, she stated that was the right decision for that moment.

"Send me to the other ships that hold your people prisoner." Isha finally broke the silence between them, looking away at the same time. "I would prefer to spend my time there than in conversation with you."

"Then go." The Emperor raised a hand, and a small hand held communication device unlocked itself from one of the terminals and floated towards Isha. "Contact me via the open channel registered on that device when you wish to move to the next ship." The Emperor said as it turned away from Isha, glad to get rid of her from its sight. "Surely the sophisticated ships of your people can replicate the signals necessary."

Isha left through the new portal without a reply, leaving the Emperor behind.

A heavy sigh came from the Emperor, stress and annoyance leaving with the air. Calls would have to be made to the troop transports on the Bucephelus and other transport vessels. The Aeldari survivors would be most likely holed up in the remains of their ships, and it would be pointless to assault them with conventional forces. The God-Machines would be necessary to cut them out. Not to mention the news of the Psychomatons on the planet.

The Emperor had honored their agreement, and told Isha what she wished to know. Now, it was time to see whether she would uphold her end of the bargain.

—----------------------------------------

Lilieath's consciousness awoke blind, deaf, and still unable to speak. She was unsure of what was around her or what awaited her next.

She who Thirsts had endless creativity.

At times the torture was brutally simple, the defilement almost base like the lusts of simple criminals and barbarians who killed and raped to satisfy their overpowering urges.

Other times they were more intricate, with acts and scenes like a theater play in order to give a poetic beauty to the pain and pleasure upon the stage.

Sometimes it was almost scientific, with physical bodies prepared for her essence to be housed in so chemicals and sensory stimulation could be simulated in order for her to experience mortal sensations in an almost experimental fashion.

On the rare occasion, she was simply given to the many hands, claws, and tentacles of the Keepers of Secrets as a temporary reward for their service. She was the goddess whose voice first called Slaanesh according to Aeldari legend, and the daemons of the god or goddess of excess worshiped her in the twisted way only they could imagine.

In these short quiet moments while She who Thirsts was either distracted or busy preparing some new diabolical sensation, Lilieath used what remained of her Truth to return to the past in dreams, providing some small solace for her sanity; even though Slaanesh would never let her go insane.

This time, her dreams were not as pleasant as she would have wanted, for they took her back to the time her mother found out what she had told Khaine.

The sky had grown dark and stormy as lightning sparked between black clouds and the winds howled outside Morai Heg's room where Lilieath sat on her grandmother's shoulder.

Suddenly, the door burst open and Isha stormed inside, teeth bared and brow furrowed.

"LILIEATH!" The ground shook as her mother called her name, and a gigantic hand reached for her upon her grandmother's shoulder. "What have you done!"

Just as Isha's hand was about to close around Lilieath's entire body, Morai Heg's remaining hand closed around her wrist.

"She did what she had to, daughter." The old crone spoke quietly as thunder rumbled outside.

"It was not her decision to make!" Isha shouted angrily. "They are my children! That is my duty, my burden to bear, my Truth! NOT HERS!"

Lightning struck just outside, sending shards of Wraithbone flying; only to be seized by the winds and dragged upwards into the black sky. All three goddesses did not move; three divine generations all with the best intentions at heart yet completely different conclusions.

"Then you know what you have to do in order to go back to that path."

Thunder echoed as another lightning bolt crashed down outside as Isha's lips curled, baring her teeth at her mother and daughter. Then she yanked her arm from Morai Heg's hand, and stormed back out the room before hurricane winds lifted her skywards towards the palace of Asuryan.

Moraig Heg sighed as Lilieath watched Isha enter the palace as drops of rain began to fall from the sky.

There was a flash, and a pillar of silver flames shot up from the palace, penetrating the clouds. Then, a second orange pillar of fire descended from the sky, slamming into the courtyard just outside the palace. A few seconds later, Khaine emerged from the flames, sword still bloody from the planets burnt to cinders before Isha's cry to Asuryan to activate the edict brought him back.

The flaming head of Khaine turned towards the entrance of the palace as Isha stormed out of it. Father and daughter glared at each other for a moment, Isha's fists balling into fists as she watched the blood drip off of Khaine's blade.

There was a banshee cry, and the entire Pantheon shook as father and daughter tore at each other's throats; rocking the very foundations of the Pantheon as their titanic forms clashed. Winds roared and lightning flashed, sending thunderous booms to echo over the Wraithbone city that creaked and groaned as the very ground heaved with Isha's rage.

Moments later, silver chains wrapped around both, dragging them away from each other as Asuryan stepped from his palace.

"The edict has been activated as decreed." The Phoenix King said, tone quiet and unemotional. "From this point forth, all contact with the materium has been forbidden."

Isha sank to her knees, chains clinking as the rain grew heavier, soaking through her clothing and sticking it to her skin.

Khaine remained standing, raindrops hissing as they hit his flaming form. His burning eyes glared at Isha's bowed head.

"Are they worth everything that can and will be lost, daughter?" Khaine finally said.

"They are my children." Isha whispered. "They are my duty, my responsibility."

"Then words are useless." Khaine tried to take a step forward, but the chains only groaned and did not give.

"The Goddess of Life has acted accordingly." Asuryan spoke.  "You do not have the right to take what is not yours."

"Do you not see what is to come, brother?" Khaine asked, turning to Asuryan.

"I have seen it all, but it is not my choice to make." Asuryan turned towards Khaine, releasing Isha from her chains as he passed her. "I am the Phoenix King of this pantheon. The matter of mortals is to be left to their decision."

"It is also hers." Khaine pointed an accusatory finger at Isha, still kneeling in the rain.

"And she has decided to invoke the edict." Asuryan replied, matter of factly.

"Then make her choose otherwise!" Khaine roared, orange flames flaring up even as the chains stopped him from moving.

Asuryan shook his head, then lifted a hand summoning a series of runes that laid out the law of the land.

"As long as the edict remains unbroken, I cannot allow any harm to come between any of us."

The chains binding Khaine disappeared, but his feet refused to move towards Isha.

"Is it love for them that makes you stand in my way?" Khaine asked Isha quietly, flames receding to reveal a well tanned muscular figure. "Or is it fear for what you will become?"

There was no reply from Isha who remained kneeling in the rain, eyes wide as she searched for some way through what was to come.

Khaine snorted. It was a pointless effort. If Isha's daughter saw this as the only way forward, then this was the only way. All that was left was to act.

If Isha could not do it safely, he would. He could slaughter the Aeldari with no remorse. He had done so with all those who had refused to fight during the War in Heaven. There were no enemies that could threaten them now, but if the Aeldari themselves threatened them, then they impeded their gods just as much as the cowards of the ancient past did so. Thus, there was no internal conflict within Khaine's Truth.

Isha was a far more complicated creature. One he was both proud of and annoyed by.

"I do not understand your or her idea of balance." Khaine muttered, turning his back on Asuryan.

"I am the fulcrum that takes neither side." Asuryan said, rubbing a finger besides the white and black rune that was ascribed to him. "She is the scale that swings to and fro."

Khaine sighed, then shrugged. "All I see are enemies and allies." Then the God of War walked away from the courtyard, leaving Asuryan to deal with Isha and Kurnous who had just arrived.

'Mother...' Lilieath thought to herself, returning from the sad dream to the eternal nightmare that was her reality.

She could feel She who Thirsts approaching. The smell of musk, sweat, and sexual fluids filled the air; informing her of the current mood the creature was in and what form of excess it wished to indulge.

At the very least, her mother was free. So long as Isha walked with the Aeldari, there was hope.

For when the Goddess of Life answered the call of the Aeldari during the War in Heaven, victory was always assured.

[tertiusdecimusfilius]

Ships passing in the night usually didn't see one another.

Usually.

It took a mere twenty minutes from the destroyer-escorts of the Ultramarines and the Dawn Legion discovered each other until the time that the twin fleets were facing off side-by-side, rows of macrocannons staring down Lance batteries like fleets on ancient Terra with decks of cannon aimed and ready.

"Macragge's Honour," Celaya muttered, mild disbelief ringing through her tone. "The same markings, the same iconography, the same support fleet."

"Roboute never was particularly fond of changing what works," Tlatia replied.

Alarms blared throughout the ship as the Ultramarine fleet was brought to full combat readiness and the Dawn Legion did the same. Marines, both superhuman Astartes and mortal shipboard defense crews, rushed to their battle stations with weapons at the ready. Damage control teams went to standby alert. Weapons crews plotted firing solutions and prepared their guns, either charging them or loading them with colossal macrocannon shells.

The twin fleets sat there for five agonizing minutes, guns ready and drawn, shields high and humming. Five minutes of infinite chances for bloodshed ticked by before a message was sent.

"This is the Dawnbringer, hailing Macragge's Honour."

The other fleet hadn't made an attack yet which put him a little at ease. However, both fleets were ready for a battle, should it come down to it. Roboute stared at the ships opposite them, eyes wandering over the shape of the ships, the colors, the symbols.

They looked familiar. It wasn't something his mind could place right away. There was a nagging sense that he should know, that he knew, this other fleet. It wasn't the same feeling he'd gotten when he'd first met Aurelius and discovered the remnants of the second legion all those months ago. But this was certainly similar. The Primarch chewed his bottom lip. The name of the flagship escaped him.

His mouth opened to give the order to hail the other ship, but before he could, the voxmaster piped up. The other ship was hailing them.

"Open the frequency," Roboute ordered. The Dawnbringer? The name rung a bell, but-

There was the familiar spark of pain in his head. It only confirmed the feeling he had about this. It was likely that this was the other lost legion. Though it was strange. He couldn't remember much about them, probably from whatever power Malcador had used to erase the existence of the two legions. However it wasn't causing the same level of pain. Either the eleventh had been as thoroughly scrubbed from existence as the second, or having already remembered the second was making it easier to remember the eleventh.

"This is Macragge's Honour. What business do you have within this sector, Dawnbringer?" he asked.

[xartus]

Now that the frantic lust of adolescence is long past

I find myself more than ever missing what I once had. Or the possibility of such. Of being wanted be the same people whom I wanted

I'm quite positive that I would've had a date and some time of physical interaction by now, after the divorce, if I were still a woman. Yes, there were intimacy issues in the marriage but I don't blame neither she nor I

I was woefully unprepared for the realities of dating women not only as a man, but as a trans man. Its much easier to date women as another woman. I feel acutely the rejection by my ex and by society as a whole as a trans man

People talk about touch starvation and I've thought I felt it in the past but that wasn't this. I had close friendships in the past in addition to dates. Intimacy phyiscal and emotional, romantic and platonic galore. What I was feeling then was more akin to a type of lust, albeit a deep one. It doesn't even compare to the utter desolation, frustration, and crushing isolation that I feel now. What seemed barren before is a lush ecosystem full of life compared to this

I want to cry thinking about a girl kissing me, or embracing me. If that ever happens again I'd probably cry in relief from the human contact. I want to cry about how, holy fuck, I WAS wanted so much beforehand and I didn't even realize it. Compared to now, where its so painfully obvious that I'm not

Obviously I won't detransition as this is who I am and who I was meant to be. More indicators that this wasn't something I did for anyone except myself (get fucked, transphobes). I don't know what the solution is. I wish I had someone to be present with me, someone who I felt comfortable being so vulnerable in front of. And then someone to just fucking touch me with the reverence and care that I KNOW exists because I've felt it before. My person, my soul has only grown and gotten better; its the shell that's the issue

And that's the thing isn't it? The more authentic you are to yourself, the harder it becomes in a society not prepared for that. Like you the the spiritual- the more you know, the more you experience and grow; the less stable your foundation becomes, reality that you thought was solid becomes fluid and fleeting, and you ask yourself if ignorance really was bliss and if this madness is worth it. But you can't go back, and you don't want to, and you know you were you built for this gnosis because you sought it out

Circles in circles

[zillyeh]

Turned Tides

Technically an immediate precursor to this drabble. only cws i can really give is talks of bombing towards the end, lmk if i need to add anything here<3 Synopsis: Around 150 sweeps ago, Heiress Halosa Delhon discuss what to do with the den of rebels in the north of Delhon city, with the added input of some unfortunate guests.

Your heavy footsteps echo across the marble castle floors. The mere sound of your approach had always been enough to quiet a room, but since the execution? A pin could drop upstairs and you could hear it. You almost miss her air headed giggling as she draped herself over the throne.However.

You admit that you prefer what it's done to Heiress Halosa.

She sits motionless on her throne. Hollow. She is a shell of the Delhon you knew. You'd behead Bridal again just to watch the light leave Halosa's eyes.  

The heiress did not wear her mourning whites for long. She was already back to her caped fleet uniform. The golden rank pauldrons sat spiky and and important on her shoulders. They glinted with the rest of the gold inlaid in her uniform in the jade and pink moonlight. Even this subtle combination of colors bouncing on her lap seemed to be grimming her already sour expression.

You greet her with a kneeling bow. 

"Your highness," you say. She hardly moves but to flick her wrist- an instruction to stand. 

"Steris," she says, the gravel of her voice deeper than you've ever heard it. "Approach. We don't have time for a round table. Visitors."

"Visitors?" you ask incredulously, climbing the short few steps to her side. "Now?" A quiet Delhon castle is a Delhon castle in shambles. To bring in others before you get a moment with her is… inconvenient. For you.

"They have a solution for me." Her voice is robotic. Halosa is running low on willpower. Anyone but you would think she’s just as hard as ever, but you can see her foundations beginning to crack. Mentioning Bridal in just the right way could break her, bend her to your whims, but you need her alone.

She hums, shifting in her seat. With an unenthusiastic flourish, she bangs her serpentine scepter on the ground. The ornate main doors of the throne room open, and the quartet of trolls that enter makes your thin lip curl.

They aren't clowns of yours, but they are clowns. Masked laughsassins with Enfaris' signature gaudy frills, all except for the tall elder in the front of them. He was certainly as Enfarian as the rest, but he had the decency to mute his colors and show his face. His paint was obnoxiously intricate- they have so much time for it don't they?- and did work to fill the deep lines of his face. His hair fell around his face in thin, tight braids, beaded in green and red at the ends.

"Your 'ighness," he greets. The phlegmy yet airy dust of his accent on those two words alone make your skin crawl. The beads in his hair clatter softly as he shifts. He bares his throat in place of bowing. Whatever ailment requires his cane seems to prevent his fellows from dropping to the floor as well. Disrespectful.

"Father Jortis, I take it?" Halosa asks, not looking for an answer. "I apologize for having no announcer to your entrance. It is no secret that my court is in unacceptable disarray. Please, speak."

"It is quite alright, Madame Delhon," Jortis says, gripping the cane in front of him. You do not hide your grimace when you realize it has a honking horn at the handle. 

"My church received most disturbing news from someone in zis province," he continues, "A rather eloquent plea for assistance. I 'ave an embarrassment of my own you see: in short a few, shall I say incorrectly zealous of our church stole some of our‐ qu'est que ce- 'idden members. I am to believe their fleeing brought zem 'ere, based on my informant's descriptions."

"This should be our priority why exactly?" You can't see his angle. You don't like that. "What do you mean by hidden-"

Halosa puts up a hand again. 

"You will be addressed when you are addressed, Steris." She can't make her voice sound as scary as it used to be. Regardless, you shut your mouth, narrowing your eyes at the clowns in front of you. 

"My advisor does make a fair point, Father. You bring this to me now for the reasons I hope you do, yes?"

Jortis nods once.

"Not zat I would be so brazen as to peek into your mind, but I believe so. My informant claims to 'ave been abducted by rebels and forced to labor for zem- ones zat match ze description of my missing flock."

"Fascinating," you say, having never shut up for long before this. "Is your little informant with us tonight, Enfarian?"

"'E should be," Jortis says easily, catching you off guard. His aloofness to your own disrespect annoys you. Enfarians are so difficult to rile. "If 'e manages to-"

The doors behind the troupe open again, spilling in the last person you'd ever thought you'd see in Delhon's throne room. The guards who escort him in look like they can't get their hands off him fast enough.

"Ninefingers?" You almost can't believe your eyes. He looks genuinely afraid in a way you've never seen the Exacerbator look. He wrings his lopsided hands, warily moving beside the quartet of clowns before dropping to a bow for the Heiress.

"Your highness," he says with a shake in his voice. Closer you can see barely healed scars on his arms, and a bruise under his eye. His first finger has been replaced with something made of… wood? How barbaric. His curly hair had been pulled back tight. He looks even smaller than he already is without his mane. Crushable underfoot or under ax.

Halosa signals for him to get up, casting a wary eye at you. You step forward. He winces.

"I should strangle whatever information you have out of you, Aarika." You crack your knuckles, but Jortis and Halosa both put their arms out to keep you two from each other.

"Vionyi, fucking behave or I will force you to leave."

"Yeah, okay."

Halosa stands. She strikes you across the mouth hard enough to reverberate through the high-ceilinged hall. You swallow the bit of blood in your mouth, clenching your fists. Oh how you hate fighting the urge to do something back. Tears sting at your eyes, but you are well practiced in biting back pain. Closing your clear false lids also helps.

"We can have this conversation over your corpse if need be," she says, some of the real danger in her voice back. You grit your teeth, the hand shaped print on your face stings. Hard. 

"I apologize for my insolence, your highness," you say through tight lips. "I shall not let my emotions get the better of me again."

For a split second, you think you catch a smug little smirk on Aarika's face.

"If I may-," Aarika speaks up with the well practice shake of a fearful child. Halosa seats herself again. "I apologize as well for my- everything. My unacceptable transgressions against the Empire, what I assume is a nasty scar on the back of your leg-" You want to kill him. Never in your life have you had to contain it quite this much. Cleaving him in two would only be the start. "-all of it is my fault. After those pirates took me from- kept me under the deck until I was so wound up and starved that I-" he interrupts himself with a sob. Jortis places a hand on his shoulder. Pathetic. This was what had become of Exacerbator Ninefingers? 

"I- sometimes I feel like I'm still not fully come to. I'm sorry. That's not what I'm here for. Please forgive me." He clears his throat, shaking as he finds his composure. "When they landed last they took me here. Taking to the rebel groups. The Underground practically found him- us first."

"The Underground?" Halosa seems interested. That was your pet project for sweeps. He's going to take this from you, right under your nose. Or lack thereof.

He nods. "There’s a church, on the north side of the city. They call it the-" he shudders, as if remembering something terrible, "-the church of the Reverent. That's what they call their leader. He and a handful of others are Enfarian. You can hear it- and I've overheard things-"

Jortis seems to think that Aarika's frantic ramblings are enough. 

"I would like your permission to retrieve ze 'eads of my missing flock, your 'ighness," he says, gesturing back to his laughsassins. Ah. That's what they were there for.

"Infiltration is incredibly difficult," Aarika interjects. "There are tunnels they will use to evacuate at even the slightest hint of smoke, the-"

"Old snake tunnels, I am familiar," Halosa says, more lively than you've seen her in weeks. Ugh. "Do you know them well enough to block them off?"

He hesitates, but nods.

"They could be… encouraged to certain routes."

Halosa turns her gaze to Jortis.

"How much time would it take you, Jortis?"

"Twenty minutes if we linger," he says. His little trio of freaks nod in unison. Aarika looks just as uncomfortable as you feel with them. The welts he came in with are slower to fade than you thought they'd be. Exacerbator Ninefingers had been rumored to heal as fast as you could cut him, but you suppose not all pirate tales are true.

You are very aware of the chunk he cut out of your thigh as you stare him down. He balks under your scrutiny, reluctantly leaning towards the subjugs. You want to find something, anything about him that you can use to get him dead. His crimes against the Empire are enough, but if he uses this leverage to beg for his life now? After giving up the location to the biggest thorn in Delhon’s side?

Halosa was far too weak not to let him have it.

"If you intend to do this, I would suggest you do it soon," he says, freaky teeth moving as he speaks. "They are intending to mobilize somewhere- I'm unsure where, I would assume further north to disperse into the woods, or south to integrate into the city."

"Two very different directions," Halosa hums.

“That is by design, your highness,” Aarika says with a solemn nod. “They listen to me about… tactics. They know who I was, not who I am. I will do anything in my limited power to make sure that the one who stole your m-”

He stopped himself with a hand over his mouth, looking like he fully expected Halosa to strike him down. You wish she would. She sits up straighter in her seat, the hardness of a several thousand year old war-ender back in her eyes. When she speaks again it is a demand.

“Who stole my...”

“The unspeakably blooded rebel who stole your beloved, your highness.” Aarika dropped to the floor again in another bow. He was really laying it on thick, though you must begrudgingly admire his commitment to keeping his neck and his head attached. “You must know she is one of the Enfarians in that church. It’s where-”

“Enough.” Now Halosa Delhon’s voice was a thundercrack, reverberating off the walls louder than when she’d slapped you. “Father, you can personally see to the unmerciful, gruesome end of your ex flock?” Jortis nodded. Aarika looked up, still frightened, but for a moment the mask slipped to unfettered glee. You would see his teeth pulled out of his face and reintroduced into his eyesockets if you could. 

“Unmercifully shall tack on an ‘andful’s worth of minutes, but it can be done, easily. One of our riders has a vested interest in seeing at least one of zem dead. If I understand correctly, it is the very same.” Riders. They would have taken one of their noodly, violent dragons here. Enfarians have them to spare for every law enforcer over there. You wonder which of his troupe it is. If they aren’t out tending to it.

The shadow of a smile finds itself creasing the severe lines around Halosa’s mouth. This is bad for you. If they can just kill their leaders and get the few spies stationed to get the more egregious mutants, your position as her tactician is practically-

“Steris,” she says, alive. You stiffen. “You had plans for the city north, did you not?”

Is she serious?

“Your highness?”

“To simply kill the perpetrators of so much strife against my city is not enough,” she says cooly, rehearsing words you’d spoken to her already almost verbatim. “The rats nest must be wiped out, lest more vermin crop up. Wouldn’t you agree?”  

Something in the way you shift almost makes Aarika snort. You feel almost lightheaded. Is this truly happening? This is one of the best nights of your life. Aarika and the foreign clowns at the edge of your vision be damned, she’s actually going to go through with it.

“Of course, your highness,” you say breathlessly, “An example should be made to the rest of the city- rest of the province that you-”

“Won’t stand for this behavior from our citizens,” she finishes for you. “Contact Felzee and the other two, tell them they’ll have thirty minutes. Anyone else you find terribly important as well. Everyone else figures it out when the drones come.”

You give her a short nod.

“Shall we be walling off the rest of the city then?” She nods in return. Her control over Delhon’s drones could rival even the Empress. Shielding off just the north side would be nothing.

“Get Ninefingers to mark a map for you and Jortis.” You grimace, and he winces at being mentioned by name. “I will offer you one singular favor, Amillo Aarika, aside from sparing your life.” 

Of course she would.

Fucking of course she would.

That won’t sour your mood. Aarika could ask for a room in the castle and you’d still be over the moons. This is your idea, she’s listened to you, you are getting everything you wanted to do to that hole and more.

“A floor of the greenhouse tower in the center city,” Aarika says as if he’d been expecting this. “If you would be so generous. I- I want my life to be simple, all I’ve ever really wanted is to make-”

“I don’t care. It will be done. All of you come with me. This must be done now.”

When she stands, turning her back to your company, something in Aarika changes, shifts ever so slightly that you barely catch it. His shake stops. He seems more relaxed. He catches your eye and flashes you a smile, which you meet with a sneer. You know then that he’s also just gotten exactly what he wanted. Even if it doesn’t seem like much, you and he are united in this one desire- to see north Delhon torched.

That doesn’t sit well with you, but you have to ignore it. Right now you have a city to raze.

[simulamortem]

EGO RETENTION RELAPSES

in this house we love a messy bitch, and as it happens, Revenant's breaking his programming made him very messy.

Ego Retention can't pull him under again, but it TRIES sometimes. I call these incidents ego relapses, in which Revenant's perception gets stuck in its former state where he sees himself as human again. he KNOWS BETTER now, but that doesn't change his experiencing his human body instead of the mechanical shell - and he hates it.

after all this time acclimating to his machine body, getting stuck in his human body again feels extremely jarring. sensation is much more vivid for him in an ego relapse, especially pain. Revenant's been a bit spoiled as a simulacrum by learning that much of his chassis doesn't have much haptic to it, and he can basically switch off his perception of pain in some cases. but in an ego relapse he can't help how much things HURT, even knowing it's just in his head.

more than that, experiencing his human body again reminds him not only of the man he used to be - who he hates so much for having gotten him where he is - but also of all the violent deaths he went through under Ego Retention.

this excerpt from one of my threads puts it best I think:

"Besides the air in and out of his lungs, he could feel his damn ribs moving with each breath, and all it reminded him of was all the times he struggled for air, died a suffocating death or felt the burn of a bullet in his gut or choked on hot blood thick in his throat. The illusion of his human body may as well have been one big open wound for how many times he had SUFFERED its death."

while these relapses aren't common for him, they do have a variety of possible TRIGGERS:

EMPs or anything electrical risks damaging his neural processor in juuust the right way to kick a bit of Ego Retention back into gear

similarly, any direct physical damage to his neural processor risks a relapse

to a much lesser extent, technically any physical damage at all can risk a relapse, if his neural processor just ✨ decides to be a little bitch at that moment ✨

Revenant has made a habit of avoiding his reflection because there's always a chance he'll see his old self instead of the murderbot

though only likely to happen in the circumstances of a ship, if he's feeling relaxed enough, someone touching him very gently can sometimes trick his perception into thinking they're touching the human body instead of the machine body

when he first wakes up from sleep, especially if he wakes up in a bed, he'll sometimes go about his morning routine from when he was human until he catches himself

FIXES:

ego relapses can happen in just fleeting moments which Revenant is able to brush off - but they can also stick, in which case he usually wants to DIE as quickly as possible, as being stuck in a relapse makes him miserable and moving into a new shell is his quickest guarantee to getting back to normal.

however, he can also acclimate to some extent if getting killed isn't an immediately available solution. he just won't be happy about it, and it'll be very difficult for him to relax or feel comfortable.

there may be other ways to "fix" a relapse, but not without help; somebody Revenant trusts who could guide & ground him back to his mechanical body. the same techniques that work for helping panic attacks & dissociative episodes also have the potential to help him out of an ego relapse.

[aronarchy]

[image IDs:

bp @/bp_plc tweets,

The first step to reducing your emissions is to know where you stand. Find our your #carbonfootprint with our new calculator & share your pledge today!

Mary Annaïse Heglar @/MaryHeglar replies,

Bitch what’s yours?

.

Shell @/Shell tweets,

What are you willing to change to help reduce emissions? #EnergyDebate

Greta Thunberg @/GretaThunberg quote-tweets Shell, saying,

I don’t know about you, but I sure am willing to call-out-the-fossil-fuel-companies-for-knowingly-destroying-future-living-conditions -for-countless-generations-for profit-and-then-trying-to-distract-people-and-prevent-real-systemic-change-through-endless greenwash-campaigns.

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez @/AOC quote-tweets Shell, saying,

I’m willing to hold you accountable for lying about climate change for 30 years when you secretly knew the entire time that fossil fuels emissions would destroy our planet 😇

Jamie Margolin @/Jamie_Margolin quote-tweets Shell, saying, “This you?” with a Greenpeace photograph by Denck Hingle which shows a tiny Shell skimmer trying to clean up tens of thousands of tons of oil in the ocean, visible as giant patchy red stains.

Sunrise Movement @/sunrisemvmt quote-tweets Shell, saying, “we’re gonna dismantle your company babe” along with a reaction video of a laughing woman with acrylic nails.

.

Chevron @/Chevron tweets,

Lots of talks about Fleets today, so we thought we’d introduce you to one of the biggest ones out there chevron.co/fleets

Brian Kahn @/blkahn quote-tweets Chevron, saying,

I loved learning one of your ships can transport enough oil to emit ~820,000 tons of carbon pollution. This is extremely relatable! Keep it up!!!

.

ExxonMobil @/exxonmobil tweets,

We’re all in this together! Glad to be a part of the Oil and Gas Climate Initiative – working collaboratively toward solutions to mitigate the risks of climate change. @/OGCInews

Ilhan Omar @/IlhanMN quote-tweets ExxonMobil with the “We’re all trying to find the guy who did this” meme, showing an image of a man in a hot dog costume trying to pretend he didn’t do something while a room of people behind him look on unimpressed, from I Think You Should Leave with Tim Robinson.

Terry Metter @/TerryMetterJr replies to @/IlhanMN, saying, “The Exxon PR people looking at the metrics RN” with two stills from the same aforementioned show showing the actor Tim Robinson saying,

I thought it was gonna be a hit!

It turns out it fucking sucks!

/end image IDs]

Good morning to everyone who is going to troll an oil company today 😇

[guddas-blog]

From Engine Oils to Brake Fluids: Navigating the Future of Automotive Lubricants

The global automotive lubricants market plays a pivotal role in maintaining vehicle health, reducing emissions, and enhancing engine performance. As vehicle ownership continues to rise worldwide—particularly in emerging economies—demand for high-quality lubricants is increasing in parallel. From engine oils to brake fluids and transmission oils, lubricants are essential in reducing wear, dissipating heat, and extending the lifespan of automotive components.

This blog offers a comprehensive look at the automotive lubricants market, its applications, key industry players, emerging trends, and future growth outlook—along with a spotlight on brake fluid manufacturers in UAE as part of the regional supply chain landscape.

 Market Overview

The automotive lubricants market has experienced steady global growth, driven by rising vehicle production, growing aftersales service industries, and the increasing complexity of engine systems in modern vehicles.

Key growth drivers include:

Growing automotive production across Asia-Pacific and the Middle East

Increasing consumer awareness about vehicle maintenance

Expansion of the electric and hybrid vehicle segments

Stringent emission standards boosting demand for synthetic and semi-synthetic lubricants

The market is segmented by product type (engine oil, transmission fluid, brake fluid, gear oil, and others), vehicle type (passenger cars, commercial vehicles, two-wheelers), and distribution channel (OEMs, aftermarket, and service centers).

Applications Across Vehicle Systems

1. Engine Oil: The most widely used automotive lubricant, engine oil minimizes metal-to-metal contact, reduces wear and tear, and enhances fuel economy. Synthetic engine oils are gaining popularity due to their performance benefits and extended drain intervals.

2. Transmission Fluids: Crucial for automatic and manual gearboxes, transmission fluids provide smooth shifting and reduce friction under extreme pressure and temperature conditions.

3. Brake Fluids: These hydraulic fluids ensure effective braking by transferring force into pressure. With safety regulations becoming more stringent, the demand for high-performance brake fluids—especially DOT 3, 4, and 5.1 grades—is rising.  In this context, brake fluid manufacturers in UAE are gaining attention for supplying high-quality, regionally produced solutions tailored for Middle Eastern climates and global compliance.

4. Gear Oils & Coolants: These lubricants support differential and axle systems, while coolants manage thermal loads within engines and battery packs in EVs.

Regional Insights & UAE Market

The Middle East, especially the United Arab Emirates (UAE), has seen a surge in automotive maintenance demand due to extreme temperatures and a growing fleet of high-performance vehicles. As a result, brake fluid manufacturers in UAE are expanding operations to meet domestic and export needs, ensuring high-performance formulations that resist boiling, moisture absorption, and corrosion.

Major UAE-based manufacturers are also diversifying into synthetic lubricants and specialty fluids to cater to both automotive and industrial applications.

Key Properties & Performance Benefits

Modern lubricants are expected to deliver a combination of:

Thermal and oxidative stability

Anti-wear and corrosion protection

Extended service life

Fuel economy improvement

Compatibility with modern emission systems and sensors

These characteristics are vital not only for internal combustion engines but also for hybrid and electric drivetrains that demand specialized coolants and greases.

Key Market Players

Leading global players in the automotive lubricants industry include:

Shell

BP (Castrol)

Chevron Corporation

ExxonMobil

TotalEnergies

PetroChina

Valvoline

Fuchs Petrolub

Amsoil Inc.

ENOC (UAE-based)

These companies are focusing on innovation, sustainability, and expanding regional distribution to remain competitive in a fast-evolving market.

Future Outlook

The    lubricants market is set to evolve with major trends, including:

Growing adoption of low-viscosity synthetic oils for better fuel efficiency

Increasing environmental regulations influencing additive formulation

Rising demand for EV-compatible lubricants, including thermal management fluids

Expansion of e-commerce distribution channels for lubricant products

Localization of manufacturing in regions like the UAE, supporting both domestic and export markets

Conclusion

The global automotive lubricants market continues to drive innovation and operational excellence across the mobility sector. As the automotive landscape shifts toward efficiency, electrification, and sustainability, high-performance lubricants remain central to optimizing vehicle function and safety.

In particular, the rise of brake fluid manufacturers in UAE reflects a broader trend toward regional specialization, ensuring that the Middle East meets its growing mobility and safety demands with reliable, world-class products.

[thiyatech]

Power from Waste: The Machines Helping Businesses Save Energy and the Environment

Blog:

Today’s industries are under pressure. Power costs are rising, environmental regulations are getting stricter, and sustainability isn’t just a buzzword—it’s a business need.

But what if the answer to high energy bills and waste disposal problems could be solved with three smart machines? ✅ Biomass Gasifier Machine ✅ Waste Oil Recycling Machine ✅ Waste Oil Distillation Machine

These aren’t just tools—they’re solutions that turn waste into clean energy, reusable fuel, and most importantly, cost savings.

🌿 Biomass Gasifier Machine: Fueling Industry with Nature’s Leftovers

Biomass gasifiers are helping businesses run their operations using agricultural waste like wood chips, rice husks, and coconut shells. Instead of burning diesel or relying on unstable power, they use gas generated from biomass to fuel dryers, furnaces, and engines.

🔋 Why it's smart:

Drastically cuts diesel or LPG costs

Works well in remote or rural setups

Eco-friendly and carbon-neutral

Simple to operate, low maintenance

If you’ve got agri-waste, you’ve got energy. It’s that simple.

🔁 Waste Oil Recycling Machine: Reuse, Don’t Refuse

Every mechanic shop, factory, or fleet generates used oil—usually treated as waste. But with a waste oil recycling machine, this dirty oil can be cleaned and reused safely.

♻️ How it helps:

Reduces the need to purchase fresh lubricants

Lowers hazardous waste output

Saves money on disposal and buying costs

Eco-compliant with many green regulations

Instead of throwing away used oil, industries are now reclaiming it—and profiting from it.

🧪 Waste Oil Distillation Machine: Clean Oil That Works Like New

Taking it one step further, the waste oil distillation machine refines used oil into clean, high-quality base oil that can be reused just like brand-new oil. Perfect for engine use, hydraulic systems, or even to sell.

⚙️ What you get:

Base oil

Diesel-like fuel

Minimal residue

Pure value from used material

For workshops, recycling companies, and manufacturing units, this is a game-changer.

💼 Why These Machines Make Business Sense

✔️ Cut monthly fuel/oil costs

✔️ Reduce waste and emissions

✔️ Qualify for government sustainability programs

✔️ Build a greener, modern brand image

They’re not just helping the planet—they’re helping your bottom line.

✅ Conclusion: From Local Waste to Local Power

In today’s world, the smartest businesses are the ones that use what they already have—biomass, used oil, and a mindset to innovate.

With these machines, energy isn’t just bought—it’s made. Waste isn’t just managed—it’s transformed.

🌱 This is the future of energy. Cleaner. Cheaper. Smarter.

[marketresearchnews1242]

Fuel Management Systems Market to Surpass US$ 1 Billion by 2034

The global fuel management systems (FMS) market was valued at US$ 624.4 million in 2023 and is expected to reach US$ 1.0 billion by 2034, growing at a CAGR of 4.6% from 2024 to 2034. As fuel expenses continue to dominate operational costs in fleet-heavy industries, the demand for effective, secure, and intelligent fuel management solutions has surged.

What is a Fuel Management System (FMS)?

A fuel management system is a combination of hardware and software technologies designed to track, monitor, and control fuel usage across vehicles and industrial equipment. These systems are essential in industries that depend on road, rail, air, or marine transportation, enabling businesses to minimize fuel waste, detect theft, and boost operational efficiency.

Analyst Viewpoint: A Growing Need for Fuel Intelligence

Two main trends are fueling the rise of FMS:

For example, in early 2022, petroleum/fuel accounted for 12% of recorded cargo thefts in the U.S., emphasizing the need for robust tracking mechanisms.

Technological Advancements in FMS

Modern FMS solutions increasingly incorporate IoT sensors, telematics, GPS, cloud integration, and AI algorithms to give fleet operators a detailed view of fuel consumption across sites and vehicles. These technologies offer real-time alerts, fuel trend analysis, and remote diagnostics.

Key technological advancements include:

For instance, in 2021, Fuel Me launched a mobile platform offering fuel purchasing and emergency services for the commercial transportation and construction sectors. Similarly, Aeris partnered with Omnicomm to combat fuel theft in India through smart monitoring solutions.

Regional Outlook: Asia Pacific Takes the Lead

Asia Pacific held the largest share of the global FMS market in 2023. The region’s rapid industrialization, increasing fleet sizes, and efforts to optimize fuel consumption have contributed to this dominance.

Key factors contributing to regional growth include:

As companies in Asia Pacific continue to adopt cutting-edge solutions to minimize fuel costs, the region is expected to maintain its leading position through 2034.

Key Players and Market Landscape

Prominent players in the FMS market are developing customized, integrated, and modular solutions to meet the growing needs of fleet operators. Key companies include:

These players are focusing on R&D investments, strategic partnerships, and region-specific launches to expand their customer base. For instance, Shell Fleet Solutions offers localized services in India tailored to reduce the total cost of fleet ownership.

Market Segmentation Overview

The FMS market can be segmented by process, application, end-user, and geography:

Future Outlook

With the rising emphasis on fuel efficiency, cost control, and security, the FMS market is well-positioned for steady growth through 2034. Companies across sectors—from logistics and mining to aviation and construction—are likely to continue investing in FMS as part of their digital transformation and sustainability strategies.

In the coming years, we can expect to see further integration of AI and machine learning, greater use of predictive analytics, and scalable SaaS platforms that cater to businesses of all sizes.

[letrune]

"Dear councillors..." Peacebroker Flanni spoke up. "I won't waste our time. The Antaludian Republic is losing territory every year. The constant war drains their neighbouring allies and the larger Galactic Committee as the Xlarik regime is spearheading a massive assault towards the core systems."

"Do we have any more civilisations we did not called in?" Someone asked.

"There is the Community of Sol." Flanni said, to which whispers started, slowly increasing in volume. All eyes turned to the seats, empty. The Community of Sol was under a special arrangement since the war started. A couple mercenaries from Sol went to the frontlines but nobody dared to believe the rumours.

"We must have some other solution?" Someone else asked. Peacebroker Flanni shook her head.

"I am afraid not. The Xlarik regime started bombarding outposts of numerous of our members, so I have no other option but to put forth the vote: will we call in the Community of Sol for this war?"

Uneasily, the votes started. The yes outnumbered the abstains, only two no votes. Flanni sighed.

"Then it is settled." As she stepped down, she muttered to herself: "Now we summon the apocalypse."

"Peacebroker... I got the first report." Miali whispered to Flanni. She took the dataseed and opened it to see what was in it.

The CSWS Deathdirge arrived to the Antaludian frontlines two days after the vote. The behemoth of a ship opened fire on the Xlarik ships and utterly decimated them, their energy shields unable to block the shells and rockets from the human war machine.

Elsewhere, the CSWS Prometheus and the CSWS Antaludia Cheers had broke a siege of fifty planetburners. The report did not indicated what sort of ships Sol sent there, but the report stated that there were no survivors from the Xlarik side.

The CSWS Spear of Pericles was leading a counterattack, alone, and managed to hold the entire fourth fleet at bay.

Flanni skipped a bit on the report, arriving to the second portion.

The CSS Breadbasket, a trade ship, arrived to the besieged frontlines and made sure every Antaludian citizen who remains had enough food for two months, and when met Xlarik scouts, blew them up. Flanni was curious if it meant the Breadbasket had guards or the ship itself was armed.

CSS Antaludian Choir, a new ship, had rescued a million stuck behind enemy lines from a space station.

Flanni skipped again.

The final report says that the frontlines are being pushed back, the shortages are being alleviated, and about ten million volunteer doctors arrived to treat the injured, on their private ships, before the official Sol medical teams.

Within four days, the losing war turned around. The Homo Sol was kept away from this, and now they could get their share, they jumped in, fresh and full of energy. Flanni shruddered what would they do if they would not be so friendly.

For 10 long years war has raged while the Galactic Committee held a tight leash on the humans; stating “We do things a certain way”. Now, with the enemy closing in, the leash comes off.

[scifishortstoryverse]

📁 PGC PERSONNEL CASE FILE

Name: Chorus

Role: Chief Science Officer

Species: Klystronian — Composite-Form Variant

Age: Non-linear (82 Commonwealth years since sentience‐stabilisation)

Assigned Vessel: PGC Starship Europa

Uniform Accent Color: Teal (denoting scientific command & data integrity)

⸻

PHYSICAL PROFILE

Chorus is a non-corporeal Klystronian intellect that maintains a stabilised composite body built from the most visually distinctive traits of the Europa’s non-human crew. Their appearance is deliberately androgynous; outwardly constant, yet internally in perpetual molecular flux.

• Green skin mottled with darker speckles – echo of Yuville Maeko

• Fine sable-brown fur along limbs, shoulders & chest – echo of Gruhm Braelen

• Slender, elongated physique & pale blue pony-tail threaded with bioluminescent strands – echo of Vallis Caerion

• Amber irises with vertical pupils – echo of Captain Cole

• Thin cranial ridge (Thae’len morphology) arching down the forehead – echo of Bellevelle Charelle

• Secondary mid-thoracic arms & digitigrade stance – echo of Veklar Vidiscus

Beneath the skin, nanoscopic energy currents ripple in shifting patterns, betraying their true protean nature. Chorus emits a faint harmonic hum when excited or deeply focused.

⸻

ROLE & FUNCTION

As Chief Science Officer, Chorus directs all scientific disciplines aboard Europa:

• Quantum-fold sensor analytics and anomaly triage

• Exobiological survey & culture-safe sample acquisition

• Subspace cartography and temporal-signature forensics

• Advisory oversight of experimental technology (incl. Zero-Point Core optimisation)

• Diplomatic science liaison during first-contact events

Their non-linear cognition allows them to integrate multi-domain data streams faster than any known organic neurologic network, often producing intuitive solutions the moment variables are voiced.

⸻

BACKGROUND

Klystronians normally adopt fleeting shells that mirror nearby biology. Chorus, however, voluntarily bonded to the Europa’s crew during her shakedown cruise, weaving select traits into a single, permanent gestalt.

They reasoned that a stable, shared-symbol body would foster trust, yet still honour every species aboard. The Commonwealth Science Council granted them officer status after rigorous ethics review, citing their unprecedented cross-cultural empathy and raw analytic capacity. Chorus has served three tours without requesting corporeal renewal—an unheard-of commitment for their kind.

⸻

NOTES OF INTEREST

• Voice registers across three harmonic bands simultaneously; universal translator latency near-zero.

• When agitated, dermal pigmentation pulses in hexagonal waveforms—useful early-warning signal on away missions.

• Keeps a “memory-garden” of holographic fractals in their quarters that chronicle each crew member’s emotional high-points (viewable only with consent).

• In private conversation refers to themself as “we / I” interchangeably, reflecting the duality of collective mimicry and singular identity.